Page 24 of Chloé

“You fell in love.”

Ethan was about to refute that comment, but instead nodded. “We did.”

Bennett shook his head. “I don’t know, that’s not really my scene.”

“You’re a dom.” Ethan stepped forward. “You like control. Are you trying to tell me the idea of controlling a crowd of eager, sexually aroused people with your every move, every word, doesn’t appeal to you?”

Bennett drained his drink and placed the empty glass on the bar top. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Ethan smirked. They had him.

“That’s what I thought. Hayden?” Ethan gestured for their bartender. “Another round, please, and pour yourself one. Help us celebrate our newest employee.”

CHAPTERFIVE

The earl, the viscount, and the duchess?

Now that’s a fantasy I can get behind.

~ Zayne

CHLOÉ COULDN’T SLEEP. She’d tried everything. Headphones with music. Headphones with meditation. Counting back from one hundred, then two, and when none of that worked, she slipped out of bed and grabbed her robe.

Ethan and Zayne were fast asleep, and as she looked down at them, she couldn’t help the feeling of overwhelming pleasure she got from seeing them there wrapped up in each other. It still didn’t feel quite real. That she was here with them. That she was now…theirs. There was a sense of belonging she felt in their presence.

Like tonight, for example—she hadn’t asked them to, but when she’d arrived home, she found them both up and waiting for her. They wanted to make sure she got back safely, even though they’d sent their driver.

It felt like everything in her life was going exactly the way it was meant to—except the lack of sleep.

She tiptoed down the stairs and flicked on one of the living room lamps. It was just turning four in the morning, and the sun was still fast asleep, along with the rest of the city, no doubt. But her mind was alive.

Ever since herpèrehad suggested she was ready to create and showcase her own menu, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You only got one shot to make a first impression, and she didn’t want to mess it up.

She hurried across to where she’d left her laptop charging on the kitchen counter and powered it up, then grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and slipped onto the barstool.

She needed to do some research. A lot went into creating a five-star-worthy write-up in the biggest foodie magazines in the city—not to mention country—and she knew full well herpèrewas testing her nationally. It was the only way he would ever fully trust her with his baby. She’d been training for this her whole life, had never wanted anything more than taking on the family restaurant and making her fathers proud. So she had some work to do.

There were a couple of ways to approach this. The first was going with what she knew. She pulled up a Word doc and started to list all the dishes she was particularly good at and loved most. Then she broke them all down, listing the ingredients into meat, produce, sauces, and spices, then sat back to see if anything jumped out at her.

She needed to be original, needed to come up with something so delicious people raved about it for days, weeks—hell, months. As she stared at the lists in front of her, she knew she needed a little moreoomph.

Which had her switching her approach to what was on trend.

Now this, this was the scary place. It was the space in which there were so many options and possibilities that sometimes it got the best of her and the freedom to do itallbecame overwhelming. Especially when she had to narrow it down to something very specific and hope like hell she got it right.

She looked at superfoods, native ingredients, seasonal ingredients, cost-is-not-an-issue ingredients, and started to write down some options she could take from there. She also had to take into account time, how long would it take to prep the meals and make each course.

“Ugh…” She let out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there making her lists when the sound of footsteps had her turning to see Ethan and Zayne coming down the stairs.

“Merde.” She scooted off the stool, twisting her hands in front of herself. “Did I wake you?”

Ethan’s robe flowed around him and his silk pajama bottoms like some sort of cape as he walked across the living room shaking his head. “No, but your absence did.”

Her eyes flicked between him and Zayne, who’d pulled on a pair of sweats that hung low on his hips, and she was trying to remember why she’d left their bed.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

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