The Puck’s Bunny

Ch.5

CLAIRE

As soon as my belongings are strewn across the marble floor, my cheeks flush more intensely than the pouring rain. I can sense his gaze without needing to glance up. Eros Asante's focus settled on me as if it were a judgment.

His stare is a tangible force, heavy against my shoulder blades. It's warm, piercing, and scrutinizing. It feels as though he is noting every imperfection I've exposed this evening, and I've exposed quite a bit.

Holding onto him tightly on his motorcycle as if my life depended on it, only to tumble into his embrace. And the most troubling part, that tattered gossip clipping nearly fluttering down to his feet. I cram the last pen into my leather bag and force myself to stand, still avoiding his gaze.

Maybe if I don’t look at him, I can convince myself that tonight never occurred.

Mrs. Parker alleviates the tension by inviting me to join her upstairs. We ascend together.

"Where are your other bags, dear? Surely you brought more than just that leather bag?" Mrs. Parker inquired.

My stomach sinks. "I... encountered some issues on the road. My car broke down. I had to abandon everything."

Mrs. Parker gasps softly, but her face transforms into a warm, maternal expression. "Well, that simply won’t do," she said, giving my hand a gentle pat.

"There’s a wonderful collection of dresses and outfits that belonged to Chloe’s mother. You can borrow them until your luggage arrives."

We strolled down a lengthy corridor, the lighting warm and golden, the carpet plush enough to absorb my damp footsteps. We paused outside a side door, which I presumed was a linen closet. Instead, Mrs. Parker swung it open to unveil a walk-in storage area filled with neatly labeled boxes and rows of vintage summer dresses in soft pastel patterns hanging.

"Everything is still in wonderful condition," Mrs. Parker said with pride. "Choose whatever you like, dear. I always believed someone would come along who'd cherish these again."

The kindness took me by surprise. No one has ever said anything like that to me in...years. Never. I stepped inside, letting my fingers glide over the fabrics. Soft yellows. The clothes seemed to belong to someone who led a warm and steady life. A life I’ve never experienced. I selected two dresses, a sleep set, and a few other items, carefully folding them over my arm.

"Thank you," I murmured, genuinely touched. "This means so much."

Mrs. Parker squeezed my elbow. "I’m glad you’re here, Claire."

And for the first time, the word 'belong' doesn't feel like a lie. My new bedroom is cozy, gently illuminated, and far too spacious for someone who still feels like a lost stray cat navigating rainwater across lavish floors. I close the door behind me and breathe out, allowing my back to lean against the polished wood.

Silence. At last.

No thunder. No motorcycle engines. No more intimidating gray-eyed boss, glaring at me as if I had personally offended the weather.

Just...stillness. I walked over to the dresser, tossed my leather bag onto the bed, and began unpacking the few items I managed to salvage from my car mishap.

A handful of toiletries, a notebook, and my phone, which I plug in right away, hoping it’s not permanently damaged from the rain. The charging icon lights up, and a wave of relief washes over me.At least something today is functioning. I smooth out one of the borrowed dresses, carefully draping it over the armchair. The act feels strangely tender, as if I’m nurturing something valuable.

Perhaps because no one has ever lent me clothes with such faith before, I feel a bit sentimental.It’s been a tough night. I make my way to the bathroom, steam clouding the mirror as hot water cascades from the showerhead. The instant I step under it, warmth envelops my skin, melting away the tension in my hands, shoulders, and spine. I let the water rinse away the dirt, the anxiety, the embarrassment of falling for Eros Asante.

Well...technically twice if I consider emotionally collapsing the moment I laid eyes on his face. Nope. Not going there. Not before bed. Ideally, not ever.

As I changed into the cozy cotton sleep set and secured the robe around my waist, I began to feel somewhat human again—until my stomach growled loudly. I groaned and collapsed onto the bed for just a moment, rubbing my eyes. Why on earth did I politely decline Mrs. Parker's sandwich? I could have sidestepped this predicament. I could have been nourished, warm, and content. Instead, hunger gnaws at me like a tiny, irritable squirrel that has chewed through my last nerve.

"Alright," I murmured to myself. "Kitchen mission. Quick in, quick out. No mishaps."

I slipped out of the room, tightening the robe around me. The hallway was dimly lit, with lights glowing softly, humming gently beneath my bare feet. As I moved, they brightened with motion sensors, chasing away the shadows one step at a time. It felt oddly magical. And oddly unsettling. I passed by closed doors, pondering which one belonged to Chloe. Which one belonged to Eros? Actually—no. No pondering about Eros. None. I quietly descended the stairs, the house too silent, the storm now merely a whisper brushing against the tall windows. I turned toward the kitchen and froze.

There was a shiny brass nameplate on the door that read: KITCHEN. It radiated a level of confidence I could only dream of having one day. I knocked, then instantly regretted my decision. Was that the proper etiquette? Before I could overthink it any further, the door swung open.

