The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me

I didn't even have time to reflect on what had just happened during the trip to Bilmirage and back.

By the time I walked into the office, it was already noon—which meant lunch break.

Which also meant Val.

Most of the team was already gone, scattered across the street for food or lounging in the small café downstairs. The place felt emptier than usual, the low hum of the air conditioner filling the silence that usually buzzed with chatter and phone calls.

It was just me and Tasha.

She walked over to her desk without saying a word, gathering a few files and pretending to check her phone. I was about to turn to my computer when the sound of heels clicked from the hallway, light but steady, familiar enough to make me look up.

And there she was.

Val.

Walking in with that food flask in her hand like she owned the place.

Her hair was down, brushing past her shoulders, her bag tucked under one arm. The second she spotted me, her lips curved—not the wide, mischievous grin she usually wore, but the kind of soft, content smile that said she was exactly where she wanted to be.

I didn't notice it at the time, but Tasha took half a step toward me—then froze.

She must've been coming to ask something, or maybe say a word or two, but she stopped the second Val walked in.

I didn't see that. My eyes were already on Val.

She crossed the space between us, every step measured, like she knew she was being watched. Which, of course, she was.

When she reached my desk, she placed the flask right on top of my desk, then looked at me with that innocent pout—arms open, expectant, clearly waiting for a hug.

See what I mean? Queen of subtle manipulation.

It was obvious what she was doing. Obvious to me, at least. But the thing about Val was… she didn't need to raise her voice or even say anything to make a point.

I sighed—quietly—and stood, pulling her into my arms. The scent of her perfume, faint and familiar, clung to me as she smiled against my shoulder. Then, before I could even think of what to say next, she leaned back and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

It wasn't a long kiss.

Just long enough to make Tasha notice.

I thought that would be all but then she did something even worse.

Val turned, scanned the area beside me, and without a word, pulled one of the chairs over and dragged it right next to mine, the legs scraping against the floor.

I blinked. "Uh… what are you... doing?"

She sat, adjusting her hair with the calmness of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. "I'm joining you," she said, her voice casual, even warm. "For lunch."

Her tone was light, but her eyes—those steady, unblinking eyes—were anything but.

I followed her gaze for a second. She wasn't even pretending not to know Tasha was there.

Tasha was still standing near her desk, her hand frozen halfway toward her bag. I didn't have to turn to know she'd heard every word. The sound carried easily in the silence, clear and deliberate.

Val opened the flask and started setting things out—containers, utensils, a napkin she'd folded neatly. She did it all like she'd done it a hundred times before, like this was her desk too.

I tried to look anywhere else—my monitor, the clock, even the blinds—but she glanced up at me and smiled that smile again. The one that said, let her look.

And really, what could I do?

So I sat.

After all, how could I say no to the woman who could make an entire room bend around her without uttering a single word?

That was Val—always five steps ahead, even when she pretended not to be.

And if she wanted to make her point, I wasn't going to stop her.

Not today.

---

Val set the flask down like it was a presentation, not lunch. She clicked the lid loose but didn't open it yet, and still—the faint smell of something warm and savory slipped through, filling the room before I could even say a word.

"Val…" I said carefully, blinking at her.

"What?" she said, tone light, eyes bright. "I wanna join my husband for lunch."

There was that look again—the one that mixed smug satisfaction with something gentler underneath. Pride, maybe. Or a quiet message that she didn't plan on losing whatever this was to anyone.

I sighed. "This is an office, Val. It's not really—"

"Lunch," she cut in quickly, tilting her head. "It's lunch time, Kai. That's like, the free period in adult life."

I tried not to laugh. "That's not exactly how it works."

She grinned, eyes flicking past me toward the far desk. "Besides," she said, lowering her voice just a touch, "your team leader seems to be fine with it."

Then she turned her head, fixing that polite, innocent smile on Tasha. "Right, Ms. Team Leader? You're okay with this… right?"

The room went quiet for a second. Even the hum of the air conditioner felt louder.

Tasha froze, just for a heartbeat, then nodded. "Of course," she said softly. Her voice was steady, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll… be in the cafeteria."

She grabbed her tablet and walked out. The sound of her heels faded down the hallway.

As soon as the door closed, I turned back to Val. "Really?"

She giggled lightly, already seated beside me like she'd been there the whole time. "What?" she said, eyes wide in mock innocence as she reached for the flask.

"You know exactly what."

She ignored me, opened the flask, and the smell that came out was enough to make my stomach forget the conversation entirely. Grilled potatoes and chicken—but not just that. She'd added sliced apples with some kind of citrus glaze, a few pieces of roasted bell peppers, and a sauce I couldn't even name.

I blinked. "You turned lunch into a five-star course."

She smiled, clearly pleased with herself. "I told you, I want to be the perfect wife."

"Perfectly dramatic, you mean."

"Dramatic?" she tilted her head again, feigning offense. "I'm just protecting my spot."

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Don't you think you're being a bit… harsh?"

Her fork paused midair. She looked at me, calm, eyes steady. "She deserves it," she said simply. "How dare she cook for my husband?"

There wasn't anger in her tone—no jealousy spilling over. Just quiet confidence, and that look that said she knows exactly what she's doing.

I raised an eyebrow. "Your husband, huh?"

"Yes, my husband." Her voice softened, but the corners of her lips curved. "And I'm even being nice because she's your team leader. If I make a scene, you'd look bad. I could do worse, and you know it."

She wasn't wrong. I did know it.

I'd seen her tear down people ten times more intimidating than Tasha with just a smile and a few well-placed words. But she wasn't doing that here. She was making a point, sure—but a careful one.

I sighed again, shaking my head. "You're unbelievable."

She smiled. "And yet, you love me."

I couldn't argue with that either.

She took a forkful of the grilled potatoes, speared a piece of chicken, then turned to me. "Here," she said, holding it up to my lips. "Taste."

I glanced at her. "You're feeding me at work now?"

"Eat before it gets cold," she said, ignoring the question completely.

I leaned forward and took the bite. The flavor hit instantly—savory, crisp, with just enough spice to make me close my eyes for a second.

"Well?" she asked, voice teasing but eyes soft.

I chewed, swallowed, then smiled. "Perfect."

Her expression softened even more at that, and she went back to eating beside me, occasionally stealing glances my way like she wasn't even aware of it.

But I was.

And as I sat there, I realized something—something I should've seen sooner.

She hadn't come to the office just to make a point. Sure, the timing, the tone, the teasing—those were classic Val. But underneath it all, she'd done it for me.

When she saw Tasha bring me lunch the other day, she hadn't thrown a tantrum or made a scene. Yes she wasn't happy, yes she walked away, but she also came back stronger—with class, with calm, and with something no one could misinterpret.

She was protecting me. My image. My dignity.

And that… that was rare.

Because Val didn't fight to embarrass people—she fought to make things clear.

She'd found a way to say he's mine without ever crossing the line that would've made things harder for me at work.

So as I sat there eating grilled potatoes that tasted like heaven, I realized I'd just fallen for her all over again.

Not because she cooked for me, or hugged me, or claimed me in front of everyone.

But because she did it quietly. Thoughtfully.

The way only she could.

---

To be continued...