Taming Mr. Robinson

6. My House, My Rules.

Cooking in Mr. Robinson's house is more than easy, the cooking appliances, the well-stocked fridge. I don't remember the last time I made such a fancy meal.

The instant I'd opened the fridge, I was in a battle with myself on what to make. There was steak, chicken anď minced beef, with so much more.

Going with the minced beef, I decide to make pasta, chili, and tomato sauce with meatballs with a recipe our nanny always used.

It's almost six and I'm near panicking as I carefully dish out the meal and set the table. After much contemplation, I grab some cheese and scrape some over the meatballs and sauce.
As I stare at the meal, pleased with myself, the gate wheezes open and his black, sleek  Chevrolet Camaro drives in.
I'm suddenly nervous as I hear the car door slam shut and I face the sink, determined to keep myself busy with cleaning up and avoid any contact with him whatsoever.

The door opens moments later and I can hear him talking on the phone,

"What? No, tell them to hold back the contract until he agrees for 180 billion.....Then Holly and I would have to do it tomorrow.....It's a goddamn remote car, Ben. The Robin is the first thing this country considers a miracle, they'd do whatever it freaking takes to be our sponsors when this hits foreign trade. It's good marketing for them, they can't turn it down......Good. And for Pete's sake, this time, forward me the contract before and after they intend to make any amends. Wonderful."

By the time he is done talking, I can feel his presence in the kitchen, his calculated, steady movements before I hear the fridge open and shut.

"Anne." Hearing my name with that cold, calm voice that demands obedience sends me rigid and I mutter a quick prayer before I turn to face him.

"Yes, Mr. Robinson?" I answer, watching as he swiftly takes off his suit jacket and begins unbuttoning his cuffs, blue cold gaze fixated on me.

"What the hell is this?" He asks and nods to the table where his meal is placed.

My heart begins to subconsciously pound out of proportion.

"Umm, pasta and--"

"Not that. The setting. Why the hell did you set the table for two?"
He asks and my gaze drops to the table.
I had set a place for two, although it had been a mistake at first due to my habit of setting a table for both Tyler and me.
Then I had realized the mistake, but before I could clear it, I decided to just eat here as well, and so I shifted the other napkin and utensils to the far end of the table where I would stay.

Guess not.

"Answer me." His voice instructs and I look back up at him.

"I was going to eat here--"

"Why?"

"I just thought--"

"You thought? That what? You're my humble guest?"
He says, approaching me and I move back with fear until the edge of the sink juts into my behind.

"You want to work for me and base on your thoughts?"
He is directly in front of me now and I look away from his cold intimidating gaze.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Robinson, I'll clear it out right--"

"Listen to me." He says and pulls me back when I try to move away.

"I don't pay you to think. You do only what you signed for and keep it that way. The next time you make such a mistake, a warning won't be the only thing you'll get." He says, and I nod frantically.

"Yes, Mr. Robinson." I mutter before he finally moves away and I let out a breath I had no idea I was holding.

I quickly clear out the other side of the table as he sits down to eat, then I clean up the kitchen and escape to my room, waiting by the door side until I hear his footsteps retreat from the kitchen.