Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
No, no, I could do this.
How hard could it possibly be to figure out? All of mankind had been cooking their food since the Stone Age.
I was a smart, capable woman.
I ran an online magazine that people scoffed at until I blew their expectations out of the water.
If I could do that, I could handle chopping a couple vegetables and making some meat.
Pulling my hair up into a messy bun, I walked into the kitchen with my chin held high and my shoulders back, ignoring how stupid it was for me to be power posing to an empty room.
It was smaller than I expected.
The only kitchens I had ever been in were massive, meant for a staff to cook large dinners for twenty or more people. Even my home had an event kitchen. The Manwarrings would never have a small kitchen meant to just make an intimate meal for one or two.
Did people really cook for only one or two people? It seemed like such a waste.
The first thing I had to do, I assumed, was to boil water. That was a thing I had heard people say when talking about other people who couldn’t cook. “They don’t even know how to boil water.”
It only made sense that would be the first step in cooking anything.
I grabbed a large copper pot that was hanging above the counter, put it on the stovetop and turned the dial about halfway, but nothing happened.
No, that wasn’t right.
I could hear something, like a slight hissing, and definitely smelled something noxious.
Maybe it was a flameless stove? Like the electric ones? That had to be it.
I filled the pot to the brim with water, then went to the refrigerator and looked for food.
There were so many things. Vegetables, meat, and I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with any of it. I pulled some mushrooms from the fridge and thought maybe I could do something with them. I looked all over the package for some instructions, but there was nothing.
I put them on the counter and grabbed something that looked vaguely like chicken. It was perfect. Chicken was really popular, so it made sense that it had to be easy to make and hard to mess up. I looked, and still no directions, which was annoying.
I grabbed another pan that was hanging above the counter and put it on the stovetop. The water still wasn’t boiling. It didn’t even look warm. I touched it, and it was the same temperature as it was when I got it from the faucet. Then again, I wasn’t exactly sure how long it took for water to boil. Maybe it took a while, and that was why they had that old saying about watching a pot boil?
That weird smell was getting stronger.
So I backed away from the stove and looked at the chicken and mushrooms I had grabbed.
Did I have to cut it? Or was that something you did after cooking?
Ugh, why didn’t I watch those cooking shows in college like the other girls did?
I mentally kicked myself while staring at the raw chicken. If more people saw it uncooked, I was certain they would never eat chicken. It was all purple and pale with strange, goose-bumped flesh. Gross.
Should I season it? What did that even mean? Did I add salt or sugar, or some type of spice?
I looked out the back window, into the darkened backyard.
It appeared like a section of it was roped off for a garden. The entire yard had a high fence around it, which meant making a run for it and hoping to get help wasn’t an option.
I leaned against the counter, mindlessly staring at the mushrooms while I considered my options. There was nothing I could do right now. Looking around, I took note of the cameras positioned around the room, and of the sensors on every window and door. I would bet they all reported back to his cell phone.
A plan formed in my head. It was simple, but sometimes simple was best.
I would wait until Marksen was asleep, then I would steal his phone. It didn’t matter if I couldn’t open it. I would take it so he couldn’t see how or when I left. I would sneak out of the house and try to find someone, anyone who could help me. Or a pay phone if those were still a thing.
I would call Luc, and he would come get me.
If I could convince him I was fine, maybe he’d send someone else to collect me, so I didn’t ruin what was left of his wedding.
But if all else failed, I could make an emergency 911 call from Marksen’s phone.
It didn’t need to be unlocked to do that.
That had to be my last resort.
If a 911 call was made, there would be a report and it would be impossible to handle this or any fallout from it discreetly.