Page 10

We share a smile, and something shifts in the air between us. The pretense of casual conversation falls away, replaced by an unexpected warmth.

"It's refreshing," I admit. "Most people treat me like I'm made of glass after seeing me in chef whites. Like I couldn't possibly be both serious about my career and actually enjoy life."

"Their loss. I find competent women who can laugh at themselves incredibly attractive." His gaze holds mine, sending a flutter through my chest.

The air between us crackles with possibility. Henry's blue eyes hold mine, and my breath catches. The cut on my palm forgotten, I lean forward without meaning to, drawn by an energy I can't explain.

"You know," Henry's voice drops lower, "I should probably thank those bell peppers. Getting to meet the chef responsible for tonight's menu is worth enduring my mother's matchmaking schemes."

"Smooth talker." But I'm smiling, caught up in the magnetic pull between us.

His hand slides across the break room table, fingers brushing mine. Electric tingles race up my arm at the contact. "I prefer honest. And honestly? This is the most interesting conversation I've had all evening."

I open my mouth to respond, but a shrill voice cuts through our bubble.

"Henry, darling! Are you here somewhere? I thought I saw you coming this way!" The voice echoes from the hallway, getting closer. "The Morrisons just arrived with their lovely daughter..."

"Fuck." Henry's head drops forward. "That would be Mother, professional life-ruiner and expert at terrible timing."

The sound of her footsteps grows louder. Henry's fingers tighten around mine for a brief moment before he releases them.

"Quick, hide me under the table." His eyes dance with mischief despite his obvious dread.

"In that expensive suit? I don't think so." I bite back a laugh as footsteps approach the break room door.

"Henry?" The voice is right outside now. "I know you're here somewhere..."

8

HENRY

The break room door swings open without warning. My mother's signature perfume fills the air before I even see her face.

"Henry, darling." She glides in wearing her designer gown, diamonds glittering at her throat. Behind her trails a statuesque blonde in a red dress. Who the hell is this? This isn't the woman she was parading around early. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Mother." I get up, glancing at Monica. Her eyes widen slightly at the sudden appearance of my mother. While these two ladies are dressed to the nines, Monica is in her chef whites. I hope that isn't making her feel some type of way. "I'm a bit occupied at the moment."

"Oh nonsense." Mother waves her hand dismissively. "I want you to meet Lola Sinclair. Her father runs that lovely vineyard in Napa we visited last summer."

Lola extends a manicured hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Henry. Your mother's told me so much about you."

I ignore her outstretched hand. "Mother, this isn't the time. I'm helping?—"

"Lola just finished her MBA at Harvard." Mother barrels on, acting as if Monica isn't even in the room. "She's taking over their international distribution next quarter."

Monica starts to rise from her chair. "I should probably get back to?—"

"No." I catch her wrist gently, mindful of her injured hand. "Please stay." The last thing I need is to be trapped alone with my mother's latest matchmaking attempt.

"Henry." Mother's voice carries that sharp edge I know too well. "Don't be rude. Lola came all this way specifically to meet you."

"I'm sure she did." I keep my grip on Monica's wrist, thumb brushing over her pulse point. "But as you can see, I'm helping with an injury. So unless either of you are secretly medical professionals..."

"Really, darling. The staff can handle their own issues." Mother's gaze finally lands on Monica, dismissing her entirely with a single look.

My jaw clenches. "Mother?—"

"Henry, I'm being serious. Who is this woman, anyway? And why are you treating her as if she's the most important person at your cousin's party? From the looks of it, she's just a chef. Right?"