Instant Parents with My Enemy

Chapter 10

Jasmine's POV

“We can handle it from here, Nate,” I complained, noticing he looked like he had full intentions of following us all the way back home.

“Papa, don’t you still have a meeting?” Kitty asked, tilting her head up at him.

Keith didn't bother joining the conversation because he was busy stacking our groceries into the trunk. He was standing inside the back of the car, reaching out to take the heavy bags from us so he could set them down neatly.

Nate paused, raising a single eyebrow dramatically at both Kitty and me. Honestly, the man is so petty he'd probably pick an argument with a four-year-old.

“Are you two seriously kicking me out?” he asked, folding his arms.

I didn't back down for a second. “Yes, I am. Goodbye,” I said bluntly, without a single filter.

If I had wanted him to come along during our shopping trip earlier, I certainly didn't want him around anymore. The man had drawn unwanted attention from every single corner of that supermarket. I honestly couldn't comprehend what women saw in him that I so clearly didn't.

Women were literally swooning in the aisles every time he walked past, and they didn't even stop giggling when Kitty loudly called him 'Papa'!

He was wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves carelessly rolled up to his elbows, and apparently, every female within a ten-mile radius found that utterly magnetic.

Nate stopped what he was doing completely, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance. Kitty immediately copied his exact stance, crossing her tiny arms and looking right at me.

Wait a minute, whose side is this kid on?!

“You literally barged into my office asking for me, and now you're telling me to scram?” he demanded, stepping closer.

“It wasn’t me! It was the twins!” I fired right back, gesturing toward the kids.

“The front desk explicitly told me that you left the message!”

He just couldn't stand losing an argument.

“It wasn’t me, Nate!” I argued, pressing a hand to my chest in disbelief.

“It was definitely you!”

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my own brain. I was just about to deliver another witty comeback when I noticed two pairs of big, round eyes tracking us back and forth. Keith and Kitty were watching our back-and-forth banter like it was a live tennis match, looking thoroughly entertained with zero intention of stopping us.

Wait... why aren't they worried now?

Usually, whenever we raised our voices even a little bit, they’d get all concerned and ask why we were fighting again. But now? They were just enjoying the show.

“Ugh, I hate you,” I huffed, rolling my eyes one last time.

“I hate you too,” he shot back smoothly.

Without another word, we went back to loading the car. In the end, Nate didn't return to his executive office at all. Instead, he ended up driving his car right behind mine, following us all the way home to help unload and organize the groceries.

I honestly doubted whether he even knew his way around a normal kitchen. He was wealthy beyond belief, so I knew for a fact he probably had a full staff of housemaids and private chefs taking care of his personal life.

“I’ve been working my butt off all day, so you’re cooking dinner!” I announced firmly the moment we set the last bag down on the kitchen counter.

I saw him freeze mid-step.

Oh, great. Don't tell me he doesn't know how to cook dinner either, because I sure as hell don't know how to cook a full meal!

He slowly raised his gaze to meet mine.

“What?!” I demanded, crossing my arms defensively.

He bit the inside of his lip, glancing at the ingredients spread across the counter. “You cook. You’re the woman here.”

The absolute audacity! I immediately exploded.

“What?! Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m doing all the domestic work!” I protested, my voice an octave higher. “I cleaned the entire house today, bathed two energetic kids, and got them dressed! I’ve been running on empty all day, and I am completely exhausted!”

“Oh, so you’re keeping score now?” he countered, raising an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes. “No! I’m just saying I’m tired, and it’s your turn to step up and make dinner!”

Nate shook his head instantly, refusing to back down.

“No way. We’re doing this together,” he stated, taking a sudden step toward me.

I instinctively put my hands up and pushed him back by his chest because he was standing entirely too close.

“We do this together,” he repeated firmly, stepping right back into my space. “Didn’t you say co-parenting means equal effort?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t help clean the—”

“I’ll clean tomorrow, Jasmine,” he interrupted smoothly, cutting me off before I could finish my sentence.

My shoulders slumped in defeat, and I let out a long, dramatic sigh. The second he turned his back toward the stove, I raised both of my fists behind his head, making wild, aggressive hitting motions in the air while pulling a furious face at his back.

