Chapter 2 #3
“Well,” I muttered, sinking into a plush armchair, “that was about as warm and fuzzy as a cactus in winter.” I stared at the ceiling, taking in the elaborate molding. “Though I have to admit, Violet sounds way more fun than her stuck-up sister. Too bad she probably hates my guts.”
Pulling myself together, I headed back downstairs where Samantha waited with remarkable patience, still tapping away at her tablet. Her posture was perfect—probably from years of dealing with Victoria’s demands.
I racked my brain, trying to place her character from The CEO’s Bargain.
Samantha Wang was Victoria’s personal assistant, one of those minor characters that popped up occasionally to showcase Victoria’s awful behavior.
The book had only given her a few scenes, but I remembered being impressed by how she’d worked her way up from an internship at Victoria’s charity to become indispensable to the household.
Smart, efficient, and according to one particularly memorable scene, capable of organizing a last-minute charity gala with nothing but a tablet and sheer force of will.
“Sam?” I tried, hoping the nickname wouldn’t get me fired. In the book, Victoria had always insisted on using her full name, Samantha Wang or Ms. Wang, in that condescending tone she used with everyone she considered beneath her.
The reaction was immediate and almost comical.
Samantha’s head snapped up so fast I worried for her neck.
Her perfectly manicured fingers froze mid-tap, hovering over the tablet screen.
Her mouth actually dropped open slightly before she caught herself, smoothing her expression back to professional neutrality.
Though I noticed her eyes had widened to the size of the fancy appetizer plates I used to serve.
“Yes, Mrs. Everett?” she managed, her voice slightly higher than before.
“I’ll attend the luncheon and…” I almost canceled the spa appointment but hey, when would I ever get another chance at the pampered life? “…keep the spa appointment too.”
Sam’s fingers trembled slightly as she resumed typing, though her voice remained steady. “Excellent. I’ll have your glam team here in twenty minutes. Gregory is already preparing your breakfast, your usual egg white omelet with?—”
“Actually,” I interrupted, my stomach growling loud enough to echo in the kitchen, “I’ll eat whatever the chef wants to make. Something… substantial?”
This time, Sam’s tablet actually slipped in her grip. She fumbled to catch it, a faint pink flush creeping up her neck. Her free hand reached up to adjust her already-perfect bun—apparently a nervous tic. “I… of course, Mrs. Everett. I’ll inform Gregory.”
Thirty minutes later, I sat at the kitchen island, surrounded by the most elaborate breakfast spread I’d ever seen.
The glam team bustled around me—Kate with her perfectly steady hands applying makeup while Anna fretted with various hair tools.
Between them, they had enough brushes, combs, and products to stock an entire beauty department.
The spread before me was pure food heaven.
Fresh-baked croissants formed a golden-brown cascade down a silver tier, their buttery scent making my mouth water.
Eggs Benedict sat like tiny works of art, the hollandaise sauce catching the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Fresh fruits had been arranged in an intricate pattern that belonged in a food magazine.
And something chocolate-drizzled and flaky that looked straight out of a French patisserie window called my name.
I caught Sam watching me with barely concealed fascination as I dove in with decidedly un-Victoria-like enthusiasm. Her tablet trembled slightly in her grip every time I made an appreciative moan around a mouthful of pure heaven.
“Oh my God,” I mumbled through the best eggs Benedict I’d ever tasted, “this is incredible.” A drop of hollandaise sauce escaped, and I caught it with my finger before it could hit Victoria’s silk robe.
Kate, ever the professional in her elegant black ensemble, actually gasped, her signature red lips forming a perfect ‘O.’
“The hollandaise sauce is perfect—did you add a touch of cayenne?”
Gregory, who’d been hovering anxiously near the commercial-grade stove, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly groomed beneath his pristine chef’s toque, looked like I’d just started speaking in tongues.
His crisp chef’s whites crinkled as he shifted from foot to foot. “I… yes, Mrs. Everett. Just a pinch.”
I swallowed and gave him my best waitress-to-service-worker solidarity smile. “Well, it’s absolutely delicious. All of it.”
The poor man’s face went through a fascinating journey of emotions—shock, confusion, pleasure, and fear, all in rapid succession.
Behind me, Sam’s tablet clattered against the marble countertop.
Kate’s steady hand jerked, nearly extending my eyeliner wing halfway to my temple, while Anna almost dropped the round brush she was using, catching it with the quick reflexes of someone used to handling expensive tools.
“What?” I asked, reaching for another croissant that was still warm enough to steam when I tore it open. “Can’t a girl enjoy her breakfast?”
“Of… of course, Mrs. Everett,” Gregory stammered. “I’m just… pleased you are enjoying it. Usually, you only have three bites and declare yourself full.”
I looked at the demolished breakfast spread and shrugged, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the polished surface of a nearby copper pot.
Victoria’s perfect features looked oddly more human with cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s.
“Well, today I’m starving. And this is way better than my usual breakfast of coffee and regret. ”
The shocked silence that followed was broken only by Sam clearing her throat—though I swore I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “Your car will be ready in forty-five minutes, Mrs. Everett. The glam team will finish getting you ready for the luncheon.”
As Anna nervously adjusted my hair with trembling fingers and Kate resumed her precise makeup application with renewed focus, I caught Gregory sneaking away with a small, pleased smile, his dignified posture notably more relaxed.
In the reflection of the windows, I saw Sam watching me with what looked like cautious curiosity, her professional mask slipping just enough to reveal something that might have been hope.
Hey, at least I’d made someone’s day better in this bizarre new reality. And if I was stuck being Victoria Everett, at least I’d get to eat like one.