I bite my lip, the urge to roll my eyes bordering on physical pain. “Likewise.”
Sam, bless him, catches the shift in the air and steps in. “It’sOlivia.”
For a heartbeat, the noise of the room fades. There’s just Sam. His quiet defense, his steady presence anchoring me. It shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but it does.
Yasmine, of course, doesn’t miss it. Her smile falters for half a second before she recovers, squeezing his arm like she has the right.
And that’s when I feel it, that same cold, slithering unease from before. Not jealousy exactly, but something deeper. The ache of recognition. The memory of what it’s like to stand in a room and feel invisible while someone else commands all the light.
Not this time. Not again.
Stomping out the chill, I straighten, and the corners of my lips lift in a cool, knowing smile. If Yasmine thinks she can rattle me, she’s underestimated the woman who can turn ruins into something beautiful again.
“Yasmine, what are you doing here? How did you know we’d be here?” His tone is even, but there’s an edge beneath it, suspicion wrapped in civility.
“Oh, she called—” Patti starts, but Yasmine cuts her off with a too-bright laugh.
“Patti called me, mentioned what she was up to, and since I happened to be in the city, I thought I’d stop by. Papa will be thrilled to hear you’re looking, though he’ll always prefer Québec.”
Her words drip with charm, but I see right through them. She’s lying. It’s written all over her smug little smile. I’d bet good money she called Patti herself, fishing for Sam’s whereabouts. The faint crease between Sam’s brows tells me he’s not buying it either.
Thanks to Yasmine’s arrival, the mood has shifted, and Sam is quick to wrap things up. He’s polite but distant, thanking Patti and barely acknowledging Yasmine. His abruptness is deliciously satisfying.
When he gestures for me to follow, I toss Yasmine a parting wave, a smug little smile curling my lips.
Petty? Maybe. Worth it? Absolutely.
Outside, as we walk to the car, my insides still simmer. I’m not sure what about her gets under my skin the most. It’s not that I’m threatened though maybe I should be.
Yasmine’s younger, stunning in that glossy, curated way that photographs well. And she’s clearly got her sights set on Sam. But I’ve known women like her before.
My best friend, Erin, operates with that same fearless, take-no-prisoners energy. Except Erin’s heart is pure gold beneaththe sass. Yasmine’s more like polished glass—reflective, sharp, and hollow.
Still, something about her digs deep. Maybe it’s the reminder of everything I’m not—younger, uncomplicated, unscarred. And damn it, why did my mind even go there? Compete? We’re women andshouldbe on the same team. Even still, Yasmine strikes me as one who’s never been for solidarity. She’s made me the enemy from day one.
Back at my place, we settle around the kitchen table, both pretending the earlier encounter didn’t rattle us.
“So,”—I tap my pen against the notepad in front of me—“which one was your favorite?”
“I think the last one.” Sam leans back in his chair. “You?”
“Same. It’s got potential. The layout’s good, and the light’s amazing. For the front, you could shorten the foyer and open it up into a small bar area. It’s perfect for pre-dinner drinks. Maybe a vintage French vibe, distressed mirrors, low lighting, antique chairs and banquettes.”
I warm to the vision, sketching as I speak. “And you could open up the kitchen, either full view or just a cutout behind the bar. Give diners a peek at the show. Your fans would eat that up.”
“Fans?” He twists his mouth.
“Please. Don’t tell me you don’t know you have them. A certain chef with a certain following? ‘Samson Beaulieu, the culinary heartthrob’?”
He moves so fast I barely have time to react. One moment I’m in my chair, the next, in his lap as his arms loop easily around my waist. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
His lips brush my collarbone, soft, fleeting, then they move up my throat. My breath catches, knees weakening all over again.
“I told you.” His warm breath punctuates each word. “There’s only one woman I want adoring me. And.” A kiss just under my jaw. “That’s.” A kiss behind my ear. “You.” A final kiss on the corner of my mouth unravels what little composure I have left.
He gently twirls me around, and suddenly I’m straddling him, my palms splayed against his chest. His heartbeat thuds beneath my fingertips. My thoughts scatter as his mouth claims mine. Slow at first, then deep, consuming. The taste of him, the feel of his hands at my back, the low sound in his throat.
