by Claire Adams
She nodded, taking it all in. “If I need a moment to myself,” she repeated. “You have this entire house to yourself? No one else?”
I hesitated, standing in between the family room and parlor. “Yes,” I said after a moment. “It does get quite lonely sometimes, to be honest.”
“And all you had was your chef?” she asked.
“And a maid, Gloria. She comes once a week.”
Everly laughed, a sweet sound that I wanted to hear more of. “How does this place get dirty with just one man? Are you that filthy?”
My eyes widened, and a blush spread across her cheeks.
“I mean, no. That’s not what I meant,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”
“Come.” I waved her off and led her toward the east portion of my house. She gasped at the sight of the fish tank running along the wall, and followed the trail into the kitchen, where she froze.
“And this is the kitchen,” I said proudly.
“Oh my God.” She placed her apron on the countertop and traced along the smooth edge. The kitchen was easily half the size of the family room, spanning nearly two regular restaurant kitchens. Two double ovens faced one another against the wall, and a long, spiral island separated the two halves of the kitchen. “Is this real?”
“I haven’t spent much time in here,” I said and leaned against the counter. “I barely even know what any of this does.”
She shook her head, but I made a point to memorize the smile playing on her face.
“Okay, well, let’s start with ingredients.” She opened one of the two fridges and began pulling items out. “I’m surprised you already had everything I needed.” She had sent over a list of ingredients the other day, asking which ones she needed to pick up. I had gone out and purchased the highest quality selection I could find, and lied and said my previous chef loved to stock up on food.
“Well, it seems like a simple recipe,” I said. Salmon and potatoes were on the menu for dinner.
“I wanted to start easy,” she said. “Plus, living on the coast, everyone should know how to cook a decent fish dinner. It should be a requirement.”
On the counter was a giant fillet of salmon, prepped and ready to cook, whole sweet potatoes, bell peppers, cilantro, lemon, pepper, cloves of garlic, onions, and asparagus. She sorted through my pots and pans until she picked out specific ones. She seasoned the fish with herbs and spices, and set it aside.
“It’s important to get the potatoes in the pot quickly,” she said and dumped four potatoes in a giant pot. She covered it with water, and I patiently listened as she explained the instructions on how to make mashed potatoes.
“Doesn’t seem too hard,” I said, noting the differences in our techniques in my head.
“Now, we prepare the bell peppers and asparagus,” she said and began slicing through them.
“Do you want me to help with anything?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“Just watch for tonight,” she said.
“I’m sorry I stole you away from your previous position.” I made small talk as she began roasting the vegetables. “I only wanted your talents for myself; it was selfish.”
“Phil was selfish,” she said, and apologized. “He was my boss, and I’m sure he had his own problems. But I couldn’t stay in a place that didn’t appreciate me.”
I nodded, understanding every single word. I knew how it felt to be so proud of yourself, and to have little recognition. I pretended to act clueless about this meal, and Everly danced around my kitchen flawlessly as she mimicked the top chefs of my restaurants. I smiled; how could anyone ever not appreciate her?
“The salmon takes the least amount of time,” she said as she placed two seasoned fillets on a skillet. The vegetables were roasting to the side, and a bowl of boiled sweet potatoes were waiting to be combined with salt, butter, chives, and sour cream.
“Just like that?” I asked. “Leave it on there for 10 minutes, and it’s done?”
“It’s the easiest,” she said. “And my favorite. I could eat salmon every day for the rest of my life.”
“What else would you do for the rest of your life?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity. She paused and glanced at me with a confused look. “If there weren’t any obstacles, what would you do?”
“I would open up my own restaurant,” she said without hesitation. “On the pier. Fresh seafood, amazing cocktails, and the best view in the entire city. It would have an open patio, for the dogs, and an upstairs dining area that’s more formal than the downstairs.”
“And you would just work there? Rest of your life?” I asked.
“That’s all I would need,” she said, and smiled softly. “I guess that and watch all the Broadway shows that came into town.”
“Oh? A Broadway junkie?” I joked. I knew far too many of them, and Everly didn’t really strike me as the type.
“I’ve seen every musical known to man,” she said. “Sung every word, recited each line. I try to make it to the shows, but by the time I have some money saved up, all the tickets are purchased by scalpers, and the prices are triple what they normally are. So, I end up buying the DVD, or watching it online.”
“Have you been to a show?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“Well, if you count high school plays, then sure. I was the director of ours.” She grinned, and I found myself copying her. “God, what a mess we were.”
The salmon was finished, and Everly began plating a single plate.
“I’ll set the leftovers in the fridge,” she said.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” I asked. “You made more than enough for the entire week. I’m going to have to bring this into work or give it away to the homeless before it goes bad.”
She glanced at her phone. “Is that okay?” she asked. “I mean, the job was to cook for you and show you how along the way.”
“I like to be friends with my employees,” I said, not that I saw her as an employee exactly. “Come on.” I handed her another plate, and she mimicked the first one perfectly.
