Jordan POV
Thirty minutes.
I think I stood there for thirty whole minutes, leaning against my front door after closing it, just trying to process what had happened. More specifically… Adam.
His hug. That felt so right and so wrong at the same time.
He's my boss. The man who doesn't want workplace romances, who doesn't want mistakes. So what am I doing, feeling this? Feeling like my heart is going to leap out of my chest every time he gets close?
I shouldn't. I can't.
And then there's Lorenzo. Last night's dinner. I said yes because… because he's handsome, he's kind, because he makes me laugh. Because he seemed easier. We danced, we talked, it was going well… until the kiss.
And then, cold shower. I didn't like it. Maybe because I lacked experience, maybe I couldn't sync with him. But I didn't like it. I only felt uncomfortable. I don't want a repeat.
I have to talk to him. Reinforce the idea of just being friends. No complications.
But now… now I'd ended up in Adam's arms. That was another complication.
The same Adam who, in the car, leaned too close. The same who hugged me before pulling away as if burned. The same who whispered "You drive me crazy" in my ear, as if he had no idea what that would do to me.
But why? Why do I drive him crazy? Because of my disasters? My falls? My constant misfortunes?
Or is it that… no!
I tried listing all his flaws: arrogant, bossy, rough, grumpy, impossible. But every time I made that mental list, other images came.
His talent as a chef. The admiration I feel for him. Him taking care of my cut. Bringing me socks for my injured feet. Driving me home and carrying my groceries. Cooking with me in perfect sync. Carrying me to his place (even if I only knew because he told me, since I was asleep). Cooking for me. Him shirtless. Helping me when I face-planted in the grass. Laughing with me while we played charades. That smile that always caught me off guard… and that I loved.
His hug. His scent. His lips centimeters from mine.
What did he mean by that? Why do I feel like he's the one who's going to drive me crazy?
And I swear, in that moment, when his lips were so close, for a second, I almost closed my eyes and leaned in. Just to know. Just to find out.
And if he kisses badly? Maybe that would actually be good. Yes, that would be good. I tried convincing myself. The cold shower I needed. That way, everything would be solved: no spark, no attraction, and I could stay at peace.
But no. That doesn't mean I'm going to kiss Chef Adam. Adam.
"Oh my God!" I exclaimed into the air, exasperated, covering my face with my hands.
What am I even thinking? I'm a complete disaster. And tomorrow… tomorrow, between Chef Adam and Sous Chef Lorenzo, this disaster is going to have the hardest day ever.
And my subconscious refuses to be convinced and keeps insisting he'll be a good kisser.
Adam POV
"So?" he murmured, voice calm as always. We were halfway through dinner when I noticed the beers were disappearing too fast. And Cameron had brought more than usual. That usually meant heavy things were about to land on the table. Or under it.
He poured himself another, leaned back in his chair, and stared at me like he always did. He had that infuriating habit: no direct questions, just waiting. I always ended up talking.
"You or me first?" he threw at me.
I repressed a smile and clenched my jaw. I wasn't sure I was ready to share.
"What makes you think—"
He let out a dry laugh. One look was enough to see his raised eyebrow.
"As if I don't know you."
I rolled my eyes. "You first." I took another swig of beer. Was that my third? Fourth? I didn't feel the weight of alcohol yet. Or maybe my mind was too occupied with a certain intern who blushed too easily. I'd teased her in the car. I knew she'd flush the second I spoke. My little revenge for making me feel like I was losing control. Breaking the rules I set for myself. Not to mention the near heart attack I'd had from worrying about her that made me hug her.
Cameron stayed quiet for a moment, thinking where to start. He was reserved, always had been. But I'm the younger brother, and when it mattered, he talked. Sometimes only with the help of a few beers.
"I don't think I'm drunk enough yet." He said, taking another sip. Then he exhaled. "I feel guilty."
"For what? What happened?"
"Because of Kate."
"Cameron, it's been three years… you did everything you could—"
"I'm attracted to someone."
I blinked. Oh. That was big. That was new. But damn, it was good news. Since Kate died, he hadn't been with anyone. Three years.
"You don't have to feel guilty. It's been three years, Cam."
"She's so different from Kate…"
I took a longer drink. That wasn't necessarily bad, was it? We all compare. We shouldn't, but we do.
"That's not a bad thing. You and Kate had your love story—"
"With a tragic ending," he cut me off, bitter, before downing the rest of his beer. "I think I need something stronger tonight."
"I've got whiskey." I got up, went to the cabinet, and brought the bottle. Poured us both a glass. Maybe I needed it too.
"So, who is she?" I asked, curious. Small town. Cameron only left to study, came back for Kate, they'd been together since their teens. And since she died… nothing. No woman had interested him. I knew every single mom, every aunt of Mila's classmates, even teachers had tried their luck. But he'd never spoken of feeling anything. Never of being with anyone.
"Charlotte?" I guessed, remembering the redhead who'd been over for a project. "But isn't she married?"
"No." He shook his head. He emptied his whiskey before answering. "Her agent. Anita."
We sat in silence, processing. He grabbed the bottle between us and poured another.
"We fought."
I raised an eyebrow. "And…?"
"She makes me lose control. She's exasperating. Infuriating." Okay. That I understood. Related to, even.
"We kissed." He confessed, taking another gulp.
"You don't have to feel guilty, Cam. It's more than time to move on."
"She doesn't want anything serious… just sex."
"F@ck, Cam! That's your problem? Seriously?" I snapped, incredulous. He just looked at me, silent, as if analyzing every muscle in my face, measuring my reaction. Three years without anyone, and now a woman he wants, who provokes him, who only offers sex… and this idiot has an existential crisis? Not normal.
"And Jordan?" he dropped suddenly.
"What about Jordan? Are you attracted to my intern too?" I growled defensively. He raised his hands like, calm down.
"No. But you are."
"She's my intern. She works with me. That's it. Nothing more."
"Adam…" he leaned across the table, voice lower. "She's nothing like Victoria. You built those walls of rules after her."
"Don't turn this conversation on me now," I snapped, irritated.
He let out another dry, knowing laugh.
"Fine. But you should take your own advice. It's been five years since Victoria."
"I've been with other women since her," I muttered.
"Quick f@cks. No names. No staying." he cut in. Another dry laugh. He didn't need to say more. We both knew.
"We're both in denial, attracted to the wrong woman," he murmured, his voice already looser. The alcohol was getting to him. His glass was full again.
I looked at the bottle. Half gone already. When had we drunk so much?
"Pour another," he pushed his glass toward me. "Let's purge these wrong women from our system."
Yes. Getting Jordan out of my system was exactly what I needed. But was the rest of that whiskey enough? Doubtful. I thought I had another bottle hidden somewhere.
We drank too much. Cameron was the first to pass out, on the couch, his heavy breathing filling the silence. I still heard him murmur Anita's name… and apologize to Kate. He still felt guilty. Too guilty for it to be just desire. That woman stirred something in him, more than he wanted to admit. He should let himself go.
I stayed there beside him. Empty glass in hand. Whiskey didn't purge anything from my system. On the contrary. My thoughts were full of her. That wrong woman who, in my arms, didn't feel wrong at all.
Shit.