Page 27 of With a Cherry On Top

With a headache forming in my temples, I enter the hall and walk by the glaring usher.

Inside the elevator, I catch my reflection, looking into my hazel eyes as I tuck back a few loose strands of hair and give myself an encouraging nod. This’ll be fine. According to the schedule, neither Charlotte nor her mom will be home for another hour, so I’ll have time to get settled. To cook without that harpy watching over my shoulder.

The elevator dings and the second I step onto the penthouse floor, I tense. Music. Definitely not the type of music I expect Mrs. Arnault to listen to—some type of rap on a techno base that immediately makes my lips twitch.

I open the door and enter the foyer, and through the gap that leads into the living room, I see women. Several women—all of whom wearing next to no clothes. They’re all in shorts or bikinis, walking around the living room with red drinks in their hands. Chatting, laughing.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I take a step back, suddenly awkward. My first thought is to call Amelie, but to say what? It feels awfully close to clinging to Mommy’s skirt on the first day of school. And all Beatrice said is that I’m not supposed to feed her daughter more than one thousand two hundred calories a day. If she’s drinking and partying when she’s not even supposed to be home, it’s none of my business. She’s an adult.

“I knew I heard something.”

I look up, meeting a woman’s gaze. She’s Black, with tight curls cascading down her shoulders. She’s wearing a light-bluebikini and a bright smile that I immediately try to reciprocate. “H-hello, I’m...”

“Who is it, Bonnie?” Charlotte joins her friend, eyes running over me. “Oh, it’s our new chef.”

“You have aprivate chef?” Bonnie tsks. “Seriously, you won the life lottery, Char.”

I swallow, uncomfortable under their scrutiny. I refuse to let my eyes dip past Charlotte’s neck, but even from my periphery, she’s impossible to ignore. The shorts she’s wearing cut so high on her thighs they might as well be lingerie, the frayed edges teasing at her skin, drawing attention to the dip where her waist curves in.

And then there’s the top. Blood-red silk, with thin straps holding it up precariously over her shoulders. It hangs loose in all the right places, draping over her breasts just enough to suggest more than it hides. Like it has a mind of its own, like it’s begging for attention.

And those freckles everywhere.

“Yeah. Lucky me,” Charlotte says unconvincingly before plastering a smirk on her face. “He’s pretty too, isn’t he? Look at that thick brown hair.”

Bonnie hums. “Messy in a hot way.”

“And those long lashes? Those hazelnut eyes?”

Bonnie crosses her arms. “I love tall, strong men with a little beard.”

They both stare at me, which I take to assume they expect an answer.

Ignoring the sweat dampening my back, I mumble, “Thank you. You’re both...beautiful.”What the fuck, Aaron?“Not—notbeautiful,” I say, bringing a hand to the back of my neck. “I mean, youare, but not in a weird, uh...” I blow out a sharp breath. “Okay. I don’t think I’m supposed to say any of that, so I won’t. But thank you.”

Bonnie turns to Charlotte, who, with a tilt of her head, studies me thoughtfully. “Really pretty.”

“Thank you.”

Stop thanking her!

“Give us a second?” Charlotte says, turning to Bonnie. With a long, meaningful look, her friend walks away.

Shit.

Teeth sinking into her plump lip, Charlotte waits a moment before she says, “You look nervous, Chef.”

She steps forward and I stumble back, hitting the door I just shut behind me. Noticing, she stops and chuckles. “Wow. Youarenervous.”

“First day,” I stutter.

“Uh-huh.” She walks forward slowly, as if afraid I’ll bolt, which I just might. When she’s in front of me, chin lifted slightly to look into my eyes, she says, “I think the two of us need to have a talk, don’t we?”

Christ, that voice.

What do you need?