Page 69 of Loathing My Boss
Locking her door on my way out so she’ll feel safe inside, I head to her fish tank of a guest room so I can plot exactly how I’lltry hardercome morning.
Chapter 24
?
I’m not worthit…unless I am?
Crisis
After getting dressed for the day, I trudge out of my bedroom to the noise of a criminal clanging around in my kitchen, stealing all my good pots probably. Rubbing sleep from my eyes and stifling a yawn, I mosey through my hall to accept my fate—wondering why death by lowlife hands smells so good.
Chocolatey accents meld with rich buttery aromas, the thick warm scent of eggs and toast creating a symphony of delicacy as I realize—first—I live in Sunset, a town with a zero percent crime rate because of how every single resident is selected through a severe curation process and every guest must pass entry checkpoints and pay a guest fee, and—second—no criminal is going to be stealing the pots from my bare-bones kitchen. I got them at the thrift store up nearer to the mansion-side of town, sure, but they’re still not worth the robbery.
“What are you doing?” I murmur, yawning as I nestle myself beside Viktor—for warmth, and nothing else. It’s not my fault he’s hogging the stove. My AC is on, and it’s set to chilly so I can snuggle beneath my blankets at night. I am cold.
Smiling at me, he tosses scrambled eggs in a skillet. They are fluffy. Majestic. My mouth waters for them, yearning. He says, “Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning.” I lift my gaze to his face, his tousled hair, his gentle eyes, the scruff defining his jaw, that little scar on his right brow. “What’s chocolatey?”
“Hacked pain au chocolat.”
I blink. Okay, rich kid. “What’s the hacks?”
“I bought chocolate and wrapped croissant dough around it.”
I murmur, “So you are human like the rest of us…”
He pulls the eggs off the stove right around the exact moment the oven timer alerts. So, maybe he’s notexactlyhuman. “Take a seat,” he encourages, reaching for a hot pad to get the tray of pastries out.
I slide myself into a stool at the bar, clasp my hands together, and beam—until he pulls a green smoothie out of the fridge and places it squarely in front of me.
The fluid stares at me. A bubble on the surface pops.
“Drink up, sweet pea,” he murmurs, smile spreading. “You want to stay young and spry, don’t you?”
My heart jumps. “It was a trap. A diversion.” I look toward the chocolate melting out of its prison and onto the cookie tray in warm puddles of sugar and happiness. “My loves have betrayed me…”
Viktor tracks my gaze to the stovetop where the discount pain au chocolat rests. “They need to cool down.”
If he doesn’t give me chocolatey goodness soon, I will need to cool down.
Using a single finger, he slides the tall glass toward me. “Try it. It’s good.”
“You lying liar. I have neveroncetold you any of these weregood, onlygood for you. Which is a factual fact.”
“I refrained from adding peanut butter. And chiaseeds.”
“Do you want me to nominate you for sainthood?”
He nods. “Yes, please.”
I scrunch my nose, look toward the eggs…the toast…the pastry… Taking a deep breath, I lift the disgusting retribution and down the biggest gulp I can tolerate. Banana hits my tongue, creamy and sweet. Hints of honey. Splashes of vanilla protein powder.
I’d taste his smoothies to make sure they sucked enough. They were bitter amalgamations of disgusting textures and flavors.
This…this is delicious.
“Eww,” I say, downing another gulp. “Gross!” I smile.
