“My pig.”
A confused half smile lifts one corner of my face, and I can’t picture it. I justcan’t.
As though realizing as much, he clears his throat and nudges his chin toward the food I’m working to assemble into a meal. “Anyway…can I help with anything?”
Huh?
“I can probably chop vegetables.”
What?
“Are you weighing everything, because that’ll make it easy for me to know exactly how much you need.” He rolls up his sleeves,revealing the bough and fruit tattoos that cover his arms, and it takes just about all my self control to keep from throwing my body over the counters.
Throwing my hands up instead, I say, “No, no! It’s fine! This is my job. You’re paying me to save you time by making your meals.”
He settles his folded sleeve just below his elbow, where the bulge of his forearm seems determined to rip the fabric should he try to shove it up any farther. “You are saving me time. Two sets of hands make the work faster.”
“But…you could be working onotherthings right now. Entirely. And then you’d get your meal, right on time. And…”
Stillness settles into the air somewhere between my frazzled nerves and his steady gaze. He pulls his attention away to look toward the exit of the kitchen. Then he hums. “I suppose I could fit a day of Stardew Valley practice in…” His eyes cut back to me.
Stationary.
Dredging.
I…do not know what to say. I do not know what anyone is supposed to say when their boss is glaring a hole into them on their first day and asking to do the work they are paying you a million and one dollars to do.
“You’re very tense,” he notes.
I recall my training and shove anon-tensesmile onto my face. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
Drat.
Worrying my lip instead of my apron since my hands are busy, I say, “I guess I just didn’t expect you to offer to help me with my job.” Am I doing it wrong? Already? “If you don’t want ramen, I can follow just about any recipe. Lunch might be a little late if I change the meal plan now, but I’m confident in my ability to do better once I’ve learned.”
“I love ramen,” he says.
I stare at him.
He points at the other side of the island counter. “I can chop stuff all the way over there, so I’m not in your way, if you prefer not to have people in the kitchen while you’re working.”
He’s being kind of insistent.
Is he bored?
Lonely?
Maybe he’s lonely.
Billionaires in the books I read are usually lonely at the top, with all the drama and fake friends and status surrounding them.
I suppose it’s a bit rude of me to assume that he doesn’t know how to manage his schedule. If he’s not working right now, then that means he doesn’t have to and probably doesn’t want to. “If you’d like, you can wash and quarter the bok choy?”
“I’d love to.”
I’m not sure if that was sincerity or sarcasm.
