Page 88 of With a Cherry On Top

“Fix it,” I shriek. My skin is damp, and I can’t breathe. I fucked up so bad I can’t fucking breathe.

There’s a shuffle on the other end of the line, then a new voice. Kyle’s voice. “Aaron?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yeah.”

“You broke a microwave?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Charlotte’s lips parting in the most beautiful O flash through my mind. Her body arching, her eyes glazing over as she reached for something—anything—to hold on to. The microwave handle, apparently.

“I . . . pulled it too hard.”

He snorts. “Is the door ripped off?”

“Yes,” I whine, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What the fuck do I do?”

Kyle’s laughter only makes the panic tighten in my chest. “I don’t know, man. Open a beer and relax? It’s just a fucking microwave.”

“You don’t understand.” I pace the kitchen, sweat dampening the skin of my neck. “This is my second week, okay? And this woman is—she’s a fucking nightmare. If she finds out...”

If she finds out that her daughter was standing against the counter, gasping in pleasure while I buried my face between her legs...Oh my god. What have I done?

“Amelie and Ian. They’re counting on me—on Logan. I can’t lose this job. I can’t fuck up something else, Kyle, I?—”

“Whoa, okay.” Kyle’s voice is less amused now. “Look, hold the door against the microwave and give it a strong push.”

“Wait.” I put him on speaker and do as asked, relieved when the door clicks into place. “Holy shit, it actually worked.”

“Wonderful,” he mocks.

“What next?”

“Open that beer.”

Seriously?! “How’sthata solution?”

“My cousin should be able to fix it properly, all right? I’ll bring him over tomorrow.”

I palm my forehead before barking my next words into the phone. “And what do I do until tomorrow? What if she tries to use it and it fucking falls on her head?”

“Really?” he says, his voice unbothered. “The woman with a private chef using the microwave? For what?”

My mouth opens, then closes. Shit. He’s right. She doesn’t approve of eating between meals. It could work.

“Okay. Yes. Okay. Call your cousin, please.”

I hang up and look toward the potted fiddle-leaf fig by the archway, where I last saw Charlotte disappear. I just have to make it through lunch.

Yes, this was a mistake.

But this time, I’ll take consequences over regrets.

CHAPTER 17

Chef’s Special

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