Ellie noticed James's sudden, frozen stance, the distant, hazy expression in his eyes. This was an uncharacteristic reaction from her usually controlled, ever-calculating manager. Her brows furrowed with instinctive worry. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with alarm. "You're not listening to me, are you? You seem to be thinking of something else, as if you're somewhere far away."
Then, looking more closely, she registered the details: the deep crimson blush that had spread all the way to his cheekbones, the fine beads of sweat gathering at his temples and clinging to his skin, his slightly irregular breathing. Panic rose within Ellie like a sudden flame. She stepped forward impulsively, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. His skin was warmer than she expected.
"Your face is all red," she whispered, her own eyes wide. "You feel feverish. Are you sick? Please tell me the truth, don't make me worry."
James flinched at Ellie's touch, as if it were a physical shock. The cool contact of her hand momentarily scattered the chaotic, unwanted fantasies spinning in his mind. He scrambled to regain his composure. A cough, a clearing of his throat; a feeble attempt to clear his head and disguise the tremor in his voice. "I'm fine," he said, though his voice came out slightly strained and tight. While his mind was still filled with visions of black satin and red lace, he tried to find a plausible explanation. "It's just... the coffee was a bit hot. Just a sudden heat flash. Forget it, really."
The suspicion didn't leave Ellie's gaze. She tried to meet his eyes, but he averted his. It wasn't a sufficient answer, but she felt that pushing further would shatter the fragile peace they had just established. She swallowed and gave a slight nod. "Okay..." she murmured, her voice still tinged with unease. "Just... take care of yourself."
James felt a wave of relief at her retreat. He needed to escape this dangerous ground immediately. He decided to steer the conversation into safe, mundane territory. Softening his expression, he forced an air of nonchalance. "Anyway," he continued, with feigned casualness, "You're hungry, aren't you? I could hear your stomach growling; it sounded like a small bear cub was wrestling inside you."
The question hit its mark perfectly. Ellie's eyes lit up instantly, as they always did when food was mentioned. The concerned look on her face was replaced by pure, childlike excitement. "Yes!" she exclaimed, all previous shyness forgotten. "I'm starving! I was about to start chewing on my shoes for breakfast."
A genuine, unforced smile finally found its way onto James's lips. Seeing her so animated calmed the storm inside him, if only for a moment. "Well then," he said, a hint of playfulness in his tone, "You should try my special smoked meat sandwich. It might just change your world."
Ellie's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened comically as she searched his face for a sign of a joke. "You're joking!" she cried, her voice pitching higher. "You... you can cook, too?! James Valentine, the man who runs the world, signs contracts, builds careers... is also a master in the kitchen?"
James raised an eyebrow, amused by her astonishment. "Of course. It's a basic survival skill. Why are you so surprised?"
Ellie immediately seized the opportunity to turn his simple answer into a grand spectacle. She threw her hands up dramatically and executed an exaggerated bow before him, nearly prostrating herself. "Ahhh, the great James Valentine!" she proclaimed in a theatrical voice. "Please have mercy on this humble servant! You are a true Olympian god! Harboring so much talent, so much power in one being... doesn't it weigh heavy on you? Does gravity even dare to pull you down?"
James could no longer contain himself against Ellie's absurd sense of humor and over-the-top antics. A deep, belly-shaking laugh, one that filled the room, escaped him. It was a rare sound, startling each time it was heard. Ellie was stunned into stillness, watching him. She was used to his usually quiet, controlled chuckles. This was something else entirely. And his laughter... was breathtaking. It completely transformed his face, his eyes crinkling and sparkling, the faint lines making him look more alive, more approachable.
"Okay, okay," James said, his laughter subsiding, though the corners of his eyes were still damp. "That's enough praise. You're laying it on a bit thick. Now, sit and watch. This is how a master crafts a sandwich."
