Chapter Eighteen: The Fine Print 

Kaida

Asher re-entered the dining area after I finished eating, offering to do the dishes.

I scoffed. "Please. I am perfectly capable of handling that task."

"No, I insist. You should rest while your meal digests."

I shook my head, suppressing a smile of amusement. "You realize you don't need to go to such lengths on my account. I understand you feel guilty about your brother's actions, but this is becoming excessive. You have already apologized."

"This is not solely about an apology. I am doing this because I desire to."

I made a face, pursing my lips. "I doubt you treated your previous domestic help in this manner."

"What leads you to believe I did not?" Asher replied, and I promptly bit my lip.

I had overestimated my worth, experiencing a tinge of embarrassment at my words.

"Alright," I said slowly, articulating each syllable deliberately. "However, I am not comfortable with another person cleaning up after me. Washing dishes has always been my forte." Or, rather, my method of expressing gratitude and making myself useful, given my inability to contribute financially.

Asher responded with an "oh," lifting one eyebrow, a spark of amusement evident in his eyes. "Really? How many awards have you won for that?"

I thinned my lips, a mixture of confusion and amusement visible. "Don't be absurd. I am doing the dishes," I stated with finality in my tone. "That was an excellent meal. I wish I could replicate it."

"But?"

I turned my face to the side, an expression conveying "obviously." "I am a mediocre cook, nowhere near your level of culinary expertise."

"I am flattered," Asher said with a smile, executing a humble bow.

I proceeded toward the dishwasher, Asher maintaining his distance, his gaze fixed upon me.

I placed the used dishes in the sink, which had been my initial preference. However, since a dishwasher was conveniently located nearby, and it might represent the standard equipment for dishwashing in this household, I decided to utilize it.

Regrettably, I was unable to decipher how to initiate the machine, let alone operate it.

The instructions were written in a completely unfamiliar language.

Was this Japanese? Mandarin? What in the world was this?

I hesitated before the machine for a moment, considering activating a function based on instinct.

However, my heart pounded with the apprehension that I might cause damage by relying on conjecture. It was not too late to acknowledge my inexperience.

I turned my face to meet Asher's, adopting a bashful expression, my lips forming a silent plea.

Asher's jaw was clenched, attempting, unsuccessfully, to suppress his amusement as he observed my struggle with the instructions.

"What language is this?" I inquired.

"Traditional Chinese," he replied.

"Are you of Chinese descent?" I wondered aloud. They did not appear to be of Asian descent.

Asher shook his head in response, his smile now more pronounced.

I folded my arms across my chest, my body still tingling with embarrassment. The Ragnars seemed determined to keep their employees on edge by any means necessary.

Who would procure a dishwasher with operational instructions written in traditional Chinese when English alternatives were available?

I surveyed the kitchen. "Do I need to begin language lessons to fulfill my responsibilities here? In what language are the espresso machine's commands presented?"

"English."

I released a mock sigh. "Thank heavens for that. I was anticipating something in Hebrew."

Asher rolled his eyes, biting back a smile as he approached me. "This is how you operate it."

He translated each unfamiliar text for me, guiding me through the process of operating the machine.

I took note of the text, tracing my fingers over each character and vocalizing their English equivalents.

"Smart ass," Asher commended when I correctly identified everything.

I beamed, my stomach warming at his compliment. Suddenly aware of our proximity, the heat emanating from his body warming my skin, I recoiled, creating distance between us.

I used the pretense of retrieving the dishes from the sink and loading them into the dishwasher to explain my actions.

Asher made no comment regarding my reaction. He maintained his distance while keeping a watchful eye on me as I operated the machine, following the guidance he had provided earlier.

After the dishes were cleaned, he assisted me with placing them in the rack and the utensils in their designated storage.

"Your job does not entail cooking," Asher began.

"It doesn't?" I stared at him, surprised. Considering the substantial compensation I was offered, even though it was intended to secure my silence, I still anticipated being responsible for the duties of, perhaps, four individuals, given that exorbitant sum.

"It doesn't," he replied. "Caspian has a discerning palate."

"My culinary skills might not align with his preferences."

"It's for your benefit. You lack the qualifications of a Michelin-starred chef."

"Like you." 

"I believe I still have room for improvement. I am not an exceptional chef," Asher stated.

I nodded cynically, patting Asher's arm without conscious thought. "It's commendable to be humble, Asher; however," I pressed my lips together, shaking my head, "excessive humility borders on hypocrisy."

Asher laughed. "Understood, ma'am," he said, offering a mock salute.

His gaze shifted to my hand, which remained on his arm.

Light! I retracted my hand abruptly, my eyes widening in embarrassment. I had not realized my hand was still resting on his arm. "I am so sorry."

"It's quite alright. You tend to become engrossed; it's not surprising."

"I truly apologize."

"It's cool. Any plans for today?"

"I have questions. A multitude of them."

"I am aware. Proceed with them." He gestured with a click of his fingers, guiding me to the sitting room to be seated.

"I am unsure how to phrase this. Is there something you are withholding from me?"

"What do you believe we are not disclosing?"

"Well, every perk associated with this position surpasses my expectations. The expensive attire, a full week of leave, the compensation package... I suspect there is more to this than you are revealing. I am not merely employed as domestic help, am I?"

Asher observed me silently, offering no response.

"Asher, please." What was I even doing? I could not reasonably expect him to abandon the brothers, with whom he had resided for years, and align himself with me.

"You are not in any danger here, Kaida," Asher stated explicitly.

I nodded, rising to my feet. "I understand. Please inform me when Caspian returns." I sighed and began to head back into my room. My feet halted mid-stride. I felt confined within this house.

I was already experiencing a sense of confinement, my body feeling lethargic from spending the entirety of the previous day bedridden.

"Kaida?" Asher called from behind me.

I exhaled once more, my shoulders slumping. "I am fine." Perhaps I should simply accept whatever luxurious treatment I was afforded and refrain from overthinking it.

It might exceed my expectations, but perhaps that was the norm here. They were wealthy, after all.

I could not anticipate them treating their employees in the same manner as the average employer.

I turned to face Asher, forcing a smile. "I will be retiring to my room. Excuse me."

Asher granted me permission with a nod, a peculiar expression on his face.

I felt his gaze upon me until I was out of his sight, ignoring the reaction it elicited within my body.

I closed the door to my room, surveying the opulent space.

I supposed I should indulge for a while. However, one question lingered: if this treatment was extended to the previous domestic help, why did they require therapy?

Why did they all resign prematurely?