The Billionaires's Temptation (Book 1)

22. Clashing Tempers

Olivia

To be honest, I had doubted Logan's cooking abilities when he had confidently claimed to show me what he had in his culinary repertoire. But as I observed him preparing the shrimp and crabs, I couldn't help but be mesmerized by his skillful movements and the way his muscles flexed. It was like watching a professional chef on a cooking show. His voice seemed distant as he shared cooking tips, but my attention was fixated on him.

"Make sure the shrimp is well cooked to enhance the flavor. Unless you prefer it half done," he advised, his words barely registering as I continued to stare.

"Pass me the salt," he requested again. Lost in my thoughts, I reached for the jar without focusing on his specific request. His voice snapped me back to reality.

"I didn't say pepper. Salt. Focus!" His tone was stern, and I quickly corrected my mistake, switching the jars. "Here. You're making it sound like you're a guest on a world cooking show."

As soon as the words slipped out of my mouth, I realized they were much louder than I intended. Logan paused, stirring the sauce, and turned his gaze towards me, a mixture of surprise and amusement evident in his eyes.

"Do you know I've received an award for the culinary skills I've acquired?" he proudly declared.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his statement. "That's nothing to brag about," I retorted, taking the jar of pepper and scooping out some ground pepper to add to the sauce. I continued for three spoonfuls and was about to go for a fourth when Logan suddenly grabbed my hand.

"Don't tell me you're going to ruin the shrimp sauce with too much pepper?" he exclaimed.

"Why not? Am I not the one who's going to eat it? Shouldn't I prepare the sauce according to my own preferences?" I replied, slightly defiant.

I noticed a flicker of something in Logan's eyes, but he quickly masked it with a smile. "Point of correction, it's the sauce I made. And why would you want to consume too much pepper? You don't want to harm the baby."

"I'm not going to harm the baby," I asserted, smiling back at him. We engaged in a silent standoff, exchanging intense gazes. Just because he was helping me with the cooking doesn't mean I have to follow his exact measurements for the ingredients.

"Which baby?" a voice suddenly interjected from the doorway.

My heart raced within my ribcage as Logan's stepmom observed us with a curious gaze. "Who is having a baby?" she repeated, her eyes lingering on both of us. I silently urged Logan to take the lead and explain.

"Well," Logan began, holding up one of the crabs, "we were referring to the baby crab." A mischievous grin played on his lips, and I struggled to stifle my laughter.

"Yes, the crabs," I chimed in, trying to maintain a composed expression. The woman approached the pot, her curiosity piqued. "What a delightful aroma. Logan, did you prepare this?" she inquired, reaching for a spoon to taste the sauce, as if she had the authority to do so. And who said I couldn't cook it?

I shot Logan a warning glare, silently conveying that he had better handle the situation well. Leaning against the counter, I crossed my arms and waited for his response. "Yes," he replied confidently.

"Wow, that's a surprise. When was the last time you stepped foot in the kitchen with the intention of cooking? Someone must have really made an impression on you," his stepmom remarked, a hint of teasing in her tone.

If I'm not mistaken, there seemed to be some hidden meaning behind her words. Just as the thought crossed my mind, Logan's phone began to ring. "I—" he started, but his stepmom interrupted him.