Alexander looks as severe as he always does, dressed in all black. It makes him look strong. Regal. Commanding.
Sexy, even.
She swallows.
Stop it, Eden. One crisis at a time.
Alexander also kind of looks pissed. Or, at the very least, perturbed at the sight of her. She wonders if she’s done something wrong. She literally just walked in. What the hell’s his problem? Then again, this is Alexander. She’s pretty sure the frown he wears is permanent.
It’s a lot for her to process. She sucks in a sharp breath when she realizes she’s been staring for a little too long. “Huh? Oh, sorry you had to hear that.”
“My poor virgin ears.”
Eden snorts. “Like you’re such an angel.”
“Never claimed to be.” Alexander’s eyes drag over her before moving to her locker. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t find my knife roll. I remember putting them here overnight. Maybe I brought them home with me?” She chews on the inside of her cheek, spiraling. “But then I would have... I’m losing my mind, sorry. I’ll put this all away and be right there. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
He’s as still as a statue, and she isn’t sure why. His presence is hard to ignore. Just like how it’s hard to ignore how heavy his gaze is upon her. There’s something there, just past the dark of his eyes, but it’s fleeting. Eden can’t identify it in time. It makes her skin unbearably hot and her rabbit heart race.
“Grab your jacket,” he finally says, voice firm, but soft. Softer than she’s ever heard him speak.
A shiver slithers its way down her spine. She wants to hear him say it again. “Grab my jacket? Why?”
“Just do it. Don’t keep me waiting.”
She isn’t sure why listening to his voice makes her face so warm. She doesn’t like being ordered around by anybody, and yet… Eden does as she’s asked, grabbing her jacket and putting it on before following him. She notes the width of his back. For a second, she wants to reach out, fingers curious to know what he feels like.
Eden thinks against it, instead bringing her cold palm to her cheek in an effort to cool down.
It bothers Alexander just how much she looks like a child in a candy shop. Except she’s not a child and there’s no candy in sight. The awestruck joy on her face is no lie, though. Her smile makes his chest tight.
He can’t say that he minds.
“Are you sure?” she asks for the umpteenth time.
“I’m sure.”
“Because if this is some sort of practical joke…”
“Do Ilooklike the kind of guy who jokes?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“No, Monroe. I’m not joking.”
“But they’re so much.”
“I told you. Business expense.”
“Alexander—”
“You’re no good to me if you can’t do your job properly,” he says, sounding as indifferent as he can. “So pick something already. Service starts in half an hour.”
Eden grins. She walks up to one of the many glass display cabinets, keeping her hands in her pockets like she’s afraid she’ll leave smudges. Alexander finds it adorable, not that he’d ever admit that aloud.
Sharp End is one of the fancier specialty shops in the city, carrying a wide range of brands to suit all sorts of chefs and their handling styles. Famous chefs from around the world have, at some point, graced the same tile floors. Only the finest can be found here, and Alexander fully intends to make sure Eden selects something complimentary to her talent.
