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Standing up, I fixed my tie with precise movements, trying to mask the strange effect she had on me. “You’re missing the point entirely. You think working hard is the secret to success? How do you think these people afford three hundred dollar plates of pasta? Perhaps once upon a time, hard work was enough. Maybe one person in thousands: succeeds that way now. Some are born into privilege. Some have extraordinary gifts. But for most, it’s calculated strategy. Why does your boss make sixteen dollars while you make ten for doing the actual work? You climb however you can, and that often means using connections. You’ve probably been working relentlessly your entire life, yet are you any better off than last year? Any opportunity for advancement should be seized. Otherwise, you’re either afraid or foolish, 

I expected fire, defiance–instead, she stood utterly still, as though my words had physically struck her. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears that revealed a vulnerability she fought desperately to conceal. 

“Maybe you’re right,” she said softly. “I have been exploited by employers. It’s unjust, yet I persist. I’m workaholic Cerci.” She shrugged, the elegant movement drawing my attention. to the curve of her neck where a pulse fluttered visibly. “But I have no one to use as a stepping stone. All I have is myself, so I value my integrity above anything else in this world. When you attempt to purchase me like merchandise instead of recognizing my humanity, if I allowed that… I would despise myself. And if I can’t respect who I am, I have nothing. Nothing is excruciating.” 

A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek like a diamond against silk. She turned. away quickly, but not before I glimpsed something in her eyes that made my chest tighten unexpectedly–dignity amidst undeniable pain. 

It was only after she left that I could breathe properly again, though something constricted around my heart. She was exquisite on the outside, but what had captivated me was the glimpse of the broken beauty within–a strength forged through struggle that I’d never had to know. 

“Impressive performance,” Irene drawled, slipping into the room. My shoulders fell at the sight of another complicated woman in my life. 

“Why did you bring her here?” I demanded. 

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“I wanted to observe your reaction to her transformation,‘ she replied, leaning against the doorframe with practiced nonchalance. “I heard your argument Friday. That was the first time I’ve seen you so genuinely engaged with a woman. You’re drawn to her.” 

I approached Irene, ensuring she understood my seriousness. “Do not involve her in your schemes. You’re twenty–eight years old–handle your own problems. The last time you manipulated people, what was the outcome?” 

“Go to hell,” she hissed before storming out. 

Why did 1 constantly find myself in these situations? 

Nothing is excruciating. Cerci’s voice echoed in my thoughts, and I felt an overwhelming urge to find her… simply to apologize, of course. Nothing more. 

George Clement: 

When I say I have an addiction to Bernard Stark, I’m not being facetious. In four years together, I’ve never been with anyone else–a fact that astonishes even me. I, notorious playboy Wes–George, committed and monogamous? Even my mothers were shocked. It wasn’t inability but rather that I’d never encountered anyone who could match the intensity I constantly craved. Until Bernard, who burned just as brightly.. 

Call it obsession, dependency, devotion–whatever the label, I rarely strayed far from him. Which explains why, when Senator Elspeth Yates practically begged me to personally cater her event, I agreed despite my long–standing rule against catering. Generally, when dignitaries want my cuisine, they visit my restaurant like everyone else. 

So what exactly was I doing here? 

“This needs more acid! Chop the basil immediately and wait precisely ten minutes before –” I froze mid–instruction when I caught sight of Cerci rushing down the stairs. The emerald dress clung to her curves like water, though her face betrayed recent tears. She carried her heels in one hand, dress train in the other, moving with determination despite 

her obvious distress. 

“Are you seeing this?” my sous–chef whispered. “Do you know her?” 

“My God,” I murmured, transfixed by how she managed to look magnificent even in 

heartbreak. 

24 

Sex With The Maid: Two Men and A Lady 

BERNARD STARK/ GEORGE CLEMENT -2 

“Chef?” 

