Nina pointed the wooden spoon accusingly at the cutting board. "Alright, executive chef. You said you wanted to help, so your first task is mincing the garlic. Finely, Lucas. Not chunky lumps that feel like eating gravel."
Lucas picked up the chef's knife, sliding a clove of garlic onto the board with a terrifying amount of quiet precision. His movements had a natural confidence to them, the kind that made Nina suspicious he was about to embarrass her. "Ms. Hale, I run a multi-billion dollar conglomerate. I assure you I can handle a clove of garlic."
"Corporate success does not translate to culinary skill, Mr. Grant," Nina shot back, crossing her arms and watching his hands closely, half-expecting him to nick a finger just to prove her point.
