Chapter 7: TREADING CAREFULLY

      As I delved deeper into my writing, the rest of the world faded away. The only thing that existed was the story unfolding on my laptop’s screen.

Hours passed, my mind completely consumed by the characters I was bringing to life. My fingers flew across the keyboard, weaving their stories, until exhaustion overtook me.

I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep until I jolted awake, my eyes darting to the clock on my laptop.

Past midday.

Panic surged through me.

Mr. Blake.

I hadn’t prepared his meal.

“Oh my God, he’s going to be furious,” I whispered, scrambling out of bed in a daze. This was the last thing I needed. I had to do everything perfectly if I wanted to keep this job.

Heart racing, I rushed out of my room, my feet instinctively guiding me to the kitchen—finding my way was easier now than before.

The kitchen was empty, as expected. It was just the two of us in the house.

I moved quickly, preparing a meal with frantic determination, my thoughts flooded with apologies I would offer him. Would this mistake be the last straw? How many chances would he give me?

I decided on grilled herb chicken breast with roasted garlic potatoes and sautéed spinach—a recipe I had learned from a cooking app but never tested until now.

Just as I was about to set the meal on the dining table, a shadow loomed in the doorway.

I froze.

It was Mr. Blake.

He stood there, his expression unreadable, his presence suffocating.

“Miss White,” he called, his voice slicing through the tense silence.

I stood motionless, the tray still in my hands.

“You’re late.” His tone was cold, unforgiving.

I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, sir,” I murmured. “I overslept.”

He didn’t respond. He simply turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the quiet house.

I hesitated, then followed behind him, my grip tightening around the tray.

When I reached his door, I paused. Would this be the last time I was allowed inside?

Taking a deep breath, I knocked softly.

No answer.

I hesitated, then pushed the door open. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, a single lamp illuminating his desk.

He sat with his back to me, broad shoulders rigid beneath his shirt.

“Mr. Blake,” I called, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I brought your meal.”

He remained silent.

I stepped closer, carefully setting the tray beside him. “I know I’m late,” I whispered, desperation creeping into my voice. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

At last, he turned.

Our eyes met, his deep brown gaze sharp and unyielding. But beneath the hardness, I swore I saw something else. A flicker of something unspoken.

He stood, his height towering over me.

“Tell me, Miss White,” he said, his voice quiet but laced with warning. “Do you think you’re capable of doing this job?”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Yes, sir,” I answered quickly. “I know I made a mistake, but I promise—”

“But promises are easily broken,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I need to know that I can trust you.”

His words hit like a knife to my chest.

I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not now.

“You can trust me,” I said, my voice stronger this time. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between us, suffocating. I dared not move.

Finally, he sighed, the weight of it filling the room.

“This is not what I expect from my staff,” he said, his tone heavy with meaning.

I lowered my gaze. “I understand, sir. It won’t happen again.”

He remained silent, his sharp gaze assessing. I waited, breathless, for his verdict.

Seconds felt like eternity.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“Very well,” he said, his voice cool but less biting than before. “You may serve me my meal now. But understand this,—there will be no more mistakes.”

Relief flooded me, though I kept my expression neutral. I stepped forward, carefully arranging the food on his desk.

As I straightened, his gaze met mine once more. He didn’t speak, but his message was clear.

Tread carefully.

I swallowed, nodded, and turned toward the door.

“Please enjoy,” I said quietly before walking out.

As I left, the tension in my body began to ease. But I knew this wasn’t over.

Back in my room, I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My hands trembled, my mind replaying the confrontation.

What if things had gone differently?

A lump formed in my throat as the weight of my mistake settled over me.

I needed

to get my act together. I needed to be better.

Because I couldn’t afford to mess up again.

Not with Mr. Blake.....

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