"Maribel," she introduced herself as I took her in. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties, built like someone who had tussled with a few full-grown grizzlies in her lifetime, with hands capable of kneading dough or delivering a swift backhand to the unruly. Her hair was a mix of salt and pepper, pulled back into a practical bun, and her chef's whites were immaculate despite the subtle scent of garlic and something buttery wafting through the air. Her eyes were sharp and dark, quickly assessing me.

"You must be Claire," she said, her voice warm yet with a hint of edge, reminiscent of a fine whiskey. "Come in, come in. Don’t let the draft in."

I stepped inside and nearly held my breath. The kitchen resembled my grandmother's but on a billionaire's budget. A massive marble island, copper pots scattered everywhere, and a long, weathered table that seemed to have been rescued from a French farmhouse. Above it, suspended from a wrought-iron rack, were every kind of pan and whisk imaginable. Fresh herbs thrived in shiny boxes along the window sills, and there was an entire wall filled with spice jars, each labeled in elegant, flowing script.

Maribel gestured to a stool at the end of the island. "Sit. Do you drink coffee this late?"

"Is there an option where the answer is no?" I replied, instantly warming to her.

She let out a hearty laugh and poured two cups of black coffee. "Milk's in the fridge if you're feeling weak," she joked, sliding one cup in my direction.

I smiled and accepted it as it was. Eros walked in shortly after, his suit now lacking the jacket but still looking impeccably sharp. He had rolled up the sleeves of his burgundy button-down, revealing forearms that seemed fit for a rowing team. Maribel let out a soft snort at the sight, as if she had seen him in a less polished state before.

He nodded at me, then at Maribel. "I’ll leave you in her capable hands," he remarked, already checking his phone. "I have a message to send."

He moved to the far end of the hall, just out of hearing range but still visible through the glass doors of the kitchen. Maribel observed him leave with a mix of fondness and exasperation.

"He’s not as intimidating as he appears," she commented.

"I think he might be scarier," I confessed. "Like, you expect the fangs, but not the..." I realized too late that I was speaking out loud.

"Uh. Never mind."

She raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

I felt my cheeks heat up. "Nothing, just... he's very... intense."

She laughed heartily. "Good. He needs to hear that every now and then."

I took a sip of my coffee, attempting to restore my dignity. "Not from me. How long have you been working here?"

"Too long. I started as a line cook in the city and came out here when he bought the place." She leaned in with a conspiratorial tone. "It's better than it appears. You’ll get accustomed to the unusual hours and privacy agreements. And if you play your cards right, he’ll forget you’re around until he needs something, which is how I prefer my bosses."

I tried to picture Eros Asante "forgetting" anything. "Has anyone ever seen him smile?"

She glanced at me, and for a moment, I thought she might share something profound. Then she chuckled. "Not unless you consider the times when the stock market crashes and he’s the only one profiting from it." She placed a plate of cheese and fruit in front of me. "Eat. The last nanny who was here fainted at her first dinner because she thought being thin was trendy. Not in my kitchen."

I prodded the brie, which was far superior to anything I had ever purchased for myself, and remarked, "So, Maribel. Spill the beans. Is he really as much of a control freak as the rumors suggest?"

She smiled. "Worse. You'll adapt. Or maybe you won't, and you'll find yourself sobbing in the linen closet for five minutes, but eventually, you'll adjust." She scrutinized me. "You seem resilient. You'll manage."

I wanted to trust her. I took a large bite of apple to prevent myself from revealing that my previous boss was a seventy-year-old dentist with a My Little Pony screensaver, which might mean I was ill-prepared. The kitchen door swung open once more, revealing Eros with a phone pressed to his ear. He deliberately ignored us both as he wrapped up his call, pacing the kitchen like a restless feline. I tried to avert my gaze, but naturally, I couldn't help but watch. He paused by the window, framed by the light, appearing even taller somehow. I found myself wondering what it would take to elicit a laugh from him. Or a blush. Or, for that matter, even a stutter.

After ending the call, he glanced my way and remarked, "Enjoy your meal. If you lose your way, Maribel will guide you to your room. I'll be in my office." His gaze lingered on me just a moment too long. "Any questions?"

"Is there a map? For the house?" I asked, only half-serious.

"Explore. You'll remember what matters," he replied. He then nodded at Maribel and disappeared back into the hallway.

As soon as he left, I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Maribel shot me a look that was part sympathy, part "girl, you're in for it." She paused for a moment before saying, "You're thinking it, aren't you?"

I looked up from my coffee, puzzled. "Thinking what?"

She smirked, mischievously. "That the boss is hot as sin. Don't lie."

I nearly choked. "Is it that obvious?"

"Darling, the way you gazed at him made me feel like I could bake a cake in this heat. If I were twenty years younger and not so tied down, I would attempt to capture his heart myself."

I buried my face in my hands. "I’m finished."

She gave my shoulder a reassuring pat, both nurturing and strong. "Just keep in mind, he appreciates his staff to be resilient, loyal, and reserved. Plus, he has a weakness for women who stand up to him. You’ll manage just fine."

"Sure," I replied. "Unless I accidentally blurt out how distracting he is right to his face."

Maribel winked. "He’d have it coming."