Lesley sat in her car far longer than made sense, unable to remember the exact moment she'd decided to come there.
One moment she had been in her office, fluorescent lights humming above her, reviewing quarterly projections with clinical detachment. The next, she was sitting in her car in front of her assistant's apartment building, engine ticking softly as it cooled.
She stared at it as though it might accuse her of something.
I can't believe I'm here.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Executives did not show up at their assistant's homes during office hours carrying grocery bags like concerned relatives. Executives delegated.
Her gaze drifted to the passenger seat.
Paper bags. A box of vitamins. Over-the-counter medicines. Fresh ginger. Spring onions. A whole chicken carefully wrapped. Apples. Oranges. Even a small thermos in case Denisse refused to eat immediately. The faint citrus scent filled the car, mixing with the clean smell of pharmacy plastic.
Is this too much?
It looked excessive. Almost desperate.
She imagined Denisse opening the door, raising an eyebrow in that quiet, stubborn way of hers. Ms. Ashford, why are you here?
Lesley exhaled sharply and pushed the thought away. She grabbed the bags before she could change her mind and stepped out of the car.
The air felt cooler than she expected.
By the time she reached Denisse's door, her pulse had climbed into her throat. She adjusted her blazer unnecessarily. The hallway smelled faintly of detergent and old paint. Somewhere down the corridor, a television murmured.
She lifted her hand to knock.
What am I even going to say?
She hadn't rehearsed this. She didn't even know the reason herself. Guilt, maybe. Concern. Something unnamed and uncomfortable that had followed her since the hotel.
What if she's still mad? What if she thinks I left her there on purpose—which I really did? What if—
Her hand froze mid-air.
She lowered it.
Coward.
Slowly, she crouched and placed the bags in front of the door. If Denisse refused to see her, at least she would have the food. That would be enough.
She straightened, heart heavy, and turned to leave.
"You could just knock, you know."
The voice was soft but unmistakable.
Lesley's entire body stiffened before she turned.
Denisse stood a few steps away, a plastic convenience-store bag hanging from her fingers. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her skin still pale, though less ghostly than yesterday. There were faint shadows under her eyes. She looked fragile.
And stubborn.
"Leaving those in front of my apartment," Denisse continued, lifting her chin, "doesn't guarantee I'll be the one who consumes them. They could get stolen."
Lesley swallowed. "Denisse…"
"Ms. Ashford."
Lesley forced her composure back into place, smoothing her expression. Her gaze flicked to the plastic bag in Denisse's hand.
"Is that for you?"
Denisse glanced down. "This?" She lifted the instant noodles she had just bought. "Yes."
Lesley stared at it for a beat too long. The thin packaging crinkled in Denisse's grip.
"And you think you'll regain your strength eating that?"
"No, but I—"
The sentence never finished.
Lesley stepped forward, took the plastic bag from her hand, and without hesitation dropped it into the nearby trash bin.
Denisse blinked. "What the— Hey! Why did you throw it?"
Lesley didn't answer. Instead, she bent, gathered the bags from the floor, and looked at Denisse with quiet authority.
"Open the door."
There was resistance in Denisse's posture. A flicker of defiance. But it faltered quickly. She unlocked the door.
Inside, the apartment was modest and tidy, a quiet warmth lingering in the air. It smelled like soft floral notes and a subtle air freshener, fresh and inviting. Lesley moved with purpose, placing the groceries on the kitchen counter as though she belonged there.
She turned back to Denisse and stepped closer.
Without asking, she pressed her palm gently to Denisse's forehead.
Her skin was warm.
"You still feel feverish," Lesley murmured, brows knitting. "Why did you go out? What if you passed out again?"
"I was starving," Denisse said, softer now. "And I don't have anyone here."
The words were simple, but they lingered in the air.
"You could have called me."
Denisse frowned. "Why would I do that?"
Lesley's mouth parted, but no words came. Nothing she could say would sound reasonable.
Because I would have come.
The thought hit her like a jolt.
She stepped back before it betrayed her on her face.
Instead, she pivoted toward the kitchen.
She slipped off her blazer and draped it over a chair. The motion was fluid, revealing a fitted sleeveless top beneath. She rolled her shoulders once as if shedding the last layer of hesitation.
She found an apron hanging by the refrigerator and tied it around her waist with quiet efficiency. She began pulling ingredients from the bags with practiced precision. The sound of chopping soon filled the small space. Ginger hitting the cutting board. The sharp, clean scent rising immediately into the air.
"Sit," Lesley said without looking up.
Denisse almost laughed. "You're in my apartment."
Lesley glanced at her. "Sit," she repeated, softer but no less commanding.
Denisse obeyed, climbing onto one of the stools by the counter. She folded her arms loosely and her gaze fixed on Lesley.
Lesley turned to the cutting board.
If she kept her hands busy, she wouldn't have to explain why she was here.
