Chapter 17

Ellison's words met Joycelyn's gaze, causing her cheeks to flush. She noticed the amusement in his eyes and quickly averted her gaze.

"Fancy a couple of drinks tonight? I have a few good bottles of wine," Ellison offered lightheartedly. He seemed in a fantastic mood.

Joycelyn, a disciplined and usually reserved woman, knew that alcohol loosened her inhibitions.

"I can't hold my liquor," she demurred gently, busying herself to avoid embarrassment.

"Don't worry, the alcohol content isn't high," Ellison said, selecting and opening a bottle of red wine. The newlyweds stood apart in the kitchen, one cooking, the other pouring wine.

Joycelyn prepared an elaborate three-course meal, the gas range bustling with pots and pans. Methodically, she timed, seasoned, and tasted everything. In forty minutes, dinner was ready.

Ellison sat at the head of the dining table, sipping wine and admiring her swift efficiency. He remained quiet but attentive.

Joycelyn, finished plating, turned to announce dinner, only to find him watching her intently. He exuded the same intimidating aura he possessed in the boardroom.

"Do you have a sweet tooth?" Joycelyn asked, trying to ease the tension as she carried the first course to the table—a rich lobster bisque drizzled with truffle oil.

"I'm alright," Ellison replied, rising to wash his hands before bringing the remaining dishes to the table: a surf and turf of oven-baked fish and grilled ribs, and dessert.

Joycelyn's plating was understated, but the aroma whetted Ellison's appetite. With butterflies in her stomach, she joined him at the table—their first meal together.

"Mr. Grant, still or sparkling water?" Joycelyn asked.

"Still water is fine," he replied.

Joycelyn retrieved two bottles of mineral water and glasses. Ellison waited patiently before picking up his cutlery. "Everything looks great," he commented, beginning to eat.

His dining etiquette was impeccable. Each cut and slice was deliberate and precise. "I poured you a drink," he said, gesturing to the glass beside her plate.

Joycelyn, nervous about his opinion and still slightly intimidated by her CEO, stole a glance. "How is it? Is it good?" she asked seriously.

Ellison gave a satisfied look. "Not bad."

Relief flooded Joycelyn's face. "As long as it's not terrible."

She began to eat delicately, a habit from her time with the Mercer family. She took a sip of her drink—not wine, but juice. Sweet with a hint of tartness, she drank half in two mouthfuls, feeling embarrassed again.

They ate in relative silence. Ellison was a man of few words, and Joycelyn wasn't chatty by nature, especially with him.

After a while, Ellison said, "I'm done eating. Thank you for the meal."

Joycelyn looked at his mostly untouched plate. "Is the food not to your liking?" she worriedly asked.

"I don't usually eat much for dinner. Please continue without me," Ellison explained, finishing his wine, wiping his mouth, and rising to leave.

Joycelyn, seeing the amount of food on her plate, felt conflicted. "What should I do with the leftovers?"

"Throw them out," he answered easily.

"That's much too wasteful," she countered, resuming her meal. A three-course meal was usually filling, but she'd prepared larger portions, fearing it wouldn't be enough for him. She'd always been frugal, eating simply, almost vegan, during high school and college due to financial constraints. Expensive ingredients like meat and seafood were rarely available to her. Her situation had only improved after starting her job. The high-quality ingredients in Ellison's refrigerator were a stark contrast to her past. She couldn't bear to waste them.

Ellison went to the living room to watch the financial news, leaving Joycelyn alone. Feeling more at ease, her appetite increased, and she ate heartily.

When finished, she was full, slumping against her chair, a far cry from her earlier composed self. Ellison returned to the kitchen for water and saw she had finished the dishes. He said nothing.

Snapping back to her usual self, Joycelyn got up to clear the dishes, explaining, "I didn't want to waste it, so I ate everything." She was, in fact, a meat-lover. She had only adopted a vegan diet out of necessity.

"That's fine. You should eat more anyway, you're too skinny," Ellison replied in his deep voice, glancing at her as he drank water.

Joycelyn smiled, her cheeks flushing again.

"It's too much of a hassle to cook after work. I asked William to find me some personal chefs," Ellison continued.

"I'm guessing you don't like having strangers in your home?" Joycelyn guessed, meeting his gaze with her beautiful eyes.

In the warm light, he looked dangerously handsome. He nodded.

"If my dishes aren't to your taste, you can request others. I quite like this kitchen; it's therapeutic," Joycelyn said eagerly.

"You wouldn't find it tedious?" Ellison asked.

"I used to, but not anymore," she replied with a shrug.

"Why's that?" he asked, curious.

"Not telling," she teased, winking. In truth, she saw his home as a temporary haven from the Mercer household. Compared to her irksome father and daughter, Ellison was calm and aloof—a welcome change. She considered it an added work responsibility. Moreover, she knew she could never afford a home like this, finding solace in being its housekeeper. It would simply be more troublesome at night.

Putting the dishes in the dishwasher, she hummed a tune while cleaning.

"The upstairs room is ready for you. Let me know if you need anything," Ellison said.

"Oh, that's great, thank you, Mr. Grant," Joycelyn answered cheerfully.

Each time she addressed him formally, he frowned slightly, disliking the professional distance it implied.

Joycelyn finished cleaning, washed her hands, and went upstairs. Entering the guest room, she gasped. Checking again, she realized the room, which had only contained a bed yesterday, was now a fully furnished suite.

She gaped in awe at the silk pajamas, the walk-in closet filled with new clothes, and the dressing table stocked with high-end skincare products.

"Oh my god," she muttered, shocked. Her previous makeshift room in the sunroom paled in comparison to this dream bedroom. It was clean, bright, and designed to her liking, moving her to tears. All the indignation and injustice she'd suffered seemed to dissolve, leaving her feeling healed.

Ellison found her in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "Don't you like it?" he asked.