Chapter 6
1777 Words
Ivy
I slammed my bedroom door shut with a loud thud and glare at it. "Asshole," I hissed. "Control freak. Ego-filled, annoying, arrogant jerk."
I dragged a hand through my hair and paced once, then twice. "Who the hell does he think he is? Yelling at me like I'm some child. Acting like he owns the air I breathe. Damn it, Cole."
I dropped onto the bed, grabbed my laptop, and pulled it onto my lap. He irritated the hell out of me. The way he looked at me like I was incompetent. Like I couldn't even boil water.
As if I'd ever cook for him. Please. If it were my food, he wouldn't get a single bite. I wouldn't even cook in the same space as him if I had a choice. I was only trying to research a few things earlier when I forgot I'd left something on the fire, rushed into the kitchen, and boom burnt mess.
And suddenly he's acting all high and mighty about his house.
Funny how he left the house for me. And now he's standing there barking at me like I committed a crime.
I blew out a breath and forced myself to refocus. Work. That's why I'm here.
I need to get his image on board. I need to win this. One week or not, I'm not failing. I cracked my knuckles and started typing.
"How to tame an arrogant man."
I paused. Scoffed.
"No. How to tame a single man."
I groaned. Deleted again.
"How to tame a man who is full of himself."
I hit enter. A bunch of ridiculous results popped up. Relationship nonsense. Manipulation tricks. Crazy advice that made no sense.
"Oh my God," I groaned, dropping my head back. "This is useless."
Right on cue, my stomach betrayed me with a loud growl.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," I muttered. I'd already ordered pizza. I just hoped it would arrive before I actually passed out from hunger. I'd cook later. Properly. Enough to last till the next day. For now, survival first.
I was still grumbling when my was pushed open.
I jumped startled. "What the hell—don't you know how to knock?"
"This is my house." he narrowed his eyes on me.
I laughed, a bitter one. "Oh, really? Is that so? Well, this is my room. My privacy. You knock before coming in."
"Who did you bring into my house?"
I jolted up. "Oh right! My pizza."
I brushed past him, shoulder-checking him on purpose, and marched to the front door. The delivery guy smiled. I smiled back, sweet and polite, signed quickly, thanked him, and closed the door.
The moment it shut, I hugged the pizza box to my chest and inhaled deeply.
"God," I sighed. "Bless pizza."
I turned around and Cole was standing there. Watching me.
I ignored him and walked straight to the couch. Just as I was about to sit, his voice cut through the room.
"Don't sit on my couch."
I sat anyway completely ignoring him. I opened the box and the smell filled the room instantly. Warm. Cheesy. Perfect.
"Wow," I said loudly, dramatically. "This looks so good. Smells amazing too. Sweet, cheesy, delicious."
I glanced up at him with a fake smile. "Such a shame you won't get any."
"Do you think I would even eat that thing? You're eating it because you don't know how to cook."
"Wait—hey. Hey," I said, lowering the slice slowly. "I don't know how to cook?"
I dropped the pizza back into the box and stood up in one sharp movement, staring at him. "You really don't know me."
He lifted a brow, unimpressed. "Yes. I don't. Or do you think I know you?"
I blinked. And then it hit me. He really didn't recognize me. Not even a flicker. If he did, there would've been something in his eyes. But there was nothing.
I exhaled slowly and straightened. "If you taste my food, I doubt you'd enjoy anything else after. I'm a very good chef."
He laughed. A full, mocking laugh. "Did you hear yourself? Chef? Oh, spare me. Drop the act and just admit you don't know how to cook."
My vision narrowed. "You—"
I lunged forward without thinking, but he caught my wrist mid-air, fingers locking tight around it.
"What exactly do you intend to do?" he asked coolly.
"I was going to punch you," I snapped.
Something flashed in his eyes. Surprise. Like he'd just realized oh this woman is actually unhinged.
"Let go of my hand," I demanded, tugging hard.
He didn't. So I swung with my other hand. He caught that one too.
The nerve. The sheer audacity. Anger exploded in my chest and I reacted on instinct lifting my leg and driving my foot straight into his knee.
"s**t—" He stumbled back, releasing me.
"Are you crazy?" he barked.
"Yes," I shot back. "And this is what you get for not listening when I told you to let go of my hand."
I huffed, turned away from him, and dropped back onto the couch and picked up my pizza slice, and took a bite.
