Page 31 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

But apparently, she likedmyfood. My team. My vision.

Turns out, catering Sophie and Karl’s mating ceremony hadn’t just been about friendship or proving I could run with the elite—it had been a door. One that opened with golden hinges and whispered promises of more events like it.

More clients. More visibility. More growth.

And maybe—just maybe—a little proof to myself that everything I built wasn’t just solid. It was worthy.

I turned the phone over, letting the screen fade to black, and looked around my apartment again—green walls, soft pillows,the gentle curl of jasmine smoke rising from the candle flame.

My world was shifting.

And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t afraid.

CHAPTER 8

Ada

The following week, I was back in my office—black wide-leg trousers, a linen blouse tucked in crisp at the waist, and my glasses perched precisely where they needed to be. I hadn't completely disconnected during my time away—gods forbid—I’d still answered emails, approved budgets, and monitored invoices on my phone like a control freak in denial. But there was something different about hearing it alllive, in the buzz of the kitchen and the rhythm of Mia’s voice across my desk.

I stirred my coffee as she flipped open her sleek black planner and settled into the armchair in front of me.

“So,” I said, crossing one leg over the other, “give me the rundown. How did everything go while I was gone?”

Mia smirked like I’d just asked if the sky was still blue. “Flawlessly. Of course.”

I narrowed my eyes playfully. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”

She laughed, then leaned in. “Seriously? Everything went well. Orders were delivered, lunches got out on time, no one set the walk-in freezer on fire. Which, honestly, is better than some weeks when you’re here micromanaging us.”

I arched a brow. “That’s called leadership.”

She shrugged. “Same thing.”

I gave a dry laugh and pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “And how’s the new guy?”

Mia didn’t even blink. “Good. But you already know that.”

My hand froze around my mug. “At his job,” I clarified sharply.

A knowing smile tugged at her mouth, but she didn’t push. “Right. Hisjob.” She flipped a page in her planner. “He’s actually great. Works hard. Listens well. Not too proud to scrub pans. Polite. Gets along with the team. I even caught him laughing at one of Liam’s awful gamer jokes. He fits in.”

“Good,” I said a little too quickly, then took a long sip of coffee to cover it. The heat hit the back of my throat, but it didn’t do anything to hide the flush I could feel creeping up my neck.

Mia mercifully moved on. “Anyway, Charlene Whitmore’s tasting is this afternoon, remember?”

I nodded. “I saw it on the calendar. She sounded… posh.”

“Oh, she is. I talked to her assistant—her personal assistant—who only refers to her as Mrs. Whitmore.” Mia rolled her eyes. “But she was polite, just… exacting. I figured she’ll want options, so I prepped three main dish variations.”

I leaned forward, interested. “What are we offering?”

“First is a saffron risotto with seared scallops and preserved lemon oil. Elegant, but not too heavy. Second is a truffle butter filet with garlic mash and crispy leeks—classic, upscale. And for something more playful, a wild mushroom and pecorino raviolo with browned sage butter and microgreens. Just in case she wants something vegetarian but still decadent.”

I blinked. “You’ve been busy.”

Mia gave a little toss of her sleek ponytail. “I have my moments.”

“She’s going to love it.”

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