Chapter 5 When the CEO Demanded I Cook for Him
1123 Words
Cyrus immediately dialed The Scarlet Kitchen, finally discovering the reason—Tracy had taken the day off, with another chef covering her shift.
"Sir, Chef Tracy's off today."
The words tumbled out as Cyrus ducked his head like a scolded puppy.
Gordon's emerald eyes turned glacial. On leave?
She actually had the nerve to take a day off?
Hadn't she worked three-hundred-sixty-five days straight since the restaurant opened?
How convenient.
Was she so giddy about their upcoming engagement that she'd lost her senses?
"Clear my evening. Now."
Cyrus felt his heart lodge in his throat. Years at Gordon's side had forged him in fire, but even steel had its limits. This was downright terrifying.
When the CEO spoke, the world obeyed. Unquestioning loyalty was the bare minimum for a chief secretary.
Not that Gordon was a bad boss. Prideful? Sure. Scheming? Occasionally. But he'd never shortchanged Cyrus—which explained the unwavering loyalty.
Meanwhile, Tracy and Elliot set up camp by the shimmering lakeshore, drinking in the picturesque landscape. Today was about stolen moments—rare quality time in her hectic schedule.
Elliot was over the moon.
These golden hours were precious. Between running the bistro, managing staff, and funding HeartGrove Welfare Home, Tracy's charity work left little room for play.
Yet somehow, she still raced to school pickup every afternoon.
"Mommy," his obsidian eyes sparkled with mischief as he asked earnestly, "when I'm big and make money, will you stop working so hard?"
"That's my boy—always so thoughtful," Tracy mused with a chuckle.
"Of course Mommy would love for you to take care of me someday, sweetheart! But I'll always keep working—it brings me joy. Besides, it'd be a shame not to share this gift with more people," she said, ruffling Elliot's hair.
No one got Tracy like Elliot did. Cooking was her whole world. Every penny earned from Taste Titans, beyond staff salaries and expenses, went straight to HeartGrove Welfare Home. She worked like there was no tomorrow.
And that was exactly why he adored her—her heart was bigger than her restaurant, her independence unshakable, with a spirit that sparkled in countless ways.
Tracy's fingers brushed through Elliot's soft black hair, the strands slipping between them like water. In his white tracksuit, he almost looked like a delicate little girl in that fleeting moment.
She knew him inside out—his obsession with honey-glazed ribs, his love for peaches, how he'd tease her with sass way beyond his years. And oh, how he cherished that hair.
While other kids begged for toys, Elliot only had eyes for gadgets. But haircuts? Cue their regular standoff:
"Mommy, can we skip the scissors today?" he'd plead, clutching his hair. "It'll hurt right here," he'd add, pouting like his world was ending.
They'd finally compromised: shoulder-length, no longer. Now, eyeing her lopsided trim job—a mess only Elliot's angelic face could pull off—Tracy stifled a laugh.
As daylight faded, she braced for an all-nighter. Not wanting Elliot to see her exhaustion, she dropped him at Moanna's place, where he'd be spoiled rotten.
When Tracy stepped into the hallway of Crestview Apartments, the imposing silhouette leaning against her doorway immediately caught her eye. That impossibly handsome face—paired with the same tailored suit and designer shades he'd worn last time—could only belong to Gordon Hayworth. His image had burned itself a little too deeply into her memory.
The navy blue suit fit him like it was custom-made for his frame, while those vibrant emerald sunglasses somehow looked refined rather than ridiculous. Tracy's delicate arched eyebrows furrowed slightly.
What was he doing outside her apartment?
Had he been investigating her? How else would he know her exact address? The man was terrifying—yet she couldn't deny his capabilities.
Gordon's gaze softened as he took in Tracy's slender figure and tired posture. Yesterday's boardroom-ready authority had been replaced by a casual outfit that revealed a playful charm. Even by his uncompromising standards, she could only be described as beautiful.
He straightened up, slipping one hand into the perfectly pressed pocket of his trousers while checking his watch with the other. A solid hour. He'd waited a full hour—a display of patience he'd never shown anyone before.
"Mr. Hayworth," Tracy began, her key hovering near the lock, "would you mind moving aside?"
Gordon almost did a double take. Of all possible opening lines, he hadn't expected her to ask him to get out of the way—though technically, he was blocking the entrance.
All Tracy wanted was enough space to unlock her door! Was that so unreasonable? Yet the way his intense gaze seemed to pierce right through her made her skin prickle with unease.
"Cook for me."
His smoky baritone voice dropped lower as he loosened two buttons of his suit jacket, revealing just enough of that chiseled jawline to be distracting. The man radiated an untouchable magnetism that was impossible to ignore.
Did she hear that right? Tracy blinked in disbelief. Had he really come all this way just to command her to cook?
Tracy brushed off Gordon's request to cook for him.
After unlocking the door with her fingerprint, she moved to step inside—only for a towering shadow to blot out the light. Gordon had positioned himself right in front of her, their sudden closeness awkwardly intimate.
She took a hasty step back. *Who owns this place, huh?* "Look, mister," she wanted to snap, "I’ve got a mountain of things to do."
"Given our relationship, you can’t possibly be this reluctant about cooking one meal," Gordon said smoothly. Before she could protest, he scooped up a bulging grocery bag from the floor and placed it into her arms. "Let’s go in. I’m starving."
The bag was so heavy she almost dropped it. *Is he expecting a feast or something?* Indignation flared. *Why should I cook for him? What ‘relationship’? We’ve met exactly once, and it was a disaster!*
Gordon studied her frozen stance, her expression caught between shock and disbelief. With a snap of his fingers, he repeated, his voice deep and persuasive, "Seriously. I’m hungry."
Then—just like that—he walked into *her* apartment as if he owned the place. Tracy’s eyes went wide. *Did he just… walk into my home? Isn’t this trespassing?*
But the way he’d said it—no trace of mockery, just blunt need—got to her. Tracy had never been able to turn away even a stray cat begging for food. Let alone a full-grown man. With a resigned sigh, she grabbed the groceries and followed him inside, shaking her head. *Ugh, fine—but this’ll be fast.*
- Writer
