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You’re no one special, but you prefer it that way. You didn’t have grand ambitions when you graduated from college, didn’t daydream about serving celebrities and dignitaries or even working in a five-star restaurant. No, what you wanted was something simple. Maybe working in a bistro, maybe eventually co-owning a restaurant.
Instead, you’re working for Lex Luthor. Someone grand, someone powerful, someone with enough money that he could’ve bought the culinary school you went to if he wanted. It came about in such a strange way, too.
It all started with a flurry of comments and likes on your Instagram posts, all from an influencer named Eve. At first, it was just flattering. She was impressed by every dish you posted online and showered you with compliments on how cute your desserts and breads were, how delicious your savory dishes looked. Then came the first message, begging you to make something for her.
Your employment didn’t start with a job interview or even showing off your resume. Your employment was decided when you made Eve what she referred to as “the cutest, most Insta-worthy” champagne cupcakes. Frosting the soft pink shade of a cherry blossom, a filling that was light and creamy, the cupcake itself perfectly moist. At the time, you just wanted to hear her gush about your cooking so you added small edible pearls on top.
When you delivered the cupcakes, you were greeted with a squeal. She threw her arms around you in a hug and she held up her phone, snapping picture after picture with her cheek pressed against yours. She took photos of herself holding a cupcake, all while he watched from where he was leaning against the wall.
You could feel his eyes on you as Eve prepared her first post. Like a physical pressure against the surface of your skin. Cold, firm, teetering on the edge of threatening. Adrenaline built within you and all you wanted was to leave, to escape his intense stare.
Part of you wonders if you should’ve turned her down. If you refused Eve’s request, where would you be now? Working in that little bistro near the park? Maybe you’d be a line cook somewhere. Instead, you’ve become Lex Luthor’s private chef.
It pays well, of course. You make more at this job than you ever thought possible. You just wish you had some more privacy. Even though you have your own apartment, you still get texts from Eve and Lex at all hours. No matter what time it is, no matter what they’re requesting, you have to drop whatever you’re doing and go to them. Even if you’re off the clock, even if it’s the dead of night.
Now, for instance. It’s one o’clock in the morning and Eve wants pancakes. Not just any pancakes, of course. She wants something tasty, cute, and perfect for pictures. So, you’re standing at the counter and slicing strawberries. There’s a freshly made bag of Chantilly cream waiting to be piped onto a stack of perfectly shaped pancakes, a bowl of chocolate shavings ready to be meticulously sprinkled on top.
You’re still a little groggy from getting woken by Eve’s text message. Too groggy to care that Eve isn’t even in the room, but alert enough to notice that Lex is. If you look to your right, you know that you’ll see him leaning against the edge of the counter with his arms crossed. Fully dressed in slacks and a button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Those cold, vibrant blue eyes focused on you as you work, as if waiting for you to make a mistake.
Despite the fact that you’ve been working for him for the past month, he still watches you with a blend of curiosity and scrutiny. He’s made requests for meals, giving you very specific details on how he wanted them prepared and presented. Lex is picky. He’s particular about how he wants things done and he lets venom leak into his tone if you question him.
Lamb cooked in butter with diced shallots and leeks. That was his first request and you can remember the way he hovered at your side as you cooked. Watching you like a predator waiting for its prey to stumble and fall to the ground. He studied the dish with intensity when you presented it to him and you subconsciously held your breath when he cut into the lamb. You didn’t receive any compliments from him, but he finished the meal without complaint.
There’s a hint of movement to your right and you can hear the quiet click of his steps on the tiled floor as he moves closer. Your head remains lowered, eyes remain fixed upon the strawberries as you slice them, shaping them into picture-perfect heart-shaped pieces. The scent of his cologne reaches you as the distance closes and you try to think about Eve. Imagining how she’s going to smile, how she’s going to ask you to position the plate of pancakes under the perfect lighting for a photo shoot.
When Lex’s hand rests on your shoulder, every muscle in your back tenses and the contact is like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. You can feel your pulse accelerating, feel a subtle tightening in your throat as your eyes slide to the right and your knife pauses above the next strawberry. “Mr. Luthor?” When you speak, there’s a controlled softness to your voice. Professional, calm, to disguise the uneasiness settling over you.
“How long have you been working for me? It’s been around a month, right? So, you’ve worked for me long enough to know what I expect from my employees.” Lex’s fingers press harder into your shoulder, digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your top. His warm breath brushes against your ear as he continues. “Do you think it’s acceptable for Lex Luthor’s private chef to show up for work wearing pajama pants and a band t-shirt?”
Shame heats your face and you prepare an excuse. You got Eve’s text message at one o’clock in the morning, claiming that it was an emergency. She wanted you to come over right away. You were still half-asleep when you left your apartment, not even thinking about dressing up since she should have been the only one seeing you like this. Instead of arguing, you bite the inside of your cheek and remain silent, knowing that he doesn’t really want an explanation.
Before he can say more, Eve’s excited squeal pierces the quiet kitchen. Her heels click on the tiled floor as she rushes over and Lex releases your shoulder, stepping away. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re seriously the best!” Eve’s arms wrap around you from behind, the smell of her perfume invading your senses as she looks down at the heart-shaped strawberries. “These are so cute!”
