Lila Harper sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone like it was a ticking bomb.
The Brooklyn apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional creak of Mateo's footsteps in the kitchen, where he was prepping for his food truck's evening shift.
Her inbox held an email from the Culinary Institute, subject line: Practical Exam Results.
It had arrived ten minutes ago, but she hadn't opened it.
Her hands were clammy, her heart a frantic drumbeat.
This was it—her dream, her future, all riding on a few lines of text.
She closed her eyes, picturing Elliot's penthouse kitchen last night—the warm glow of the oven, the scent of her caprese tart, the way his fingers had brushed her cheek as he said, I'm not letting her—or anyone—come between us.
His words had felt like a lifeline, but they also terrified her.
The anonymous email, almost certainly from Cassandra, lingered like a shadow: Step back before you embarrass yourself. What if she was right? What if Lila was reaching too far—not just for culinary school, but for Elliot?
"Stop stalling," she muttered, swiping open the email.
Her breath caught as she scanned the words:Dear Ms. Harper, Congratulations! Your practical exam demonstrated strong technical skill and a unique culinary voice. We are pleased to advance you to the final stage of admissions: a scholarship interview, scheduled for next Friday at our Hyde Park campus. This interview will determine your eligibility for financial aid. Please confirm your attendance…
Lila's vision blurred, tears pricking her eyes. She'd made it.
Not just to the next round, but to a scholarship interview.
The Culinary Institute saw something in her—her tart, her passion, her mom's recipes brought to life.
She let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding her like warm syrup.
But the joy was tinged with fear. A scholarship was her only shot at affording tuition, and the interview meant more pressure, more scrutiny.
Could she really pull this off?
Her phone buzzed with a text from Elliot: Any news on the exam? I'm dying over here.
She smiled, her heart doing that familiar flip. He'd been her biggest cheerleader, from the mixer to the pizza dinner to the way he'd stood up to Cassandra's insinuations.
She typed back: Made it to the scholarship interview! Freaking out, but happy. Thanks for believing in me.
His reply was instant: Knew you'd crush it! Celebrate tonight? My place, 8 PM. Bring the tart, I'll handle the rest.
She laughed, warmth spreading through her chest.
Only if you stop trying to steal my recipes. See you then.
But as she set the phone down, the anonymous email gnawed at her. Cassandra's words—out of your league—felt like a splinter she couldn't pull out.
Lila had told Elliot about it, and his anger had been palpable, but what if Cassandra wasn't done? What if she escalated, threatening Lila's job or worse? Lila needed this maid gig to survive, especially if the scholarship fell through.
She couldn't afford to let her feelings for Elliot jeopardize everything.
She headed to the kitchen, where Mateo was chopping cilantro, his apron already stained with salsa.
"You're grinning like you won the lottery," he said, glancing up.
"Exam results?"
"Scholarship interview," she said, unable to hide her excitement.
"Next Friday. If I nail it, I might actually afford culinary school."
Mateo whooped, dropping his knife to pull her into a hug.
"That's my girl! I told you, your food's magic. You're gonna own that interview."
"Thanks," she said, squeezing him back. "But I'm terrified. And…"
She hesitated, the email's weight pressing down.
"There's something else. I got a weird email, telling me to stay away from Elliot. I think it's his ex, Cassandra. She's… intense."
Mateo's eyes narrowed.
"Intense like 'mean girl' intense, or 'psycho stalker' intense?"
"Both?" Lila said, half-laughing.
"She showed up at his place, and now this. I don't know what she's capable of, but it's freaking me out."
"You tell Elliot?" Mateo asked, resuming his chopping.
"Yeah. He's pissed, but…"
She sighed, leaning against the counter.
"It's complicated. I like him, Mateo. A lot. But he's my boss, and his world's so different. What if I'm just… a phase?"
Mateo set down his knife, his expression serious.
