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He places his briefcase down onto the glass table, seeming drained.
“Your favorite,” I quietly add in, dreading the eerie silence.
The aroma in the air is evident, I’m sure he’s breathing it in with admiration, although he’s completely unresponsive. All I feel is tension.
Suddenly, he meets my gaze. “Good,” he presses, his voice firm as he looks over everything I’ve cleaned. He nods with approval. “And you’ve prepared my favorite meal?”
“Yes, Master,” I reply.
His facial expression continues to remain hardened, on high alert. “Good.”
“Well, is there anything you’d like for me to do, or should I get back to cooking?”
He shakes his head, breaking our eye contact. “I’m fine.”
Turning on his heel, he begins to walk away, and I sigh in defeat.
“Thank you, Sasha.”
And with that, he’s gone, leaving me standing alone.
You’re welcome, Jax.
The room is quiet as I set the dining room table for two, wondering if I should ask before I assume he’d like my company. Serving the heavenly scented food onto our plates, I hear him stepping through the doorway, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. Keeping my gaze locked on our plates, I head back to the counter to grab my glass of red wine. I don’t deserve a beer.
Lifting my head, I spot him standing behind his chair, as handsome as a God. With his wet, disheveled hair and glistening arms, it’s clear he’s just gotten out of the shower.
Sitting down, he eyes me silently.
“What would you like to drink?” I ask, motionless.
Jaxon clears his throat, rubbing his lean fingers against his slight stubble. “A beer would be exquisite,” he dryly responds.
Of course.
Placing the bottle in front of him, I sit across the table and sip my wine. He begins to cut through his steak, and I feel ridiculous as I watch him eat. Finally, it’s clear. Satisfaction, cooked to perfection, exactly to his liking.
“How was your day?” I ask, regretting it the second he lifts his gaze.
He cocks his head to the side, chewing in silence.
I nervously swallow.
“My day? Well, besides my morning, everything went smoothly.”
Dropping my gaze to my plate, I hold my breath. “How did your meeting go?”
“I get what I want.”
When I look across the table, his eyes beam confidence, a crooked smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
Cocky bastard.
Several minutes pass, and he hasn’t even touched his drink.
“Did I get you the wrong beer?” I wonder. “I can get you another.”
I begin to stand, until he slams his hand on the table, and I flinch.
