BRANDON
Try not to make it too creepy... Try not to make it too creepy...
It’s really simple. She’ll just have to pick up the damn phone, and I’ll ask her what I need. It’s not like I’m going to show her my face.
It’s very little information in exchange for a fortune I made sure she can’t decline. I saw her profile, so I knew exactly what she would need.
Damn it. But how am I supposed to talk to her if I’m this anxious?
I have not spoken to anyone besides my closest relatives for a long time. But this is the first time I think I’m close to reaching my objectives, and Oliver assured me that we finally found the right person.
That’s what I hope, at least.
“Brandon?”
I swivel my chair around and meet Oliver’s curious face. “Have you spoken to your new assistant? What is she like?” I ask.
“My new assistant or your new informant?” Oliver jokes and laughs. He pulls a chair in front of my desk and sits with his ankle resting on his knee.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please.”
“She’s a little nervous and very curious, but I’m certain she’s talented. Though I also think she’s quite easy on the eyes.” A smirk plays on the side of his mouth.
I throw a crumpled paper at him. “I don’t care what she looks like! I need to know if she’s cooperative enough so we can move forward with our plans. How about you speak to her instead of me?”
His eyes squint at me. “You know that you have to be the one to speak to her.”
“You know my situation. I’ll only creep her out,” I retort. I pick up my stress ball and grip it to relieve my agitation.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We can give it a little more time before moving forward, yes?” he says.
“I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”
“She’ll be around. Besides...” Oliver stands up and stretches out his arms. “I really need an assistant or someone I can trust with your meals. You have to get used to other people’s cooking other than Lennie’s and mine, and you know exactly what I mean,” he says frankly, and he has every right to say those words to me. I can’t depend on him my whole life like I’ve done in the past decade.
I’m well aware that Oliver has a life of his own. Nevertheless, I honestly can’t imagine myself going through all this without him.
“And Lennie’s not going to be here forever,” he adds.
I gaze up at Oliver. “Neither can she,” I say, referring to his new assistant.
“You’re thinking too much. Relax, man. The future is uncertain,” he implies and grins. “Anyway, I have to get your dinner ready.”
ALAYNA
Over the past month, everything has been the same with Oliver and me. He is still funny, helpful, and I like being with him. I would’ve been so lonely if he weren’t in the house. I feel like we can be good friends.
However, I’ve been busier than ever for the past few days. Oliver has been working long hours in the office and often comes home late. He’s still the company’s CEO, after all. Considering how much he does around the house, I’d almost forgotten.
We have not had many talks since then, as he is so busy. Similarly, Ms. Lennie will only come to my station when the food is ready to serve our boss in Oliver’s absence.
I’m getting used to my job. I love making good food, and I’ve always dreamt of becoming a professional chef and owning a restaurant someday. Well, being an assistant chef means a lot more to me than being a food taster. Cooking has been my passion since my dad taught me how to move around the kitchen. He also used to tell me that good food is the way to reach people’s hearts. And I believed him. It reached mine as well.
My profession has been my escape from my greatest nightmares. I just wish he were still here to see me and my achievements.
Today is my lucky day because lunch is beef stroganoff. This is the dish I feel I’ve already perfected; my mentor back in Venice would always praise me whenever I cooked it for her. I switch my mp3 music on, putting in my earphones before I start cooking.
I finish preparing the meal at eleven-thirty. I take out a bottle of Merlot from the mini wine cellar and place it on the marble island with a glass. I find a notepad and write a note on it.
“I made you a topping sauce. It’s my own recipe. I hope you like it. Alayna.”
I leave the condiments to mix together and close the lid. An hour later, Ms. Lennie finds me in the kitchen, bringing back empty dishware. I rejoice at the sign of a clean plate.
“Ms. Lennie.” I greet her with a smile.
“Miss Hart,” she says. I can tell by her tone she is about to reprimand me, and my smile fades. “Master Brandon likes the meal, but he said it’s better if you don’t leave notes and clear the tray, or he’ll just throw it away. Didn’t Mr. Katrakis tell you not to improvise?”
