Bridget sat frozen on the high stool, her eyes wide as she watched Jevon work. He moved around the kitchen with the fluid, precise grace of a Michelin-starred chef. He chopped fresh basil with terrifying speed, the blade a blur against the cutting board.
He tossed a slab of butter and minced garlic into a hot pan. The rich, savory aroma exploded into the air. Bridget's stomach, empty since the morning, let out a loud, embarrassing growl.
Jevon's hand paused over the stove. A smirk played on his lips, though he kept his back to her to hide it.
He reached up to the highest cabinet to grab a jar of black truffle paste. As his fingers wrapped around the glass, the muscles in his arm suddenly gave out-a lingering side effect of the massive dose of epinephrine he had taken hours ago.
The heavy glass jar slipped from his grasp.
Bridget saw it falling. Without thinking, she lunged off the stool, her hands shooting out to catch the jar before it shattered.
She managed to grab the truffle paste, but her elbow slammed hard into a tall glass bottle of organic ketchup sitting on the counter. The bottle tipped over. The cap popped off, and a thick stream of bright red ketchup splashed directly onto the front of Bridget's crisp white blouse.
Bridget looked down at the massive red stain spreading across her chest. She closed her eyes, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
Jevon cursed under his breath. He turned off the stove and grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the kitchen. He dragged her down the hall and shoved her into the massive guest bathroom.
"Take it off and wash it right now, or the stain will set," he ordered.
Bridget clutched the doorframe, her face burning."No! I didn't bring any clothes!"
Jevon stared at her for a second. He turned around, walked into his master bedroom, and came back holding a brand-new, folded white dress shirt. He shoved it into her hands.
"Put this on. If you don't, I will come in there and take your blouse off myself."
Bridget slammed the bathroom door and locked it. Her hands shook as she unbuttoned her ruined blouse. She pulled Jevon's shirt over her head. The fabric was incredibly soft, but it was massive. The hem fell halfway down her thighs, making it look like a short dress. Worse, the collar smelled exactly like him-that intoxicating mix of cedarwood and heat.
She turned on the sink and started aggressively scrubbing her blouse under the cold water.
Suddenly, the smart home intercom on the wall chimed softly. Jevon glanced at the screen, his expression instantly darkening as he saw the feed from the private elevator lobby. With a heavy sigh of irritation, he tapped a button to unlock the door. A moment later, the heavy door swung open.
"Jervin! Open the door!" A loud and excited voice echoed in the apartment
Zane Sterling, Hollywood's biggest action star, strutted into the living room wearing dark sunglasses and a baseball cap. He kicked off his shoes, complaining loudly about the paparazzi chasing him from LA to New York.
Jevon walked out of the kitchen, holding two plates of steaming truffle pasta. His face was a mask of pure, murderous rage.
"Why didn't you knock?" Jevon snarled.
Zane smirked, tapping his phone. "Dude, you took forever to open up. I'm being chased by vultures out there."
At that exact moment, the guest bathroom door clicked open.
Bridget stepped out. Her legs were bare. She was wearing Jevon's oversized white shirt, clutching her wet, I really can't tell. She looked up and froze.
The living room went dead silent.
Zane slowly pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. His jaw dropped. His eyes darted from Bridget's bare legs to Jevon's furious face.
Bridget recognized the movie star instantly. The blood rushed to her head so fast she felt dizzy. She took a panicked step backward.
"Holy shit," Zane breathed out, a massive, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. "Jevon, you dark horse. Who is this?"
Jevon slammed the plates onto the dining table. He crossed the room in three strides, planting his massive body directly in front of Bridget, completely blocking Zane's view of her legs.
"Zane. Shut your mouth," Jevon growled, the warning in his voice absolute.
Bridget peeked out from behind Jevon's broad back, her face scarlet. "I-I just spilled ketchup on my shirt!"
Zane leaned to the side to look at her, winking blatantly. "Sure you did, sweetheart. I totally believe you."
