Page 21 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Chef

I wanted to reach out, to close the distance he'd put between us, but I stayed where I was, giving him the space he needed to process.

Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Ivy. But I do know I can't walk away from you. Not now. Not after this."

My heart skipped a beat, and I took a tentative step toward him. "Then let's figure it out. One step at a time."

He stared at me for a long moment before closing the distance between us, his hands slipping around my waist as he pulled me into a tight embrace. "One step at a time," he repeated, his voice muffled against my hair.

We stood there for what felt like forever, wrapped in each other's arms, the storm outside mirroring the chaos inside. It wasn't a solution, not yet, but it was a start.

Finally, he pulled back, his hands lingering on my shoulders. "Get some rest," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "We'll deal with this tomorrow."

I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. "Goodnight, Cameron."

"Goodnight, Ivy," he replied, brushing a kiss against my forehead before stepping out of the room.

I closed the door behind him, leaning against it as I tried to process everything that had just happened. My heart was still racing, my lips tingling from his touch, and my mind was a whirlwind of emotions.

One step at a time. That's what he'd said.

But as I climbed into bed, wrapped in the warmth of the blanket, I couldn't help but wonder where those steps would lead us.

Chapter 8

IVY

The flight back to Huntington Harbor was miserable and I only had the noise of the jet and the thoughts in my head to distract me. Cameron sat across from me, his attention fixed on his tablet, but I could tell he wasn't really reading. His jaw was tight, and for the next hour, we played this game, his gaze flicking to my mouth, then every time I caught him staring, he would look away like he'd been burned.

I tried to focus on my own work, reviewing the notes from the conference and brainstorming new ideas for future meal kits, but my mind kept drifting back to the hotel room, to the way he'd held me, the way he'd kissed me. The jet's hum did nothing to drown out the memory of his lips on mine. It had been raw, and unlike anything I'd ever experienced. But now, back in the real world, I wasn't sure where we stood.

The worst part of all? I missed him, missed the way he'd whispered my name against my throat in that hotel room like it was a prayer.

When we landed, Cameron insisted on driving me home. We rode in silence, the weight of what happened at the hotel hanging over us. When we pulled up to my apartment building, he finally spoke.

"Ivy," he said, his voice cracking. "About what happened—"

"It's okay," I interrupted, forcing a smile. I couldn't bear it if he called what we had another mistake. "We don't have to talk about it right now. Let's just focus on work, okay?"

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Alright."

I barely waited for his reply before I fled from the car, not wanting him to see me break. My heart was heavy as I watched him drive away. I didn't know what I wanted him to say, but I knew it wasn't that.

During the next few days back at work, we barely had time to see each other. The success of the conference had generated a lot of interest in the new meal kits, and we were swamped with work. I threw myself into my tasks, determined to prove that I could handle whatever was thrown at me. But every time I caught a glimpse of Cameron, across the office, in a meeting, or in the hallway, the memory of his touch would come rushing back, leaving me breathless and confused.

One evening, after most of the staff had gone home, I found myself in the kitchen, testing a new recipe based on feedback I got at the conference. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the ovens and the rhythmic chopping of my knife against the cutting board. I was so engrossed in my work that I didn't hear Cameron come in.

"You're here late," he said, his voice startling me.

I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his suit jacket slung over one arm. His tie was loosened, and there was a tiredness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Were his nights just as sleepless and tormented as mine were?

"Just testing a few tweaks to the recipe," I said, trying to sound casual. "What about you?"

"Paperwork," he replied, stepping into the kitchen. "Can't seem to escape it."

I nodded, turning back to the stove. "Want to taste this?" I asked, holding out a spoonful of the curry sauce.

He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, his hand brushing mine as he took the spoon. Our eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then he tasted the sauce, his expression softening.

"It's good," he said, his voice quiet. "Really good. Just the right amount of spice."

---