CHAPTER 3: MEN ARE SCUM
1536 Words
Mia took a slow, steady breath as she surveyed the kitchen. Every inch of it screamed efficiency—sleek stainless steel appliances, pristine marble countertops, and a spice rack so immaculately organized it made her own kitchen look like chaos.
Nico Santorini leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with interest. Adrian stood nearby, sipping his wine, his gaze steady and unreadable. The weight of their scrutiny pressed down on her like a physical force, but she refused to let it shake her.
She could do this.
Mia set her bag down and turned to Adrian. “Alright, Lancaster. What am I working with?”
Adrian gestured toward the fridge with an infuriating smirk. “Surprise me.”
Her jaw tightened. Of course, he wouldn’t make this easy. No pre-planned menu, no set ingredients—just an open challenge.
Fine.
Rolling up her sleeves, Mia strode to the fridge and swung it open. Immediately, she took stock: fresh seafood, dry-aged beef, heirloom vegetables, an array of cheeses, and every herb she could possibly need. The sheer quality of ingredients was intimidating on its own—these weren’t grocery store finds. They were hand-picked, premium imports.
A small thrill ran through her. This was an opportunity to showcase what she could really do.
She grabbed a fillet of branzino, a handful of fresh citrus, fennel, and a bottle of what looked like an expensive white wine. Turning back, she caught Nico watching her with an approving nod. “Good choice,” he murmured.
Adrian, however, remained frustratingly unreadable.
Mia set to work, moving with practiced ease. She filleted the branzino with clean, precise cuts, her hands steady despite the pressure. The kitchen was eerily silent, save for the sound of her knife against the board and the occasional clink of glass from Adrian’s wine.
“So, Mia,” Adrian’s voice broke through the quiet, smooth and teasing. “Tell me, is cooking how you deal with stress?”
She glanced at him but didn’t slow down. “Why? Hoping to uncover my secrets?”
Adrian leaned against the counter, watching her with that damned smirk. “Just trying to understand you better.”
Mia scoffed. “You mean trying to get inside my head.”
Nico chuckled from his spot. “Careful, Mia. He does that to people.”
Mia smirked but didn’t take the bait. Instead, she focused on her dish—scoring the fish lightly before rubbing it down with sea salt, fresh thyme, and a drizzle of olive oil. She zested a lemon over it, letting the bright citrus fragrance mix with the scent of the herbs.
As she moved to the stove, she felt Adrian step closer behind her. Not touching, but close enough that the heat of him brushed against her skin. She fought the urge to turn around, to meet whatever challenge was lurking in his gaze.
Instead, she dropped the fish into the pan, the sizzle breaking the tension.
She worked quickly, caramelizing fennel in butter, reducing the white wine into a delicate sauce, and plating with practiced grace. When she finally turned, she found both men watching her, their expressions unreadable.
Mia lifted a brow. “Well?”
Nico stepped forward first, picking up his fork and cutting into the branzino. He took a slow, deliberate bite. His expression remained neutral as he chewed, swallowed, and then…smiled.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s good.”
Mia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Adrian, however, took his time. He cut a precise bite, brought it to his lips, and tasted it. Silence stretched between them as he considered, his expression giving away nothing.
Then, finally, he spoke. “Impressive.”
It wasn’t an effusive compliment, but coming from him, it felt like one.
Mia crossed her arms. “So? Did I pass your little test?”
Adrian set his fork down and met her gaze. “You’re talented. There’s no question about that.”
She frowned. “But?”
“But talent isn’t the only thing that matters in my world.” His voice was low, steady. “The real question is, can you handle the pressure? The expectations?”
Mia bristled. “You think I can’t?”
“I think,” he said, stepping closer, “that you haven’t really been tested yet.”
The air between them thickened.
She should have backed away. She should have put distance between them. But she didn’t. Instead, she held his gaze, refusing to be the first to break.
Nico cleared his throat. “Well, this is fun to watch, but I think I’ll grab that wine now.”