Suddenly, I felt eyes on me. I peeked around Nate’s shoulder, only to see Keith and Kitty standing by the kitchen archway, watching my little silent tantrum in full view.

I slowly lowered my hands, clearing my throat awkwardly. Keith gave me a disappointed little shake of his head, while Kitty covered her mouth to stifle a fit of giggles.

You are going to be the absolute death of me, Nate Davis.

Later that evening, the two of us found ourselves standing side by side in the kitchen, attempting to cook dinner. It quickly turned into a chaotic disaster of us shoving each other out of the way while trying to figure out how to make Fettuccine Alfredo from scratch.

The twins had requested it, claiming it was their ultimate favorite meal that Karen used to make for them all the time.

The problem? I had no idea how to make homemade Alfredo sauce. And by the looks of it, neither did Nate.

I heard him let out a quiet curse under his breath as he scratched the back of his neck in frustration, staring blankly at a pot of cold water.

“I think we need to boil the pasta first so it’s cooked and ready!” I suggested, pointing at the box.

Nate shook his head, looking at me like I was insane. “No, we should start with the sauce first.”

“Okay, chef, then how do we make the sauce?” I asked, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “How should I know? I’m not a cook.”

“Well, I’m not a cook either!”

And just like that, round ten of our endless bickering began, right over a bowl of raw pasta and a tub of heavy cream.

“Look, just look up a recipe on your phone!” I snapped, shoving a tub of butter toward his chest.

“Why do I have to look it up?” he argued, catching the tub before it fell. “You have a phone too, don't you? Or did you forget how to use technology along with your cooking skills?”

I gasped, glaring daggers at him. “My phone is charging upstairs, you pretentious i***t! Just Google it!”

He pulled out his phone with a heavy sigh, unlocking it with his thumb. “Fine. How to make Fettuccine Alfredo without burning down the house.”

“Don't type that!” I reached out to snatch the phone, but he easily held it above his head, leveraging his height advantage just to annoy me.

“Hey! Give it back!” I demanded, standing on my tiptoes and swatting at his wrist.

“You're short, Jasmine. Accept it,” he smirked, glancing down at his screen while keeping one arm firmly in the air. “Okay, step one: melt butter. Add garlic. Stir in heavy cream.”

“See? I told you!” I jabbed a finger into his ribs, making him jump slightly. “We need to melt the butter first! Pass the pan!”

“Don't touch me; violence isn't key,” he grumbled, turning on the burner.

He dropped a huge chunk of butter into the skillet, only for it to instantly sizzle and start smoking.

“Nate, turn the heat down!” I shrieked, grabbing his wrist to pull him away from the dial. “You're going to set off the smoke detector!”

“I'm controlling the heat!” he yelled back, fighting for control of the knob. “It needs to melt fast!”

“That's not how butter works, you lunatic!”

Before either of us could win the dial war, a loud beep echoed from the hallway, followed immediately by the blaring screech of the smoke detector.

Both of us froze, wide-eyed.

From the doorway, Keith and Kitty walked in holding hands. Keith was carrying a small kitchen towel, which he calmly handed to Nate, while Kitty looked up at the ceiling and sighed like a tired parent.

“Mama Jas,” Kitty called out over the screeching alarm.

“Yes, baby?” I asked, frantically trying to fan the smoke away with my hands.

“Can we just order pizza?” Keith asked flatly.

Nate and I looked at each other, covered in a light dusting of stray flour, standing over a smoking pan of burnt butter.

“Yes,” Nate and I blurted out in unison.

Kitty smiled, turning back toward the living room. “I told you, Keith. They can't cook.”

As the smoke cleared and Nate aggressively fanned the ceiling with Keith's little towel, I slumped against the kitchen counter, completely drained. He looked down at me, his tie completely crooked, a stray smudge of butter on his cheek, and for the first time all day... he let out a quiet, genuine laugh.

I tried to keep my scowl intact, but I failed miserably, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

“You are still an i***t, Nate Davis,” I muttered under my breath.

“And you're still a brat, Jasmine Jones,” he replied, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “Now go get your phone. You're paying for the pizza.”