Chapter 6
The pristine, sterile air of the kitchen felt suffocatingly tight. Colette took a frantic, shallow breath, desperately trying to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation. She reached out, attempting to place a placating hand on Declan’s tailored chest, but he shifted slightly, causing her hand to fall awkwardly back to her side.
“I simply demand excellence, Declan,” Colette reasoned, her American accent pitching higher with nervous energy. “This charity dinner is a reflection of our family. I won't allow a maid to sabotage the evening with her incompetence.”
Declan did not look at her. He turned his attention fully to Willa. The beautiful housemaid stood perfectly straight, her slim-fitted silhouette unbowed by the verbal assault she had just endured. Her expressive eyes met his without a trace of fear.
“Willa, have you found your duties tonight to be confusing?” Declan asked, his voice steady and measuring.
“No, sir, I have not,” Willa replied clearly.
“Have you ever failed to execute a direct order from me?” Declan asked.
“Never, sir,” Willa answered.
Declan finally turned his gaze back to Colette. The extremely short stubble on his jawline seemed to bristle with an unspoken, lethal warning. He loomed over her, the sheer breadth of his powerful shoulders blocking out the harsh fluorescent light.
“Why do you believe you have the authority to discipline my staff?” Declan asked.
Colette gasped, her eyes widening in profound shock. “I am your fiancée! We are getting married! This is my house, too!”
“Have you signed a deed?” Declan asked quietly.
Colette opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The absolute, freezing coldness in his eyes stripped her of every defense. She looked around the kitchen, realizing that the chef and the sous-chefs were watching her complete humiliation.
“Declan, please, not in front of them,” Colette whispered, her controlling temperament breaking down into sheer embarrassment.
“Do you only respect people when the doors are closed?” Declan asked.
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned his back on her, adjusting the cuffs of his dark three-piece suit, the generous negative space of his tattoos flexing as he moved.
“Willa, has Mrs. Bennett received her main course?” Declan asked.
“I was just about to bring it to her, sir,” Willa said, stepping gracefully past the frozen socialite to retrieve a silver tray holding a covered porcelain plate.
“Shall we return to our guest?” Declan asked, gesturing toward the swinging doors.
May you like
“Yes, sir,” Willa nodded.
Declan held the heavy wooden door open for the housemaid, allowing her to exit the kitchen first. He stepped through behind her, leaving Colette standing alone amidst the stainless steel and the silent, staring kitchen staff. The radiant, luminous warmth of the dining room welcomed him back, but the war for the estate had officially been waged.
