Page 14 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

I exhaled hard, sinking deeper into my chair, trying to melt into it and disappear.

No such luck.

“And besides,” she added with a shrug, “you’ve been on this mission lately to get in with the Laurent circle. Sophie's wedding. Karl’s guest list. You said yourself, if we get into that crowd, we level up.”

I looked at her, already knowing what was coming.

“So when aLaurente—who can actually cook—falls into our lap, why not offer him the position? He’s connected. Disgustingly well-connected. Maybe he brings in a few A-list clients. That could change everything.”

I didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t.

Because no part of her logic was wrong.

Except for the one glaring, very real detail she didn’t know yet.

I’d slept with him. Last night. On a whim. Multiple times. And then slapped him and stormed out of his hotel room like wewere in some kind of twisted drama series that was about to get cancelled mid-season.

And now he worked for me.

On probation.

Starting intwo hours.

I took off my glasses, pinched the bridge of my nose, and muttered the only thing I could manage:

“Gods, help me.”

Mila stared at me, lips wrapped around her straw, blinking slowly as she slurped the last of her caramel frappuccino like it was the most important thing in the room.

“What the fuck?” she said finally. “I thought you’d be more excited. A Laurente. In our kitchen. With actual talent. Do you know how many resumes we get with two years at Applebee’s and a dream?”

I took a deep breath. "Yeah, well... excitement isn't exactly what I’m feeling right now."

She squinted. “Wait—are you okay? Did someone die? Did you find mold in the walk-in again? Do not tell me someone gave you a truffle oil pitch. Itoldyou the supplier from Seattle looked shady—”

“I did something stupid,” I cut in, resting my coffee on the desk and pressing my hands over my face. “Like... truly, epically, professionallystupid.”

Mila blinked again. “Okay. That could mean a lot of things. Like you hired someone without a background check or you ordered five hundred mini quiches and forgot the cheese. Which, honestly, would be very on-brand for a Tuesday.”

I looked at her through my fingers. “No. Worse.”

“How much worse are we talking?” she asked, still clueless, sipping her drink like this was just another office rant.

“Worse than that time I almost burned down the test kitchen trying to flambé with a gas leak,” I muttered.

She stopped sipping.

I dropped my hands. “I slept with him.”

Her brows knit together. “...Who?”

I gave her a look.

Mila blinked.

Then her eyes wentwide.

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