3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Jagger
Isat at the Founder’s Table for two and a half hours, eyes fixed on the kitchen door like a man with zero shame left.
It wasn’t subtle. I knew it wasn’t. Matteo’s smirk when he delivered my second bourbon told me the whole damn staff was running a betting pool.
Danny had given me a look earlier that said he was storing this away for future ammunition.
Let them talk. I was the founder of a hedge fund with more money and power than most men dreamed of, and tonight none of it mattered. I was exactly where I wanted to be—waiting for my pastry chef to finish her shift.
The crème br?lée had been flawless, that verbena cream and the perfectly angled ginger snap tuile making me wonder how the hell one woman could ruin me with sugar and precision.
I’d watched her plate every single one, holding her breath like the world might end if the tuile snapped wrong. Another secret detail I was hoarding.
By ten the dining room was empty, lights dimming in slow stages. I nursed the last of my bourbon with the same calm I used when a nine-figure deal was about to close.
Matteo leaned on the chair opposite me. “She’ll be another twenty.”
“How do you know?”
“I know everything that happens in this building.” He picked up my empty glass.
“She’s building a five-course dessert tasting menu for next Saturday.
Members only, wine pairings, fully booked.
Lola handed her the whole thing and she’s been rebuilding it twice a day.
She’s been sleeping here too—cot in the back office. Three nights this week.”
I straightened. “She what?”
“Get her out of here tonight, Jagger. She needs a real bed and someone willing to make her use it.” He walked off before I could reply.
Three nights on a fucking cot. The thought made my jaw tighten. I stood, left a very generous tip, and headed into the kitchen.
She didn’t hear me come in. The radio played low jazz, piano and a sultry voice.
Willa was bent over a tray of tarts, piping filling with laser focus, tongue caught between her teeth.
Chef coat buttoned tight. Hair escaping in every direction.
Chocolate smudged across her cheek like she’d lost a fight with it.
I leaned in the doorway and watched her for a long moment, something hot and possessive curling low in my stomach. Mine to take care of, whether she admits it yet or not.
She reached for the next tray and spotted me. A tired but genuine smile broke across her face. “You came.”
“I said I would.” I pushed off the doorframe and strolled toward her. “Told you I’d wait, darling.”
“Yeah… you did.” She set the piping bag down and wiped her hands on the towel at her hip, flashing me that cheeky little grin that always hit me straight in the chest. “Service is over. You’re officially allowed in my kitchen.”
“Your kitchen?” I rounded the counter slowly, voice dropping. “Careful, Willa. I might start thinking you like having me back here.”
“It’s mine for the hours I rule it,” she shot back, tilting her chin up.
I stopped right in front of her, close enough to feel her warmth. “Then I’ll play by your rules tonight, Miss Grace. But only tonight.”
She tried to fight a smile and lost.
“You have chocolate on your face,” I murmured.
She swiped the wrong side. Then the other. After the third failed attempt she laughed, half-exasperated, half-delighted. “Just get it for me, Jagger.”
Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard.
I stepped in until her back was nearly against the counter and brushed my thumb slowly across her cheekbone, wiping the chocolate away.
Then I brought my thumb to my mouth and licked it clean, eyes locked on hers the entire time.
The faint taste of her skin mixed with dark chocolate made me hungry for a lot more than dessert.
Her breath hitched. A pretty flush climbed up her neck.
I didn’t drop my hand. I let my fingers linger, thumb stroking her cheek, palm cupping her jaw. “Tell me about this tasting menu you’ve been killing yourself over.”
She blinked, a little dazed. “How did you—”
“Matteo.” I traced her jaw with my thumb. “Five courses. Talk to me, Willa. I want to hear it from you.”
She exhaled, relaxing into my touch despite herself.
“It’s a five-course dessert tasting. Cold first course, two warm middle courses, a savory-leaning fourth, and a big dessert finale.
I built the menu around the wine pairings the sommelier chose instead of the other way around.
Lola wants it to be a flagship event—first one next Saturday at ten, fully booked.
If it goes well, we’ll run them quarterly. ”
“And you’re carrying the entire thing on your shoulders?” I said, voice low and firm.
“It’s my menu. So… yes.”
I slid my hand to the side of her neck, fingers slipping into the loose hair at her nape. “You’ve been sleeping here because of it.”
“Once or twice,” she mumbled.
“Three times this week, Willa.” My grip tightened just enough to make her look up at me. “No more cots. That’s not negotiable.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, something soft and wanting flickered across her face.
I kept my tone commanding but warm. “You’re going to get it right. I’ve tasted your food. You’re the most talented person in this building, and I don’t say that lightly.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispered.
“I do.” I leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear. “Now tell me you’ll sleep in a proper bed tonight like a good girl.”
She shivered. I felt it under my hand and smiled against her skin.
Before she could answer, I pulled back just enough to hold her gaze. “There’s also the Prix de Patisserie. Entries open soon. You should enter.”
She startled. “How do you even know about the Prix?”
“I looked it up after that first soufflé,” I admitted, completely unashamed. “Sat in my kitchen at midnight like an obsessed idiot because one taste of your chocolate and sea salt rewired my brain. You should put your name in, Willa. You’d win.”
“You’ve barely eaten my cooking!”
“I’ve had enough to know.” My thumb stroked her neck. “You’re exceptional. Stop hiding it. Enter the competition. That’s not a suggestion.” Her lips parted, eyes too bright, a mix of shock and something deeper. “Jagger… you can’t just say things like that to me.”
