"Now, does your mother need three meals, two meals, or one?
"All she needs is dinner; usually, her nurse makes her breakfast and lunch. She eats around five, and the nurse leaves at three. I don't get home until seven."
"I see..." Lisa prefers to be home around that hour to spend time with the kids. She knows her husband won't harm them; he adores them too much. But if she manages to escape him and he fights for custody, he will use her working hours against her in court.
The best solution would be for me to take over one of her clients or let go of one, unless I am able to hire someone new in a short amount of time.
"I will contact my employee and see what works best for her. For now, I will deliver home-cooked meals to your location. Does your mother have any preferences?
"No, as long as it's not salty. And no soda."
"Understood. I will send her first meal today," I replied, packing my things. Looking at my watch, I realized how late I was running. I should have left twenty minutes ago.
"You've changed a lot."
"Excuse me?" What has changed a lot? I've never seen this man, so why would he say something like that?
"You don't remember me? We used—"
"Verena, darling."
"Dad, hello". What is this old man doing here?
"We had a meeting, and while it ended minutes ago, I stayed to greet you."
"I see. I just finished a meeting, too. CEO O'Hara, forgive me, hello," I corrected myself, shaking his hand. I hope he doesn't get upset that I'm not at his place cooking right now.
"Miss Collins, it's a pleasure to finally meet you." That's right; this is the first time he and I have formally met. He's taller than I expected. He has dark brown eyes, or are they light? Maybe it's the sun reflecting off them. He has what I assume is shoulder-length hair, based on his man bun.
"Daughter, will you be available for dinner tomorrow?"
"Yes. Ah, Mr. Cortez, sorry, this is my father, and this is CEO O'Hara, a client of mine. This is Mr. Cortez, my newest client."
"Hello, nice meeting you two. I should get going; work is calling."
"Have a good day, Mr. Cortez. I should get going too. CEO O'Hara, forgive me for running late."
"No worries. If you want, I can give you a ride."
"That won't be necessary. I will drive my daughter."
"Ah, but I need to stop by my house, so it's no trouble."
"Please, I—"
"Or I could drive myself. Bye Dad, CEO O'Hara." That was weird. Ugh, my dad better not be up to something.
Now that I'm at the O'Hara residence, I need to cook quickly. Today's menu is roasted duck with blueberry-orange sauce, his favorite, I assume. Now that I think about it, I really don't know much about the O'Haras other than what my father told me.
According to him, they are part of a strong Yakuza clan with a few Italian mob connections.. I don't know how true those statements are, but people like to speculate.. Some even say Mr. O'Hara likes to torture people for fun, he likes to harass women.
Whether those allegations are true or not, it is none of my business; I only cook for him.
'Ah, perfect. Should I add a little more rosemary? No, it needs more honey. Mm, perfect. Now, what time is it? Okay, all I need is to clean up and head out, I said to myself, looking at the pile of dishes stacked up in the sink.
The worst part about cooking is cleaning.
'That reminds me I need to check Mrs. Cortez's house and see the kitchen... Why would Mr. Cortez say that? I never finished my conversation with him, but it seemed like he was about to confess something. '
Lost in my train of thought, I didn't notice the man standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at me.
"CEO O'Hara: Forgive me, I didn't hear you coming in". What's he doing here, anyway? He's never home.
"No, my apologies. I had an early day, so I left work. Dinner smells good," he replied, closing the gap between us.
"Thank you. I will finish up here and head out.
"Why don't you stay and have dinner with me?" he asked, still closing the gap; my breathing became heavier. Why am I nervous?
""Uh...sure," As those words left my mouth, I wanted to slap myself.
"Great I will come back in a bit" he said leaving me in my own little world where I was torturing myself for agreeing with his proposal.
A few minutes later, he came back dressed in casual clothes. I had never seen this man before, but there was something about him wearing black sweatpants and a plain T-shirt.
'Yo, you weirdo, get it together.
"Please sit. I will serve you."
"Thank you, CEO O'Hara."
"Please call me Jaylen."
"Alright". That seems unprofessional. As he was serving me, I took note of his dragon arm tattoo. The rumors are true; he does have strong arms. I wonder where the rest of his tattoo leads. If it starts from his neck and runs down his arm, I assume it ends on his back.
"What would you like to drink?" he asked, snapping me back to reality.
"Lemonade, please."