"Listen, Lila. You're not a phase. You're a damn catch, and if he doesn't see that, he's an idiot. But be careful. Rich people play by different rules. And this Cassandra chick? She sounds like trouble."
Lila nodded, her stomach twisting.
"I know. I just… I don't want to screw this up. Any of it."
"Then don't," he said, handing her a taco. "Eat. Celebrate. And tell that billionaire to watch his ex, because I'm not above throwing salsa at her."
She laughed, the taco's warmth grounding her.
But as she ate, her mind was already on tonight—Elliot's penthouse, another evening blurring the line between boss and something more.
By 8 PM, Lila was back at Voss Tower, a fresh caprese tart in a container, her nerves jangling like loose change.
Elliot opened the door, his smile bright enough to rival the city lights.
He was in a fitted sweater and jeans, his hair slightly damp, like he'd just showered.
"You made it," he said, stepping aside.
"And you brought the goods."
"Couldn't let you starve," she said, handing him the container.
The penthouse was warm, the living room lit by soft lamps, a bottle of red wine and two glasses on the coffee table.
It felt intimate, dangerous, like stepping onto thin ice.
They settled on the couch, the tart between them, and Elliot poured the wine.
"To your scholarship interview," he said, raising his glass.
"You're gonna kill it."She clinked her glass against his, her cheeks warming.
"Thanks. I'm still processing. It's… a lot."
"Tell me about it," he said, leaning back, his eyes locked on hers.
"What was the exam like? Paint the picture.
"She took a sip, the wine smooth and rich, and described the chaotic kitchen, the torn burrata, the judges' unreadable faces.
He listened, his attention unwavering, laughing when she mimicked her panic over the cheese.
"You're tougher than you think," he said when she finished.
"Most people would've crumbled."
"Not sure about that," she said, setting her glass down.
"I was a mess. Still am." She hesitated, the email burning in her mind.
"Elliot, about that email… I got another one today. Same vibe—telling me to back off. It's definitely Cassandra."
His face darkened, his jaw tightening.
"She's crossing a line. I'll handle it, Lila. She won't bother you again."
"How?" she asked, her voice sharp with worry.
"She's got connections, right? She's talking to your board. What if she—"
"She won't," he said, his tone fierce.
He leaned forward, his hand covering hers, warm and steady.
"I'm not letting her hurt you. Or us."
Her breath caught, his touch sending sparks up her arm.
"Us?" she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Elliot, there's no 'us.' Not really. You're my boss, and I'm—"
"You're everything," he said, cutting her off. His eyes burned into hers, raw and unguarded.
"I don't care about the job, or the board, or what anyone thinks. I want you, Lila. I've wanted you since you spilled coffee on me and made me laugh for the first time in years."
Her heart stopped, the world narrowing to his face, his hand, the heat between them. She wanted to pull away, to cling to the safety of boundaries, but her body betrayed her, leaning closer.
"Elliot," she whispered,
"this could ruin everything."
"Then let it," he said, his voice low and rough.
He closed the distance, his lips brushing hers—soft, tentative, like a question.
She froze for a heartbeat, then kissed him back, her hands finding his shoulders, the tart forgotten on the table.
The kiss was fire—slow, hungry, tasting of wine and want. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him, her fears drowning in the warmth of his touch.
But as his lips moved to her jaw, her phone buzzed, a harsh intrusion.
She pulled back, breathless, and glanced at the screen: another email, same sender: You were warned. Say goodbye to your dreams.
Her stomach dropped, the kiss's warmth replaced by cold dread. Elliot saw her face and frowned.
"What is it?"She showed him the email, her hands shaking.
His expression hardened, a storm brewing in his eyes.
"This ends now," he said, standing.
"I'm calling my lawyer. Cassandra's done."
But as he grabbed his phone, Lila's heart raced, fear and hope colliding.
She'd crossed a line tonight, and there was no going back.
Not from the kiss, not from him, and not from the fight that was coming.