Ellie eagerly hopped onto the high stool by the kitchen island. Propping her chin in her hands, she focused all her attention on James's every movement at the counter. Her eyes shone with the wonder of a child watching a magician. James opened the stainless steel refrigerator. From within, he retrieved meticulously selected ingredients one by one: thinly sliced, cured meat; a ripe, red tomato; crisp lettuce leaves; a sharp cheese; pickle slices; and mustard with mayonnaise. He arranged them on the countertop with orderly precision, like paints on an artist's palette. His movements were economical, efficient, and possessed a surprising grace—the innate talent of a chef wielding a knife or lifting a lid.
"First rule," James announced, placing bread slices into the toaster, "You toast the bread. But not too much. Just a light crisp on the outside, soft and pillowy on the inside. No one wants a sandwich housed in a bread that wounds the palate."
Ellie nodded with the seriousness of a dedicated student. "Okay, Master. I'm listening carefully to every word. Engraving all your secrets into my mind."
James glanced at her sideways, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Are you making fun of me?"
"No, no!" Ellie protested, raising her hands in innocence. "I'm serious! You're literally like a dream! Being this perfect... it's not fair. You're really too good."
When the toaster ejected the golden-brown bread slices, James took them out and placed them on a plate. He then took a knife and spread a thin, even layer of mayonnaise. "The mayonnaise is crucial," he explained, his voice taking on the tone of a serious instructor. "It moisturizes the bread, creates the perfect foundation for the other ingredients. But the keyword is 'thin.' Too much, and it overpowers everything, turning the sandwich into a soggy, messy affair. Balance is everything."
"Understood, Master!" Ellie responded, giving a mock salute. "A thin layer of mayonnaise. Noted."
James's smile widened. He then began meticulously layering the thin slices of smoked meat. "The meat," he emphasized, "is the heart of the operation. Most of the flavor comes from here. But it must be thinly sliced, almost translucent. Thick, heavy slices make it difficult to chew and crush the other subtleties."
"Wow," Ellie murmured, impressed. "You don't just know how to cook; you have a whole philosophy, an art to it."
James gave a slight, self-deprecating shrug. "My nanny taught me. She always told me, 'James, if a man is helpless in the kitchen, he's helpless in life.' Nourishing life is as important as controlling it."
Ellie's face brightened with a warm smile. "Your nanny was very wise. I would have liked to meet her."
James paused for a beat. A wave of deep, swift sadness for a distant memory flashed in his eyes and was gone. "Yes," he replied briefly, his voice dropping a tone. Then, without elaborating, he added the cheese, followed by the fresh lettuce leaves, the juicy tomato slices, and finally the pickles. For the final touch, he spread the mustard and capped the sandwich with the other toasted bread slice. He cut it in half, revealing the perfectly aligned inner layers. "Voilà!" he declared with quiet pride. He placed the sandwich on a plate and slid it toward Ellie. "Here you go. James Valentine's special smoked meat sandwich. I hope it meets expectations."
Ellie looked at the culinary masterpiece. It looked absolutely impeccable. Her mouth watered in anticipation. She reached out, took the sandwich in her hands, and paused just before taking a bite, struck by a sudden thought. "Wait," she said, looking at James. "Aren't you having one? There isn't one for you?"
James shook his head, reaching for his coffee mug. "I'm good with coffee. Morning routine."
"No!" insisted Ellie, her voice firm and almost admonishing. "If you do that, I can't fully enjoy it. Eating alone... it feels too lonely. Please, make another one. Let's eat together."
James looked at her. In her pleading eyes, there was only a sincere request. It was impossible to refuse this simple, human desire. The idea sparked a warm, inviting feeling inside him, a stark contrast to the countless meals he'd eaten alone in cold rooms. His smile softened with genuine warmth. "Alright, Princess. If you're that insistent, I'll join you. I'll make another one then."
"Princess?" Ellie repeated, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "I'm not a princess. I'm... just Ellie."
"I know," he whispered softly. "But this morning, in those funny SpongeBob pajamas, with your hair a mess and your face puffy with sleep... you look more like a princess to me than any real one. Because you're unmasked."
