Page 10 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

“That’s your argument?” she snapped. “That Itechnicallydidn’t sleep with an employee?”

I shrugged. “Well, that and the fact that I have a passion for cooking, studied at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, and worked two years as a sous-chef at L’Oustau de Baumanière.” I paused, smiling as I pulled my pants on. “Is that a crime now?”

She froze, halfway through tossing a throw pillow off the armchair. “ALaurentewith a resume?”

“What can I say?” I said, stepping into my slacks. “I know what I want. And what I want is to work with real kitchens. Build something. Use my hands for something other than signing investment contracts and smiling at fundraisers.”

She snorted. “Spare me thehumble rich boyact.”

“I’m serious, Ada.”

“Yeah, well, I’m serious too,” she snapped. “Me sleeping with someone who’s supposed to report to me? That’s not just inappropriate—it’s a disaster.”

I stepped closer, bare feet against cold floor, and met her wide-eyed stare.

“I tried,” I said, tone sharp now. “At the ceremony. I asked. Twice. You’re the one who told me it was too early for names, remember?”

“That was different,” she said, flustered, eyes darting around like the walls might give her an escape route. “I didn’t know you were— I mean I knew who you were... I just didn't knew you applied for a job.”

“And now that you do, what? You want to un-hire me?” I lifted a brow. “Too late. Contract’s signed. Mila said I start tomorrow.”

She crossed her arms. “Not anymore. Given thecircumstances, the offer is off the table.”

I blinked at her. Then actually laughed.

“You’refiringme? For being good in bed?”

“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m firing you because if you think I’m letting some spoiled, trust fund playboy step foot in my kitchen, you’re out of your mind.”

The air shifted.

My smirk disappeared.

I stepped in until she had to tilt her chin up to keep glaring at me. “You have no idea who I am,Ada. You decided I was a stereotype before I opened my mouth. But let me be clear—if your ego can’t handle a few suggestions about your overcooked risotto, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

She stood there like a queen after war—dress half-zipped, cheeks flushed, fire burning in her eyes. If I hadn’t already tasted her, felt her nails dig into my back, heard the sound she made when she shattered beneath me, I might’ve mistaken that ice in her expression for control.

But I knew better.

She was unraveling. She just didn’t want me to see it.

“Fine,” she said, voice sharp as cut glass. “You want to use your contract? You want to peel potatoes and play the humble apprentice? That’s your call. But the next three months, you’re on probation.”

She said it like a threat, but I only stared, jaw tight, arms folded across my chest.

“One wrong move,” she continued. “One late delivery, one over-salted dish, one missed command—and you’re out. No matter who your family is or where the hell you trained. In my kitchen, you start from the bottom.”

The wolf in me bristled, furious beneath the surface, and I almost laughed. No one spoke to me like that. Especially not an omega. But gods, she was magnificent when she was angry. Itonly made me want to ruin her again.

I stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. Her breath hitched—but she didn’t back down.

Good.

I took her hand, I raised it to my lips and kissed her knuckles, slow and calculated.

“Don’t worry, chef,” I murmured, voice like smoke and silk. “You’ll never have a reason to fire me. I’ll listen to your every command. Prep what you tell me. Show up before you. Leave after you.”

I let go of her hand, eyes locked on hers.

---