Page 15 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Chef

She nodded, her lips curving into a small smile that made my heart skip a beat. "Thanks. I will."

I stabbed at my tablet, but the numbers blurred. All I could see washer, the way her skirt clung when she bent over, the scent of her arousal when I'd growled.She wanted me too.

Or maybe I imagined that last part. In any case, it was a dangerous thought.

The plane hit a bump, and she let out a yelp before her hand flew to my arm, her nails digging into my flesh.

Mine. Mine. MINE.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth groaned.

Two days. Just two days.

Then I could lock myself in my penthouse and jerk off to the thought of her until I worked her out of my system.

Chapter 6

CAMERON

The conference was everything I expected, chaotic, crowded, and filled with people vying for attention. Ivy, however, was a natural. She moved through the throngs of people with ease, her infectious energy drawing people to our booth like moths to a flame. Her presentation was flawless, and her passion for the new meal kits was evident in every word she spoke.

I stood back, watching as she answered questions with ease, her smile never wavering. She was in her element, and it was impossible not to admire her skill. Even the most skeptical attendees seemed won over by her enthusiasm.

As the day wore on, I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable in the social setting. Networking was a necessary evil, but the constant small talk, sales pitches, and forced smiles grated on my nerves. Ivy, however, thrived in this environment. She moved effortlessly, demonstrating the new dishes in the meal kits to a group of influencers who oohed and ahhed in front of their cameras. Her laughter rang out as she charmed everyone she met.

At one point, she caught sight of me standing stiffly by the booth and made her way over, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You look like you're about to bolt," she teased, handing me a bottle of water.

"I'm fine," I said, though my tone was sharper than intended.

"Hmm." She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You're not a fan of these things, are you?"

"Not particularly," I admitted, taking a sip of water.

She grinned, nudging me gently with her elbow. "Come on, Mr. Fitzgerald. Loosen up a little. You might actually enjoy yourself."

I shot her a glare, but the twinkle in her eye softened the edge of my frustration. "I'm here to work, not socialize."

"And work you are," she said, gesturing to the bustling booth. "But even you deserve a break. Let me show you how it's done."

Before I could protest, she grabbed my hand and dragged me into the crowd. I stiffened at the sudden contact, but she didn't seem to notice. Her warm touch sent a shot of reassurance through my body as we made our way through the conference attendees. She introduced me to a group of industry professionals, her easy demeanor putting them at ease. Against my better judgment, I found myself engaging in the conversation, my usual reserve melting away under her influence.

As the evening approached, the conference wound down, and I suggested we head to dinner. Ivy's eyes lit up at the idea, and we made our way to Fang and Sparrow, the famous restaurant inside the Hughes Hotel.

The ambiance was elegant, the soft lighting creating an intimate atmosphere. The dark wood interior and flickering candles at the center of each table made the restaurant feel cozy and inviting. We were seated at a corner booth, away from the business of the main dining room. There was only one long seat, so I slid in next to Ivy. Despite the distance between us, I could feel the heat radiating off of her as if she were pressed against me. The Hughes Hotel was a luxury ski resort visited by foreign royalty, movie stars, and presidents. It was the perfect place for a private uninterrupted meal.

Ivy glanced around the restaurant, her eyes wide with appreciation. "This place is amazing," she said, her voice filled with awe. "I've never thought I would be dining at Fang and Sparrow. This place is legendary."

"It's one of my favorite restaurants in Paradise Peaks," I admitted, though I rarely shared that information. Something about her openness made it easier to drop my guard, even if just a little.

The waiter arrived, and I gestured for Ivy to order first. She hesitated, glancing over the menu with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "I want to try everything. What would you recommend?" she asked.

I leaned closer to her and scanned her menu, reaching over to point at the dishes listed. "For a spicier dish, the cumin lamb is succulent and perfectly flavored. But if you want something lighter, the sea bass and lobster bisque are exceptional."

She turned to me and smiled, a light flush spreading across her cheeks as she realized how close we were. "Sea bass it is."

We placed our orders, and the waiter disappeared, leaving us in a comfortable silence. Ivy seemed to sense my discomfort with small talk and took the lead, steering the conversation toward her passion, food.

"You don't look or act like most chefs I've met," I said, genuinely curious. "What made you choose this path?"

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