Page 90 of With a Cherry On Top

Kyle nods, biting back a grin. “Dude.”

I scrub a hand down my apron. “I have no idea why—what?—”

“Yeah. Sure you don’t.”

“She’s...” His brows rise. “She’s very, um, wild.”

Wrong choice of words.

“Oh, yes sheis.”

“Shh, lower your voice,” I whisper. “Not wild—what’s the word...” I turn to the salmon, but it’s well and truly smoking.With a curse, I turn off the stove. “Unpredictable,” I finish as I turn to him. “That’s the word. She’s unpredictable.”

Kyle’s smile widens. “So you’re not?—”

“No,” I say far too quickly. “No, I’m not,” I try again. “I would never. That would be unprofessional—and she’sreallyyoung.”

He pauses. “How young?”

“No, she’s . . .” Jesus, I can’t even say it out loud. “Twenty . . . three.”

“Huh.” Kyle’s silence is unnerving. I’ve never been a skilled liar, and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me. What is it that Charlotte said? No poker face and no poker voice. Kyle points at the microwave. “Interesting.”

I let out a short, disbelieving huff. “Kyle, you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, of course. She’s...” I breathe out, then laugh. It comes out all high pitched, so I quickly stop. “You could say she’s been flirting.”

“You could.”

“And—and she’s been . . . after me, I guess?” I’m sweating. “But I would never . . .”

I watch his expression and know there is just no fucking way he’s ever going to buy any of this.

Shoulders deflating, I admit, “It happened once.”

He holds up a hand with a revering smile. “Respect, Coleman.”

“I’m not going tohigh-fiveyou, Kyle.” I dry the sweat off my forehead. “We just...fooled around. Once. And it’ll never happen again.”

“Of course, because that’d be really wrong, andnobodylikes forbidden sex. Yuck.” He tucks his hand into his pocket, pointing at the corridor with the other. “You know what you should do? You should go tell her. Right now.”

Though there’s something in his tone that makes me nervous, I nod. He’s right, I have to tell her. Especially after what she just said. I need her to understand that though I don’t regret it, what we did yesterday can never happen again.

My heart hurts at the thought.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll talk to her.” He pats my shoulder, and it looks like he’s smothering a grin. “Kyle, you can’t?—”

“I won’t tell a soul.” He walks toward the foyer. “Have fun.”

“What?”

“I said ‘Good luck,’” he calls as he closes the door behind him.

That’s definitelynotwhat he said, but it doesn’t matter. I take my apron off and drop it on the counter, then walk to Charlotte’s room. The hallway is long and sleek, lined with polished wood floors and abstract art that probably cost more than my car. This is the first time I’ve ventured this far into the penthouse, and I really hope Beatrice doesn't come back in time to see it.

I knock at the door, then feel like an idiot and open it. I immediately recognize the dimly lit room from our calls, catching new details, like the floor-to-ceiling windows draped in beige curtains. A velvet chaise lounge sits in the corner beside a cluttered vanity, and the air smells faintly of her perfume—sweet and heady.