The chaotic noise of the Whole Foods in Columbus Circle was a welcome distraction.
Eloise pushed a metal shopping cart down the aisle. It was late afternoon. After getting the text from her father yesterday, she had spent the entire morning staring at the ceiling of the guest room, trying to rebuild her mental walls.
The money was in the bank. Her father was going to get his surgery. She had signed the contract. She decided she couldn't live in a state of constant war, but this wasn't about pleasing him. The coldness of the penthouse was suffocating, stripping away her humanity piece by piece. She needed the familiar, grounding scent of real food cooking just to prove to herself that she was still alive, still breathing. She stopped in front of the meat counter. She stared at the cuts of beef. As for what to make, a dusty, ten-year-old memory simply forced its way into her mind, and she was too exhausted to fight it or think of anything else. Back at the boarding school in Connecticut, she had overheard Christian talking to Jett in the library. He had mentioned his favorite meal was a proper Beef Wellington. It was a silent, complex test-to see if the boy from her past still existed in the monster who bought her.
She bought the tenderloin, mushrooms, and puff pastry.
By the time she returned to the penthouse, it was six o'clock. The massive apartment was dead silent.
Eloise changed into a pair of soft grey sweatpants and an oversized white t-shirt. She twisted her blonde hair up into a messy clip. She walked into the pristine, untouched kitchen and tied a black apron around her waist.
She started chopping mushrooms. The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board grounded her. Soon, the smell of melting butter, roasting meat, and fresh rosemary filled the cold air of the apartment, making it feel slightly less like a tomb.
At seven-thirty, she pulled the golden-brown pastry out of the oven. She sliced it and plated it carefully on the massive dining table, pairing it with a simple arugula salad.
She wiped her hands on a towel and picked up her phone. She opened the text thread with Christian. It was completely empty.
She typed quickly before she could lose her nerve. I made dinner. To say thank you for the transfer. If you have time, you can come back and eat.
She hit send and immediately flipped the phone face down on the marble counter. She let out a self-deprecating sigh. The CEO of Clarke Capital was probably at a Michelin-star restaurant right now. He wasn't going to come home for her cooking.
Three miles away, in the glass-walled boardroom of Clarke Capital, Christian sat at the head of a long table. Ten senior executives were arguing loudly about a hostile takeover bid.
Christian's private phone buzzed on the table. He glanced down.
When he read the text from Eloise, his grip on the phone tightened infinitesimally. His eyes locked onto the words I made dinner. The VP of Acquisitions was mid-sentence, shouting about profit margins. Christian didn't look up. He placed the phone face down on the polished mahogany table, his jaw tightening as an irritating, restless energy began to claw at his chest. He forced himself to listen for another five excruciating minutes, his fingers drumming a slow, lethal rhythm against the armrest. Finally, his patience snapped. Christian raised his right hand. The entire boardroom went dead silent instantly. "Enough," Christian said flatly, his voice cutting through the room like a scythe. "Give me these updated projections by tomorrow morning. Meeting adjourned." He stood up, grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair, and walked toward the door without waiting for a response.
At exactly eight o'clock, the electronic lock on the penthouse door beeped.
Eloise was sitting on the living room sofa, reading a script. Her head snapped up.
Christian walked in. He shrugged off his dark wool coat. The cold autumn air clung to his clothes. His eyes immediately swept across the room and landed on the dining table.
He saw the two plates of steaming food. He saw Eloise standing up, wearing sweatpants and an apron. A violent surge of warmth hit his chest. It was exactly what he had fantasized about for years-coming home to her.
But he quickly clamped down on the emotion, hardening his jaw. He walked slowly toward the dining area, unbuttoning his cuffs.
Eloise wiped her hands nervously on her apron. "I... I didn't think you would actually come back."
Christian pulled out a chair at the head of the table and sat down. He looked at the food, then up at her. "I paid fifty million dollars," he said, his voice laced with heavy sarcasm. "I figured I should inspect the secondary skills of my investment."
Eloise's stomach tightened. She bit her tongue to keep from snapping back. She turned around and walked to the kitchen counter to grab the bottle of red wine and two glasses.
When she turned her back, Christian's eyes immediately dropped to the curve of her waist and the soft skin of her neck exposed by her messy hair. His throat went dry. He swallowed hard.
Eloise walked back and poured the wine. She handed a glass to him.
Christian reached for it. As he took the stem, his fingers brushed against hers.
The physical contact sent a jolt of electricity up Eloise's arm. She yanked her hand back so fast she almost dropped the bottle. Christian's fingers tightened around the glass, his knuckles turning white. The air between them suddenly felt thick and suffocatingly hot.
Christian picked up his knife and fork. He cut a piece of the Wellington and put it in his mouth.
Eloise held her breath, waiting for him to insult it. Waiting for him to tell her it was garbage.
Christian chewed slowly. He didn't say a word. He just cut another piece, and then another. He ate in complete silence.
Eloise slowly sat down in her chair. She picked at her salad. The silence in the room wasn't hostile anymore. The warm yellow light from the chandelier softened the sharp angles of Christian's face. For twenty minutes, they just sat there, eating together like a normal couple.
Christian set his fork down. The plate was almost empty. He picked up his linen napkin and wiped his mouth.
He lowered the napkin. His blue eyes locked onto Eloise. The look in his eyes was so intense, so heavy with unspoken things, that Eloise felt her heart start to hammer wildly against her ribs.
