Jordan POV
The worst part about being clumsy, absent-minded, scatterbrained — or maybe cursed — is having to face the shame when certain things happen. Like what just happened.
But what do you do when you're in the middle of an embarrassing situation… and the person who witnesses it shows up shirtless with his pants half undone?
"Are you okay?" I heard him ask from the doorway. No. No, I'm not okay. I slowly picked the stool up off the floor, trying to regain some shred of dignity. At least I was already standing when he appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"Yeah… I fell…" I stated the obvious. He looked at me and… smiled. No. He didn't just smile. He laughed. At first, I was surprised by his reaction — but it was contagious. And of course, I laughed too. Because laughing at my own stupidity tends to be my best survival mechanism.
The problem? His chest moved when he laughed. And that chest was… a problem. A big problem. It distracted me all over again. The laughter died on my lips. I swallowed hard.
He stopped too. And he noticed. He definitely noticed where I was looking. I felt my face catch fire. I looked away and sat back down, trying to pretend everything was normal, and resumed eating my snack.
"I'm going to finish getting dressed," he said. I nodded — way too quickly — while trying to disappear into the stool. "Try not to fall again," he added, with a cheeky smile.
And that's when it slipped out. Unfiltered. Unplanned.
"Close the door." He stopped. Looked at me. One eyebrow raised. Curious. Intrigued. I wanted to bite my tongue off. I'd basically admitted I'd been watching him. Right?
I saw him turn and calmly walk back to the bedroom. When he reached the door, he turned his head slightly toward me… And his eyes never left mine.
Why was I looking? I don't even know.
And then, slowly — very slowly — he closed the door. With a smug smile.
I swear. I'm not used to this side of Chef Adam. It's… disorienting. It's… captivating. It's… It's a problem.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Adam POV
I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face. I tried. Really. But it was impossible. That whole situation… was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Unexpected.
And somehow… funny. She fell. Literally. And I'm almost sure it was after she saw me shirtless. It wasn't on purpose — I forgot to close the door. Truth is, I don't usually have people in my apartment.
The sound of the fall was abrupt, dull. And I immediately worried. She is prone to getting into trouble.
I came out of the room nearly running — my shirt still hanging on the chair, pants undone. I was in the middle of changing when I heard the crash.
When I reached the doorway, I saw her on the floor. Getting up in a rush, visibly flustered but seemingly unharmed… and clearly mortified.
"Are you okay?" I asked, trying to keep my composure — and forget that my appearance wasn't exactly helping.
"Yeah… I fell," she replied, as if she hadn't just said the most obvious thing in the world. Her face was on fire. Completely flushed.
And me? I should've felt awkward. Or at the very least, sympathetic. But instead… I felt amused. Almost light.
I let out a laugh. Spontaneous. Unexpected. And she laughed too. Her laughter was genuine, awkward, a bit nervous… but real.
And for a moment, I forgot who we were. Just two adults laughing at an awkward moment.
How long had it been since I laughed like that?
But then… her laughter faded. She turned serious. And I knew. Her eyes dropped to my bare chest. And by the time I realized, she'd already looked away — but it was too late. I saw it. I felt it.
And honestly… I liked the attention. I shouldn't have.
"I'm going to finish getting dressed," I said, trying to walk away before I did something stupid.
"Try not to fall again," I added with a half-smile.
But the cherry on top? Her. Her voice — low, fast, slightly choked: "Close the door."
I raised an eyebrow. Curious. Confused. But when I saw the color rise up her face… I got it.
She'd been watching me. And she fell because of it.
I closed the door. Slowly. Eyes on hers. Just to make sure she knew… that I knew. I enjoyed teasing her. I didn't know what was getting into me. But I was enjoying myself. It felt like a mini revenge for how she made me feel.
And that left me with a stupid grin. Shit. What the hell am I doing?
I have no idea.
But it was hard not to laugh — especially after the juice incident. She spilled it all over me and, reflexively, tried to wipe me down. Including areas that definitely needed attention, but not because of the juice.
I reacted fast. Too fast. Pulled away, caught her wrist before things went off the rails.
Literally. Because yes… my body was reacting too.
My pants were still tight. I think she didn't notice. Or pretended not to. Jordan gets to me. More than I want to admit. More than I should.
She's chaos. A walking disaster. A distraction I don't need. And yet… There's something about her I can't ignore.
She brings out a side of me — automatically. Naturally. Effortlessly. And that… is a problem.
She's a distraction I can't afford. I was sexually attracted to my intern. Yes. This was definitely a problem.
I wasn't going to give in again. Sooner or later, she would let me down. And all the attraction I felt would fade. In the past, I had no rules against workplace relationships. But I learned the hard way.
I dated my sous-chef. And she cheated on me. I'm not making that mistake again.
And Jordan is just an intern. If this desire doesn't go away… she'll have to go. Even if she proves to be competent, I can't let her stay.
After I changed, I went back to the kitchen. Found her finishing the snack. Saw her blow her nose — in the least sexy way possible. Good. I needed that image to kill the attraction.
Her phone buzzed. A notification. She picked it up, not noticing I'd walked in.
"All done?" I asked. She looked up at me and blushed. Cute. Oh, hell. Don't go there again, Adam Black. I scolded myself mentally.
"Yes," she said. "Melissa's coming to pick me up. I'm staying at her place tonight." She told me all at once, like she needed to explain herself.
"But I can come back later for service. I feel better now."
"No." My voice was firm. "Take your meds and rest. You'll come back tomorrow." I wanted her to rest, sure. But more than anything, I needed distance. Away from my kitchen. Away from me. To regain control. My sanity.
"Make sure Melissa isn't late for service," I added. It felt necessary — like a weird way to scold her.
She nodded.
"I'll do the dishes," she offered.
"No. Leave it. Go downstairs and wait for her. The faster she goes and returns, the better."
"Thank you, Chef Adam. For the snack. For everything. Next time, it's on me," she said quickly.
She seemed surprised at her own words.
I just nodded.
But there won't be a next time.
No way.