"I owe you my life, Pinky," Ciara said dramatically, hands clasped like she was proposing marriage. "Please. Just this once. I swear I'll cover your shifts for a whole month."
Pinky rolled her eyes. "I didn't even ask you to do anything that serious. Why can't Mira or Gracie fill in?"
"Mira's sick. Gracie has her exams. You're my only hope."
Pinky sighed and stared at her best friend from across their cramped kitchen table. The apartment they shared had peeling walls and a fridge that hummed like a broken choir, but it was theirs—and it had seen way too many of Ciara's last-minute requests.
"I don't do laundry, Ciara," Pinky said flatly. "Or dishes. Or cleaning strange men's bathtubs."
Ciara gave her the classic puppy eyes. "It's not just any man. It's Fuji Hayworth."
Pinky's brow lifted. "The billionaire magazine guy?"
Ciara nodded. "CEO of The Tribe. He's loaded, but he's also...particular."
"Meaning he's a pain in the ass?"
Ciara winced. "Not exactly. He's just intense. Like, serious serious. But he's never rude. And I only need you to drop off the laundry and check the living room. That's it. No cooking, I swear."
---
An hour later, Pinky stood in front of a luxury penthouse, holding a bag of pressed shirts and shaking her head.
"All this for a man who probably can't even iron his own socks."
She let herself in, glancing around the pristine space. Everything gleamed. White marble, gold accents, minimalist art. Definitely rich-guy taste.
She was fluffing throw pillows when the front door opened again.
She turned, surprised.
A tall man stepped in holding a grocery bag in one arm, car keys in the other.
He was devastatingly handsome in a casual black tee and jeans. Tousled dark hair, sharp jawline, and the kind of confidence that only came from knowing the world was in your hands.
Fuji Hayworth.
"Hi," he said with a small smile. "You must be Ciara's friend?"
Pinky blinked. So this was the billionaire?
"Yeah," she replied slowly. "I'm Pinky. She asked me to fill in."
He nodded warmly and set the groceries down. "Nice to meet you. I really appreciate you helping out. It's been a crazy week."
Okay, friendly billionaire. That was unexpected.
"I didn't know you were coming back so soon," she said.
"I just needed to grab a few things," he said, unpacking tomatoes, spices, and pasta. "I'll get started on dinner in a minute. Ciara said you'd handle the cooking tonight."
Pinky froze.
"What?"
He looked up, confused. "The cooking?"
"No," she said, voice sharp. "I'm not cooking anything."
Fuji straightened slowly. "I'm sorry?"
"Ciara said I was only here to do laundry and clean up a bit. She didn't mention cooking. And I don't cook for strangers. That's...kind of a personal rule of mine."
The smile vanished from Fuji's face.
"I see," he said evenly. "Well, I guess I'll figure it out then."
Pinky could tell the air had shifted. His tone wasn't rude—but it was clipped. Cold.
He turned and began unloading the rest of the items in silence.
Without another word, he picked up his phone and walked out to the balcony.
---
Back at their apartment, Ciara's phone rang.
She answered—and immediately winced. "Hello, Mr. Hayworth... Yes... Oh no, she said that? I'm so sorry... No, she didn't mean it like that..."
Pinky watched her pace in circles.
Ciara hung up and turned to her slowly.
"He said he was trying to be polite but you made him feel like trash. Pinky, why didn't you just explain nicely?"
"I did," Pinky said, crossing her arms. "I just said I don't cook for strangers."
"You said it like he was beneath you."
"Well, he acted like it was expected. That's rude."
Ciara groaned. "You don't get it. Fuji may be rich, but he's not arrogant. He respects boundaries—if you set them like a human, not like a... you know, a spicy panther."
Pinky smirked despite herself.
"I'll apologize if he cooks me dinner."
Ciara sighed. "You're impossible."
The skyline shimmered beneath the night sky, painting the city in quiet light. Fuji sat on his balcony, a glass of bourbon resting against his palm as the silence stretched between him and Mikel.
"She walked out," Fuji said finally, his voice low.
Mikel turned, surprised. "Walked out? Of your house?"
Fuji gave a slow nod. "I asked her to help in the kitchen. Nothing serious. She looked at me, smiled, and said, 'No thanks.' Then she walked out."
Mikel stared. "Just like that?"
