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005: He's Porsche_
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2024-11-19 06:37:37Rose, one of the cleaners, stood frozen in the kitchen doorway. Her gaze locked on the figure before her. He moved so fast, fluidly, like a blur. Way faster than any human had a right to.
He didn’t even blink. His hands danced across the counter, dicing tomatoes with deadly precision, flipping pancakes like he’d been born with a spatula in hand. His porcelain skin gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. Lights that cost more than her entire paycheck. It was like watching a movie. It was Graceful. Unnatural. "Mister? Mister?" Rose tried, but her voice barely made a sound. She knew the boss hated strangers in the kitchen, but this young man? He didn’t even acknowledge her. The knife in his hand never wavered, even when it was dangerously close to his own skin. “How does he not feel that?“ “Rose? What are you doing?” Came her colleague, Lucy's voice. She walked up beside Rose, following her stare. Lucy’s brows furrowed, then she gave a small, confused laugh. “What’s going on?” Rose’s brain struggled to process what she was seeing. “It’s just... look at him. He’s perfect.” She gestured wildly toward the man, still chopping vegetables at light-speed. “How is he doing that? He doesn’t even flinch!” Lucy squinted at him, then back at Rose, her eyes wide. “Wait, hold on... is he one of those pro chefs Sir Emerson hires?” Rose shook her head, unable to look away. “i don't know, Lucy. He’s not even flinching at the heat.” She looked at Lucy, her voice quieter now. “But I doubt he's just a hired chef.” Lucy took a step back, eyes still glued. “Who is he then?” Rose’s mind raced back to last night. She’d been sneaking out to use the bathroom when she saw the boss’s car roll up. But he wasn’t alone. There was a man with him, someone she hadn’t seen before. “Welcome, sir Emerson. And this is?” she had asked, but the boss barely spared her a glance. “He…” The boss trailed off, glancing back at his car and then back at her. “He’s Porsche,” he said curtly before walking inside, the man trailing behind him . Rose snapped back to the present when Lucy’s voice rang again. “Sir Emerson’s new cook?” “Mr. Porsche,” Rose muttered. The words leaving her mouth like an uneasy confession. “Sir Emerson brought him last night.” Lucy blinked, then gave a goofy grin. “Well, he’s a pro. Dude's like a machine.” Rose’s stomach twisted. This was the kitchen. The sacred, untouchable kitchen. Sir Emerson was obsessed with his food—and with who cooked it. No way would he allow a random guy to just waltz in and take over. And certainly not someone coming to the house for the first time. Rose swallowed hard. “We need to call Sir Emerson. Now.” Lucy hesitated for a second but pulled out her phone. Rose didn’t know if she was overreacting, but something told her if Sir Emerson found this guy here... they’d be out of a job faster than she could say “pancake.” ————— Emerson sat rigidly at the conference table, his eyes fixed on the screen as the presentation droned on. Statistics. Figures. Endless data. Cold, clinical numbers that meant nothing to him. It was all just noise. Meaningless, buzzing nonsense. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Raven, of course. Always pushing his buttons. This time, he pinched Emerson's hand. Emerson’s hand twitched. It hurt mincely, but he didn’t react. No point. Just like this meeting, Raven wasn’t worth his energy anyway. Another pinch. Raven didn’t stop. A deep sigh escaped Emerson’s lips. He turned his head slowly. His gaze narrowed, locking onto Raven, whose face remained unreadable, as if daring him to say something. Raven knew exactly how far to push him, always testing, always provoking. 'Why am I even here again?' Emerson felt frustrated. The presenter was a wacko. Raven nudged him again then whispered. “I told you, you need the holy water. I can swear you just cursed at that talking guy in your head.” Emerson simply slapped Raven’s hand away. The presenter smiled when he finished, looking like a trapped animal. “So, this is it, Mr. Emerson.” Emerson didn’t even bother to hide his disdain. A bitter chuckle slipped from his lips. “Done already?” The presenter froze. Was he too quick? “Yes, sir.” Emerson leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. The air in the rooom suddenly became suffocating. Yeah, because he couldn’t contain the irritation any longer. “That was torture. Your whole shameful presentation. This… this is what you want me to invest in?” Ouch. He leaned forward, glaring at the presenter, “This is what you want me to throw my money at?” He let out a humorless laugh, the kind of laugh that made the air in the room feel even colder. “I asked for something worth throwing my money at, and you handed me a fucking tomato cutter. How much again? How many thousands of dollars are you asking me to throw away?” The room fell dead silent. You could feel it. The weight of his words crushed everyone into submission. Emerson could see it in their eyes: they knew he was right. Knew it wasn’t just a waste of time. It was a damn insult. To him, to his money. But just as he was about to rip into them further, his phone rang. Of course. It was Raven. The little bastard hadn’t even silenced his phone. Emerson shot him a lethal glare. “You fucking serious? You didn’t put my phone on silent?” Raven just shrugged, holding out the phone with that same casual, innocent look. “Don’t look at me like that.” Emerson sighed, rubbing his temples. What now? He glanced at the caller ID: Cleaner 032. His 32nd cleaner.. Lucy. Weird. They never called during meetings. Unless… …unless there was chaos, and by 'Chaos' he meant his mother. Emerson felt the color drain from his face. Shit. His mother. He had a fucking sex bot at home for Christ sake. He shot up from his chair. He needed to rush home now else, else… Well, Chaos vs A man who's not Raven in his house? Who's not even a real person? Unimaginable. Raven raised an eyebrow. “Hey, where are you going? What about the meeting?” Emerson didn’t even glance at him. “I will not fucking invest in this goddamn circus. I don’t care how many tomato cutters you’re trying to sell me. Not happening.”
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