Page 17 of Miss Understanding

“Dinner is ready.”

“You didn’t have to cook.” She might be my assistant, and her presence here was part of a work trip, as far as she was concerned, but she didn’t have to be my cook and housekeeper, too. Even I wasn’t ass enough to assume that.

“I wanted to. Oh, you have the edits ready. My laptop is set up downstairs, so bring them down.”

It was after nine. I should tell her she could leave them until morning. But I couldn’t because I needed to work tonight. Needed to get back the balance tipped by yesterday’s phone call from my mother. Work is what soothed me. Work is what reminded me what my priority was. What I was good at. I’d busted my ass to get out of town, go to college, and achieve what I had.

When I got downstairs, I expected pizza or maybe a frozen entrée heated in the oven. I hadn’t expected a gourmet meal. “You cooked this?” There was salmon, asparagus, and a green salad on the small, round dining table. She’d set the table with plates and silverware.

“Yep. It’s pesto salmon, sautéed green beans with a bit of onion and bacon, and a salad with ranch dressing. I went low carb as it seems to be what you do most often.”

Panic suddenly seized me. The house. The dinner. Her underwear on top of my files. Her knowledge of everything about me. Was she trying to catch herself a husband by playing house? Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be the first young woman in a law firm with the idea of landing a rich husband. “I think we need to talk.”

She quirked her head to the side. “About what?”

How could I possibly say this without sounding like a complete asshole? For all I knew, she had a legitimate crush on me and wasn’t trying to be manipulative. “Look. This week I needed you here to help me be able to work while balancing my personal shit. But the house and dinner— I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I mean you’re my assistant. I’m your boss.”

She stood there with her brown eyes wide, before understanding seemed to settle in. “Are you trying to let me down easy because you think”—she motioned between us—“I’m pursuing some sort of relationship with you?”

“It certainly appears that way.” But maybe putting her on the spot was causing her to backtrack. Oh shit, what if there were tears? I didn’t do well with crying women. Not well at all.

But much to my shock, she simply started laughing. We’re talking the kind of laughter that caused her to brace herself against the table and grab her side. “Oh my God. You thought— Wow. Oh, Jesus. It’s too much.” She was shaking her head and went to grab a drink out of the refrigerator.

If ever my ego had taken a hit, this was a direct one. “Okay. Fine, you’ve made your point. But in my defense, you got this house, and the underwear, and freaked me out with this meal.”

She was still grinning. “I got this house because you are impossible to please with your just figure it out, Ms. Tate when I told you about the motel options.”

I didn’t care for the way she did my impression. I sounded like a real jerk.

“As for dinner, I grew up cooking, and I take classes whenever I can. And you gave me your Visa, which was basically a free pass to buy and cook what I wanted. And I’m not going to talk about the thongs in the suitcase. My embarrassment equaled yours, I’m sure. But rest assured and believe me when I say you are soooo not my type.”

There were a lot of o’s in so. “That’s a relief, then.”

With my irrational panic attack having subsided, and my embarrassment maxed out, I took a seat and started eating my food. “So, you go to culinary school?”

“No. I’m studying for my bachelor’s degree in business administration and take cooking classes when I can.”

Damn, the green beans were the best thing ever. And the salmon divine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a home-cooked meal. “When do you go to school?”

“At night.”

“After work?”

“Yep. Monday through Thursday.”

Which meant she was missing class in addition to everything else. Great. Add it to the list of how I’d been a selfish prick in dragging her here.

“Next week is winter break, so it was good timing for travel, I suppose.”

What a relief. “Business administration is what you hope to do?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but it looks good on a resumé.”

I studied her. “And the cooking classes are for fun?”

“Yeah. If I had my way, I’d do cooking classes full-time.”

“Why don’t you?”