Page 106 of With a Cherry On Top

“So what if she’s into me? Nobody else is.”

She scoffs. “If you expect me to beg?—”

“Beg?How about you justtalkto me? How about you accept for once that someone cares about you? And maybe, justmaybe, don’t push me away?”

“Oh, youcareabout me?” She sputters a laugh. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Am I?”

“You called me a mistake, didn’t you? So why should I bother letting you in? What canyouofferme?” she asks in a shrill voice. “Not a relationship. Not a future. Not any sort of long-lasting feeling.” She grimaces. “Just your tongue.”

I roll my jaw.

She’s right—it’s undeniable. I’m asking someone who’s exceptionally closed up to do the opposite so that I can break her heart by inevitably disappointing her expectations.

But it fucking hurts anyway.

“Maybe Penny sees more in me than my tongue.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She pushes off the counter, and just when I think she’s done, she reaches for a piece of paper at the corner and slides it toward me. “New instructions, chef. Risotto won’t do.”

Her fingers brush mine as she lets go, and her ponytail swings behind her as she walks out of the kitchen without another word.

I look down at the paper, reading the words scribbled on it.

Charlotte has gained weight. Whether that’s because you didn’t follow my instructions or she didn’t, I don’t know, but these are the amendments to her diet. Make sure they’re respected to the letter. See you at lunch.

No more oil, I read. Only lemon and vinegar allowed. No carbs, no fruit. The only thing that’s left is vegetables and lean meats.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

So that’s what’s going on.

If I know Beatrice like I think I do, Charlotte has been through hell in the last twenty-four hours. I can almost see it all playing out in my mind. Beatrice must have weighed her, seen that she’s gained half a pound. She must have demanded answers—answers that Charlotte couldn’t give her. The pizza, the corn dog. The salt I put in her food. All of it must have piled up after years of barely eating.

She saved my ass—my job. But as I stare down at the paper, its stark, cruel instructions burning into my mind, it’s clear that the price she’s paying is far too steep.

This isn’t just a diet. This is a punishment.

You know what’s a bad,bad idea? Logging in to TOP when just this morning, Charlotte accused me of using her on here. Doing it after she’s ignored my texts—probably an even worse idea. On top of that, this is the first time we’ll interact on here since she told me she knows I’m Cole.

But I didn’t get a second alone with her while I cooked dinner, and I’m out of good ideas, so this’ll have to do.

I search her name then wait for her profile to buffer. My stomach is a tangled mess of anxiety, my heart hammering against my ribs. When her homepage finally loads, I loosen a breath.

A red dot blinks in the corner of the screen. She’s live.

I would have much rather had a private call with her, but she wouldn’t have accepted it anyway. This? This is my only shot. And, hey, at least she hasn’t blocked me.

I click to join the live, my mouth dry. The feed appears, and then—there she is.

Charlotte is lounging on her bed, her delicate frame loosely covered by a black silk robe. Her long red hair is cascading over her shoulder in loose waves, and her lips, glossy and full, curl into a playful smirk as she speaks to the chat.

“You bet, Mateo,” she says in a syrupy-sweet voice—probably responding to some goddamn viewer. But then, as soon as the notification flashes on the chat box—Chief.728 joined the live—she falters, just a fraction.

I see the moment when she registers that I’m watching. And then, just as quickly, she masks it.

“I think it’s time we played a game. Don’t you?” She tips her head back and hums, trailing a finger down her sun-kissed collarbone. “How about you tell me every single spot you’d like to dump your load on me, and I’ll drip this on it?”

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