She moved with quiet efficiency, rinsing rice, slicing vegetables, browning ginger and garlic until their aroma bloomed warmly in the air. Steam began to rise from the pot, carrying the comforting scent of simmering broth.
-
The apartment felt different now. Fuller. Alive.
Denisse rested her chin on her hand, unable to look away.
She had never seen her boss in her kitchen before.
Not the intimidating CEO behind a desk. Not the untouchable figure in tailored suits and cold boardrooms. Just a woman stirring a pot of congee, occasionally brushing stray hair from her face with the back of her wrist. Softer. Somehow more… human.
The knife hit the board with a gentle rhythm.
Chop. Chop. Chop.
Denisse swallowed.
It was just cooking. So why did it feel intimate?
When Lesley had removed her blazer earlier, Denisse's breath had caught before she could stop it. The sleeveless top fit her too well. The subtle flex of muscle as she moved. Even over the simmering pot, Denisse could still catch the quiet, familiar note of her fragrance.
Her eyes lingered a moment longer than they should. Then she folded her hands on her lap, forcing herself to stop staring.
Lesley carried herself with a calm certainty, as if stepping into Denisse's kitchen had never been a question but simply the next place her presence belonged. Steam curled from the pot, carrying the warm, sharp scent of ginger. Denisse's gaze steadied as she watched her stir, wrist precise, expression focused.
"Don't look at me like that," Lesley said, still chopping vegetables.
Denisse blinked, caught off guard. She hadn't even realized Lesley had noticed her staring.
"Like what?" she managed, a little too quickly.
"Like I'm the only thing worth tasting here," Lesley said with a grin.
Heat rushed to Denisse's face before she could stop it. She snorted, rolling her eyes to cover it. "You wish."
Almost an hour later, Lesley placed a tray in front of Denisse.
Ginger chicken congee, pale and fragrant. Steamed vegetables glistening lightly in broth. Sliced apples arranged neatly. A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice glowing amber in the light.
"That," Lesley said calmly as she took the seat across from her, "is food. That's what you should eat. Not instant noodles."
Denisse hesitated, spoon hovering.
"Go on," Lesley urged.
Denisse scooped a bit of congee and brought it to her mouth.
The warmth spread instantly. The ginger was gentle but present. The chicken tender. The broth rich yet soothing. It tasted like care—like being looked after.
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she forced them neutral.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
Don't react. Don't give her that satisfaction.
"So?" Lesley asked, watching her closely.
Denisse swallowed slowly. "It's… fine."
Lesley's lips twitched slightly, as if she didn't believe her.
Denisse looked down at the bowl again.
How can she be this perfect? The looks. The money. The confidence. And now she cooks like this?
No wonder her restaurant thrives.
Silence settled between them, not entirely uncomfortable but charged with unspoken things. Denisse became acutely aware of Lesley's gaze on her.
"You don't have to watch me eat," Denisse muttered.
"If I don't, you might stop halfway."
Denisse rolled her eyes but continued eating.
"You didn't have to cook for me," she said after a few spoonfuls. "You could have asked Gigi to bring this. Or your driver."
Lesley's expression shifted. Something softer flickered and disappeared.
"I wanted to make sure myself," she said carefully. "You're my assistant. I need you healthy next week."
Of course. Work.
And what — guilt for leaving me at the hotel, too?
Denisse lowered her eyes, hiding the sting she hadn't expected.
And before she could say anything else, Lesley's phone rang. The sharp tone cut through the quiet.
Lesley glanced at the screen. "I need to take this."
Denisse nodded and continued eating while Lesley stepped aside.
"Hello, Gigi. What is it?"
Her voice shifted instantly, professional and crisp. Denisse listened absently to the cadence of corporate urgency while finishing her vegetables.
After a few minutes, Lesley ended the call.
"I have to go. Emergency meeting."
"Of course," Denisse said.
She began to stand, but Lesley raised a hand gently.
"No need to walk me out. Stay. Eat everything." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Send me a photo of the empty plates. And don't try to trick me by throwing the food away."
Denisse gave a lazy salute. "Yes, ma'am."
A faint smile appeared on Lesley's face.
"Good."
She slipped her blazer back on, restoring the composed exterior, and headed for the door.
The apartment fell quiet after it closed behind her.
Denisse exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders.
What just happened?
She looked down at the nearly empty bowl.
"You think we're okay now just because you cooked for me?" she murmured to herself.
But her lips curved despite her words.
Lesley Nicole Ashford just cooked for me.
The thought alone made her chest feel warm.
Before she realized it, she had finished everything. She arranged the empty dishes neatly and took a picture, sending it with no caption.
A few seconds later, her phone buzzed.
A heart reaction.
Denisse stared at the screen longer than necessary, her smile widening in spite of herself.
Maybe it wasn't just guilt.
And maybe, just maybe, neither of them really knew the reason she had come.