Chapter 2
William
Iarrive at my office at a little past four in the morning, which isn't typical for me, but we leave today and there are things I need to personally double check.
The building is silent, exactly how I prefer it.
No distractions, no interruptions, just me and the meticulously organized chaos of running a multi-billion-dollar company.
Every detail planned. Every variable accounted for.
Except for her.
I drum my fingers against the desk, a habit I've been trying to break for years. Carina Stevens. Our new chef. The woman who walked into my kitchen yesterday and somehow made a perfect chocolate soufflé while looking like she wanted to bolt for the door.
She's a complication I didn't anticipate, and I am a man who thinks about everything.
Madison, our previous chef, quit with no notice—something about following her boyfriend to Los Angeles—and left us scrambling. The Switzerland trip couldn't be postponed. The meetings with suppliers were crucial for our European expansion, contracts worth millions hanging in the balance.
Knox had suggested Carina. Found her information through some food blogger he follows.
On paper, she looked acceptable. Culinary school graduate, experience in high-end restaurants, glowing recommendations.
What the resume didn't mention was the way she moved in a kitchen like she was born to it.
Or the flash of defiance in her green eyes when I'd questioned her choices.
Or how she'd looked in that dress, curves that her nervousness couldn't hide.
I close the laptop harder than I need to. This is exactly why I have rules. No mixing business with pleasure. No complications. No variables I can't control.
My phone buzzes. Knox, of course. Who else would be texting this early in the morning?
Can't sleep. Too excited about Switzerland. Think Carina will like the chalet?
I don't dignify it with a response. Knox's enthusiasm about our new chef had been obvious yesterday.
The way he'd saved her from the spice mix-up and he thought I didn't notice, how he'd watched her work with those puppy dog eyes.
My younger brother has never met a beautiful woman he didn't want to charm.
Usually, I don't care. Knox burns through relationships like he burns through art supplies—passionately but briefly. But something about how he looked at Carina yesterday set my teeth on edge.
Another text.
Don't ignore me, asshole.
Go back to sleep, I finally respond. Car arrives at 5:15.
He types me back within seconds.
Already packed. Unlike some people, I don't need color-coded luggage tags and a spreadsheet for a two-week trip.
He's wrong. It's a three-week trip, and the spreadsheet is very much necessary. How else would I ensure we have everything needed for the supplier meetings? Samples, contracts, presentation materials, backup plans for the backup plans.
I stand and move to the window, looking out over Manhattan as it starts to wake up.
Lights flicker on in buildings, taxis begin their endless circulation, the city grinding into motion.
Soon, we'll be leaving all this behind for Switzerland.
For meetings that will determine whether Eden Provisions becomes a truly global company or remains boutique and limited.
No pressure.
My phone rings. It's Travis.
"You're up early," I answer.
"Says the man who's probably at the office, instead of his penthouse." Travis's voice is rough with sleep but amused. "Just wanted to confirm the financials are in your briefcase. Physical copies like you wanted, plus everything backed up on the encrypted drive."
"Already triple-checked."
"Of course you have." A pause. "You doing okay? You seemed... tense yesterday."
Tense. That's one word for it. Another would be distracted. Or fixated on the way Carina's hands moved when she whisked those egg whites, confident and graceful and—
"I'm fine."
"Uh-huh." Travis knows me too well. We've been friends since college, back when I was just a rich kid with a chip on my shoulder and he was the scholarship student who called me on my bullshit. "This wouldn't have anything to do with our new chef, would it?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Right. Because you always watch someone cook like you're planning to either hire them or devour them."
"I was evaluating her performance."
"Sure you were." I can hear his grin. "She's beautiful, Will. And talented. And clearly needs this job. Maybe try not to terrify her before we even get to Switzerland?"
"I don't terrify people."
Travis actually laughs. "You made a Fortune 500 CEO cry last month."
"He was incompetent."
"He was human. Something you might try remembering occasionally."
I end the call without responding. Travis means well, but he doesn't understand. Humanity is a luxury I can't afford. Not when there's so much at stake. Not when one moment of weakness could bring everything crashing down.
Like it did for my parents.
