My body suddenly reacted like an idiot. Blood rushed south—zero to sixty in seconds flat. I adjusted myself and muttered, “Wait until Wednesday. Madison will take care of us. Don’t you worry.” But my brain offered absolutely zero fantasies involving Madison to lean on.
Lilah taking this job didn’t surprise me. What I hadn’t anticipated was how much she despised me—how palpable it was in every interaction.
I needed to find a way to clear the air between us because I neededher.Because of—my ego. My gut told me her perfectionistic ways would earn us those Michelin stars I coveted.
By the way she saw right through me, her gut probably said I was nothing but a rich playboy who knew very little about running a ski lodge. She’d be right, of course.
I stared up at theTimesarticle, glowing under the light, mocking me. It dared me to try harder, and I would. I’d prove myself and earn my staff’s respect again and again until they never doubted the man behind the money.
And if I was lucky? I’d earn Lilah’s respect too. Even if I didn’t know why that mattered so damn much.
4
RUNAWAY WINTER BRIDE
LILAH
“That’s new.”I regarded a large metal sign on the wall outside the restaurant’s main entrance. The crews must have installed it this morning before evacuating ahead of the storm.
Gleaming in brushed bronze, with dramatic backlighting and bold, pretentious typography, it read:
QUEST by WEST
I blinked at the beauty of the word quest, quite fitting with the mission. Reaching for the impossible dream of receiving a Michelin rating, the top echelon of restaurant notoriety, was a monumental quest indeed.
I hated to admit the name was awesome—despite West in it. Of course, a wealthy man like Holden would build an entire resort and slap his own last name on the fine-dining experience like he’d invented food. He might as well have named the entire mountain after him. His ego would love that.
“Mount Holden. West Peak. Slopes of Nice Ass,” I muttered, brainstorming potential mountain names under my breath. A tiny chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.
I wandered into the dining room, and the reality of it hit all at once. Ego aside, this place was real. Holden genuinely believed it could be something extraordinary. Quest by Westwasn’t just a restaurant—it was an experience, obsessively curated down to the last fork.
Soft ivory walls with a subtle geometric pattern soothed the eye. Rich walnut panels hugged the corners. Marble tabletops veined with gold caught the light like bourbon swirling in a glass. Even the greenery felt intentional—miniature pines placed just so, bringing the mountain indoors.
The branding was on point. The space glowed, chic and seductive. All of it annoyingly perfect for the elevated menu I’d been dreaming of. For whatever reason, Holden believed in me and the food I’d create here. He admitted he’d tracked me down to offer me the job.
Whether or not I liked him, I wanted to prove him right—and everyone else dead wrong, from the smug chefs across Europe, to all the food critics and industry authorities who’d written me off, saying I didn’t live up to my grandfather’s standards of excellence.
I squared my shoulders and pushed through the kitchen doors. The room was eerily silent when I stepped through, though, with everyone gone for the holiday.
Since starting here, I’d trained Ridley into my perfect right hand and, hopefully, earned the respect of the staff too.
“I expect you to work clean, smart, and fast,” I’d told them on day one. “And in return, I’ll give you everything I’ve got. We’re aiming high. Together, we’ll build a reputation that matters.”
Being here felt like coming home. Back in my element. Commanding a kitchen. Loving every minute of it.
Occasionally, I’d catch Holden spying on me through the glass of the swinging doors, curiosity etched across his face.
Every time our eyes met—just for a second—a thrill slid down my spine. But nope. I didn’t have room for him in my kitchen. Or my head. Or my life. Not after the past.
You’re here to rebuild.Not to repeat history with another cheating playboy.
I inhaled once, slowly and steadily. Christmas. New Year’s. The Grand Opening. I’d survive it all. And I’d keep Holden West exactly where he belonged—on the other side of that door.
My phone buzzed from the family chat. My siblings were spending Christmas with our parents in the city. A few photos came in of Chandler, half-asleep in a recliner, his infant tucked on his chest in a Santa onesie, melting my heart.
Lilah: He gets bigger by the day.
Milo: Chandler or our nephew?
