[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary Chapter 320: Table, Food, and Photo

Neville set the food down on the table in front of the sofa and hesitated.

"Is this better than the dining table?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.

The table seed too low for comfortable eating while sitting on the couch.

Grayson looked at him with an expression that bordered on disbelief. "You don’t know this table can be adjusted?"

"Adjusted?"

Without another word, Grayson reached under the table’s edge and pressed a button Neville had never noticed before.

The table humd softly and rose, its height adjusting until it was perfect for eating from the sofa—not too high, not too low.

It was even movable.

Neville stared at the table.

Then at his hands.

Then back at the table.

He had lived in this apartnt for nearly a year and a half. For more than a year. And he had never once thought to check if the furniture here had hidden features.

Does this an that the others have other functions too?

[HAHAHAHA!] Shelly’s laughter exploded in his head. [Host, you’re so—]

’Don’t. Say. A. Word.’

[—I didn’t say anything!

Grayson, rcifully unaware of the system’s mockery, offered what he probably thought was a consoling comnt.

"There’s a first for everything."

Neville wanted to throw sothing at him. Instead, he plastered on a smile and sat down on the couch, leaving a careful distance between himself and Grayson.

"Let’s eat." Let’s forget that this happened.

Grayson settled beside him and looked at the food on the table.

The warm noodle soup stead gently, topped with julienned vegetables and a soft-boiled egg. The pork belly glistened with a perfect caralized glaze. The fries sat in a neat pile, and two glasses of citrus juice sparkled invitingly.

"What’s this called?" he asked, indicating the soup.

"Warm noodle soup," Neville repeated, deliberately vague.

Grayson nodded, picked up his chopsticks, and began to eat.

The first slurp of noodles made sothing in Grayson’s expression soften. The broth was light but flavorful, the noodles perfectly chewy, the vegetables adding a fresh crunch.

It was a simple food, but it was prepared with care.

"It’s good," he said quietly.

"Thanks." Neville felt a ridiculous surge of pride that he imdiately kept down.

The clink of chopsticks and the soft sounds of eating filled the apartnt.

Then, Neville cracked open the first beer and poured two glasses, the foam rising to a perfect head.

"Here. You have to try this with the pork belly."

This combination never failed him; it was perfect. The crispy-edged pork belly, the cold beer, the warm noodles—each elent complented the others.

"How did you think about putting this together?" Grayson asked, reaching for another slice of pork.

"Figured it would work since they both taste good. Glad it worked." Another half-truth.

The cooking skills had co from countless hours in the system’s training module, where ti moved differently, and he could practice the sa dish a hundred tis before making it once in the real world.

"It’s really good. Thought of adding it to the robot’s nu?" Grayson asked out of nowhere.

Neville thought for a second, then said, "I wonder if it would work? I’ve never really thought about it."

"Then better if you don’t," Grayson said firmly as he chewed on the pork belly.

Neville looked at Grayson in confusion. "Huh? Why?"

Grayson didn’t look at Neville and proceeded to reach for another piece of pork belly. His eyes darkened without Neville noticing.

"Well, it’ll just make you even busier than you are right now."

"I don’t think I’ll be busier than busy," Neville said lightly.

"Still, you shouldn’t. Not like you’re lacking in money." Grayson pointed out, hinting that he already had a considerable amount of money from the AI Compass patent. It would continue to earn him massive amounts of star coins in the future.

Well, since Grayson said it like that. It seed that juggling around being Grayson’s Personal Secretary and Chef would be harder in the long run. Not to ntion, it had been so long, and he just barely raised Grayson’s favorability.

The food disappeared steadily.

Pork belly, fries, noodles, beer.

Grayson discovered that the fries were surprisingly addictive despite their unusual color.

Neville found himself eating more than he had planned. The combination of warm soup and cold beer creates a pleasant buzz in his stomach.

By the ti they had finished, the crate was noticeably lighter, and Neville’s cheeks had taken on a faint flush.

He wasn’t drunk since the warm soup had done its job as a buffer. But he was definitely feeling the effects.

A pleasant warmth had spread through his limbs, loosening the tension from a long day of having fun.

Grayson, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected. His tolerance was surprisingly irritatingly high. But internally, sothing warm had settled in his chest that had nothing to do with alcohol.

He glanced at Neville.

The color on his cheeks, the way his eyes seed brighter, and the small smile playing at the corner of his lips. The warmth inside him just intensified for as long as he looked at Neville.

Then his gaze unconsciously drifted to the photo album, already hidden under the table.

He recalled Liam’s photo.

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

"We should take more photos." Sounding a little expectant.

Neville blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Photos." Grayson nodded toward the album. "Whether with your caras or our light brains. We should take more."

Sothing flickered in Neville’s expression—sothing Grayson couldn’t quite read.

Neville suddenly beca slightly uncomfortable and said, "We should minimize taking photos, probably delete so of those, or at least make them solo shots."

"Why?" Grayson went still and looked at Neville, unable to understand why he was saying things like this.

"In case..." Neville shrugged, not eting his eyes. "In case we find soone we actually like. It would be awkward to keep a couple of photos with soone else, right?"

Grayson’s head felt like it was buzzing, and he began to feel a little dizzy.

Find soone else to like?

His hand tightened on his glass.