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Smirking, I bring the cup of water to clear my throat.
“I’ve already set the menu for tonight.”
With a sexy scowl, Fia unravels her napkin, setting it softly in her lap, before tapping at the dishes in front of her.
“You’ve set the menu. What are you, a chef?”
“An apprentice,” I tease.
With a fork full of cauliflower, her eyes grow wide as she muffles a wonky, “Really?”
“No, not actually, but I do cook. These are some of my favorites. I hope you at least like a few of them.”
Chewing slowly, she studies the food, then me, like she’ll suddenly tumble over from asphyxiation.
“You cooked this?”
“No, but the chef I take classes from did. I flew him in this morning.”
Her head shakes, but she stabs the plate for another bite of cauliflower, and I take a mental note that out of the two, that was her favorite.
“Are you crazy?”
About you, I am.
“I wanted to know the food would be good.” I shrug, digging into the plate for the first time, knowing exactly how wonderful it’ll taste.
By the time we finish, our table is loaded with more plates. Wagyu steak bites, chicken skewers, Brussels sprouts, caramelized onion mac ‘n’ cheese. Once everything has been set around us, Fia’s mouth parts slightly.
I can tell she’s loving this, and that alone is all I could’ve hoped for.
“What are we going to do with the stuff we don’t eat?”
“It’ll be taken to the local Boys and Girls Club, along with enough meals to last the remainder of the week.”
Spitefulness dulls in her eyes. In its place is shock, maybe even a hint of admiration, and I fucking revel in it.
“That’s nice of you.” Her eyes soften before scooping a hefty amount of Caesar salad onto her fork and shoving it in her mouth.
“I’m a nice man.”
A grimace morphs her face as a moan crawls up her throat, my words counter-acting the delectable taste of the bite she just took. Swallowing her food, she pats the corners of her mouth with the white linen and just looks at me with narrowed eyes.
I smile, making sure to show her all of my teeth, but let it fall slightly when I get no reaction.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
My ways have made her think less than highly of me, and I can’t blame her.
“People like you aren’t good people.”
Inching around the table so I’m closer, I study as she eats like she hasn’t had food in weeks, which grows my suspicions.
“Explain to me what kind of person I am.”
“Y-You’re… People like you are just… You’re not nice.”
Fia’s beautifully plush lips form a pout, and I want to suck the bottom one between my teeth. Full of frustration, she crumbles under pressure to put her finger on exactly why she thinks I’m such a monster.
