Page 28 of Her Billionaire Bossholes

Charlie stands in front of the stove, wearing a pair of low-riding sweats and a sports bra. Her hair is wrapped expertly in a towel, but there are still droplets of moisture decorating her gentle, caramel skin.

You know, I have no clue what women think about men and their saggy pants, but on her... it's one of the best things I've ever seen. Her hips are perfectly visible, and so is a glimpse of her black panties as they peek out at me over the band of her sweats. And when she turns to the side, I can see her cute little tummy.

Fuck, I'm completely whipped.

"Good morning," I greet after deciding I've been spying long enough.

Letting out the girliest noise I'll probably ever hear from her, Charlie squeaks and spins around with wide eyes.

"J-J- Mr. Harris!" she exclaims clumsily.

I fight the urge to grin over the fact that she nearly called me by my first name. From what I've heard, she's absolutely refused to call any of us by anything but our last name. Unless she's referring to us as 'sir,' which I actually don't mind all that much.

"You know, Charlie," I start teasingly, "I would've thought it impossible to sneak up on someone like you."

She's the kind of person that always seems to be aware of everything going on around her. It's what makes her so good at her job. I wonder what could have distracted her enough to let me slip in unnoticed.

She steps away, giving me space that I didn't ask for as I reach for the coffee pot to refill my cup. "It usually is, sir."

I manage to stop myself from groaning. "Lost in thought? Anything to share?"

"No, sir."

My eyes travel the length of her body. "Hm. Shame."

As I take my seat at the worn-out kitchen table, the scent of sizzling bacon and eggs wafts through the air, filling my senses with a mouthwatering aroma. Charlie moves with grace and precision, effortlessly maneuvering around the kitchen as she finishes preparing our breakfast. The morning light filters through the window, casting a warm glow on her delicate features.

Her slender form is outlined by her low-riding sweats, accentuating every curve and dip. The sight of her hips swaying gently with each step is both mesmerizing and intoxicating. A mischievous grin tugs at my lips as I consider how lucky I am to witness this.

Charlie glances over her shoulder, catching me in the act of unabashedly admiring her. A faint blush tinges her cheeks, and a coy smile curves her lips. She walks towards me, holding out a plate of perfectly cooked bacon and eggs. "Here you go," she says softly, her voice laced with a hint of shyness.

Charlie, shy? Color me impressed.

She sits down across from me with a plate of her own. As we dig into our breakfast, I can't help but moan in satisfaction, causing Charlie to blush again.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" I ask between bites, genuinely curious.

Charlie looks down at her plate, a slight hesitation in her eyes. "I taught myself," she finally answers, her voice tinged with a mix of pride and vulnerability.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "You taught yourself? That's impressive. Most people struggle with cooking even after years of practice."

A soft smile graces her lips as she looks up at me. "Well, when you're on your own for most of your life, you learn to be self-sufficient. Cooking became a way for me to take care of myself, to create something comforting in this chaotic world."

Her words resonate with me, leaving a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"What about your family?" I wonder. "Your parents?"

Charlie's smile falters, and her gaze drops to her plate. She takes a deep breath before answering, her voice barely above a whisper. "My parents...they died in a car accident when I was seventeen."

"I'm so sorry, Charlie," I say sincerely, my voice filled with genuine empathy. "That must have been incredibly difficult for you."

Wanting to offer some comfort, I stand up and walk over to the sink, pretending it's solely to put my plate away. In reality, I want to be closer to her. As I sit down beside her, our arms brush against each other. It's a simple touch but sparks something unexpected within me. My pulse quickens as she looks at me.

She nods, her gaze fixed on her plate as if trying to hide the sadness that lingers within her. "It happened the night of my kickboxing tournament," she continues softly.

My heart sinks at her words. "The tournament of your knee injury?" I question in disbelief.

She only nods. How could so many horrible things happen to a woman... a woman who deserves the world and more? It just doesn't seem right.

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