“Why not?” I drew her closer with the hand at her nape, voice dropping into a flirtatious rumble. “Because you’ll start believing me? Good. I want you to. I want you to believe every damn word.”
She let out a breathless little laugh, but she didn’t step back. “You’re dangerous.”
“Only for you, darling.” I brushed my lips against her forehead, then lower, teasing the corner of her mouth. “Now finish up. I’m taking you home tonight. And tomorrow you’re sleeping in— doctor’s orders.”
She didn’t wait for me to close the distance. Willa came to me like she’d been starving for it, her eyes locked on my mouth, breath quick and shallow. Her small hand fisted the front of my shirt, tugging me down as she rose onto her toes. When our lips met, it wasn’t gentle. It was hungry.
She tasted like sugar and dark chocolate, sweet and faintly bitter, and the second I licked into her mouth she made a soft, broken sound that went straight to my cock.
Her lips parted wider, inviting me deeper, and I took what she offered—tongue stroking hers, slow and filthy, learning the taste of her like I might never get another chance.
My hand slid into her hair, fingers tightening just enough to tilt her head exactly where I wanted it.
She melted against me, soft breasts pressing into my chest, her other hand sliding up to cup my jaw like she needed to hold me there.
Her thumb brushed the corner of my mouth while I kissed her deeper, and the simple touch undid something in me.
I’d kissed dozens of women. I knew every trick, every rhythm, every way to make them weak in the knees and wet between the thighs.
But this… this wasn’t technique. This was me forgetting how to fucking breathe.
Forgetting my own name. Just the wet heat of her mouth, the little whimpers she kept feeding me, and the way her body trembled when I dragged my hand down her back and gripped her waist, pulling her harder against me.
When I finally dragged my mouth from hers, we were both panting.
Her lips were swollen and shining, cheeks flushed deep pink all the way down her throat. Her hair was a wild mess from my fingers, and her eyes—Christ, her eyes were dark, glazed, and looking at me like she wanted me to ruin her right there against the wall.
I had to lock my knees to stay upright.
Because in that moment, I wasn’t the man who always stayed in control. I was just a man who had finally been kissed by the one woman who could wreck him.
“Willa.”
“Yes?”
“You’re not sleeping here tonight.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You’re not crashing on that shitty cot in the office. You’re going home and sleeping in a real bed.”
“Jagger, I still have to finish—”
“What’s left?”
“The tarts, and I need to prep the curd for tomorrow, and—”
“How long?”
“Forty-five minutes. An hour at most.”
“I’ll wait.”
She stared at me, surprise flickering across her face. “You’ll wait?”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“I’ll sit at the bar, finish my bourbon, scroll through my phone.
When you’re done, I’m putting you in a car and sending you home.
Tomorrow you’re sleeping in until at least nine, then coming back here at noon like a person who’s had eight hours of sleep instead of three. ”
She opened her mouth to argue, the stubborn set already forming in her jaw. Then something shifted. The tension drained from her shoulders. Her eyes softened, and for a second she looked so damn relieved it hit me square in the chest.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
I stepped close, slid a hand along her jaw, and kissed her again—slower this time, but still brief. Just long enough to taste the lingering sweetness on her lips and feel the way she leaned into me, like her body already knew what her mind was still catching up to.
When I pulled back, her cheeks were flushed again.
“Get back to your tarts, Willa,” I murmured, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “I’ve got all night.”
I went and sat at the bar. Matteo slid a fresh bourbon in front of me without a word about my wrinkled shirt or the chocolate smear on my jaw. I appreciated the silence.
I drank slowly, scrolling through my phone while listening to the sounds drifting from the kitchen behind me. At one point I heard her humming along with the radio, low and soft. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the sound settle somewhere deep so I could pull it out later.
Forty-five minutes later she emerged, coat on and bag over her shoulder. She had washed her face but missed a streak of flour along her hairline. She stopped beside me at the bar, looking like she had finally run out of energy to keep pretending she was fine.
I settled the tab with Matteo, then walked her outside. Theo held the door and gave me a quiet, approving nod as we passed. I guided Willa into the waiting car, told the driver her address— which I already knew because I had asked Lola for it earlier in the week—and leaned through the open window.
“Sleep,” I said.
“Jagger—”
“Sleep, Willa.” My voice came out low and firm. “That’s an order.”
She gave a tired nod. I shut the door and stepped back, watching the car pull away until it's taillights vanished around the corner of Madison.
My phone buzzed before the taillights were gone. My big brother.
Hey man, I need a favor.
I still haven't collected the last time you asked me for something.
Then I'll owe you double, duh.
pleaaaaseeeee heellllppppp meeeeee jagggggggggg
Fuck it. What do ya need?
Remember Sienna? Well it's her wedding next weekend, shes flying in this weekend from LA.
we had a big pre wedding dinner at Carbone and obviously we're all drunk but Matt her fiance won't let her get a cab
so I said it's okay my brothers amazing and he knows you soooo…
Ugh. I'm on my way.
You all owe me though. Sienna and Matt included.
I’d had one bourbon, at eight. I texted back that I was on my way and flagged down a car.
The city glowed past the window the whole way downtown, but my mind stayed on her. I’d kissed her in that kitchen. She’d kissed me back. And now she was going home to a real bed instead of that damn cot.
Tomorrow she would return to her kitchen and keep building that five-course tasting menu. A menu I was now deeply invested in seeing succeed.
I knew exactly what I was going to do about all of it.
I was going to show up tomorrow. And the day after that. I wasn’t going anywhere.