5

Amara had lost count of how many times she buried her head into the soft pillow she was hugging. One more knock and she was pretty sure she’d scream at whoever was disturbing her sleep.

“Ughhh, so loud…”

She grumbled irritably, pressing her face deeper into the pillow and covering her ears in hopes of blocking out the annoying knocking.

A small smile tugged at her lips when the knocking finally stopped. She was just starting to drift back into sleep when—suddenly—someone had the audacity to yank the pillow right out of her arms. Startled, she shot up from the bed and glared at the intruder.

Her angry scowl turned into an awkward, forced smile the moment she saw who it was: Mark Xavier Peralta, looking absolutely furious.

“G-good morning,” she said sheepishly.

He didn’t respond—just shot her a withering glare before glancing at the wall clock hanging in the corner of her ridiculously tiny room. Honestly, she was pretty sure her bathroom back home was bigger than this. Not that she was complaining. She figured she should be thankful that she wasn’t thrown into the maid’s quarters, but instead got this tiny stockroom at the far end of the house… conveniently located near her boss’s bedroom. Speaking of the devil…

She gave him another nervous smile as his eyes darted between her and the clock, clearly annoyed.

“Good morning? Do you even have a freaking clue what time it is?”

He sounded like he was barely holding back his temper.

“Well, you’ve looked at the clock, like, five times already… why are you asking me? Don’t tell me you can’t read an analog clock?” she shot back sarcastically.

Predictably, her snark earned her another glare, which she ignored as she turned her attention to the clock.

“There, see? It’s only 8 AM. Pshhh. Remember the three hands of the clock—short for hour, long for min—"

“Shut the hell up. I’m not stupid, Amara. I can tell time. Yes, it’s eight in the morning. Now you tell me—is this how a proper housemaid wakes up?!”

He was nearly yelling now. Amara winced but opened her mouth to retort, only for him to cut her off again.

“If you’re just gonna be a smartass, then shut the hell up, fix yourself, and make me some goddamn breakfast. Seriously, why the hell did you even apply to be a maid if you’re this damn lazy?”

That one hit a nerve.

“Late on the first day and I’m already lazy? Wow, harsh. Fine, I’ll get moving. Now leave so I can get ready and make your damn breakfast,” she snapped, glaring at him.

But instead of leaving, the man just stood there, still glaring, as if he couldn’t believe she actually had the guts to talk back.

“What? You’re still here?” she asked with a half-smirk.

He didn’t answer. Still staring.

Annoyed, she jumped down from her little bed, completely unconcerned that she was only wearing a thin white tank top that left very little to the imagination, her red lace panties clearly visible.

That did the trick.

Xavier instantly looked away, clearly flustered, his eyes darting to the clock instead of her almost-bare figure.

Amara couldn’t help but burst into mischievous laughter. She shook her head as she turned away.

“That’s what you get for being such a grump…”

She muttered under her breath.

Her boss didn’t waste another second—he bolted out of her room without another word.

--

"Where is everyone?"

Amara blinked in confusion the moment she stepped into the kitchen, not seeing a single soul in sight.

“The maids are off today,” came Xavier’s sudden voice from seemingly nowhere, making her jump. “Nanay Unday and the others went to church. They'll be back after lunch, maybe. So, guess what? You're alone. Move. Make breakfast. I want French toast and black coffee. No sugar. No creamer. Just black.”

He didn’t even bother looking at her—he just delivered the instructions like commands.

Amara didn’t respond. Instead, she glanced around the huge, spotless kitchen, secretly swallowing hard. A curse almost slipped from her lips as it finally hit her—she had no idea what she was doing. She didn’t know where to start, or even what exactly to cook.

“What now?”

She asked herself mentally, slowly making her way to the massive fridge. She opened it, staring blankly at the contents for what felt like forever. She was so lost in thought that she nearly jumped when Xavier barked again from behind her.

He looked even more pissed now.

“Do you even know what a damn French toast is?”

“Yes, of course I do, sir,” she snapped back quickly—maybe too quickly.

That only made his already thick eyebrow arch even higher.

“Then what the hell are you doing just standing there? Cooling off? Planning to move in inside the fridge?”

The irritation was crystal clear in his tone. Amara smirked before firing back.

“Actually, not a bad idea. Can I?”

Her sarcasm earned her an even darker glare.