I push the thought away and check my watch. It's already 5. God, where did the time go? The car will be here soon. Then it will be time to collect Knox and head to Teterboro. Time to spend eight hours in an enclosed space with a woman who makes me want things I know I shouldn't want.
The car arrives at precisely 5:15. Knox is waiting outside his building, surprisingly punctual for once, though his hair looks like he just rolled out of bed.
"Morning, sunshine," he says, sliding into the backseat. "Ready for Switzerland?"
"Just get in."
Our next stop is Travis's Upper West Side brownstone. He's waiting on the steps, three cups of coffee on the step next to him, looking far more put together than either Knox or I despite the early hour.
"Figured you'd forget coffee," he says, handing me one of the cups as he settles into the car. "Black, no sugar, temperature of molten lava. Just how you like it."
He hands the other cup over to Knox, even though we both know he'll barely drink any of it. The coffee is perfect, not that I'd admit it out loud.
By the time we reach the airport, I'm ready to strangle my brother. He'd spent the entire car ride speculating about whether Carina would actually show up, what she'd think of the jet, whether she'd ever been to Switzerland before. Each question grated against my nerves like sandpaper.
"There she is!" Knox practically bounces in his seat as we pull through the private terminal gates.
She's standing near the entrance, a single suitcase beside her, looking lost and slightly overwhelmed.
The morning sun catches the chestnut highlights in her hair, and she's wearing jeans that hug her curves and a soft sweater that makes her look touchable in a way that's entirely inappropriate for an employee.
"She looks nervous," Travis observes.
She does. She's checking her phone repeatedly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. When she spots our car, her eyes widen slightly before she schools her expression into something more neutral.
Professional. Good.
"Ms. Stevens." I exit the car first, nodding to her. "Thank you for being punctual."
"Of course, Mr. Montclair." Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight tremor in her hands before she clasps them together. "I wouldn't want to delay the flight."
Knox stalks over like an overgrown retriever. "Carina! Hope you're ready for the best flight of your life. Have you been on a private jet before?"
The look that crosses her face—part embarrassment, part defiance—tells me everything. "No, actually. This will be a first for me."
"Then you're in for a real treat." Knox grabs her suitcase before she can protest. "Wait until you see the cabin. It's like a flying living room. With a bed! And a shower! And—"
"Knox." I cut him off. "Let's board. We have a schedule to maintain."
The jet is already prepped and waiting, engines humming. I watch Carina's face as we approach, see her eyes widen at the sleek Gulfstream G650. Forty million dollars of aviation perfection, not that she needs to know that.
She follows us up the stairs, and I pretend not to notice how Travis offers her his hand to help her up. I pretend not to care about the grateful smile she gives him in return.
Inside, her attempt to play it cool fails spectacularly. Her mouth drops open slightly as she takes in the cream leather seats, the polished wood tables, the full bar along one wall. She runs her fingers along the back of one seat like she's afraid it might disappear.
"This is... incredible," she breathes.
"Wait until you see the menu," Knox says, already settling into his favorite seat. "The catering company we use is almost as good as you are. Almost."
She flushes at the compliment, and I find myself studying the way the color spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath her sweater.
"Ms. Stevens, you can sit wherever you're comfortable," I say, forcing my voice to remain neutral. "The flight is approximately eight hours. There's a bedroom in the back if you need to rest, and the galley is fully stocked if you'd like anything."
"Thank you." She chooses a seat near the window, still looking slightly stunned. "This is all just... a lot."
"You'll get used to it," Travis says kindly, taking the seat across from her. "The first time is always overwhelming."
I take my usual seat—close enough to the front to speak with the pilots if needed, perfect angle to see everyone else. My laptop is already out, emails demanding attention, but I find myself watching her instead.
She's pressed against the window as we taxi, watching the ground crew with fascination. When we begin to accelerate, her hands grip the armrests, knuckles white. The wheels leave the ground and her entire face transforms—wonder replacing worry, a smile breaking through her careful composure.
Beautiful. The word slips through my defenses before I can stop it.
"Incredible, right?" Knox leans toward her. "I still remember my first private flight. Changes your whole perspective on travel."