Chapter 142 Awkward Beginnings
Charlotte: POV
"I knocked," I said defensively, my eyes still fixed on Michael's nearly naked form. "You didn't answer. So I was worried something had happened to you. If you had some kind of accident while at my place, it would count as a workplace injury, and I'd be responsible."
His ears remained that adorable shade of crimson as he clutched the towel tighter around his waist. "I was in the shower. I couldn't hear you."
The logical part of my brain knew I should look away, apologize, and close the door.
But something about those defined abs and scattered scars kept my gaze locked in place.
I forced myself to focus on his face instead, which honestly wasn't much better—with his wet hair slicked back, his strong jawline and those piercing eyes were even more prominent.
"I'll, um, wait outside while you get dressed," I finally managed, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth had become. "I made pasta if you're hungry."
He nodded stiffly. "Five minutes."
I closed the door and leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. What was wrong with me? He was my employee, for God's sake. A professional relationship meant professional boundaries, which definitely didn't include ogling him half-naked.
True to his word, he emerged five minutes later wearing jeans and a simple gray t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders.
His hair was still damp but combed back neatly, and he'd put on socks but no shoes. The casual look somehow made him seem more human and less like the stoic security robot I'd hired.
"Sorry about that," I said, leading him to the kitchen. "I should have waited longer after knocking."
"It's fine," he replied, his voice carefully neutral. "Just a misunderstanding."
I gestured to the table where I'd set out two plates of linguine with clam sauce. "Dinner's ready if you're hungry."
Michael stared at the pasta for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. "You cooked this?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Yes," I replied, slightly offended. "Why do you sound so shocked?"
He hesitated before taking a seat. "You just... don't seem like someone who cooks."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, sitting across from him.
"You look like someone who's been pampered all her life," he said carefully. "Not someone who needed to learn to cook."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Well, when your mother dies and your father doesn't give a damn about you, you learn to be self-sufficient pretty quickly."
His expression shifted, softening slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
"It's fine," I said, twirling pasta around my fork. "You're not entirely wrong. I was pampered once. But things change."
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The quiet wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't unbearable either.
I studied him as he ate, noting how methodically he cut the pasta into manageable bites instead of twirling it like most people would.
"This is good," he said eventually. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." I took a sip of water. "Look, I know this situation is awkward. You living here, I mean. But given the threats I've been facing, I think we need to establish some trust between us."
He looked up from his plate, his expression suddenly alert. "What kind of threats specifically?"
"My father—well, not my biological father, but the man who raised me—he's been trying to control me for years. Recently, he tried to force me into a marriage with Sean Thompson for business purposes. When I refused, things got... ugly."
"And I suspect there will be more attempts to intimidate me." I set down my fork. "I need to know you're actually here to protect me, not report back to him or anyone else."
"I work for Sentinel Protection Services," he said firmly. "My loyalty is to my client. Period."
There was something in his tone—a quiet intensity—that made me believe him. But I couldn't shake the feeling that he was holding something back.
"And what if someone offered you more money to switch sides?" I challenged.
His eyes met mine, unflinching. "I can't be bought, Ms. Caldwell."
"Charlotte," I corrected automatically.
"Charlotte," he repeated, and something about the way my name sounded in his deep voice sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.
I decided to push a little further. "You still haven't explained why you look so familiar to me."
He froze momentarily, then resumed eating with deliberate focus. "I have one of those faces, I guess."
"No, you don't," I countered. "You have a very distinctive face, actually. Especially that scar above your eyebrow."
His hand instinctively went to the crescent-shaped mark, then he sneaked a glance at me. "Childhood accident. Nothing interesting."
I leaned forward, studying him more intently. "Were you ever stationed overseas? Maybe I saw you on the news or something."
"My deployments were classified," he replied evenly. "And I wasn't the type to end up on camera."
I could tell he was closing off, so I decided to change tactics. "Well, since we're going to be living together, maybe you should tell me something about yourself. Anything. Favorite color? Hobbies? Darkest secret?" I added the last one with a teasing smile.
To my surprise, he almost smiled back. "Blue. Reading military history. And if I told you my darkest secret, I'd have to kill you."
I laughed, genuinely amused by his attempt at humor. "Was that a joke, Michael? I didn't think you were capable."
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he replied, his voice dropping slightly.
Our eyes locked across the table, and for a brief moment, something electric passed between us. Then he blinked and looked away, standing abruptly.
"Thank you for dinner. I'll wash the dishes," he said, gathering our plates.
"You don't have to—"
"I insist." His tone left no room for argument.
I watched as he efficiently cleared the table and began washing dishes, his back to me. The simple domestic task seemed at odds with his military bearing, yet he moved with the same precision he'd shown during the security demonstrations.
"I'll be in my office if you need me," I said, standing. "I have some work to finish before bed."
He nodded without turning around. "I'll do a perimeter check after this."
As I walked to my office, I couldn't help but smile at his hasty retreat. For all his stoic professionalism, he'd seemed genuinely flustered by our brief moment of connection.
"Not so unshakeable after all," I murmured to myself.