I carried them both to a room on the other side of the kitchen, where a giant oak table stretched from one side of the long room to the other. Golden chairs draped with shimmery cloth waited for us, and I placed the two plates beside one another and pulled a seat out for Everly.
“It just keeps getting better,” she murmured and stared at the crystal chandelier above us. “Why do you even have so many chairs if it’s just you?”
“Family get-togethers,” I said. “And I host parties here on the rare occasion.”
Somehow, with just the two of us at a table that seated 30, it felt intimate. Everly coughed into her elbow and draped her apron across the back of her chair.
“Okay,” she said and sat down. “So what exactly do you do, then? I’ve been dying to ask this forever, but it seemed rude up until now.”
“What’s different about now?” I smiled.
“You’re living alone in a mansion with a dining room that’s excessive even for the Queen of England,” she said. “I don’t think even the Queen has enough family to fill up these seats.”
I contemplated the question. I couldn’t tell her I owned restaurants; not yet anyways.
“I’m an investor,” I said, not entirely a lie. “I have stocks and trades, and heavy investments in businesses that make more money than they know what to do with.”
“An investor.” She considered my words and speared a piece of salmon onto her fork. I tried the vegetables first and sighed with pleasure. They were crunchy and warm, and delicious. The sweet potatoes were just as good, and finally, I took a bite of the salmon. Flavor burst onto my tongue, sweet and tangy and flaky and juicy. Everly had combined the ingredients in a unique blend that I hadn’t experienced before, with a strong mixture of lemon and garlic that isn’t overpowered by pepper. She really knew how to cook fish.
“Where did you learn how to cook?” I asked.
“We were poo
r growing up,” she said. “And my mom couldn’t really buy many groceries. Two months of ramen in a row really teaches a girl how to spice it up. I’d save up money from my awful weekend job, buy some cheap fish at the market, and taught myself how to cook it and add it to the noodles. It evolved from there until I was cooking every night. It wasn’t until I was in high school that my dream of my own restaurant came up, but once it did, I couldn’t stop it.”
She was constantly full of surprises, it seemed. We finished our meal with pleasant chat, and I waved her off as she attempted to clean. “My maid comes tomorrow,” I said, a blatant lie. “She’d rather clean this and get a good bonus for it than come here and find nothing to do.”
“Well, okay,” Everly said, but it was clear that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving such a mess.
“So, tomorrow night again,” I said, and complimented her cooking.
“Thank you.” She blushed. We walked to the front of my house, just between the entryway, and hesitated. It felt like the end of a date, and I wondered if she noticed it.
“I’m thinking of duck or lamb tomorrow,” she said. “I’m an expert at both.”
“Of course you are.” I laughed. “Either one is perfect.”
She nodded. “Okay, then. Well, goodnight Mr. Moore.” She turned to leave, and I sat my hand on her shoulder. Her warmth shocked me, and I had to remind myself to speak as her green eyes looked at mine.
“Maddox,” I reminded her. “I know this is a job, but call me Maddox.”
She smiled, tension leaving her shoulders. “Okay, Maddox. Goodnight.”
I closed the door behind her and rested my forehead against the solid frame. What was the woman doing to me?
I cleaned up our mess in silence, my thoughts tracing our steps throughout the night. Her dreams were brighter than I expected, and she was full of so much potential.
I walked over to Nick’s house and thanked him for watching Abby.
“No problem,” he said, and woke her from a short nap. “She was just watching some guys play Mario on YouTube. How’d it go?”
“She’s talented,” I said. “I learned how to make salmon, mashed sweet potatoes, and roasted vegetables.” I grinned, and Nick shoved my shoulder. “She’s coming back a few times this week; can you watch Abby for a few more hours on those days?”
“Of course,” he said, as if the situation was entirely normal. “I’ll just keep adding our dinners to your tab.” I assumed he was joking until I saw the takeout bag from All You Can Eat on the counter.
“You get free food anyways, asshole,” I said as Abby grabbed my hand.
“Asshole, Daddy,” she repeated as she rubbed sleepy eyes. I groaned and left Nick giggling like a madman.
“Remember what I said about repeating all of my words?” I asked, as we returned to our house.
“Yes,” Abby said, but I knew she was lying. I made her a plate from our leftovers and stood at the counter as she ate mashed potatoes.
“How was the date?” she asked. Nick must have mentioned it a few times through the night.
“She’s just my chef, Abby,” I said and stared at the spot in front of the stove where Everly had worked.
“Okay, Daddy.” Abby shook her head, two curly pigtails slapping her across the face. She had such a grin spread across her mouth that mocked me for the fool I was. She knew better, but still, I repeated to myself that Everly was just my chef.
“Okay, daddy,” Abby said again, in a tone that meant, ‘whatever you say.' I grinned; it really was a ridiculous idea.
Chapter Twelve
Everly
Three nights at Maddox’s ridiculous mansion. I’d spent three nights cooking for him, showing him to cook, and watching as he attempted to dice an onion and failed miserably. I pulled my bed sheet closer to me, remembering the previous night of pork chops and diced scallions. He was friendly, perhaps the friendliest boss I’d ever had, and there was something so inviting about him, despite the fact that he was a lonely billionaire in a house that was far too big for one man. I wondered if he was divorced and if that’s why his house was enormous.
