Chapter 7 #2
"And if it goes wrong? If she decides she can't work with us anymore? If it affects the business?"
"If, if, if." Knox bumps my shoulder. "What if it goes right?"
I don't have an answer for that either.
The day drags on. I manufacture reasons to need both Travis and Carina—separately, always separately.
I send her to my office to review supplier spreadsheets that are already perfect.
I have Travis run financial projections we won't need for months.
Every time they start to gravitate toward each other, I find something urgent that requires immediate attention.
By afternoon, I can feel their frustration. Carina stops smiling when I enter a room. Travis's responses become increasingly terse. Even Knox starts avoiding me.
The breaking point comes during my impromptu meeting about Christmas products. We're gathered in the dining room, papers spread across the table, and Carina's presenting her multicultural holiday idea again—this time with menu examples and potential suppliers.
"The latkes could be made with local potatoes," she's saying, excitement creeping back into her voice. "And I found a supplier in Geneva who specializes in Indian sweets for Diwali. The profit margins would be—"
"We need to consider brand consistency," I interrupt. Again.
"Since when is diversity inconsistent with Eden Provisions?" Travis asks.
"I'm simply suggesting we approach this strategically."
"You keep saying that word," Carina says quietly. "Strategic. But what you mean is safe. Boring. The same things everyone else is doing."
"I mean profitable."
"Profitable and innovative aren't mutually exclusive." She meets my eyes, and there's fire there. "Your whole brand is built on offering unique, high-quality products people can't find elsewhere. You asked for my input before, and this fits perfectly."
She's right. I know she's right. Her idea is brilliant, would set us apart from competitors, would probably be featured in every food magazine in the country. But agreeing means... what? Admitting I've been wrong all morning? Losing the thin thread of control I'm clinging to?
"We'll take it under advisement," I say stiffly.
"Under advisement?" Travis's voice is dangerously quiet. "Will, she's not some intern pitching ideas. She's our chef, and a damn good one. Her input should be valued, not dismissed."
"I'm not dismissing—"
"You've shot down every suggestion she's made today." Knox's usual humor is gone. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Some of us take the business seriously," I snap.
Silence. Absolute, deafening silence.
Carina stands slowly, gathering her papers with shaking hands. "I think I need some air."
"Carina—" Travis starts.
"It's fine." But her voice cracks slightly. "I understand. I'm just the help. I should know my place."
She leaves before any of us can respond. Travis is on his feet immediately.
"Don't," I say.
He turns on me, and I've never seen him truly angry before. It's unsettling. "Don't what? Don't comfort the woman you just humiliated? Don't call you on your bullshit? Don't point out that you're sabotaging something good?"
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." He leans on the table, getting in my space. "You want her. But instead of dealing with that like an adult, you're punishing her for choosing me. That's low, even for you, Will. That's fucking cruel."
He leaves, presumably to find Carina. Knox stays, watching me with disappointment that's worse than anger.
"He's right," Knox says simply. "I've seen you be cold, Will. Calculating. Even ruthless when business demands it. But I've never seen you be cruel. Not until today."
"I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." He starts gathering the scattered papers, Carina's careful work.
"You meant to hurt her, to push her away, to make her feel small.
Because if she feels small, maybe you won't want her so much.
Maybe you can go back to feeling nothing.
" He looks up at me. "How's that working out for you? "
He leaves too, and I'm alone with the remnants of Carina's presentation. Her handwriting fills the margins—excited notes about flavor profiles and sourcing options and ways to make each dish special. She'd put real thought into this, real passion.
And I'd crushed it because I couldn't stand seeing her happy with Travis.
I sink into a chair, head in my hands. This isn't who I am. I'm controlled, yes. Demanding, absolutely. But not cruel. Not someone who tears others down because I can't manage my own emotions.
Except that's exactly what I've become.
The afternoon light slants through the windows.
Somewhere in the house, Travis is probably holding Carina while she doubts her worth.
Knox is in his studio, painting out his disappointment in broad, angry strokes.
And I'm here, surrounded by the evidence of my own spectacular failure at being human.
I pick up one of Carina's menu cards.
Sufganiyot—Israeli jelly donuts for Hanukkah. Light, airy, filled with seasonal preserves. Comfort and tradition in every bite.
She understands food the way Knox understands art—not just as a product but as a connection, a story, a way to bring joy. And I'd reduced it to profit margins and market strategy.
My phone buzzes. An actual important call this time—Singapore finally—but I don't answer. For the first time in memory, Eden Provisions can wait.
I need to fix this. Need to apologize to Carina, to Travis, to Knox. Need to figure out how to be a human being instead of a CEO. Need to admit that wanting someone—that feeling anything—terrifies me more than any business risk ever could.
But first, I need to stop hiding behind spreadsheets and strategies and face the truth: I'm falling for Carina Stevens. And nothing is going to change that.
The question is, what the hell do I do about it?