Chapter 6
CAMERON
The conference was everything I expected, chaotic, crowded, and filled with people vying for attention. Ivy, however, was a natural. She moved through the throngs of people with ease, her infectious energy drawing people to our booth like moths to a flame. Her presentation was flawless, and her passion for the new meal kits was evident in every word she spoke.
I stood back, watching as she answered questions with ease, her smile never wavering. She was in her element, and it was impossible not to admire her skill. Even the most skeptical attendees seemed won over by her enthusiasm.
As the day wore on, I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable in the social setting. Networking was a necessary evil, but the constant small talk, sales pitches, and forced smiles grated on my nerves. Ivy, however, thrived in this environment. She moved effortlessly, demonstrating the new dishes in the meal kits to a group of influencers who oohed and ahhed in front of their cameras. Her laughter rang out as she charmed everyone she met.
At one point, she caught sight of me standing stiffly by the booth and made her way over, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You look like you're about to bolt," she teased, handing me a bottle of water.
"I'm fine," I said, though my tone was sharper than intended.
"Hmm." She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You're not a fan of these things, are you?"
"Not particularly," I admitted, taking a sip of water.
She grinned, nudging me gently with her elbow. "Come on, Mr. Fitzgerald. Loosen up a little. You might actually enjoy yourself."
I shot her a glare, but the twinkle in her eye softened the edge of my frustration. "I'm here to work, not socialize."
"And work you are," she said, gesturing to the bustling booth. "But even you deserve a break. Let me show you how it's done."
Before I could protest, she grabbed my hand and dragged me into the crowd. I stiffened at the sudden contact, but she didn't seem to notice. Her warm touch sent a shot of reassurance through my body as we made our way through the conference attendees. She introduced me to a group of industry professionals, her easy demeanor putting them at ease. Against my better judgment, I found myself engaging in the conversation, my usual reserve melting away under her influence.
As the evening approached, the conference wound down, and I suggested we head to dinner. Ivy's eyes lit up at the idea, and we made our way to Fang and Sparrow, the famous restaurant inside the Hughes Hotel.
The ambiance was elegant, the soft lighting creating an intimate atmosphere. The dark wood interior and flickering candles at the center of each table made the restaurant feel cozy and inviting. We were seated at a corner booth, away from the business of the main dining room. There was only one long seat, so I slid in next to Ivy. Despite the distance between us, I could feel the heat radiating off of her as if she were pressed against me. The Hughes Hotel was a luxury ski resort visited by foreign royalty, movie stars, and presidents. It was the perfect place for a private uninterrupted meal.
Ivy glanced around the restaurant, her eyes wide with appreciation. "This place is amazing," she said, her voice filled with awe. "I've never thought I would be dining at Fang and Sparrow. This place is legendary."
"It's one of my favorite restaurants in Paradise Peaks," I admitted, though I rarely shared that information. Something about her openness made it easier to drop my guard, even if just a little.
The waiter arrived, and I gestured for Ivy to order first. She hesitated, glancing over the menu with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "I want to try everything. What would you recommend?" she asked.
I leaned closer to her and scanned her menu, reaching over to point at the dishes listed. "For a spicier dish, the cumin lamb is succulent and perfectly flavored. But if you want something lighter, the sea bass and lobster bisque are exceptional."
She turned to me and smiled, a light flush spreading across her cheeks as she realized how close we were. "Sea bass it is."
We placed our orders, and the waiter disappeared, leaving us in a comfortable silence. Ivy seemed to sense my discomfort with small talk and took the lead, steering the conversation toward her passion, food.
"You don't look or act like most chefs I've met," I said, genuinely curious. "What made you choose this path?"
She picked at her fingers nervously, then leaned in, as if sharing a secret. "Growing up, my mom and I didn't have much. But she always made sure we had good food on the table, even if it was just simple dishes. Cooking became our way of connecting, you know? It was more than just food. It was love, comfort, and creativity all rolled into one. That's what I wanted to share with the world"
Her words struck a chord, stirring something deep within me. "That's an admirable goal," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "You've come a long way since then," I said simply.