Mia exhaled, stepping back, breaking whatever unspoken thing had started to build between her and Adrian.
Adrian’s lips curved slightly, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Damn him.
She wasn’t sure what kind of game he was playing, but one thing was clear—Adrian Lancaster wasn’t just testing her skills in the kitchen.
He was testing her.
And she’d be damned if she let him win.
Later That Night
Mia stepped out onto the quiet Manhattan sidewalk, the cool night air hitting her skin like a wake-up call. She had done it—she had impressed one of the best chefs in the world and a man who thrived on pushing people to their limits.
But why did she feel like this wasn’t over?
As she walked toward the subway, her phone buzzed. A message.
Adrian: Not bad, Carter. But next time, I expect to be blown away.
Mia stared at the screen, heat creeping up her neck.
Next time?
She scoffed, but a small, rebellious smile tugged at her lips as she typed back.
Mia: Careful what you wish for, Lancaster.
She hit send and slipped her phone into her pocket.
Game on.
INT. LUNA APARTMENT - 4:00PM
Mia sat cross-legged on the soft rug of Luna’s cozy living room, flipping through a half-crumpled magazine she wasn’t really reading. The lights were dim, the scent of cinnamon from a nearby candle lingering in the air. A mellow playlist floated through the room while Luna lounged on the couch in oversized pajamas, sipping wine from a mismatched glass.
Between them sat a bowl of popcorn, mostly eaten.
“So,” Luna began, a teasing glint in her eye. “You’re just going to casually not mention that you spent the night at Mr. Mysterious Billionaire’s house?”
Mia rolled her eyes without looking up. “I didn't spend the night. I just cooked. That’s it. No drama. No scandal.”
Luna lifted an eyebrow. “Did you cook in a bedroom... or *his* bedroom?”
Mia shot her a glare. “Luna!”
“What?” Luna grinned, sipping again. “I’m just saying. At this rate, you might as well start cooking for him. Bolognese, maybe?”
“I’m not making Bolognese,” Mia muttered. “Or anything. And I’m *definitely* not ending up with him.”
“‘Definitely,’” Luna repeated, mockingly. “As if destiny listens to declarations made over popcorn.”
“I have nothing to do with that man’s... empire. Or fur. Or charm.” Mia tossed a piece of popcorn at her. “I’m just trying to live my normal little life.”
They both laughed, the kind of laugh only best friends could share.
After a moment, Mia tilted her head. “Hey... How bout you and Maverick? You haven't talked about him for sometime now.”
Luna’s smile faded slightly. She sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “Caught him cheating again.”
Mia’s eyes narrowed. “Again?”
“Yep.” Luna stared at the ceiling, like she could burn holes through it. “Right on top of his bed. Told him it’s over. For real.”
Mia dropped the magazine entirely. “Gosh, men are trash.”
“Certified garbage,” Luna muttered.
“Walking disappointments,” Mia added.
“Unrecyclable waste.”
They both cracked up laughing, though there was real frustration under their laughter.
“I swear, if one more man cheats on someone like you, I’m starting a commune. No boys allowed. Just us and snacks.”
“And maybe a punching bag with Maverick’s face on it,” Luna added, mouth full of popcorn.
“Ugh. Men,” Mia said with venom, tossing another popcorn into her mouth like it offended her.
Luna nodded solemnly. “Which brings me to my new emotional support plan…”
Mia blinked. “... Another guy?”
“It's a cat silly.”
Mia tilted her head. “A cat?”
“Yeah. A moody little gremlin who only loves me. I feel like we’d get each other.”
Mia chuckled. “You’d train it to hate men.”
“Obviously. It’s called boundaries.”
They laughed again, louder this time.
“What are you gonna name her?” Mia asked.
“Garlic.”
Mia stared. “...Garlic?”
“She keeps the bad energy away. Just like the real thing.”
“You really are insane, aren't you?”
They clinked glasses as they both laughed.
- Writer
