Quentin looked at Carla, who was standing to the side with her head bowed in a performance of humble politeness. His brow furrowed. "You aren't the assistant in charge of hospitality. Why are you here? Where is Chris?"
Carla bit her lip, her voice cautious and feigning concern. "Mr. Harris... Assistant Chris felt a bit unwell, so I stepped in for her. Please don't be angry with her."
Quentin glanced at Amanda. She was sitting with her arms crossed, her eyes like chips of ice, clearly unimpressed by the display. He didn't have the patience for Carla's explanations.
He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "There's nothing more for you to do here. You can go."
Carla's heart sank. Quentin hadn't even looked at her. Though she was burning with a sense of injustice, she knew better than to push him further. She bowed again and retreated from the room.
The moment the door closed, Quentin's demeanor shifted. He walked over, took Amanda's hand, and pulled her gently to her feet. "Let's go to my office."
Amanda didn't want to ruin the mood further, so she picked up her lunch box and followed him. Once they were inside his private sanctuary, Quentin helped her remove her hat and mask. He smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "Why did you come all the way here? You should have stayed home and slept a bit longer. It's rare for you to have a day off."
He was still worried. After the way she had broken down last night, he'd been afraid she might still be in a fragile state.
Amanda raised her face, allowing him to check on her, but she shot him a playful, mock-annoyed look. "I came to bring you lunch. If you don't want it, I'll just take it back home."
She wasn't ready to revisit the heavy emotions of yesterday, so she took the opportunity to act a bit spoiled and troublesome.
"Lunch?" Quentin's eyebrows shot up. He noticed the lunch box on the coffee table and opened it with genuine excitement.
Inside were two savory seafood dishes, a crisp stir-fry, and a light broccoli soup. The final tier even held neatly peeled apple slices. Quentin didn't hesitate; he picked up a shrimp egg and popped it into his mouth. The seasoning was perfect, the rice fluffy and warm.
Amanda watched him eat in silence for a moment before leaning in, her eyes wide with expectation. "Is it delicious?"
Quentin tilted his head to look at her. The sight of her waiting so earnestly for his approval was more than he could resist. He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. "Very delicious," he murmured.
Amanda's face heated up instantly. She covered her mouth, her eyes rolling in mock exasperation. "You pervert! Eat your rice!"
Quentin laughed, the sound bright and clear. He tried to feed her a piece of apple, though he felt a pang of guilt—he realized these were two of his favorite dishes, but because they were seafood, she couldn't share them with him.
"The flavor is different from our chef's," Quentin noted as he continued to eat. "Did Butler Wayne hire someone new today?"
Amanda chewed her apple, her chin tilting up proudly. "Yes. Butler Wayne hired me to cook today. So, how do you plan on paying me, Mr. CEO?"
Quentin froze, looking at her in genuine shock. Amanda's pride was instantly wounded by his expression. "What? You don't believe I cooked this?"
Quentin quickly swallowed and reached out to pat her head affectionately. "No, it's not that. I just didn't realize Mandy had such a hidden talent for the culinary arts."
The unexpected praise caused Amanda's "tail"—which had been ready to wag in triumph—to lower slightly. She pouted, pushing his hand away. "Just eat your food."
As Quentin finished every last grain of rice, Amanda took a moment to look around his office. It was vast, dominated by a massive mahogany desk and a luxurious seating area. It felt a bit empty, but perfectly disciplined—much like the man himself.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying view of the city. Harsh noon sunlight streamed through, casting long, golden shadows across the floor. Quentin noticed her staring out at the skyline, her expression turning distant.
To be honest, her acting a bit fussy made him feel more at ease than her silence did. He reached out, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her waist. "What are you thinking about?"
Amanda didn't resist; she snuggled into his chest, her voice small as she asked a question that shifted the atmosphere entirely. "Quentin... there are three of you in the Harris family. So why do people call you 'Demon Tin'?"
Quentin's hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Amanda looked up at him, sensing she had hit a nerve.
He smiled softly, though there was no humor in it, and kissed her forehead. "When my mother gave birth to me, it was a twin pregnancy. But because of the premature birth, neither my mother nor my twin brother survived. Only I was stubborn enough to make it."
Even though he spoke calmly, Amanda caught the underlying ache. She realized the nickname "Demon" wasn't just about his business tactics; to some, it was a cruel reminder that his life had come at the cost of two others.
Her heart twisted with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. She hugged him tightly, her voice muffled against his chest. "In the future, if anyone calls you that, I'll beat them to death!"
"You're quite fierce, aren't you?" Quentin teased.
The pain of thirty years ago didn't sting as sharply as it once had, but having her softness against his chest and her fiery defense in his ears made him feel an incredible sense of peace.
He held her for a long moment before remembering the evening's plans. "Mandy, there's a party tonight. Will you go with me?"
Amanda pulled back, her answer instantaneous. "No!"
She hated social galas—the fake smiles, the posturing, the stiff dresses. She'd much rather bury herself under a blanket at home.
"We've been married for a while now," Quentin countered gently. "Don't you want to go out and establish your status as the Matriarch of the Harris family?"
Amanda's lip twitched. She grabbed his collar, pulling him close. "Do I look like someone who likes to show off?"
Quentin smiled, his hands firm on her waist. "So, will you come? For me?"
Amanda pouted. She knew they couldn't stay hidden forever, and after everything she'd learned, she didn't want to hide her connection to him anymore. "Fine. But I don't have a dress ready. What am I supposed to do?"
Quentin's smile turned triumphant. "Don't worry about that. I'll take you shopping after lunch."
"Don't you have to work this afternoon?"
"No," Quentin said, standing up with her still in his arms. "I'm taking the afternoon off to accompany my wife."