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Chapter 141: Business and Dinner
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2026-07-29 14:13:26Oliver carefully transfers the risotto into two warmed ceramic bowls, plating it with the precision of a surgeon. He works in silence for a moment, the tension in the kitchen shifting from the sharp edge of business back into that thick, heavy atmosphere they had established earlier. He carries the bowls over to the dining table, setting them down with a quiet clink. He pulls out her chair for her, a gesture of polished manners that feels almost performative given the conversation they were j
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Oliver finishes his portion relatively quickly, setting his utensils down in perfect parallel lines on the plate. He does not immediately reach for his water; instead, he turns his body fully toward her, his elbow resting on the table. “Show me,” Oliver says, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone he uses when he is about to dissect a proposal. “The notes. If we are going to be ‘working together’ later, I want to see exactly how much of a headache Hank has already prepared for us.” He reaches out, his hand hovering near hers in the table, waiting for her to produce the notebook or her phone. Harper turned on her phone and taps the screen. “I will email it to you,” she said while focused on the screen. His jaw tightens. The transition-filled atmosphere of the dinner table back to the digital workspace is jarring, and he clearly does not appreciate the delay.“Email it?” Oliver repeats, his voice flat. &ldqu
Paperwork and Hearthbeats Chapter 141: Business and Dinner
Oliver carefully transfers the risotto into two warmed ceramic bowls, plating it with the precision of a surgeon. He works in silence for a moment, the tension in the kitchen shifting from the sharp edge of business back into that thick, heavy atmosphere they had established earlier. He carries the bowls over to the dining table, setting them down with a quiet clink. He pulls out her chair for her, a gesture of polished manners that feels almost performative given the conversation they were just having. “Sit,” he says, his voice returning to a more stable, though still slightly gravelly, tone. Harper moves to go sit in the seat besides Oliver’s instead of across from him. He pauses, his hand still resting on the back of the chair as he processed her choice. Without a word he sits down in the chair immediately adjacent to hers, making their space much more intimate.The dining table, which is usually a place of orderly meals, suddenly feels much too small. &l
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“It is nothing like that,” Harper said standing up, walking over to the fridge to place the Parmesan cheese inside. “I am waiting for an email from one of those organisations about collaboration.” She walked over to her purse and got her phone out. “Love self-esteem got back to me, they said they only collaborate with companies advertising feminine hygiene products and they are not currently interested in the fashion industry.” Oliver lets out a long, weary sigh, the sound of a man who has just been pulled back from the brink of a very pleasant evening into the mundane realities of corporate logistics. He turned back to the stone, picking up the spoon to give the risotto one final, vigorous stir. “Love Self Esteem,” he repeats, his voice flat and utterly unimpressed by the name. “The branding is as predictable as the rejection. They are looking for a specific demographic niche, and fashion is too... volatile for them.”
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Oliver leans over her slightly to reach the cheese, his body creating a small, warm enclosure between her and the counter. “You are being incredibly disruptive to my cooking process,” he says, his voice low and dangerously calm. “I am, aren’t I?” Harper said playfully. “You want me to stop?” he stops mid-motion, the grater held poised over the plate. He turns his head toward her, his face only inches from hers. The kitchen is filled with the savoury, heavy scent of the risotto and the quiet hiss of the stove, but is focus is entirely centred on her. He does not answer immediately. His blue eyes search hers, dark and unreadable, as he weighs the logical choice against the impulse currently screaming in his mind. “If I were a rational man,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating hum that she can feel in her own chest. “I would tell you to focus on the cheese and let me finish this meal without burning the house down.
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“You can leave your things in the hallway,” Oliver said, gesturing toward the entryway. “Would you like something to drink while you wait? I have a decent white wine, or I can make you some tea if you are still in ‘work mode’.” “Tea sounds lovely,” Harper said moving to sit on a bar chair by the island. She leaned on the counter with her elbows. “I am a little disappointed you are not wearing an apron or something.” Her tone was playful and she had a smirk on her face as she recalled Knox’s drawing. He pauses, a wooden spook halfway to the pot. He turns to look at her, meeting that smirk with a deadpan expression that does not quite hide the glint of amusement in his blue eyes. “An apron?” he repeats, as if the very concept is beneath him. “I am making risotto, Harper, no deep-frying chicken. I think I can manage to keep my clothes clean.” He moves toward the kettle, his movements fluid and eff
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Knox’s parrot green eyes were darting around, already envisioning the catastrophe. “They will trip! They will sneeze! They will stare at the camera like it is some terrifying beast crawled up frae the bottom o' the North Sea!” he pointed a finger at her, his expression one of mock horror. “Can’t we get someone to help out?” Harped asked, already calculating options. “A modelling coach or something?”Knox stopped dead in his tracks, his finger still pointing at her. He held the pose for a moment, looking like a statue of a man experiencing a sudden, profound existential crisis. Then, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, whistling sigh. “A coach,” he muttered, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. “A professional... poser. Somebody tae come in an' teach them how tae walk without lookin' like they're marchin' aff tae war.” He slumped back into his chair, spinning it once around before facing her.
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