His Private Chef

Chapter 3: The Deal

The moment I walked through the door, I didn’t even bother taking off my shoes. I went straight to my room, tossed my bag into a corner, and collapsed onto the bed.

I was drained to the bone.

Out of all the people in Los Angeles–millions, by the way, it just had to be him who ended up as my new boss.

Liam freaking Black.

Of course it couldn’t be Jay. Jay is warm, humble, and genuinely kind. No arrogant-celebrity energy. No “I’m better than you” smirk. He’s easy to talk to. Charming, even.

His older brother could seriously use a lesson or two.

I let out a long sigh and shut my eyes.

Sleep swallowed me almost instantly.

—

My phone dragged me out of a deep, blissful nap. The ringtone echoed like an alarm through my room.

I groaned, groping for it blindly on the nightstand.

Lisa.

I answered, voice raspy. “Hey, girly.”

“How was your first day?” Her voice was bright and bubbly, far too energetic for the zombie version of me currently horizontal on my bed.

I rolled to the side. “It was… okay. My new boss is a jerk. Which is a shame, because he’s so painfully handsome. Honestly, I wish he were bald, old, lonely, and hideous.”

She burst into laughter, the kind that left her breathless. I could practically see her clutching her stomach.

“How cute is he though?” she asked, all curiosity and squeals.

I groaned. “Painfully. The man looks like he was carved by the gods. It’s unfair for one person to look that good and be that insufferable.”

She screamed into the phone loud enough to shatter my eardrum. I yanked the phone away and hissed.

“Jesus, Lisa!”

“I can’t help it! I want to be you right now! At least your summer is starting off with fireworks. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in toddler hell with these tiny demons climbing me like I’m playground equipment.”

I smiled. That’s Lisa for you. She’d flown to Florida to help her sister with the kids while baby number three was on the way. Family first, always.

“I remember how excited you were,” I teased, mimicking her voice. “‘I miss my babies so much. I can’t wait to see them!’”

She giggled. “They’re adorable on FaceTime. But in real life? They’re like mini-terrorists. I’ve stepped on more Legos than I care to admit.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

She sighed, then shifted gears. “Okay, spill. Besides Mr. Greek God Boss, anything else happen?”

I paused for dramatic effect.

“Em. Don’t play with me.”

I grinned. “I might have agreed to be a video vixen in Jason Black’s next music video.”

Silence.

Then came the screams.

“WHAT?! Girl, are you serious?! That is SO freaking cool! You’re going to be in a video with Jason Black?! Do you know how many people would die for that opportunity?”

I stayed quiet.

She caught on immediately.

Her tone softened. “Wait. You’re not excited? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It felt like an impulse thing. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Em.” Her voice dropped to her no-nonsense tone. “You’re stunning. You’ll look amazing on camera. Plus, it’s Jason Black. This could be huge. Or at the very least… fun.”

I smiled faintly. “You’re more excited than I am.”

“Someone has to be! Okay, fine. I’ll let you go since you’re tired and moody. But I want every detail tomorrow.”

“Deal. Night, Lis.”

“Night, Em.”

I ended the call before she could spiral into another giddy rant. I love her, but she can go on for hours if you let her.

After forcing myself out of bed, I took a quick shower, then made dinner, chicken pasta. The familiar aroma filled the kitchen, rich and comforting.

Mom and I always cooked and ate together. We’d talk about our day, binge shows, gossip. Her laughter used to echo through this house. Now, the silence was deafening.

I cleaned up and was just heading back to my room when my phone buzzed.

Jay: Hey, Vixen. Got plans tomorrow?

Me: Nope. Why?

Jay: Wanna come to the studio with me?

Me: Depends. What’s in it for me?

Jay: You get to see where the magic happens. You get to hang out with me. What could be better?

Me: Not good enough. I’ll pass.

Jay: Ouch. Harsh. Okay, name your price.

I stared at the screen, amused.

Me: Offer me something I can’t say no to.

Typing bubble.

Pause.

Typing bubble again.

Stop.

Now I was curious.

Finally, the typing bubble vanished, for good this time. A message appeared.

Jay: There’s this famous Italian chef in LA. You might’ve heard of him. Name starts with M, ends with O.

My heart skipped.

Me: Marco Russo?

Jay: Bingo. Told him I might stop by tomorrow. With a friend.

Me: You’re evil.

Jay: I grew up with business sharks. I learned early. So… you in or out?

Me: Ugh. Fine. You win. Deal.

Jay: Excellent choice. Send me your address. I’ll pick you up at 9.

Grinning, I sent it.

Marco Russo.

In the culinary world, he’s Beyoncé-level iconic. A legend. He doesn’t do TV. Doesn’t host classes. Doesn’t even look your way unless you’ve got royal blood or ten million followers.

And tomorrow, I’d get to meet him.

Jay: Goodnight, Em. See you bright and early.

Me: Goodnight, Jay. Don’t oversleep.

As soon as the screen went dark, I bolted to my closet and started rummaging. Outfit decisions were now a national emergency.

I know I sound like a kid headed to Disneyland.

But this is my Disneyland.

I don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight.

But one thing I do know?

Tomorrow’s going to be unforgettable.