Page 11 of Four Stepbrothers for Christmas

I was struck by the sincerity in her voice, the genuine concern that seemed to emanate from her. It was a vulnerability I had carefully avoided in my professional life, a soft spot I had consciously hardened to maintain the tough-as-nails persona that had become my corporate hallmark. Yet, here, in this moment, with her, it all seemed to come undone.

"Thanks for caring, Becca," I said, my voice softer than I had intended, my shield of emotional armor feeling a little less secure. "I'm not used to people worrying about me. Especially not someone who works for me."

Her eyes met mine, and I could see something there—something that made me think she was not just another employee, not just another face in the crowd. "Well, maybe it's time to get used to it," she replied. "And maybe it's time to start taking better care of yourself. Starting with a good meal."

Chapter 7

Becca

Ipoured him a glass of wine—nothing too fancy, just a vintage that would pair well with the night's culinary adventure.

"Here," I said, handing him the glass, "to whet your appetite."

Isaac took a sip, looking every bit the CEO even in his casual vacation attire. "This smells amazing, Becca. What is it?"

A playful grin crept onto my face. "Ah, patience, Mr. CEO. That’s a virtue, you know. Just know that Archer’s not the only wine expert here now.”

He rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face told me he was intrigued, maybe even a bit charmed. "It's a need-to-know basis, huh?"

"Exactly," I quipped, turning my attention to the sizzling pan in front of me.

The moment I was face to face with my sautéing garlic and herbs, my internal critic piped up.What the hell, Becca? This is your boss, not your college roommate.But despite the loud clanging of 'employee etiquette' alarms in my head, talking to Isaac felt...well, it felt normal. Easy, even. Our difference in standing seemed to dissolve the moment I stepped into the kitchen, transforming from his personal chef into some strange hybrid of culinary artist and candid confidante.

I flipped a medley of veggies in the pan, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the mundane numbers and reports Isaac always buried his nose in. I loved that contrast—the uncomplicated joy of cooking versus the convoluted world of business he navigated daily. For a moment, I imagined Isaac leaving behind his sea of endless spreadsheets and emails and diving into my world of flavors, spices, and textures. A world where, believe it or not, a perfectly balanced dish could solve more problems than a quarterly report.

As I plated the food—carefully arranging it into what I liked to think of as an edible masterpiece—I couldn't help but consider the layers of Isaac I'd started to uncover. Beyond the rigid exterior of a relentless businessman was a man who could appreciate a good meal, a good wine, and maybe even good company that wasn't listed on the Fortune 500.

I glanced at him. He was fidgeting with his phone, probably negotiating a million-dollar deal or something equally intimidating. Yet there he was, in my kitchen, waiting to taste my food. And in that moment, the boundaries between employer and employee felt irrelevant, replaced by a more human connection we were just beginning to explore.

"You know, if it wasn't for your cooking, I'd probably live on a diet of Joe's Pizza, Shake Shack, and Mamouns Falafel while vegetating at my desk."

I laughed, picturing the quintessential New York takeout spread cluttering his immaculate office. "Oh, so you'd basically be a Wall Street bro?”

"Something like that," he grinned, glass of wine in hand.

My eyes flitted over him—crisp, white shirt tucked into well-fitted jeans—a far cry from any frat boy or a 24/7 office dweller. Before I knew what was happening, the words just tumbled out. "Though you obviously have time to work out."

Oh God. My face instantly flushed fifty shades of 'I-can't-believe-I-just-said-that.' I turned back to the stove as if a sudden interest in the simmering sauce could rewind the last ten seconds.

He set his napkin on the table and stood up. With wine glass in hand, he started walking toward me. My stomach knotted. This was it. He was finally going to call me out on being too...too whatever I was being.

"You think I look like I work out?" he said, stopping just a few feet from me. His tone was unreadable, and I dared not turn around to gauge his expression.

I gripped the spatula like a lifeline. "I mean, you don't look like someone who survives on falafel and burgers, that's for sure."

He laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that echoed through the kitchen, and I felt the tension in my shoulders ease. Maybe I hadn't crossed a line; maybe I'd accidentally stumbled upon a new one—a line neither of us had expected to find but now held all the promise of uncharted territory.

I straightened, still flustered but also somewhat emboldened by the wine and the genuine nature of our conversation. "Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped. I'll leave you to—"

Before I could finish, Isaac reached out and took my hand, stopping me in my tracks. My eyes dropped to our interlocked hands. His was large, engulfing mine, his fingers strong and secure. I was surprised, yet it felt undeniably natural.

When I looked up, he was staring into my eyes with an intensity I had only ever seen directed at quarterly reports and business strategies. "Becca, I'm not used to anyone caring about my health, my well-being outside of a professional context. So, I just wanted to thank you."

The words hung in the air, almost tangible, like you could reach out and touch them. "You're welcome, Isaac," I said softly, smiling. My hand was still in his, and neither of us seemed to be in a hurry to change that. "So," I ventured, "are you going to try and stop working so much this week? You are on vacation, after all."

He seemed to ponder this for a moment before answering. "I'll try."

And then he smiled. Not a polite, business-meeting smile, but an actual, honest-to-God, reaches-the-eyes smile. It was brilliant, and from what I'd seen in my time working for him, exceedingly rare. I felt honored, a little like a birdwatcher who'd just spotted an elusive species.

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