His Private Chef (by Amycee) novel Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The car came to a stop in front of my house.

“I had fun today,” Mason said, a smile playing on his lips.

“Thank you for lunch. I had a good time,” I replied softly.

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He stepped out, crossed to the passenger side, and opened the door for me. Such a gentleman.

Leaning in just close enough to quicken my pulse, he murmured, “We could do this again. Maybe?”

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” I managed, heart racing. He was too close to think straight.

He smiled softly. “Awesome.”

His

eyes

flickered to my lips, lingering longer than necessary. It felt like he wanted to kiss me. But then, suddenly, he stepped back, as if I’d burned him.

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Chapter 7

“Goodnight, Emily. See you around.”

:

“Goodnight.” I gave him a bright smile before stepping inside.

Once the door clicked shut behind me, I leaned against it and exhaled deeply.

What a day.

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I headed straight to the living room and collapsed onto the couch. My fingers moved almost instinctively to my phone. I hadn’t checked in on my mom for a while, so I decided to

FaceTime her.

She answered after the fourth ring.

“Hey, Emily.” Her warm smile filled the screen. She looked rested, propped up in bed with a cozy blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“Hi, Mama.” I smiled back. “How are you today?”

“Better,” she said. “The weather’s lovely. How’s everything over there?”

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“Pretty good, but I miss you terribly.” I made a sad face. “The house feels so empty without you.”

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“That’s what you get for sending me away,” she muttered.

“I miss you, yes. But I don’t regret it, Mama. You needed a break.”

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She squinted at me like she was seeing me for the first time. “You’re all dressed up. Going somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m just coming home. Went out with a friend.”

“Which friend?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“You don’t know him, Mama.”

Suspicion flickered in her eyes.

“I’ll tell you about him later.”

“Well, you better tell me everything later. Now go get some rest. You look like you’ve had quite the day.”

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We exchanged a few more words before I ended the call. Staring up at the ceiling, my mind buzzed.

Liam Black.

What could he possibly want to discuss? He better have a good reason for that stunt at the restaurant. I was anxious about tomorrow.

I stood outside the entrance of Liam’s mansion, clutching my bag tightly. I drew in a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever awaited inside.

The front door swung open before I could ring the bell.

There he was.

Liam, in all his imposing glory.

Dressed in a dark suit, his expression cold and unreadable.

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“You’re late,” he said, striding past me into the house.

“Good morning to you too.” I rolled my eyes and followed him inside.

The house was cold and silent, its stillness heavy and unwelcoming.

“I have a private business meeting tomorrow,” he said without looking back. “Lunch is responsibility.”

your

I rolled my eyes again. “You could’ve just texted.”

“If only I had your number. That’s how it works.”

He was right. Still didn’t excuse the drama yesterday.

He turned, sliding a piece of paper across the table. “The menu.”

“Seriously?” I snapped. “Tomorrow’s my day off.”

“I’m aware,” he replied calmly. “I intend to pay generously for the extra hours.

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“You don’t get it, do you?” I raised a brow. “You can’t just give orders because you have money to throw around. What if I already have plans?”

His expression hardened. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“It depends,” I said, crossing my arms. “I could be free. If you ask nicely.”

He stepped closer. “Finding someone else won’t be hard.”

God, he was infuriating.

“Well then, I guess I’ll see you Friday. Bye.” I turned to leave.

Two steps later, his voice stopped me.

“Wait.”

I turned slowly to face him. Our eyes locked. His expression unreadable, mine burning with defiance.

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He broke the silence first. “Emily, I’m asking nicely. Be available tomorrow.‘

”

I exhaled sharply, biting down the pride screaming at me to walk away. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

I extended my hand, taking the sheet of paper. It was a carefully detailed draft listing guests, allergies, menu, and timing, penned in elegant handwriting. Most likely his.

“I’ll need to pick up some ingredients,” I said.

Without a word, he pulled out a sleek black card and handed it to me.

“Budget?” I asked, eyeing him.

“Buy whatever you need,” he replied smoothly.

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