Page 105 of The Owner's Temptation

God. What the fuck iswrongwith me?

This isn’t real. He’s not mine. I’m not his. This entire arrangement is a game I agreed to play.

And right now, these vendors are playing a game of keep-away.

So, I decide to change the rules a little.

I pull out my phone and do a quick search—details about the restaurant, the executive chef, upcoming press events.

An idea forms.

I dial the fourth number and put on my best composed voice.

“I’m calling about an emergency vendor change forLa Tour du Ciel,” I say smoothly, using the restaurant’s full name. “You may already be aware, but renowned Chef Alessandra Lin is in pursuit of her third Michelin star.”

Across the room, Lucian perks up from where he’s sitting in the leather chair, a file in hand. I don’t look at him. Just keep going.

“Several of the world’s most prestigious critics are set to dine at the restaurant any moment now, and unfortunately, our current vendor is experiencing a major recall due to contamination at one of their storage facilities. We’re looking for someone who can step in immediately with high-quality product.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the person on the other end practicallylights up.

“Oh—we would be honored. I had no idea Chef Lin was pushing for a third star. Absolutely. We can adjust our delivery schedules. Send over your kitchen manager’s details and we’ll start the onboarding process today.”

Bingo.

I smile, letting out a polite, professional laugh. “You’re a lifesaver. I’ll have my manager get in touch shortly.”

Click.

“Done.” I say in an overly chipper tone because I am quite pleased with myself.

When I look up, Lucian’s watching me.

Not just watching—studying. His head tilted slightly, brows raised, mouth curled at the corners in what might be the closest thing toimpressedI’ve seen from him.

“Crisis management tactic?” he asks, his voice like silk.

“Something like that,” I reply, coy.

He nods once, slow and deliberate, his gaze lingering a little too long before he looks away.

But I see it.

The spark in his eye.

The slow simmer of heat behind that cool exterior.

And just like that, the power shifts again—tilting, dancing between us like a match waiting to be struck.

It starts small.

A few liquor suppliers backing out of pending shipments. Nothing earth-shattering. Just enough to raise an eyebrow.

Then a couple of restaurant clients delay signing their renewal contracts. They ask for more time. Reassurance. Promises. Empty words I’ve never had to give before.

I don’t panic.

I watch. I listen.

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