“Chop the basil now and wait ten minutes for the truffle garnish,” I instructed without taking my eyes off her as she moved toward the back patio, oblivious to the kitchen staff watching her passage. Removing my apron, I went to the refrigerator and retrieved a single chocolate–vanilla parfait with cherry reduction. 

“Spoon,” I requested sharply. 

“Here, Chef.” 

“Nicklaus, the kitchen is yours.” 

“Yes, Chef,” he nodded, attention fixed on his preparation–precisely why I trusted him. Opening the door, I was greeted by a blast of cold air that seemed not to affect her at all. She sat on the stone steps, gaze lifted toward the stars. 

“Come here often?” I asked, settling beside her. She turned so quickly I feared for her 

neck. 

“Why do you materialize everywhere?” she groaned, brushing back a strand of hair that 

caught the moonlight. 

“Not quite the welcome I anticipated,” I murmured, offering the dessert before rising to 

leave. 

“No, I’m sorry,” she called out, halting me. “Please stay.” 

“Are e you certain? I’m notoriously inept with emotional situations.” 

“Is that why you brought dessert?” A small smile graced her lips as she took a bite. She paused, looking down at it with surprise. I couldn’t help but grin as I reclaimed my seat. 

“I’m exceptional at what I do. You’re permitted to acknowledge it.” 

She made a face, clearly struggling. “It’s… quite good. Not life–changing though.” 

“It shouldn’t be. Not with the first taste,” I explained, watching as another spoonful 

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disappeared past her lips. “A truly extraordinary experience builds gradually, Ms. Lannister. It’s the anticipation and journey that create the ultimate satisfaction.” 

She stopped eating, her gaze intensifying. I took the spoon from her, gathered more chocolate, and brought it to her lips, which parted hesitantly. 

“First comes anticipation,” I continued softly. “The heightened awareness of every sensation. The delicate shiver along your spine, the tingling awareness spreading through your body. Each taste becomes more potent, more consuming, until you’re immersed in pleasure so profound it borders on exquisite torture.” 

I offered the final bite, my voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s only then that I allow the culmination.” 

She gasped softly, swallowing with widened eyes before turning away. I couldn’t suppress a knowing smile. 

“You’re quite remarkable, Ms. Lannister.” 

“Stop talking,” she insisted, covering my lips with her fingers. “Your accent and this dessert are thoroughly confusing me.” 

When she withdrew her hand, I spoke truthfully. “It’s not confusion you’re experiencing, but attraction. Your body betrays what you’re reluctant to admit.” 

“It’s freezing out here!” she protested. 

“It was equally cold when I arrived, yet your reaction is new. Trust me, I would have noticed.” 

“How can you flirt so brazenly while committed to someone else?” 

An excellent question. Bernard was the first person to ever capture my complete attention -until this hurricane of a woman appeared in our lives. 

“Although I suppose turnabout is fair play, considering Bernard kissed me.” 

“He did what?” The audacious devil! 

“Don’t be jealous. He was protecting me from- I didn’t care about explanations. Following an impulse I’d been fighting since our first encounter, I leaned forward, 

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capturing her lips with mine. The taste of chocolate, cherry, and vanilla lingered on her tongue, her lips softer than I’d imagined. She responded momentarily, a small sound. escaping her throat before she pulled away abruptly. 

“Now we’re even,” I told her, struggling to regulate my breathing. 

“You’re both absolutely mad!” she declared, rising quickly to leave. I wanted to follow but remained seated, acutely aware of my body’s intense response to our brief connection. 

Her retreat left me alone with dangerous thoughts–images of her with Bernard, with me, with both of us together. 

“Bloody hell,” I whispered into the night air. 

Why had I pursued her? Because she was captivating, yes, but also because I sensed Bernard’s interest in her. Whatever excuse he’d manufactured to kiss her was transparent. He’d done it because he desired her. And his desire ignited my own in ways I hadn’t 

anticipated. 

Both of them would undoubtedly be my undoing. 

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