Chapter 5 #2
He wasn’t going to make me dress up as a Mario Brother while I unclogged whatever pipe he’d managed to stuff a small turkey carcass into (hilarious as that would be).
This was more calculating.
He was going to make me scrub his toilets in a full suit of armor, because he knew how difficult it would make it for me to bend or crouch when needed, how annoying it would be to have no peripheral vision while dressed head to toe in heavy, clanking metal, unable to maintain a grip on a toilet brush or be allotted enough dexterity to work a spray bottle.
He’d make me dust the tip-top of his shelves in a giant T-rex costume with miniature arms and tend to his garden in a black latex Catwoman suit, cooking alive in the thick heat of late August while he watched from his cozy spot in the shade, sipping on an icy pina colada.
The humiliation bit was only an added bonus. The sweet, juicy cherry perched on top of his towering cake.
Like I said, I was choosing my battles, and this one was worth fighting tooth and nail for. The tactical advantage it gave him was simply too big. I’d never be able to recover.
I shut the binder. “You said you wanted tit for tat, and this isn’t.”
Surprisingly enough, he didn’t immediately hit me with a “If you don’t like it, then quit” line. Instead, he pressed his lips together, considering me.
“How about a uniform instead?” I suggested.
“She technically did have one, like you said, and you can still choose something that you think will humiliate me. But no costumes, and nothing that would hinder my ability to perform my assigned duties, because we never did that with her. Unless, that is, you’re scared you can’t win without an active debuff. ”
Something familiar flashed across his expression, and I smiled.
“Then again, you were always one to look up cheat codes before a game was even out of the box. Never could beat me without them, could you?”
His eyes narrowed.
Bullseye.
“You know what? Fine,” he conceded. “But the uniform will be mandatory. Refusing to wear it counts as forfeiture.”
That was easy.
“Fine,” I said.
“Fine,” he repeated, incapable of letting someone else have the last word.
He held my gaze for a beat longer than strictly necessary, the golden hues of his irises gleaming under the warm beam of sunlight cutting over his face.
He had his dad’s eyes, apparently. That’s what Rosie had told me.
She’d always said that in the two thousand, two hundred and sixty-two days she’d spent with her late husband, he’d given her two thousand, two hundred and sixty-two reasons to fall in love with him.
But his eyes were the first.
I looked away, adjusting the thick strap of my shoulder bag. I needed to put the shrimp I’d brought with me into the freezer before I forgot about it.
“If we’re all done here, I’m going to get started on the chores,” I said. “Where’s the kitchen? That way?”
I was walking before he’d answered, headed for the archway I remembered him going through to make coffee yesterday. The smell of garlic grew more vivid.
I scrunched my nose. Way more vivid.
What the hell is…
I almost dropped my bag.
The chef’s kitchen was just as unfathomably gorgeous as the rest of the house, if not more.
It was deliciously spacious, lined with hand-crafted white cabinetry, polished marble countertops, textured backsplash tiles boasting intricate detailing, and a breathtaking collection of high-end steel appliances. A total dream.
And every last inch of it was covered in broken eggs, cooked pasta, rogue fruits, torn vegetables, meatballs, shattered taco shells, and what had to be an entire grocery-store aisle worth of cooking sauces.
It was like a food truck convention had spontaneously combusted in here.
“I know, I know, your parents’ kitchen was never this messy,” Dominic taunted as I took in the extent of the damage. There was tomato sauce dripping from the ceiling. “But since their house was bigger and fully furnished, I thought I’d level the playing field.”
I could feel him watching me, waiting for my reaction. I honestly didn’t know if it was humanly possible to clean all of this up before midnight, let alone tackle the other items on the day’s task list afterward.
Not unless there were two of me.
Clinging onto my composure like my life depended on it, I fished my headphones out of my purse, tightened my ponytail, and asked, “Where do you keep the cleaning supplies?”
Dominic’s attention lingered on my profile, but I refused to so much as blink. I would rather fall off a ladder and break my neck trying to retrieve the torn piece of lettuce trapped inside his chandelier than give him the satisfaction of an emotional reaction.
“At the store.” He pulled out his wallet and held out a black card. “You might want to grab groceries while you’re at it.” He nudged his head toward the mess. “I’m all out.”
Funny.
He turned to leave, looking rather pleased with himself. “Oh, and if you need me for anything else, I’ll be right… there.” He pointed at a security camera tucked in the far corner of the ceiling, barely visible from where I was standing. “Watching the whole thing.”
Of course he would be. Pervert.
“Noted. I’ll pick up a bottle of lotion for you while I’m at the store.”
His face flamed, indignation and disgust twisting his mouth. “That’s not wh—”
I popped in my earbuds, effectively cutting him off. And judging by the prickling awareness creeping over the back of my neck as I sauntered further into the kitchen, he was not a fan.