Page 22 of In Good Company

I try not to stumble over my feet as he leads us across the kitchen. “Cal,” I scold, trying to pull my arm free but failing. “What are you doing?”

He sets the plate down in the spot next to Jude. He thinks about it for a moment before sliding it to the other side of the table, away from where Jude sits. “Sit down and eat. Your stomach has been growling like a damn bear since we walked into the kitchen.”

My mouth falls open as I look at him in shock. “I made that plate for you, Cal. This is my job. I’m going to eat as soon as you both are d?—”

Air hisses through his teeth angrily as he loudly and dramatically pulls out the chair in front of the food. “Are we really going to argue about this? Eat. Now.”

“No.”

Jude chuckles through a mouthful of food. “Might as well just listen to him, Lucy.”

I know Jude’s right. It’s not like I’ve had the chance to get to know Cal really well, but the little I do know about him tells me there’s no way I’ll win this battle. Right now, I don’t care if he’ll win. I have to at least try to prove to him how crazy he sounds.

“You know you pay me to cook for you, right?” I throw out, trying to take a step back. His fingers gently tightening around my wrist reminds me that he’s still got a hold on me.

His eyes darken underneath his furrowed eyebrows. “I’m aware.”

Jude continues to shovel the food into his mouth, completely unbothered by the battle happening between Cal and me. I nod my head toward the plate. “Then it should be obvious that I made the food foryouto eat, not me. Eat it.”

He smirks and lifts his chin before sticking his tongue out to wet his parted lips. “It’s kind of cute you’re still arguing with me when it’s useless. I’ll make myself a plate as soon as you do as you’re told and sit down and start eating.”

A choking sound comes from my throat. I shake my head, trying to rack my brain over whether he was this stubborn the few times I met him while dating Oliver. I think I was too busy doing whatever Oliver asked of me to pay much attention to Cal.

I stare at the stubborn man in front of me in disbelief, wondering if he was like this with his last chef.Maybe that’s why his last chef no longer works for him.“You making yourself a plate while I eat the one I prepared for you makes absolutely no sense,” I argue, my last-ditch effort to get him to see reason.

He drops my hand to pull out the chair in front of the plate even farther. His knuckles turn white from how hard he grips the chair, giving away his frustration with me. “It doesn’t have to make sense to you,” he grits.

“This food is to die for, Lucy,” Jude interrupts, his demeanor still carefree despite the bickering happening between Cal and me. “Just listen to him. Sit down and eat this amazing food you made.”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes but finally concede. I angrilyfall into the chair Cal had pulled out, keeping my mouth shut as he pushes me back toward the table.

I almost jump out of the chair I just sat down in when Cal’s hot breath tickles the back of my neck. I stare straight ahead as he lines his mouth up right next to my ear. “Careful,” he warns, his voice deep and throaty. “It might hurt my feelings that you listen to Jude and not me.”

I snort. “Some might wonder if you even have feelings.”

He laughs, his breath caressing the back of my neck in a way that sends tingles down my spine. “Everyone has feelings. I’m just good at hiding mine. Wasn’t it you who pointed out my cold demeanor might just be a front? Did you change your mind about me already?”

Before I can respond, he backs away, cold air hitting my back immediately. My cheeks feel warm as my eyes meet Jude’s. He stares at me from across the table with the biggest smile on his face. I’m starting to wonder if he’s evernotsmiling.

“I thought we were best friends now?” I mumble, picking up my fork. My stomach growls again as I look at the plate of food that was supposed to be Cal’s but is now mine. “You were supposed to be on my side,” I finish.

Jude laughs. “Trust me. I’m absolutely Team Lucy. I was helping you by telling you to not waste your breath.”

I take a bite, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment because the chicken turned out perfectly. I quietly take a few more bites, not bothering to argue with either of them anymore. It’s my first day, and I’ve already learned my lesson.

Glimpsing over my shoulder, I find Cal making his own plate of food. It feels weird to sit here eating while he does it, but I don’t say anything. I know it’s no use. It doesn’t take him long to load up his plate and take a seat between Jude and me.

I watch him nervously as he takes his first bite. As if he canfeel me watching him, his eyes find mine immediately. His chiseled jaw moves up and down as he finishes the bite.

My heart sinks when he sets down his fork, his eyes never leaving mine.

Does he hate it?Oh God, he hates it.

“Is it okay?” I muster up the courage to ask, forgetting all about my own plate.

It’s almost like he can read my mind because his gaze flickers to my plate before meeting my eyes once again. “The food is perfect—just like I knew it’d be.” He reaches across the space between us and taps his knuckles against the table by my plate. “Now, keep eating. And from here on out, when you prepare a plate for me or any of my guests, you will prepare one for yourself to eat too. Got it?”

I blink a few times, not knowing what to say. I have no idea why he’s so insistent on me eating. With this job, a normal eating schedule during a workday isn’t typical. You fit in snacks when you can. Never have I had a client insist I make myself a plate at the same time I make theirs.

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