Eunice woke up to the smell of burning.
She shot up in bed, her heart pounding. Had the hotel caught fire? Was it an electrical fault?
She threw off the covers and scrambled out of the bedroom, following the scent of charred food and… oregano?
"Hart?" she called out, stepping into the massive open-plan living area.
The sight that greeted her stopped her dead in her tracks.
Hart Matthew—the man who controlled half the city's economy, the man who terrified board members with a single glance—was standing in the middle of the kitchen. He had discarded his dress shirt for a simple black t-shirt, and around his waist was a white apron that looked comically small on his broad frame.
The kitchen island was a war zone. There were eggshells, vegetable peelings, and three different pots boiling aggressively on the stove. Smoke was rising from a frying pan.
"Don't come in," Hart barked without turning around. He was glaring at a tablet propped up against a bowl of flour. "I am assessing the damage."
Eunice couldn't help it. A giggle bubbled up in her throat.
"Assessing the damage?" she asked, walking closer. "Sir, are you… cooking?"
Hart turned to look at her. There was a smudge of flour on his jawline. He looked more stressed than he had during the merger negotiations.
"The doctor said you needed bland food," Hart stated, gesturing to the chaos with a spatula. "Chicken soup. It seemed statistically probable that I could execute a simple broth. I was wrong."
He pointed the spatula at the pot. "The recipe said to 'simmer'. It did not specify the temperature variance. It boiled over in thirty seconds."
Eunice bit her lip to stop from laughing. "And the frying pan?"
"Grilled cheese," Hart muttered, looking defeated. "It is now charcoal."
Eunice walked over to the stove and turned off the heat under the smoking pan. She peeked into the soup pot. It was a gray, lumpy liquid with a whole carrot floating in it.
"Did you… peel the carrot?"
"I washed it," Hart defended. "The skin contains nutrients."
Eunice burst out laughing. She couldn't hold it back anymore. The image of this powerful billionaire defeated by a root vegetable was too much.
Hart watched her laugh. Usually, he hated being laughed at. He fired people for less. But seeing Eunice standing there, her hair messy from sleep, looking healthy and happy instead of pale and sick… the anger drained out of him.
"It is not funny," he grumbled, but there was no heat in his voice. "I am trying to keep you alive."
"I know," Eunice said, wiping a tear from her eye. She looked up at him, her expression softening. "And it's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me."
Hart froze. He looked away, focusing intently on the burnt toast. The tips of his ears turned a suspicious shade of pink.
"Sit down," he ordered gruffly. "I will call room service. They can bring soup that isn't a biohazard."
"No," Eunice said firmly. She walked around the island and picked up the loaf of bread. "You tried. Now let me show you how it's done."
"You are sick. You should be in bed."
"I feel better," she lied (mostly). "And I'm starving. Move over, CEO."
She gently nudged him aside with her hip. The contact sent a jolt through both of them. Hart didn't move away. He stayed right there, watching her hands as she deftly buttered the bread and sliced the cheese.
"Low heat," Eunice instructed, placing the sandwich in a clean pan. "Patience is key. You can't rush a grilled cheese, Hart. It's not a hostile takeover."
Hart leaned his hip against the counter, crossing his arms. He watched her cook with an intensity that made Eunice's hands tremble slightly.
"You are good at this," he murmured.
"It's just a sandwich," Eunice smiled.
"No," Hart said, his voice dropping an octave. "You make things… calm. You made me sleep. Now you are making a disaster into a meal."
He reached out, his large hand covering hers on the spatula.
"Thank you, Eunice."
They stood there in the quiet kitchen, the smell of melting butter replacing the smoke. Hart was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off his chest. His hand was warm over hers.
For a moment, they weren't boss and employee. They were just a man and a woman in a kitchen, dangerously close to crossing a line.
Ding.
The elevator chime broke the spell.
"Housekeeping!" a voice called from the hallway.
Hart pulled his hand back instantly. Eunice turned back to the stove, her heart racing faster than it had during the turbulence.
"Eat your sandwich," Hart said, his voice back to its usual cool professional tone, though he cleared his throat twice. "Then we work. Quietly."
Eunice nodded, flipping the sandwich. But as she plated it, she saw Hart pick up the burnt piece of toast he had made earlier. He took a bite of the charcoal, grimaced, but swallowed it anyway.
He wasn't going to waste the food he made for her.
He's keeping it, she realized. Even the burnt parts.