Harley
I hold back a moan as my eyes nearly roll back in sheer bliss, savoring the long-awaited bite of my truffle-infused three-cheese ravioli. The delicate layers of pasta, drenched in a creamy parmesan sauce, send shivers of delight through my body. A satisfied sigh escapes my lips before I can contain it. After the grueling inquisition disguised as an interview at Riley Corporations, this—this moment of culinary ecstasy—makes up for so much.
Except for the fact that Clad is sitting right in front of me, watching.
"You should be looking at your food, not me, Clad," I say, swallowing, my tone light but pointed. I don't wait for his response before spearing another bite, fully prepared to block out the rest of the world.
He chuckles, low and rich. If this were any other day, I might have swooned, but today? Today, my priorities lie with this divine meal. Nothing else matters.
Yet his eyes remain on me, unwavering. Why are you staring? And of course, i do not get an answer.