Lex leans against the edge of the counter again, crossing his arms as Eve begs to try one of the strawberries. His brow furrows as he watches you interact. The way Eve, in her dress and heels, drapes her arms around your neck. As always, she looks stylish and put together. You look so frumpy beside her and he can’t stand the idea of anyone seeing you that way.
Maybe you just don’t understand it. Every employee of LuthorCorp belongs to him. He expects a certain level of professionalism, a level of pride. What you don’t know is that he expects more from you than the others. Eve posts so many pictures with you, so many pictures of all three of you, that it should go without saying that you need to look better than this.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he watches Eve bring a strawberry to your lips, begging you to try it and pouting until you finally open your mouth for her. Even though you look like you just rolled out of bed, he can feel himself getting hard as Eve pushes the strawberry past your lips. His eyes lower, appreciating the way your ass looks in those pajama pants, how flimsy the material is. He sees the way Eve’s hip presses against yours and he feels himself twitch.
It's not the first time he’s gotten hard from watching you and Eve. Even though you’re doing something as mundane as prepping to make pancakes, he gets a rush from seeing you together. A sense of pride, knowing that you both belong to him. A desire burning in him, greed driving him to want more. To have you, really have you.
Eve hovers nearby as you make the pancakes, watching with fascination when you carefully stack them on a plate. You know that it needs to look picture-perfect, so you layer the Chantilly cream and strawberries between the pancakes. Finally, you add the last layer of cream and berries to the top before finishing it with a sprinkle of dark chocolate shavings.
It really does look perfect, as you settle the plate on the table and adjust it so the light hits it just right. Pride blooms in your chest, fed by the way Eve claps her hands and beams beside you. You barely even notice the way Lex circles the table, staring at the plate as if he’s critiquing an art piece. It isn’t until those cold blue eyes meet yours from across the table that your pride begins to falter.
“Eve, take her to get dressed. If you’re going to take a picture with her, she needs to look like she didn’t just roll out of a dumpster.” He gives you both a dismissive wave, a command that you know you can’t refuse.
Of course, Eve’s clothes don’t fit you quite right, but they’re still an upgrade from the frumpy pajamas you were wearing. Lex lets his gaze drift up and down your form as you return, being led by Eve. Almost perfect. The way her dress hugs you, the way your hair looks after she did it for you, the way she did your makeup.
Now, you look like someone worthy of his attention. Lex stands aside while Eve poses with you, taking picture after picture. His thoughts begin to shift as Eve takes her first bite and gushes about the food. Just look at that smile tugging at your lips. Look at how flustered you get when she licks a little cream off her fingertips.
Initially, Lex didn’t care about you. You were just some aspiring chef on Instagram that Eve wouldn’t shut up about. When he saw you for the first time, he had believed that this would be a one-time thing. Eve wanted cupcakes, you brought the cupcakes; it was just business.
Lex didn’t anticipate Eve instantly becoming so attached to you. He didn’t expect her to spend most of the night talking about how much she liked you, how she wanted to be friends with you. When she actually begged to keep you, he finally agreed. They would keep you, under the guise of hiring you as their private chef.
He strides over to the table, casually pulling out the chair on your other side and taking a seat. Immediately, Eve moves in closer on your other side and holds up her phone to get a picture of all three of you. Lex doesn’t smile, but under the table, he rests a hand on your bare knee.
He can feel your muscles jump beneath his touch, feel the heat of your skin beneath his palm. When you try to subtly shift your leg away, his grip tightens. His fingertips dig in, giving you a silent warning to stay still. A warning to not refuse him. When you slowly relax under his touch, his lips curve in satisfaction.
“These are so good! You have to try them!” Eve lifts a forkful and leans across you, holding it out for Lex. When he just stares at the food, she pouts. “Please? She did such a good job!”
“Fine.” He exhales in a quiet sigh and takes the fork from her, but the hand on your knee drifts higher. Slowly, carefully, like he’s testing you. As he chews, he watches you from the corner of his eye. Flustered? Good. You’re staying still for him, you’re letting his fingertips glide over your soft, warm skin.
Your pulse is racing as you feel his hand rest on your lower thigh, squeezing once in a silent warning. Eve is taking another bite as Lex spreads his fingers, stroking your thigh before squeezing again. He’s testing you, you know he is. Testing to see how far you’ll let him take things, how much you’ll let him do before you say something.
You don’t want to lose this job. It pays more than any other job you could get in Metropolis and, honestly, you love seeing how happy Eve gets when you cook for her. It’s just the uneasiness you feel whenever Lex is in the room, the pressure bearing down on you from the intensity of his stare, the jittery sensation in the pit of your stomach as his little finger skims your inner thigh.
Eve takes a few more pictures. A few photos of her feeding you or Lex, a few pictures of her with her arm draped around your neck. When you’re finally able to leave, it’s close to three o’clock and you’re struggling to stay awake. The walk home feels longer than ever and as you collapse onto your bed, you release a heavy sigh that penetrates the silence. You doze off on top of the blankets, completely exhausted, unaware of the fact that you’re being watched.