Page 19 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Chef

"Mr. Fitzgerald," I said, my tone polite but distant.

He stopped a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over the booth before settling on me. "You've done well today. The new kits are generating a lot of interest."

"Thank you," I replied, folding my arms across my chest. "I'm glad they're getting a positive response."

He hesitated as if weighing his next words carefully. "About this morning…"

I shook my head, cutting him off before he could continue. "It's fine. You made yourself clear. Let's just focus on the conference, okay?"

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Alright."

We stood in silence for a moment. Finally, Cameron exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.

"Ivy, I—" he began, but before he could finish, the lights in the conference hall flickered and then went out completely, plunging the space into darkness.

I gasped, instinctively taking a step back. "What's going on?"

"Power outage," Cameron said, his voice calm but edged with irritation. "Stay here. I'll find a staff member."

He disappeared into the darkness, leaving me standing alone. I reached out, feeling for the edge of the booth to steady myself, but the sudden loss of light was disorienting. Shouldn't there be emergency lights or something? Moments later, a hand gripped my arm, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"It's me," Cameron said, his voice close to my ear.

"You scared me," I said, my heart still racing.

"Sorry," he muttered. "The staff said the storm knocked out the power. It's going to take a while to fix. They're advising everyone to return to their hotels."

I nodded, even though he likely couldn't see me. "Alright. Let's go."

The darkness swallowed everything, the booths, the exit signs, even my own trembling hands. Somewhere to my left, a panicked voice yelped, followed by the crash of toppled displays. I stumbled backward, my foot catching on a loose cable.

Strong fingers closed around my wrist, yanking me upright before I could fall.

"Easy," Cameron said, his grip searing through my sleeve. "The floor's littered with debris. You'll break your neck."

I tried to pull away. "I can manage."

My foot slid on something slick. Oil? A spilled sauce? Suddenly I was falling again, but this time his arm banded around my waist, hauling me flush against him. Every hard plane of his body burned into mine.

"Christ, Ivy," he growled, his breath hot on my temple. "Stop fighting me."

I went rigid. Yesterday, that tone had melted me. Today, it was a reminder. "Ms. St. Clair. A mistake." But the conference hall was a minefield in the blackout, and his chest was a solid wall of heat at my back. I hated how my body obeyed, sagging against him like his touch was home.

His hand slid down my arm, fingers threading through mine with shocking gentleness. "Follow me."

Someone bumped into us in the dark, and Cameron let out an animalistic snarl as he pulled me close to him. As we made our way through the conference hall, Cameron guided us skillfullythrough a minefield of toppled chairs and spilled sample trays, as if he had secret night vision.

For a moment, I thought it was a figment of my imagination, but then, I was sure that I felt it, his thumb stroking my knuckles tenderly. What was he doing? One moment, he pushed me away, making me feel like a dirty secret he was ashamed of, and then, he was the caring protective man I thought he was underneath his cold exterior.

"Why do you keep doing this?"

"Doing what?" he bit out.

"Pushing me away, then pulling me back."

Then, the emergency lights flickered on, bathing the room in a ghostly blue glow. His eyes glowed with raw hunger. We had made it almost to the exit. I stood still, demanding an answer from him.

Cameron dropped my hand like I had burned him.

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