“You won’t get anywhere being a smartass, Amara. If you want to stay here and keep this job, then do your damn work.”

He was nearly shouting now. She scratched the back of her head and turned back to the fridge, trying hard to recall the ingredients for the cursed French toast her demon boss wanted.

No matter how hard she tried, her brain just couldn’t recall it. And the longer the fridge door stayed open, the more she imagined Xavier losing it completely if she didn’t start moving.

“Eggs! Of course—freaking eggs go in freaking French toast!”

She beamed triumphantly and grabbed the egg tray like it was treasure.

Still smiling, she shut the fridge and gave Xavier a smug little wave with the egg tray in hand.

Totally unfazed, Amara walked over to the kitchen counter and looked around for a bowl to crack the eggs into. But after that small victory, she hit another roadblock. She stared again—clueless. Then she slammed the whisk on the counter in frustration and shot Xavier a look.

“Fine! I don’t know how to cook, okay? I lied to Nanay Unday because I really needed this job. I’m sorry.”

She bit her lip, reluctantly admitting the truth. Xavier rolled his eyes and walked closer, still clearly annoyed.

“Seriously? Of all the applicants, what the hell did Nanay Unday see in you? Out of everyone, she chose you? And why even apply as a housemaid when you clearly don’t know a damn thing about housework?”

He was fuming. Amara gave him an exaggerated eye roll and snapped back.

“How should I know? Should I go ask her why she hired me in the first place? Maybe she just thought I was pretty. Or maybe—just maybe—I’m the closest thing to a Louis Vuitton model that your high-maintenance ass could afford.”

She gave a long, smart-aleck reply, which only deepened the scowl on Xavier’s face. But Amara chose to ignore it, returning her attention to the eggs in front of her.

She knew it was coming any second now.

Those cursed words that every employee dreads...

“You’re fired.”

She braced herself for it. Honestly, who in their right mind would want to keep a maid who not only had zero clue how to do housework, but was also painfully sarcastic?

But once again, Xavier surprised her.

Without a word, he shook his head in frustration, took the whisk from her hand, set it down on a clean plate, then turned to face her.

“I’m hoping it’s just French toast you don’t know how to make—because if you don’t even know basic tasks, I honestly don’t get why you came all the way to Manila. You could’ve gotten the same maid job in your province. But anyway, I’m still hoping you’ll do better next time. And for God’s sake, tone down the sarcasm. It’s not just rude—it seriously pisses me off.

Now get the bread and watch how I do this, so next time, you’ll know.”

His voice was calm but firm. Amara bit her lip, nodded sheepishly, and quickly followed his instructions. She handed the bread to Xavier, then quietly observed as he got to work.

He was incredibly focused while cooking, and despite herself, Amara couldn’t help but stare and smile a little.

“What?” he snapped without looking at her. “I told you to watch what I’m doing, not stare at me while I do it.”

She shook her head quickly. “Are you a chef too?”

“No. Cooking’s just a hobby,” he replied, not even glancing at her.

“So… you’re actually good at it?”

“You could say that.”

His answer was short and clipped. Amara smirked, then couldn’t resist saying,

“Well, if you're such a good cook, maybe you should just make your own damn food and stop bossing me around—because seriously, I don’t know the first thing about being in a kitchen.”

Because of what she said, Xavier immediately shot her another sharp glare.

“What’s your job here again?”

“Your maid, sir,” she answered quickly.

Xavier nodded, still glaring at her.

“Exactly. You’re my maid. Your job is to serve me, make my life easier, and in return, I pay you. So maybe try actually doing your job right.”

He snapped, clearly annoyed.

“You’re so grumpy. I was just making a suggestion,” she muttered under her breath, frowning.

Unfortunately, he definitely heard that, and his glare somehow grew even darker.

“Sir, you really need to chill. Too much frowning gives you wrinkles… no wonder you look so old.”

She added with a teasing grin—then quickly dodged as he raised a spatula like he was about to throw it at her.

“Hmph. Be thankful you’re a woman. Otherwise—”

“Then thank you,” she interrupted sweetly, flashing him an innocent smile despite his growing irritation.

“I may not be able to hit you,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “but you know what I can do?”

Amara didn’t even get the chance to answer—he closed the distance between them in a heartbeat.

“I can do this…”

And before she could react, his lips were already crashing onto hers.