Hazel smiled faintly and stammered, "I made it for you only."
"But I won't mind sharing with you," Francisco replied, holding a spoonful of pudding close to her lips.
"Come on," he said, gently urging her.
Hazel pressed her lips together, hesitating. But she gave in and opened her mouth, taking a small bite. Her eyebrows shot up... the pudding was way too sweet.
"Um!" she let out, her face twisting slightly in disgust.
"What happened?" Francisco asked.
Hazel shook her head, trying to brush it off.
"You don't like your own cooking?" he teased, the corner of his lips lifting into a smirk.
"But I like your pudding," he added with a sly grin.
Hazel looked at him, her eyes softening with a hint of apology, though deep down she didn't regret the over-sweet sabotage. Francisco kept eating, unbothered.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Francisco," she said quietly.
"I told them I wanted to make a bird roast. You mentioned you liked birds."
"But they said they didn't have birds."
Francisco burst out laughing at Hazel's explanation. Hazel, surprised, glanced at him, caught off guard by his rare laughter. She quickly looked away, but his smile lingered in her mind.
His laughter echoed. Hazel tried to compose herself, but Francisco gently lifted her chin, guiding her to meet his eyes. She turned her head left, but his touch brought her gaze right back to him.
Francisco rubbed her chin, his tone lighter. "I have my bird. But no one knows about it. I keep her secret."
He leaned in, whispering in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "As for the bird, I like to eat her raw."
Hazel swallowed, trying to push him away, but he pulled her into his arms. "Sweet things cause me a headache. Give me a massage."
"What are you doing?" Her voice rose, uneasy.
Francisco ignored her, lifted her easily, and stood up. Hazel's protests grew louder. "Stop it!"
He carried her to his bed. Panic set in as Hazel braced for the unexpected. He placed her on the bed and lowered his head.
Francisco, lying upside down, rubbed his head against her belly. "Caress my head."
Hazel hesitated. "But..."
"Don't make me repeat, Hazel!" Francisco said, tightening his grip on her waist.
Hazel took a deep breath and leaned against the bed cupboard. Francisco, still upside down, rested his head on her lap. Hazel touched his hair and began caressing it, her face stern.
'I am not here for babysitting.'
The next morning, Hazel woke up to find the bed empty. Francisco was gone.
Realization struck... she had fallen asleep beside him again.
Startled, she quickly adjusted her rumpled dress and glanced around. Faint sounds came from the washroom.
He must be showering.
A sense of urgency swept over her.
I need to act before he starts suspecting anything.
Taking a deep breath, Hazel stepped toward the closet. Her pulse quickened.
She opened it carefully, positioning herself out of the camera's line of sight. With swift, deliberate movements, she began her search... rifling through drawers, slipping her hands under folded clothes. Every motion was precise, controlled. She moved fast, yet left everything exactly as she found it.
She scoured every hidden corner, but nothing stood out. Her brow furrowed with frustration.
Then... silence. The shower had stopped.
Hazel's eyes widened.
No time left.
In a snap decision, she pulled out a white shirt, navy blue coat, tie, and matching pants. She laid them out neatly on the bed.
The door creaked open.
Francisco stepped out, wrapped in a towel, damp hair clinging to his forehead. Their eyes met.
Hazel greeted him with a bright smile, pushing away her tension.
"Good morning, Mr. Francisco."
Her gaze drifted, unbidden... from his chest to his navel. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to look away.
"The door locks automatically," she added lightly. "So I couldn't open it, sir."
Francisco walked closer, noting the outfit she had picked for him. He smiled as he reached for the coat.
"You are so well in your duty, Hazel," he said, his tone laced with quiet praise.
Hazel looked down, her mind racing. Then, calmly, she said, "I need to change too, so would you please open the lock, sir?"
Francisco tilted his head. "Why?"
"Today you don't have to go with me as well."
A flicker of suspicion crossed Hazel's eyes.
"Then?" she asked, her tone sharp.
"Actually, you'll stay here," Francisco said. "Because soon, I'm going to Georgia."
Hazel's heart skipped a beat. Georgia meant business... deals, negotiations. Something big.
"Georgia?" she repeated, concern rising.
"Mr. Francisco, as far as I know, there's no scheduled meeting there."
"It happened suddenly," he replied, brushing it off.
Hazel wasn't convinced.
"Mr. Francisco, are you thinking about firing me?" she asked, her voice softer now, uncertain. "Am I not worth being your PA?"
A hint of sadness clouded her face as she waited for an answer.
Francisco, his wet hair slicked back, walked toward her. He stopped in front of Hazel, gently picked up a strand of her hair, and spoke in a low voice.
"Why would I do that?"
Hazel lowered her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. "Because you're not letting me do any official work."
Francisco's tone carried a subtle challenge. "Who said you're not doing it?"
He listed it out... her choosing his clothes, making meals, now helping with his hair.
Hazel looked down.
Damn it.
Then, unexpectedly, Francisco brought the strand of her hair to his lips. His intense gaze made her heart pound.
Uncomfortable, Hazel took a step back.
"I… I need to go to the washroom," she stammered.
"Will you please open the door?"
Francisco sighed, then said, "Remember the number, 2322020."
Hazel paused, startled.
He gave me the code. Does that mean… he's starting to trust me?
She tapped in the numbers. The door clicked open.
Without looking back, she slipped out, trying to steady her breath. His gaze lingered on her, and she felt it.
Hazel's thoughts raced as she walked away.
I need a plan. I have to stop him from going to Georgia.
"What should I do to make him stay?" she muttered to herself, desperate to turn the situation in her favor.