"Ouch," Miranda yelped as her finger brushed the side of the burning pot.
She jerked her hand back instinctively, staring at the red mark blooming on her skin before her eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall. Time was slipping through her fingers far too quickly. Sweat streamed down her forehead, clinging to her hairline and soaking into her makeup.
She shoved her hand under cold running water, breathing hard through her teeth. Exhaustion and fury tangled in her chest as she cursed Rosa inwardly. That woman would never find work in this city again as long as Miranda Vale had breath in her body. She would make sure of it.
Miranda had always considered herself above housework. Ever since money had entered her life, she had refused to lift a finger. Cooking, cleaning, scrubbing. Those were things other people did. Beneath her. And yet here she was, sweating in her own kitchen, struggling to slide a heavily seasoned turkey into the oven without burning herself again.