She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I have. And I'm proud of that. But I know I couldn't have done it without the people who believed in me along the way."
The conversation flowed easily after that, with Ivy sharing stories of her culinary journey and the challenges she'd faced. Her honesty was refreshing, and I found myself opening up in ways I rarely did.
She tilted her head. "So, what's you're story, Cameron Fitzgerald?"
"My mother was a lot like yours," I said, surprising myself with the admission. "She was the one who taught me the importance of discipline and hard work. But she also believed in taking risks, in fighting for what you wanted."
Ivy's eyes softened. "What happened to her?"
"When my mom got sick, I was just a kid, but I knew I had to step up. Those were tough times, but they taught me resilience. She passed away when I was in college," I said, the words heavy on my tongue. "Her death changed everything. My father wasn't around much in my life, and I had to grow up quickly. That's when I learned that the only person I could rely on was myself."
"I'm so sorry," Ivy said, her voice filled with genuine compassion. "That must have been incredibly hard."
"It was," I admitted, though I wasn't used to acknowledging that pain. "But it also shaped me. It taught me to be self-reliant and to build something that no one could take away from me. I wanted to create a legacy that honored my mother's memory."
She nodded, her gaze steady. "It's inspiring, really. You've built an empire, and you've done it on your own terms."
I blinked, caught off guard by her words. No one had ever described my journey as inspiring. Most people saw the success, the money, the power, but they never saw the sacrifices or the loneliness that came with it.
"And what about you?" I asked, steering the conversation back to her. "What's next for Ivy St. Clair?"
She smiled, a spark of determination in her eyes. "I want to keep creating, keep innovating."
Her ambition was infectious, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she was exactly what I needed.
The meal passed in easy conversation, and before I knew it, the waiter arrived with dessert, a decadent chocolate lava cake. Ivy's eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands in delight.
"This looks amazing," she said, her excitement an amusing reprieve from the constant turmoil in my mind.
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "It's one of the restaurant's specialties."
The waiter placed the cake between us, and Ivy immediately dug in, letting out a moan of satisfaction that went straight to my cock. Fuck. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. I would give up my empire to hear her make that sound as I pounded my dick into her.
"You have to try this," she said, her voice deep and husky as she gestured to the cake with her fork. This was doing nothing to help my rock hard bulge. The only thing I wanted to taste right now was the sweetness between her thighs. An image flashed in my mind of Ivy spread across the table, her skirt hitched up to her waist. Would the restaurant kick us out if I dropped to my knees and buried my face in her pussy?
I hesitated, then leaned forward, letting her feed me a bite. The rich, molten chocolate exploded on my tongue, and I couldn't suppress a soft hum of appreciation. Her fingers brushed against my mouth as she pulled the fork away, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
"Good, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. My eyes zoomed onto her mouth, everything else in the room disappearing in my tunnel vision. All I could see were those luscious pink lips that glistened in the candlelight and begged to be kissed and nipped and sucked.
I nodded, my gaze locked on hers. "Very."
The air between us grew thick with unspoken need. Her eyes dropped to my mouth and her tongue came out to wet her lips. The sudden heady aroma of her arousal surrounded us. My nostrils flared. Her body swayed closer to me, and I was helpless as I found myself leaning toward her, drawn in like a moth to a flame. Before I lost my courage, my hand landed on her thigh. Fuck the consequences. Under my palm, her skin burned through the thin fabric of her skirt.
Her breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly, but she didn't pull away. Worse. She leaned in. The scent of her desire was sweeter than the dessert we just finished.
"Ivy," I began, my voice a rough whisper, but I didn't know what to say. The words caught in my throat, drowned out by the pounding of my heart.
