Page 63 of The Flavor of Us

Ryder steps closer then, his hands coming up to rest lightly on my shoulders. His thumbs brush against the fabric of my blazer, his gaze steady as he looks me over.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and intimate, like it’s just for me.

I nod. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

He gives a single, slow nod before stepping back, his presence like an anchor even as he lets me go. “Good,” he says simply. “Let’s do this.”

Ashton gestures dramatically toward the glass doors. “After you, madam chef extraordinaire.”

I snort, rolling my eyes, but my steps are steadier as I stride through the towering glass entrance of Culinova with my two Alphas flanking me on either side. The lobby is sleek, buzzing with quiet energy as staff and clients move about in their carefully tailored outfits. But the moment we step into the room reserved for the tasting presentation, all the noise fades away.

The boardroom is as intimidating as I expected—long glass walls, an imposing table with sleek leather chairs, and a view of the city skyline that screamspower.It’s not my first time in a space like this, but it still feels like walking into a den of wolves. Fitting, considering the company.

R. Alexander sits at the head of the table. He’s sharp, graying at the temples, with piercing green eyes that miss nothing.Around him sit a few members of the event committee, their polished smiles fixed in place as Ryder, Ashton, and I head to the front of the room.

“Ms. Monroe,” R. Alexander says, standing as we approach. His hand extends, and I take it, shaking firmly.

“Mr. Alexander,” I reply smoothly, flashing a confident smile. “Thank you for having us.”

"Robert, please."

"Then please call me Carleen.

He nods and gestures for us to sit, Ryder and Ashton flanking me on either side, their presence grounding me. Ashton’s posture is relaxed, his lazy smirk firmly in place, while Ryder sits with his hands folded on the table, his gaze sharp and unwavering.

“I understand you’ve had a productive week with the St. James pack,” Robert says, one brow raised.

I glance briefly at Ashton and Ryder before nodding. “They were exactly what I needed. Professional, insightful, and annoyingly good at pulling me out of my head when I was spiraling.”

Ashton chuckles softly and Ryder’s lip twitches at the corner, but they stay silent, letting me handle this.

Robert’s lips curl into a faint smile. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, let’s talk about this menu of yours. The samples, if you please?”

I reach for the leather folder I brought, sliding it across the table before pulling out the carefully packed samples. Each dish is plated with precision, the small tasting portions nestled perfectly in their containers. As I start explaining each dish, the ingredients, the inspiration, the textures—I lose myself in it. This is where I shine. The room fades away, the eyes of the committee blur into the background, and it’s just me and the food.

The seared duck breast with cherry glaze, the hand-rolled gnocchi in sage butter, the citrus panna cotta with edible gold flakes—it’s allme.Every dish tells a story and every story is personal.

As they taste, the silence is heavy. Forks scrape against plates, quiet murmurs exchanged. Ashton and Ryder remain still, their gazes flickering between the committee members and me. Finally, Robert sets down his fork, dabbing at his mouth with a pristine white napkin. “Carleen, this is…” He pauses, looking around the table. “Exceptional. Truly exceptional.”

A rush of relief blooms in my chest, but I keep my expression composed, hands folded neatly in front of me. One of the committee members—a woman with perfectly styled dark hair and sharp crimson lipstick—leans forward. “Your flavors are bold but refined and the presentation is flawless. I don’t think I’ve seen a menu like this in years.”

“Thank you,” I reply, my voice steady despite the rapid flutter of my heartbeat.

Robert leans back in his chair, his green eyes steady on me. “You’ve got the event, Carleen.”

The words hit me like a freight train, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. Ashton lets out a low whistle, nudging my shoulder with his. “Told you, boss lady.”

Ryder’s hand lands on my knee under the table, a firm but reassuring weight.

I exhale a soft laugh, leaning back slightly in my chair. “I mean… you didn’t really have anyone else, right? It’s not like you had a backup plan.”

The room chuckles lightly, but Robert’s brow dips into a faint frown. “No,” he says firmly, his voice dropping into something serious. “We didn’t.” Robert’s eyes lock onto mine, his expression unyielding. “We found your catering. We saw your work. And from the moment we did, we knew we didn’t want anyone else. There was never a question of asking another chef. It was always you after we lost the original caterer, Carleen.”

My throat tightens, and for a moment, I can’t find my voice. It’s one thing to believe in your own work, to pour your soul into every dish, every detail—but to hear someone likehimvalidate it? To know they chosemedeliberately, without hesitation?

It’s overwhelming.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice softer now. “That means more than I can say.”

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