"She was calm. Polite, even. But the way she said it—it wasn't what she said, it was how she said it." Fuji's jaw tightened. "There was no respect in it. None."
"Wait, this is Ciara's friend, right? The one with the soft voice?"
"Yeah. Pinky."
Mikel gave a short laugh. "You're bothered by someone soft-spoken refusing to cook?"
Fuji took a long sip of his drink before answering. "I'm used to being treated with respect. Especially in my own home. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't throw anything. But she made it clear she didn't think much of me."
"So," Mikel grinned, "is she at least fine?"
Fuji didn't answer right away.
"She's not even beautiful," he finally muttered. "Average at best."
Mikel laughed. "Then why are you drinking over it?"
Fuji ignored the question.
"I swear," Mikel continued, shaking his head, "the girls who don't try to impress anyone are always the ones who drive men crazy. Maybe it's not the looks—it's the way they hold their ground."
Fuji grunted. "Ugly girls with sharp tongues. That's the problem."
Mikel burst out laughing. "Why do ugly girls always have the worst attitude?"
Fuji smirked faintly, though his eyes remained cold. "Ask the next one you see. Maybe they're tired of the world ignoring them."
They both laughed for a moment before Mikel steered the conversation elsewhere.
"Tasha made okra today. My favorite. Then told me I was a king and massaged my feet. I think I'm in love for real this time."
Fuji gave him a sidelong glance. "She brainwashed you."
"Even if she did, I'm not complaining," Mikel said proudly. "You need peace in your life, man. Not these little storms dressed like women."
Fuji gave a half-smile, but his mind wandered again… not to storms, but to the girl who left his living room with a smile and zero remorse.
---
The Next Morning
Ciara smoothed the front of her dress and tucked her phone into her bag. She wasn't supposed to work today, but after Fuji's quiet call last night, she knew better than to decline.
He hadn't said much. Just told her the kitchen needed help.
But she knew what it really meant.
She turned toward Pinky, who stood at the window in a simple top and leggings, arms crossed. There was no fight in her posture—just silence.
"Come with me," Ciara said gently.
"I don't think he wants to see me," Pinky replied without turning around.
"He may not. But I still think you should apologize."
Pinky turned her head slightly. "I wasn't rude."
"I know. But walking out like that hurt his ego. Fuji's used to being respected. You refusing to help—it felt personal to him."
Pinky sighed. "I wasn't trying to be insulting. I just didn't come there to cook. I thought I made that clear."
"You did," Ciara said. "But to a man like Fuji, calm disobedience can sting more than a loud insult."
There was a pause.
Then Pinky nodded quietly. "Okay. I'll come."
---
Fuji's penthouse was quiet. The tall glass windows let in early sunlight, painting the marble floors in gold.
Ciara knocked. Pinky stood a step behind her, holding her breath.
The door opened.
Fuji stood shirtless, a towel tossed over his shoulder. His eyes landed on Ciara first. "You're early. Good."
Ciara smiled softly. "Yes, sir."
Fuji's gaze briefly flicked to Pinky. No greeting. No smile.
"Come in, Ciara. The kitchen's yours."
He turned away without another word.
Ciara glanced at Pinky and gave her hand a small squeeze before stepping inside. Pinky stood at the doorway, the cool morning air brushing her arms. She hadn't expected warm hugs, but the way he ignored her—it stung more than she thought it would.
---
Inside, Ciara moved quietly through the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil and laying out ingredients. It felt heavier today—like something in the air had shifted.
After preparing a fresh mug of coffee, she walked toward Fuji's room and knocked gently.
"Come in," his voice called from inside.
She stepped in, placing the mug on the small table beside his reading chair.
"Your coffee, sir."
He glanced up from his tablet. "Thank you."
Ciara hesitated. "She came with me."
Fuji didn't answer.
"She didn't mean to offend you," she said carefully. "She's not the type to raise her voice, but... she didn't know you'd take it so personally."
Fuji looked down at the steam rising from his mug. "In my house, I expect basic courtesy."
"I understand," Ciara said softly.
"I want an apology," he added. "And I want her to mean it. If she doesn't, she can stay outside."
Ciara nodded. "Yes, sir."
She turned to leave but paused. "She came all this way because I asked her. That has to count for something."
Fuji didn't look up. "Not until she says it."