My mouth parted. She’s talking about the condiments I don’t see on the tray anymore. I couldn’t understand what was wrong. He liked the meal, and he ate all of it. Why were they both upset?
“But I only did that because—”
She doesn’t give me a chance to speak and leaves.
“Thanks, Ms. Lennie!” I shout to the door, unsure if she even heard me or not.
Of course, I remember the improvisation rule, but I am also a chef. Oliver always told me that written recipes are not everything. He entrusted me with his cousin’s meal, and I know that food should not be taken lightly.
At dinner, I make him moussaka and serve it with a parsley and mint salad and crusty bread. Deliberately, I take out my stick-on notes, writing another.
“I’m glad to hear that you like the food, but those condiments were needed. Also, I added an egg soup. Kalí óreksi!”
Ms. Lennie delivers empty dish wares to the kitchen a couple of minutes later and disappears. I guess our boss didn’t complain this time, but then I notice a note on the pepper mill.
You make good food, Miss Hart, I give you that, but I don’t think you need to add notes every time.
Oh my God! Did he just reply?
I smile in victory and laugh out loud. He has beautiful handwriting too.
CHAPTER 5Five days later, Oliver still isn’t working in the kitchen, though I’m pretty much enjoying my job as the days go by.Ever since I started writing notes to the elusive Brandon Lucien, I’m beginning to feel his presence—like I’m actually cooking for a person. He isn’t so invisible anymore. He’s actually, and peculiarly, responding to my notes.For today’s lunch, I heartily make him a marinated and smoked chicken with tzatziki sauce. This time, I make him brownies for dessert.I write him a note again.“Try the food with a glass of champagne. It tastes better.”Ms. Lennie doesn’t seem to mind me anymore, but she always tastes the food before serving it to our boss. As usual, I never expect a reaction from her. When she returns, I find another note from him, and this time he provides a note clipper.However, the brownie box went back untouched.I read his note.You’re right. A glass of champagne does make it taste better. But weren’t you told not to improvise? I don’t eat brown
I quietly follow Ms. Lennie as we stroll through a corridor I haven’t seen before. I can’t help but overthink my situation. I suddenly want to speak with Oliver to apologize and probably ask him to help me with his cousin. I don’t want to lose the job.But how do I get away with this? How is it possible that I don’t have to see him to be able to talk to him? What’s the point of talking to me if he will fire me, anyway? Though I remember that he has every reason to. In the past weeks, I tried improvising dishes and sending him notes. Maybe he’s already fed up with me.We stop by another sculptured wooden door.“The Master shall speak with you inside. You don’t need to knock. You’ll find a white door upon getting in. Open the door and sit in the chair provided.” Her face is stone-cold. She is looking at the space behind me, avoiding my eyes. The way she explains it makes me feel like I’m visiting a prisoner.I do what I’m told. There might be a chance I won’t get fired if I obey quietly
Is he going to fire me over some information? I couldn’t lose this job. I have debts, and I have no place to stay in this foreign city. I can’t just go back home, bringing nothing but failure to my family. Well, of course, I still need money, but this job was way more ethical than receiving unlabored cash.“Wait...” I give up. He’s firing me anyway, so why not talk back? “First of all, you signed me up to a one-year contract. You can’t just fire people just because you want to. That’s against the law. My job description is an assistant chef, and what you are asking now isn’t written in the contract. Second, what you are asking for is very private. I can’t just give such information away to strangers, especially to a stranger like you. Why do you want it anyway? I at least want an explanation. Lastly, in all honesty, I can’t trust someone who would speak with me this way. I can’t even see you.”“I hired you, Miss Hart. What makes you think I don’t have the right to fire you? And in all
