Sorry, I'm the Final Boss Now novel Chapter 26

His aura was so noble and dignified that even when he smiled, he seemed to keep the world at arm’s length. It was the kind of untouchable quality that made you want to be the one to finally break through his composure, just to see what he’d look like when he finally lost control.

“You’re not short either,” the man said gently.

Marguerite raised an eyebrow, tilting her chin like a proud peacock. “Of course not. And I’m only eighteen. I’m still growing!”

George’s glass-like eyes stared at her, his intense gaze hidden by the dim moonlight. The garden was bursting with flowers, but in her presence, they all seemed to fade into the background.

Marguerite strode cheerfully into the villa and set the snacks on the living room table. “George, if you want any of these, help yourself. Don’t be a stranger.”

With that, she bounded up the stairs.

George watched her go, the eyes behind his glasses darkening. He dug his fingertips into the wound in his palm. Stella had offered to share her snacks with him, yet he had disrespected her so profoundly.

He really was damned.

—

After entering her room, Marguerite took another quick shower and climbed into bed. She was surprised to find that the sheets still felt warm.

What kind of comforter is this? she wondered. The insulation is amazing.

She didn't dwell on it, playing on her phone for a while before drifting off to sleep.

He finally understood. His boss was completely smitten with this young woman.

“Hey, why are you cooking? Don’t you have a chef?” Marguerite asked, watching George add noodles to the pot. With a full-time housekeeper, surely they had a chef.

“The chef had something to take care of this morning,” George answered calmly.

The housekeeper twitched again. Something to take care of? You mean the mandatory half-day off you gave him. He’d gotten a call from Louis, the chef, early this morning, practically in tears, asking what he’d done wrong to get fired. The pay here was several times what he could make elsewhere, and the work was easy. Louis had thought his world was ending.

After devouring a large bowl of soup, Marguerite gave George a thumbs-up. “Mr. Spencer, you’re an amazing cook!”

It was uncanny how familiar it tasted, almost identical to the soup Joshua used to bring her. A rich kid like Joshua would never have made it himself; it must have been his family’s chef.