He stared at me like I'd grown two heads. "How were you raised?"
I nearly laughed as I looked up at him. "Apparently well enough not to put my hands on people and expect them to stay calm."
He said nothing. Inside, I smiled. Good. I'd gotten to him.
Cole dropped onto the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. Fine by me. I kept eating, enjoying every bite, even humming softly under my breath just to be extra annoying.
"Can you just keep quiet while eating?"
I paused mid-bite and looked at him. "Um... what's your business with how I eat? This is how I eat."
The look he gave me like I was something dirty he'd accidentally stepped on.
I didn't care. In fact, I chewed louder.
I leaned the box slightly in his direction. "Do you want some?"
He shot me a glare, then turned back to the TV.
The news was on. Sports channel. A player sat in front of reporters, cameras flashing. The scandal that paused Cole's career.
"So how does it feel getting out of the hospital after months?" someone asked.
The player smiled looking direct at the camera. "I feel alive. Some people wanted me dead, but grace kept me."
My eyes drifted to Cole. His gaze was locked on the screen. Jaw clenched. Shoulders stiff.
Everyone knew the story. Everyone knew Cole Dawson had shoved an opponent. Everyone knew the injury that followed.
And before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. "What exactly did he do for you to push him?"
Cole's head snapped toward me. "Keep your mouth shut."
I zipped my lips instantly. Then footsteps padded into the living room.
His daughter. She came out clutching her toy, sleepy-eyed but curious.
"Hey," I said waving at her with my free hand. Her eyes lifted to me.
"Come here," I added.
She walked over slowly. I smiled at her. "How are you doing?"
Her gaze dropped to the pizza box. Locked. Focused.
I nudged it closer. "Do you want some?"
She nodded.
"Don't give my daughter what your dirty hands have touched," Cole snapped.
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."
I still handed Mia a piece.
"Thank you, Ma'am," she said sweetly.
I smiled and cupped her cheek gently. "You can call me Ivy."
The room went quiet. The TV went off. I looked up and saw Cole lowering the remote, while a hiss left his lips.
**
I was in the kitchen later, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, my phone resting on the counter behind me.
Music playing softly from the speaker one of my old favorites following along as I stirred the sauce in the pan. This was my thing. Cooking. Music. Rhythm.
It was the only time my mind truly shut off. Cooking always did that to me. Gave me peace. Made me feel grounded. Like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
I pitched my voice a little higher, smiling to myself as I tasted the sauce.
Then silence. The music cut off abruptly.
I frowned and turned around. Cole stood right behind me, finger pressed against my phone screen.
Slowly, I turned the heat down and faced him fully. "What exactly is your problem, Cole?"
His hand stayed on my phone for a second longer, like he was debating something, then he pulled it back and slipped it into his pocket. His eyes flicked to the stove, the pan, the steam curling up into the air.
"You're making too much noise," he said. Flat. Controlled. Annoying.
I blinked at him. Then I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "It's music, not a riot. Last time I checked, humming doesn't bring houses down."
"You were raising your voice. And this isn't your house," he shot back.
I rolled my eye. There it goes again. "Funny. You keep saying that, yet here I am. Cooking. Alive. Not setting anything on fire."
"Yet," he muttered.
"You know, for someone who claims he wants peace and order, you sure do a great job hovering. Do you make it a habit to stalk people in kitchens or am I just special?"
His brows drew together. "Excuse me?"
"I'm cooking dinner. Properly. The stove is under control. The house is still standing. And this—" I gestured to the phone. "—is how I focus."
Silence stretched between us. Thick. Heavy.
"You don't cook like someone who doesn't know what they're doing," he said quietly.
I arched a brow. "Wow. Was that almost a compliment?"
He ignored that. "Why are you even doing this?" he asked. "You could order takeout. You clearly like that better."
I scoffed. "Because not everything in life comes in a box, Cole. And not everything needs to be locked away."
Something flickered in his eyes. Gone too fast to name. I rolled my eyes, reaching for the counter where my phone lay. The moment my foot bent the wrong way, the world tilted.
"s**t!"
I gasped as I lost my balance, the floor rushing up too fast. Before I could brace myself, an arm snapped around my waist, pulling me back.
I collided with a solid chest. Cole's hand was splayed against my waist, warm, steady, holding me like he'd done it a thousand times. My hands instinctively grabbed at his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric.
I looked up heart racing. He was already looking at me.
- Writer
