Part 3Even Cold Billionaires Crave My Praise

At lunch, I gave Archie bite-sized steak and some sautéed vegetables.

It was the first time I saw him pick at his food. He meticulously separated the small squares of carrots.

“Don’t like those?” I asked.

He looked up, met my eye for a split second, and went back to his task.

I figured it was a dumb question. Obviously, he didn’t like them. I hate waste, though.

“Okay, you know what? I’ll take care of these. And I promise I won’t put any carrots in your stir-fry tomorrow. Deal?”

This time, he didn't ignore me. His lashes fluttered a few times, and he gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod.

The System and I screamed internally. The kid is adorable! I wanted to scoop him up and squeeze him, but I restrained myself to avoid being labeled the "weird governess."

I genuinely like carrots—sweet, crunchy, satisfying. I was enjoying them so much I was already on my second helping of pasta.

Suddenly, Archie reached out with his fork and tentatively picked up a piece of carrot.

I held my breath. He ate it.

In my family, eating something you hate earns a standing ovation. I gave him a massive thumbs-up.

“Archie, that is absolutely amazing! I’m so proud of you!”

A faint, surprised blush crept across his cheeks.

Seconds later, he picked up a second piece. Ate it.

“Archie, you are absolutely fantastic!”

A third piece.

“Archie, you’re brilliant.”

A fourth and a fifth. Facing his slightly expectant eyes, I tested the waters: “Amazing?”

The spark of expectation in his eyes was instantly snuffed out. He finished the rest of his pasta but didn’t touch another carrot.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in intense internal debate with the System. Did Archie love my praise, or did he hate it?