I take a breath, and so does he, silently demanding.
“I’m not worried for a second that you’ve poisoned it,” he tells me calmly.
“Or you weren’t before I mentioned it.”
He studies me closely. I have no idea what he’s looking for, and I have even less of a clue if he finds it, but eventually, he turns his attention back to his meal.
I wait with bated breath as he lifts his fork and pushes the prongs into the fish. It crumbles, and I let out a relieved sigh. I knew it would, I tested it, but even still.
He pulls a small piece away and lifts it to his lips. But before he tastes it, he looks at me again, a frown pinching his brows.
“Where’s yours?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
“Where’s your plate?”
My heart slams against my ribs as a sick feeling sloshes in my stomach at the thought of doing something wrong. “I made you dinner, Cole. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” I ask, my voice weak.
“Yeah, but you can make it for yourself, too.”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish.
“If you’re here, I’d rather you eat too than go hungry.”
“I’m…I’m not hungry.” It’s a lie. I haven’t been able to eat all day; I’ve been so nervous about this. But now surrounded by the sweet scent of his dinner, I can’t say that my stomach isn’t grumbling. “I can get something on the way home; it’s no big deal.”
“It is,” he states, his voice leaving no room for argument as he slides from the stool and marches toward the cupboard.
I watch motionlessly as he pulls a second plate down and loads it with the leftover potatoes and greens. Then, he saunters back to the counter and lifts one of the fillets from his own plate and places it on mine.
“There,” he says, sliding it in front of the stool beside him. “You just need to grab some cutlery.”
I don’t move. I can’t.
“There is wine in the fridge if you’d like some. White with fish, right?”
“Um…yeah,” I mumble, barely able to gather my thoughts. “Would you like a glass?”
“Usually, I’d say no. But tonight, we’re celebrating.”
“Are we?”
His smirk returns. “I’d like to think so. You have a new job. That’s worthy of raising a glass, is it not?”
“We need to talk about the salary.”
“Okay, well, grab a bottle and two glasses and we can do that over dinner.”
I do as instructed, and soon after, I hop up onto the stool Cole has pulled out for me.
“To my new chef,” he says, holding his wineglass up.
I exhale, trying to settle myself. Honestly, the last thing I need right now is alcohol. But there is no way I can say no to this man, especially after seeing the labels on the wine. He has outstanding taste.
Lifting my glass, I tap it against his.
“You need to reduce the salary,” I blurt before I’ve even taken a sip. “What you offered before was outrageous for someone with no experience. Hell, it was a lot even for someone who knows what they’re doing.”