BRANDONI’ve never been closer to finding one of the persons who could be the reason for my family’s demise before. Finding those murderers has become my life’s purpose. They ruined my life enough.Annette Teller, my father’s fucking mistress. Oliver and I have been looking for her for a long time, and this very intriguing chef is bearing the information in her hands.For some reason, this Alayna Hart has triggered something in me—something inexplicable. I’m very meticulous with the food I consume, as it is one of the few things that can bring me joy in this very boring life. Oliver knows I won’t eat something my tongue would despise. But Alayna makes every meal special, despite not following the rules about improvising. Her little handwritten notes, I admit, are entertaining.Strangely, the person who can bring delight to my meals is also the person who could end my agony. I craved and longed for justice in this life, and I’m finally close to that reality. That way, I may finally get
I can see half of his face through a shaft of light that slips from somewhere in the room. I want to step back, but I’m pinned to the wall with his hands on my wrist, pushing me a little harder. His breathing rapid, his chiseled mouth almost touching mine. A familiar smell of aftershave tickles my nose.“Alayna Hart!”“Oh God—” I look around me as the sharp sound of bells ring.Ms. Lennie glares at me. She is holding a small bell, enough to wake a girl who had an intimidating dream. Next to her are two maids who look precisely alike, and they are staring at me. Obviously, they are trying their hardest not to laugh. Their small, marble eyes betray their fake expressionless look. I feel my face burning with shame.What are they doing here?“The Master will see you in ten minutes. He expects you to be early,” Ms. Lennie says.“What? He’s—he’s what? Why?” I ask in a panic. “What did I do wrong now?”“For your information, young lady, you forced the Master hand with your conditions. I want
Silence fills the room for a couple of seconds. I’m thinking of a reason to divert his attention.“The painting!” I cry. “Uh... the girl in the painting, she’s beautiful. Who is she?” I ask, then swallow hard, praying he won’t remember what I’ve just said.How can I be so stupid? One doesn’t make comments expressing admiration for such a dangerous person. How could I even say those words so quickly? All I wanted was to know why he was hiding from the world when he had nothing to be ashamed of.His expression is annoyed. He stares at me with a questioning look, then takes a deep breath.“I could fire you right away for being too nosy. You’d better be thankful that the information you have won’t make you a jobless newbie.”Wow! I exclaim mentally. Am I supposed to thank him then? It was he who made such fuss about it after telling me he was still going to fire me. I only protected my rights.“Yes, and unfortunately, I still have that information,” I retaliate. His sex appeal shouldn’t o
My jaw drops. What the hell was that?I watch him swiftly wipe his lips with the napkin provided. Is it something I said? Something I did? Is it the food? I take a bite of the brioche, then pop it in my mouth. No, of course, it’s not the food. It’s delicious.He stands up and takes several steps away from me, but my feet seem to have a mind of their own. I follow him in a flash, just in time to stop him from opening the door.“Wait!” I yell as I grab his arm.“Don’t touch me!” he shouts, pulling his arm back. His voice is like the Beast’s—Belle’s Beast. My heart skips a beat.His masked face looks down on me; he is glaring and breathing heavily. I stagger back.“Rule number two. I hate being touched.”I shudder at the sound of his voice. I feel ashamed for only grabbing his arm. Is this another reason he hates going out of his room other than his hiding-from-the-whole-world game? He hates being touched?I back away, feeling embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I was wrong. It won’t happen agai
The awkwardness is undeniable. The world takes its time spinning, and everything seems to be in slow motion.I clear my throat. I want to ask him why he wanted me to have dinner with him. He doesn’t socialize with other people, but he can actually eat with someone comfortably. This might be the first time he shares tables with somebody.“Stop staring,” he says softly.“Oh, I’m sorry.” I look away quickly. “But if you don’t mind me asking—”“I was wondering when your next barrage of questions was coming.” He continues to eat, apparently with pleasure. I can’t help but notice how gorgeous he is, even if it’s only half of his face. It’s just too bad he’s wearing a mask.I search for any mark or scar that might have slipped out a little, but I see nothing. Maybe he has hidden it well. Or perhaps not. I’m not even sure if he really has a scar there.“I told you to stop staring.” He meets my gaze this time, jolting me back to reality.“I was wondering why you asked me to eat with you,” I s