A flush once again crept up Ellie's cheeks. Her heart beat rapidly from this unexpected, intimate compliment. "You... you are truly the strangest man in the world, James Valentine," she mumbled, looking away.
James simply smiled and set about making a second sandwich. Soon, they were sitting side-by-side at the kitchen island, eating in a comfortable, conversational silence. Ellie asked James about how the meat was smoked, what kind of woods he used. James told her about the special smoker he had set up in the villa's backyard, his choice of wood chips, the necessity of cooking the meat "low and slow" for at least twelve hours. Ellie listened, mesmerized, her eyes as wide as saucers, absorbing every detail.
"So you... seriously, you smoke the meat yourself?" she asked, incredulous. "While reviewing contracts and walking red carpets?"
"Yes," James confirmed with a dismissive gesture. "It clears my mind. Requires a certain discipline and patience. The results are..." He gestured to his sandwich. "...worth it."
"My God," Ellie exclaimed, bursting into laughter. "You're really a chef! Not a manager, a secret chef!"
James laughed along with her. "I suppose I can be both."
Ellie took another bite. Then, her mouth still full, she suddenly stopped. Her eyes welled up with intense emotion. "This... this is truly amazing," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I've never... in my life, had a sandwich like this. This isn't just a sandwich. This is... a work of art."
James watched the look of pure happiness on Ellie's face. The fact that something so simple could affect her so deeply stirred a strange, warm feeling within him. Making her happy... it, unexpectedly, made him happy, too.
"You know," Ellie continued after swallowing, "You seem so rigid on the outside, so walled off. But actually... you have that soft, warm heart hidden inside. I can see it."
James froze for a moment. He looked at Ellie, shaken by this direct and honest observation. Something flickered in his eyes—fear, perhaps, or desire. "I'm... not kind-hearted, Ellie," he replied, his voice low and slightly tense. "I'm just... doing my job. Protecting you is my job."
"No," Ellie objected, shaking her head stubbornly. "You are. I know it. Because..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "Because last night, when you saw Kyle in my room, you were there to protect me. And now... now you're making me a sandwich and eating with me. If you were truly heartless, you wouldn't do any of this. You're not just doing your job, James. You... care."
James fell silent. Ellie's words had reached his shielded heart with a force that rattled him. He couldn't find a retort, because a part of him knew she was right. Only a faint, almost imperceptible, but to Ellie noticeable, smile touched his lips.
After they finished their sandwiches, Ellie slid off her stool. "Thank you, James," she said, her voice soft and grateful. "Not just for the sandwich. For everything. It was really... really nice."
"You're welcome, Ellie," James replied, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
Ellie turned towards the stairs. But as she placed her foot on the first step, she halted. She slowly turned back. "James?"
James was watching her. "Yes?"
Ellie hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I... I don't want to upset you. If you're worried about Kyle... or about what happened last night... don't be. Okay? It's... just business. That's all." Her words hung in the air, a fragile promise.
James looked at her. A storm brewed inside him at her words. "Business? Is it really just business? And what if it's not, for you? What if he's not just 'business' to you? What if you fall for him? What do I do then? Just watch as your manager?"
But aloud, suppressing all the inner turmoil, he simply said, "Okay." Then, driven by an impulse he couldn't control, he added, "Just... be careful. With him. Alright?"
Ellie gave him a reassuring smile. "Alright. I promise."
Then she turned and ascended the stairs, growing more distant with each step. James watched her go, watching the flannel legs of her SpongeBob pajamas sweep the marble steps until she disappeared from view. He then let his head fall forward with a deep, heavy sigh.
"What am I doing?" he thought, his mind in chaos. "Why am I getting so attached to her? Why does the mere idea of her potential interest in Kyle drive me so insane? This is a professional relationship. IT'S JUST BUSINESS."
But deep down, he knew the answer with icy clarity. It was simple. Because Ellie... Ellie was special. She was a pure, unmasked, genuine pearl that had fallen into his glittering, artificial world.