He had shown me his insane garage the other night after I made a comment about the Italian car sitting in his driveway. The way he showed off his trophies, however, never seemed more than honest pride. He never boasted, never bragged. His answers to everything were always politically correct, and I found myself wishing that just once he would stumble over his words and bite his tongue.
I had, plenty of times over the past few days.
My door opened and closed, and I hid beneath my pillow. I really needed to change my locks.
“Everly,” Lacey called from the kitchen. “I’m starting breakfast.”
“Don’t you have your own kitchen?” I said, as I met Belle in the living room. She had brought her Shopkins, and we fell into the same routine of putting them in the fridge and taking them out. Belle always thanked me for playing with her, making it impossible for me to ever say no, the little perfect brat.
“Your pans are way better than mine,” Lacey said as she flipped pancakes.
“Because they’re not scratched!” I yelled. “Because I don’t scratch them, and you do.”
“I learned my lesson,” she said. I kissed Belle on the cheek and joined Lacey in the kitchen. “Do you have biscuits and gravy?” she asked.
“I have some leftover from yesterday’s breakfast,” I said and began reheating them in the oven.
“So? How’s your job?” Lacey asked with a hint of annoyance. She still hadn’t come around to the idea of it yet.
“It’s perfect,” I said honestly. “It’s literally two hours a day. And Maddox really seems interested in learning how to cook. I actually enjoy spending time with him, which I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to spend more than a minute with any of my bosses.”
“Would that have anything to do with the fact that he’s a handsome billionaire?” Lacey asked, and I shook my head.
“I don’t care about that,” I said. “He’s good for my career, that’s all that matters.”
“Still, you might find yourself in a difficult position whenever this agreement ends. This isn’t set in stone, Everly. And he might seem like a good guy, but there’s no guarantee that he’ll help you find a job after this. It could be empty promises. Some men are good at that sort of thing.”
“I know, and trust me, I’ve thought about that.” I stirred the gravy in a saucepan until it began to bubble. The biscuits were ready, and Lacey set down plates of pancakes and sausage on my dining table. Belle met us, and the three of us ate breakfast together. I hadn’t realized just how tiny my table was. “I’m going to enjoy the time I have there. If I can keep this job for even a year, it’s already more than enough money to seriously start planning my restaurant with. And, I’m having fun. How many people can say they’re having fun at work? It’s every person’s dream.”
Lacey seemed to agree.
They left to make it to Belle’s kindergarten class on time, and I spent the rest of the morning shopping for both my apartment and Maddox’s house at the market on the pier. I picked up crab legs and a lobster and made it back to my place before the lunch rush began.
Working only two hours a day meant that I had time to do just about anything else I wanted, and yet I couldn’t force myself to do anything. I was anxious for work and found myself constantly glaring at the clock and imprisoned by my freedom, in a strange sort of way, which didn’t make sense to anyone who had never experienced it. I needed to do something, anything, other than sit on my couch and scroll through my phone.
I opened my laptop and began typing out a menu for next week. I had just finished when I glanced at the clock and realized it was almost time to leave.
It was funny. I hadn’t been late once to Maddox’s, which was a new accomplishment I was proud of. Although, I supposed it was difficult to be late for a job that was only two hours long.
I got dressed in my usual bl
ouse and pants uniform and arrived at his house 10 minutes early. If being on time wasn’t surprising enough, it was definitely the fact that I had gotten anywhere with more than a minute to spare.
Maddox greeted me in a dark suit that was just as proper and form-fitting as usual. His gray eyes were kind as he welcomed me inside, and he took the grocery bags from my arms as I followed him into the kitchen.
“Lobster?” he asked, as he peeked within them. “Oh, and crab.”
“If you can’t tell, I’m a little partial to seafood.” I smiled. I lined up my ingredients and quizzed Maddox on which pots to use. As usual, he got every other question wrong. But I couldn’t blame him; these were hard questions. He was evidently a quick learner, at least, and I was confident he’d catch on eventually.
He helped tie my apron around my waist, and we began cooking dinner.
An hour later, with two plates full of freshly boiled crab legs, lobster tails, melted butter, and roasted vegetables, Maddox and I sat at his dinner table and ate. I was particularly proud of the meal as he gushed over how delicious it was, and we chatted more about my dream of a fish restaurant on the pier.
“My mom hates the idea, though,” I said. “She thinks I’d make more money begging on the streets.”
“In her defense,” Maddox said. “I did read an article about how some homeless beggars make over 30 grand a year.”
I gasped. “No way.”
“What about your father?” he asked. “Is he supportive?”
“Oh,” I set my fork down. “I wouldn’t know. They got divorced when I was young.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I heard the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s no big deal.” I shook my head to let him off the hook. “I mean, of course it’s a big deal. I’m actually the only woman in my family who isn’t divorced.” I faked a laugh. “It’s why I’m single, anyways. There’s no point in getting married if it all ends up falling apart at the end.”