Page 34 of With a Cherry On Top

Dropping the act, she says, “Fine, you look like a big turkey leg to me right now. Happy? But I’m still not the one in charge, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Yeah, Ihavenoticed. Unfortunately, I doubt Beatrice wants my input on her daughter’s diet.

“I could give you more food,” I say, before I can think better of it. The second she looks back at me, I know I said theonething I shouldn’t have. “Secretly.”

Bad, bad move.

Okay, there are worse things I could have said. Things I thought ofmanytimes since that night on our call—like how I’d love to feed her something other than food. But Beatrice gave me one rule, and I just broke it. Although “Don’t fantasize about my daughter” was probably implied.

“Beatrice would kill you.”

“She’d have to find out first.”

Her head angles back, like she’s wondering why the hell I’d put myself in that position. For a second, I wonder the same thing. But the answer is simple: I want to keep my job, but not more than I think Charlotte a right to basic nutrition.

“She’d find out once she weighs me,” she says.

“Once she . . .” I trail off, blinking.

She stands, stubbing out her cigarette against the step. When she walks closer, eyes sweeping over me, I catch a hint of perfume beneath the stale scent of smoke—something floral and subtle.

“You’re new here,” she says, almost like it’s an explanation. Then, after a beat, she pulls at the sleeve of her sweater. “But...thanks for earlier. For covering for me.”

She walks up the steps, leaving me standing there, hands clenched into fists.

“Hey, Chef?”

She’s paused in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. Sunlight spills in behind her, casting a soft glow along the curve of her hip and lighting up the sharp angles of her collarbone where her sweater slips wide at the neck. Her head is tilted slightly, eyes locked onto mine like she’s daring me to look away first.

“I’ll be online tonight.”

Heat coils in my chest, rising to my face, and I swallow thickly. “Yeah?”

My voice comes out rougher than I intend, like the single syllable got caught in my throat on the way out.

Charlotte hums in confirmation. “Will you?”

My mouth opens, but my brain refuses to cooperate.

Does she . . .wantme to be online?

It can’t be about the money, right? She must have plenty of other dudes who’d love to watch her get naked for them. Guys who probably send tips just for the chance to hear their name from her lips, who flood her chat with requests, who would kill for even a fraction of the attention she’s giving me right now.

And yet, here she is.

Askingme.

It shouldn’t matter. Itdoesn’tmatter, because there’s no possible version of this where I say yes.

I shift my weight and glance toward the street, willing for something to save me. “I don’t think so.” I point vaguely at the building behind her. “It wouldn’t be...appropriate.”

She drags her teeth over her lower lip, the corner of her mouth lifting in a tease. Not a nervous gesture—no, this is calculated. Meant to make methinkabout her mouth. About what she does with it.

“I know,” she says, eyes hooded. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

She’s still watching me, waiting, like she knows exactly how much of a mess she’s making of my brain right now.

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