Page 33 of Love Marks
I pound on the raw meat for longer than necessary. As I’m clearing off the counter, I notice an arrow drawn on the menu next to tonight and flip it over. On the back, I find Wesley’s neat handwriting.
Cook for two and open the 1999 Cabernet.
A bottle of wine? Steak dinner for two?
Does Wesley have a date?
My anger only grows thinking about some supermodel sitting at the dining room table, gushing over how good my steak is. I wonder if he’ll claim all the credit for it.
Whatever. Why should I care? He’s my boss after all. Nothing is going to happen between us and that’s a good thing. He’s an arrogant asshole and the last complication I need in my life right now. He can’t even manage a single please or thank you.
I can’t stand the silence, so I connect my phone to the speaker in the living room and play my jams playlist, hoping to improve my mood. I slip the apron on and dance around the kitchen. After boiling the potatoes, I pop the steaks into the frying pan and add butter and garlic. I’m so focused and caught up in the music that I don’t hear the elevator doors open.
I turn and scream. The regal old woman standing in the foyer looks at me like I’m insane. I grab my phone, turning the volume down.
“Am I in the right suite? This is the penthouse, yes?” She asks, smiling a little.
“Yes. It is. Sorry, you scared me.” I grin sheepishly.
It’s silent for a moment.
“Not to be rude, but who are you?” I ask.
“I should be asking you that. After all, you are dancing barefoot in my son’s kitchen.”
Holy shit.
The dragon lady standing in front of me is Wesley’s mother. For some reason I thought he spawned from an egg or something. I blink twice, making sure this is real. She’s quite pretty, with long, straight silver hair wrapped into a bun and a fur coat wrapped around her shoulders.
“I’m Quinn. I’m Wesley’s…maid?”
“Are you sure?” She smirks at me.
“Yes. I am. I do other stuff too, though. Like dinner!” I exclaim, realizing I’ve left the steaks too long on one side. I run back into the kitchen and flip them, sighing in relief. They’re not overcooked.
Wesley’s mother takes off her coat and follows me into the kitchen, looking around.
“It’s quite nice in here. The food smells amazing,” she remarks.
“Thank you,” I say. “Would you like a drink?” I gesture towards the bottle of Cabernet.
“Please. That’s my favorite wine.” She smiles. I open the bottle and pour her a glass, handing it to her.
“I’m Lillian, by the way. I’m sorry that my son didn’t mention I was coming by.”
I glance over at the kitchen clock. Shit.
“No, no, it’s my fault. I’m late. Again. I should be gone by now.”
“You won’t join us for dinner?” She asks.
“Oh god, no.” She looks shocked my outright refusal. “I mean, I can’t. I have a frozen pizza calling my name at home.”
“I insist. I never get to meet new people and you seem refreshingly fun,” she says, sipping her wine.
“I couldn’t. There’s only food for two and I really should be going.”
“Nonsense. There’s no way I can eat that whole steak. Split it.” Now I know where Wesley gets it from. Her voice is hard as stone, leaving no room for argument. I open my mouth to argue but she lifts her hand.