Page 10

Chapter Nine

Troy

She stays upstairs for a while, maybe half an hour. Long enough for me to lose myself in the brand deal emails Jared’s sent me. It’s mindless stuff, shit I need to deal with but don’t want to, so I welcome the distraction when I hear her footsteps on the stairs.

I glance up from my phone, expecting her to look the same as when she came in: cute, a little disheveled from a long day.

But fuck me.

When she walks into the kitchen, my stomach drops. Savannah’s cleaned up, and now? She’s a fucking knockout.

Her long, smooth legs are on full display, thanks to those tiny denim shorts she’s wearing. Her T-shirt is tight in all the right places, with some kind of sarcastic quote on it I don’t even register because my eyes are locked on her shiny pink lips. And she’s carrying an apron, but it’s not some frilly bullshit—it’s practical, with stains that show she’s used it.

And goddamn, she’s hot .

I shift in my seat as I feel myself harden in my sweats. Great. Perfect timing.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Everything good with the room?”

She smiles, and I swear it’s like a punch to the gut. “Yeah, it’s perfect,” she says, looking around the kitchen like she’s assessing her battlefield. “So, do you want to talk about the whole chef thing now?”

“Yeah,” I reply, standing up to grab some water from the fridge. I need something to cool me down. “Let’s discuss it.”

She bites her lip, and there’s a twinkle in her eye that makes something warm curl low in my spine. “Can I make you a grilled cheese first?”

I raise an eyebrow, curious. “Why?”

She grins, her eyes playful. “Because I feel like I can negotiate a better salary if you’re smiling.”

I let out a short laugh, surprised. Is she flirting with me? God, it feels like it. “Go ahead,” I say, leaning against the counter. “We’ll discuss it while you cook.”

She nods, then walks over to the cabinets, opening them one by one, poking around like a kid in a toy store. “Do you actually use these appliances, or are they just for show?”

I shake my head, watching her with a growing grin. “I’m not much of a cook.”

Her laugh is light and infectious. “You’ve got a killer kitchen. I could have a field day in here.”

She’s still smiling, like she’s in her element, as she pulls out a few ingredients. Bread, cheese, butter—simple stuff. But the way she moves around the kitchen, like it’s second nature, makes me smile despite myself.

She reaches for a pan on the top shelf, stretching up on her toes, but she’s too short. I step in before I even think about it, grabbing it for her. When I hand it to her, she’s so close, I catch the scent of vanilla. It’s subtle but enough to fuck with my head.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, looking up at me, and for a second, we’re standing there, way too close.

I clear my throat and back off, walking to the other side of the counter to give myself some space. She’s too petite, too sweet-smelling, too…much.

“So, let’s talk salary,” I say, trying to focus on something other than how good she looks bending over the counter.

She shrugs, sprinkling cheese onto the bread. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking this is a one-week trial, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Fair enough.” She slides the sandwich into the pan and grins over her shoulder. “You can decide if you want to keep me after you eat.”

I can’t help but chuckle at that, watching her flip the sandwich with practiced ease. She makes it look effortless, and I’m mesmerized by the way she moves—smooth, confident. Like she belongs in a kitchen. It’s… sexy. Fuck .

The door swings open behind us, and Jamie walks in, smelling like a mix of cologne, sweat, and alcohol. His hair’s a mess, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed. Which, knowing him, he probably did.

“Damn, it smells good in here,” Jamie says, sniffing the air. “God, I’m starving. And I’ve never had so much sex in my life. Troy, I need ice for my dick and balls. That girl from last night? Whew. The mouth on her…”

I clench my jaw, clearing my throat, trying to shut him up before he says something worse. That’s when Jamie notices Savannah.

His eyes light up in that way I’ve seen too many times. It’s the look of desire, the one he gets when he’s locked onto his next target. We’ve shared women before—more than once—but right now, the thought makes my stomach churn.

“This is Savannah,” I say, cutting him off before he can open his mouth and say something stupid. “She’s the chef.”

Savannah turns, offering Jamie a polite smile, but I notice her cheeks are a flushed pink. Jamie being Jamie, he zeroes in on that like a fucking shark.

“Chef, huh?” Jamie grins, walking over to her and leaning against the counter, clearly impressed. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jamie.”

“Savannah,” she replies, her voice soft, and I can see the way she’s holding back a smile. It’s innocent enough, but it still pisses me off.

“You making me one of those sandwiches too?” Jamie asks, flashing her that cocky grin he uses on every woman.

Savannah laughs lightly, nodding. “Sure. If you want one.”

“I do.” Jamie looks at me, raising an eyebrow. “So, what’s going on here, Troy?”

“She’s the chef,” I repeat, my voice tight. “Just here for the week to help out.”

Jamie leans closer to Savannah, his voice dropping. “Only a week? That’s a shame.”

I grit my teeth, feeling a wave of something I don’t want to acknowledge—something I haven’t felt when Jamie’s flirted with women before. Possession. As ridiculous as it sounds, I feel like Savannah’s mine somehow, even though I barely know her.

I sit there, uncomfortably watching Jamie flirt with her, and it feels wrong. Every time he leans in, every time she blushes or giggles, it grates on me.

Savannah finishes the sandwiches, handing one to Jamie and then sliding mine across the counter. She’s still smiling, her cheeks still pink, and it still irritates the hell out of me.

Jamie takes a big bite of the sandwich and groans. “Holy shit, this is amazing.”

I take a bite of mine and fuck me, it is good. Crispy, cheesy perfection. But I can barely enjoy it because I’m too busy watching the two of them, waiting for Jamie to cross a line.

“Damn,” Jamie says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re good. We need more women like you around.”

“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath. “We don’t.”

Jamie ignores me, still focused on Savannah. “So, are you staying with Troy all week?”

“Uh, yeah,” she says, glancing at me nervously. “Just cooking, really.”

Jamie smirks, clearly not convinced. “I’m sure Troy will keep you busy.”

That’s it. I clear my throat loudly and stand up, glaring at Jamie. “All right, enough. She’s here to work, not to deal with your bullshit.”

Jamie holds up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning like the asshole he is. “Relax, man. Just being friendly.”

Savannah’s watching us now, her eyes darting between me and Jamie, clearly confused by the tension. I force myself to calm down, take a deep breath, and focus on the sandwich in front of me.

But even as I eat, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s shifted. I’ve never felt this way before, not about anyone. And the fact that it’s happening now, with her—this stranger who’s staying in my house for a week—throws me off balance.

Jamie finishes his sandwich, stretches, and gives me a wink before heading toward the door. “Well, I’m out. Got practice. Catch you later, Troy. Savannah.”

She waves, but her eyes linger on me as Jamie walks out. I feel like I’ve lost some silent battle I didn’t even realize I was fighting.

“So,” she says, turning back to me, her voice soft, “about the salary…”

I swallow hard, trying to shake off the possessiveness. “Yeah. Let’s talk.”