And then, my control snapped. I dragged her closer. "You're killing me, Ivy," I groaned against her lips. Then, I pressed my lips to hers and claimed her mouth like a starving man. Her lips were soft, yielding, and for a moment, everything else faded away, the noise of the restaurant, the weight of my responsibilities, even the rational part of my brain that screamed this was a terrible idea. She kissed me back, her mouth falling open to let me in. Encouraged by her invitation, I claimed her mouth with a ferocious hunger that bordered on violence. Burying my hand in her hair, I tugged her closer, taking what I wanted.
Ivy sighed into my mouth as we broke apart, each of us breathing hard.
"Cameron," she whispered, her voice trembling.
My heart pounded as she said my name for the first time. Not Mr. Fitzgerald. Cameron. We had crossed a line and there was no turning back from this moment.
When I finally pulled back, we both sat in stunned silence, our breaths mingling in the charged air. Ivy's hand flew to her lips, her cheeks flushed, and I could see the same mixture of shock and desire in her eyes that I felt coursing through my veins.
I opened my mouth to apologize, to explain, to say something, but no words came. Instead, I reached for her hand, lacing my fingers through hers.
The walk back to the hotel was quiet, with everything left unspoken between us crackling like a live wire. Every brush of our shoulders, every shared glance, sent sparks shooting through me, and I could tell that she felt it too. But when I glanced at her, she was biting her lip raw, her fingers twisting the strap of her purse like she wanted to strangle it.
Fuck. I'd done that. Put that tension in her shoulders. A momentary lapse of judgment, and I had ruined things.
When we reached our rooms, I paused outside her door, my grip on her hand tightening. "Ivy," I began.
Her breath hitched, those big brown eyes lifting to mine,hopeful.
The sight gutted me.
I dropped her hand like it burned me. "Goodnight, Ms. St. Clair." The words tasted like ash as they fell from my lips, but I had to remind both of us that there was a professional line we couldn't cross.
The way she flinched, like I'd slapped her, would haunt me for decades. Her lips parted, that smart mouth that always fought back trembling instead. But she said nothing, just pressed her spine against the door like she needed it to hold her up.
I walked away before I could ruin her further.
My mind was a whirlwind of emotions, regret, desire, confusion, and something deeper I couldn't quite name. I raked a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply as I turned and walked to my own room.
Once inside, I leaned against the door, my heart still racing. What the hell had I just done? I'd crossed a line, one I'd sworn I wouldn't cross. Ivy was an employee, a vital part of my company, and yet that kiss had felt inevitable, as though we'd been hurtling toward it since the moment she'd walked into my office.
I stripped off my jacket and tie, tossing them onto the bed as I paced the room. My wolf stirred within me, restless and agitated, its instincts screaming that Ivy was mine. Mate. The word echoed in my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. It wasn't just a word. It was the undeniable truth. Something I knew in the depths of my bones. Ivy wasn't just another woman. She was everything I longed for. That's why I had to stay away from her. I clenched my fists, fighting back the primal urge to go to her, to drag her back to my room and claim her, to make her mine in every sense of the word.
But I couldn't. I wouldn't. My life was built on control, on order, and Ivy threatened to unravel all of that. She was fire in human form, a force of nature I couldn't contain, beautiful, consuming, but destructive. And yet, I'd kissed her. I'd let myself be drawn into her orbit, and now we were both paying the price.
Then, there was a knock at the door.
"Cameron?"
I froze. Every muscle in my body ached to yank open the door. To fall to my knees and beg her for mercy.
Instead, I stayed silent.
Through the door, the sound of her breathing was as loud as a passing train. Eventually, they faded along with her footsteps.
I sank onto the bed, her taste still on my lips.
Cherries. Chocolate. Ivy.
This wasn't lust. Or even the wolf's recognition of my fated mate.
It was worse.
Somewhere, between the way she rose to every challenge I gave her, and the way she'd looked at me, she had seen the man beneath the empire. The weak mortal I worked so hard to hide away. I had fallen and let down my guard.
And now, I had to bury him again.
For her sake, and for mine.
Because love wasn't a luxury that I could afford.