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006 - Don’t Joke With My Wardrobe

In two seconds, I got to the kitchen and then I see the mess - shards of glass scattered across the floor, a pan flipped over with creamy contents staining the counter like evidence left behind at a crime scene.

The soft scent of Hypnotic Poison filled the air, telling me exactly who it was before my eyes could find her.

Soon, I spot the culprit standing at the center of everything, her back turned against me, completely unaware of my presence. Plush house slides, mocha-complexioned, curvy, with her behind straining against a short shirt dress.

She had earlier folded the sleeves as though she meant business.

The pattern on the dress made me take a second look, but she did a quick turn, her ringlets bouncing to the back.

Wait a second. Diane Harper was in my Brunello Cucinelli shirt? My! I had never worn this!

She shook like someone caught sneaking cookies, clutching an iPad to her chest, her eyes wide with guilt.

“Ev... hi!" She said sharply.

I swallowed.

It's been ages someone called me that. Only Diane did, anyway. She looked exactly the same, and yet entirely different. More gorgeous, with a fuller silhouette.

I couldn’t figure out how she had gotten into the house without any of my staffs giving a hint of her arrival.

“What are you doing here?" I asked. "My cook should be handling this."

“It wasn’t easy convincing Patricia to stay out of the kitchen,” she said with a smirk.

“And?” I prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Diane took a step forward, but I held up a hand, drawing her attention to the glass shards on the floor. She glanced down, and quickly swept her hair away to meet my stare.

"Really? That’s how you greet your best girl after a year?" she asked, flashing a cocky grin.

I didn't fall for that.

She tried again. “Not even a missed-call text? Was work that crazy?"

"Kinda"

"When did you return from Scotland?" I continued.

Diane laughed musically. “Scot what? That was six months ago. The last show was in Milan. Then France. You know how dad can be, he made sure I didn’t sit still for a second."

I pressed my lips, maintaining silence.

"You wouldn't know, Ev. You are always too busy. You never get in touch if I don't make the move."

Immediately, I turned away, thinking of the perfect way to switch the topic.

“I’ve decided to spend a week with you. Think of it as making up for lost time. Sounds fair, right?” she asked, excitement dancing in her eyes.

I almost choked. "Seven days?"

“Fine. I’ll stay out of your way,” she suggested. “I can work from home. Harper & Co. approved it. It's just seven days.”

I was about to protest, but she didn’t give me the chance.

“My apartment’s being renovated. Paint fumes, noise, it's a total mess, Ev. This is my only option. My siblings are out of town too."

Her warm brown eyes met mine, it remained that way for a moment. I see the usual softness creeping in until a female voice from her iPad cut through, saving us both from the awkward silence.

Diane rubbed the back of her neck, too embarrassed as the chef's words went on in the background.

"One ladle of stock at a time, let it absorb, then stir again. If you stop stirring, it’ll stick, and we don’t want th-"

She shut it down fast.

I bit back a laugh with everything in me.

Diane who once burned toast was trying to make risotto? That's really very ambitious of her.

“Don't mock me." she warned, rolling her eyes. “I was trying to make us a meal before everything went sideways.”

“Interesting... I'd let you stay if you tell me why you thought my favorite dish deserved this level of risk.”

She sighed, handing me the iPad in a bid to clean the mess.

I immediately stop her. "Don't. I'll handle it."

“Ev, it’s fine.” she murmured.

“It’s not.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You won’t.”

She lifted her hands slightly, then let them fall. I placed the iPad aside.

"I can't clean up this mess if you're still standing there, Diane."

"What if we call Patricia to sort this out?" She offered.

“There's no need for that.”

In two strides I got to where she stood, lifting her effortlessly. She gasped, gripping my shoulders with her hands.

“Everett!”

I ignored her till I get to one of the stools behind the counter, dropping her carefully on it. Only then did I notice her cheeks were flushing.

"You didn't have to-" she squeaked.

“You were wasting my time."

I ran a hand through the strands of hair that were covering my eyes, gliding them back and feeling them settle just above my shoulders.

Diane was literally salivating now. Glaring at me like I was some snack.

I love giving that effect on women, and it was always too easy with Diane.

Quickly, I stood up from where I squatted, going ahead to grab gloves, broom and dustpan.

“You’re way too weighty for someone who basically survives on pastries." I said.

Her mouth fell open, and she chuckled. “I am not.”

"If you say so" I shrugged.

I was almost done with the mess, and throughout the whole time I could feel Diane watching me from the counter, her stare drilling holes into my back.

She broke the silence. “You hardly smile these days.”

“I don’t have the time.”

“But you used to, Ev. And you loved that,” she went on.

I said nothing in response, going ahead to drop the broom and dustpan back in their place, a stubborn ache settling in my chest.

“Stay safe. And keep my kitchen in one piece,” I said, already heading out.

“Everett,” she called.

I came to a stop, turning towards her as our eyes met yet again.

“You don’t have to be so hard all the time.”

That was unbelievable. I scoffed, stepping closer, my two hands resting on either sides of her seat.

“Neither do you have to stay, “ I said, letting my gaze drift to the shirt before meeting her eyes. “You can keep it. Just remember you don’t touch my things without permission next time — I don’t joke with my wardrobe.