Page 23 of In Good Company

But of course, Cal is different. I shouldn’t even bother trying to figure him out or understand his reason behind things.

He stares at me with a lifted brow. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to know he’s waiting for me to agree with him before he eats anything else.

I let out a loud sigh that earns me the slightest of smirks from him. “Got it,” I mutter under my breath before stabbing a piece of spinach and strawberry with my fork and aggressively putting it into my mouth.

He chuckles, picking his own fork back up. “Shedoeslisten to me after all. Good girl.”

TWELVE

CAL

I step out of my home office to the smell of lemon filling the house. It smells incredible, and I’m not even that close to the kitchen. The faint sound of music travels down the hallway. With each step I take toward the kitchen, the smell of lemon and herbs gets stronger, and the music gets louder.

It’s Lucy’s third day on the job, and I’m already wishing she could come back to Manhattan with me after the summer ends to continue working for me. Her cooking is that good. She prepares meals that feel like home-cooked comfort food but with unique flavor combinations and fresh ingredients that make my mouth water. Never have I cared about when I’d be eating my next meal. If we’re being honest, meals were more of a social affair for me most of the time.

Now, I find myself counting down the minutes until I get to taste whatever she’s thought up.

Today was a busy day. I’d been out all day golfing with seven other guys, and we did all eighteen holes, leading to a long day. It was both a mix of business and pleasure. I’m always with Jude, so spending the day with him was nothing new. And talking with Thomas, Ryker, Beck, Preston, and Archer is always a mix of business and pleasure. I actually like the menand would call them friends, but we’re all about finding ways to work together for financial gain. Lucy had been out gathering dinner supplies when I finally returned from golfing, so I haven’t seen her since breakfast early this morning.

I can’t help but smile as I round the corner and find her at the stove. Music from the record player in the living room filters into the kitchen, masking the sound of my footsteps. It gives me the opportunity to watch her for a moment without being caught.

I lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest and taking in the sight in front of me.

Lucy’s back is to me. She sways slightly on her feet to the sound of the music as she bends over and stirs something on the stove. It hasn’t even been a week since she started working for me, and I’m already getting used to her company. It’s refreshing to be around someone who doesn’t want to talk business or use me for gain. In fact, she’s been so quiet I wonder if maybe she’s only tolerating being around me.

I don’t move, fascinated by watching her as she reaches into the apron tied around her hips. She pulls out her phone and sets it on the counter in front of her, using the backsplash to keep it propped up. Her shoulders rise and fall as she appears to take a deep breath.

I watch closely as she opens up her camera and sets it to record. She takes three more deep breaths before she begins to talk. “Now that my lobster tails are off the grill and wrapped in foil until I’m ready to start plating, I’m going to finish my lemon butter sauce and toss the noodles in it, and then I will…” She pauses for a moment, shifting her weight on her feet. She’s quiet for a few seconds before she talks again. “I’ll just edit that part out,” she mutters. “So once I’ve got my lobster tails and fresh asparagus grilled, I focus on finishing the pasta and sauce. The sauce has been simm…ugh.” She hurriedly reaches in frontof her and grabs the phone from the counter before angrily shoving it back into her apron.

For another minute or two, I stand there silently, watching curiously as she continues to prepare dinner—this time not talking to her phone. She takes out her phone once again and seems to take photos of whatever she’s doing, but she doesn’t ever attempt to record again.

I fight the urge to make my presence known. I want to ask her why she was recording herself. More than that, I want to ask her why she seemed to clam up the moment she started talking to the camera. I sat at the table yesterday as she explained to Jude in perfect detail how she made the teriyaki salmon dish we had for dinner. Jude knows nothing about cooking, but he’d spoken out of his ass and said the dinner was so good he’d have to make it sometime. Lucy was so excited and told him all about the recipe, so he just pretended to be interested.

I’m too swept up in wondering why she got nervous the moment she started recording herself that I can’t even pretend to play it cool when she turns around and her eyes immediately land on me.

She gasps. “Cal!” Her voice comes out strangled as she places a hand on her chest. “How long have you been standing there?”

I push off the wall and close the distance between us. The delicious smell of whatever she’s making is so strong it makes my stomach growl in anticipation of the incredible meal she’s prepared. “Not long,” I answer, stopping when I reach the island.

Her brown eyes quickly scan my face. I wonder if she’s trying to figure out if I saw her record herself, and I don’t know if I should be honest with her that I did. The polite thing would be to pretend I didn’t. It was clear she was frustrated withherself after being unable to get her thoughts out correctly. The problem is…I might not have the best manners. I know if I don’t ask her, I’ll wonder all night about it.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice a little shaky as she turns and opens the cabinets behind her. “Will anyone be joining you tonight for dinner?”

I sigh, dropping the questions running through my mind—for now. “You’re the only one joining me tonight.”

She grabs two plates from the cabinet and sets them on the counter. “If you’d rather eat alone, I don’t mind. I don’t expect to eat with you when you have guests…I definitely don’t have to when you don’t have any.”

I grip the edge of the countertop, watching her closely as she plates the food. She doesn’t look at me. I wonder if it’s because she caught me watching her or if it’s because she’s nervous about dinner alone with me. “Would you rather eat alone?” I ask, curious to know her answer. If I didn’t want to eat dinner with her, I wouldn’t have said it.

She looks up from unwrapping a lobster tail from its foil. A piece of hair falls into her eyes, but she doesn’t try to move it. Instead, she just stares at me with a look of indifference. “I’m used to eating alone.”

I swallow, letting her answer sink in. As much as I prefer to have alone time, I rarely eat alone. There’s always some kind of function, event, or business meeting to go to. If I do have a meal to myself, it’s typically while working or on a call. For some reason, the mental picture of her eating alone doesn’t sit right with me.

“Tonight, you won’t be eating alone.” I run my hand along the countertop to keep busy. “You’ll eat with me.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” she whispers.

I rub at my temples with my fingertips. “Are we going to keep arguing, or can you accept that I’m well aware I don’thave to do anything? Maybe I just want some company tonight.”

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