Vincent's grin is lazy, knowing, but he holds up a hand. Reassuring, not dismissive. "And that's exactly what you're here for. Nothing more. Nothing less. Kitchen's yours. Guests get fed like kings. We handle the rest."
He looks at me like he already knows all my secrets. I swallow, glancing at the door, then back. "High-profile guests, right? What are we talking? Expectations? Restrictions?"
"Perfection," Alex says simply, pushing off the desk. "They pay for escape. Every detail counts, from the amuse-bouche to the after-dinner cognac. You'll get profiles by end of day. Preferences, allergies, the works."
"So you actually need a chef," I say, half-relieved, testing the waters.
His laugh fills the room, rich and warm, cutting the tension like a good knife through butter. "We need the best. Portland's got talent, but you? We poached your resume specifically. Lucky timing."
He closes the distance between us a step. Not crowding, but close enough that his cedar-and-dark-spice scent hits me. My chest tightens as if pulled toward him by gravity itself.
I step back half an inch, clearing my throat. "What about Kaleb? If this leaks..."
Alex tilts his head, patient. "Then I'll talk to him. Sit him down. Beer in hand. He’s your brother… he loves you. Protective as hell. Always has been. But you're not a child anymore, Raina. Twenty-eight, Michelin-caliber chef. He knows you're capable."
Max smirks from his spot by the window, green eyes glinting with that rogue charm. "You've always played it safe, haven't you, Raina? Straight-A foster kid who beat the odds. Nose clean, no scandals."
I lift my chin, defensiveness igniting like a spark on dry tinder. "Trying doesn't make me weak. It makes me smart."
Alex's faint smile deepens into something warmer, genuine approval flickering in his dark gaze like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Never for a second thought you were. Foster care's a goddamn war zone—we've walked those trenches ourselves. You and Kaleb? You didn't just survive the system. You burned it down and built empires from the ashes. Harry Dunn, that social worker who saw two scared kids and fought like hell to give you a real family with the Dunns—he'd be grinning ear to ear right now, watching his girl run circles around us all."
The mention of Harry hits like a quiet ache, steadying me even as it stings. "I'd rather not tell Kaleb. At least for now," I say finally, my voice steadier, resolve hardening like cooling steel.
Vincent shrugs, easy as ever. "Your secret's safe. We're just glad you're here. Kitchen's been lifeless without someone like you running point."
"I do need the job," I admit, the raw truth slipping out. "Plain and simple."
Alex's gaze softens, but his voice carries that unyielding edge. "Then earn it. Impress us through March first. Menus for the stretch. General winter rotation, plus something sinful for Valentine's."
My brain races. Ideas already sparking despite the chaos. "What kind of profiles am I working with? Fusion? Specific cuisines?"
"Fusion base," Max answers, warming to it. "Bold, fearless. Make 'em crave more."
Vincent leans in. "Show us why you're the one."
"I can do that," I say, conviction building even as doubt lingers.
My voice still sounds too soft.
"You'll do more than that," Vincent murmurs, a challenge wrapped in velvet.
Alex reaches forward then, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The touch rips through my veins like heat.
Every nerve lights up. I can't move.
“It’s good to see you again, Raina.”
The good girl in me knows I should run. Grab my coat. Leave before this place ruins me.
But instead, I stay.
And that is the moment I know.
This is not just a job.
2
RAINA
