Page 11 of The Sweet Chef and the Corporate Queen

"Thank you," I say stiffly, retreating behind professionalism. "For the coffee and for everything."

"Happy to help," he says simply. But there's something in his expression, a warmth that makes me uncomfortable because of how much I don't find it uncomfortable.

"Bye, Mom!" Mia calls, already returning to her pancake art. "See you at lunch!"

As I walk toward the conference room, balancing my coffee and ridiculous pancake, I try to focus on the day's agenda. Quarterly projections, market expansion strategies, team building exercises. Simple, logical, controllable things.

Not the way Mia's face lights up in that kitchen. Not the ease with which the Callahan family has incorporated us into their world. And definitely not the unsettling warmth in Declan Callahan's eyes when he looks at me.

Temporary arrangements, I remind myself firmly. By Friday, the new nanny will arrive, and everything will return to normal. Scheduled, organized, predictable.

But as I glance down at the smiling blueberry face on my pancake, I wonder why that thought doesn't bring the relief it should.

Chapter Four

Declan

The dinner service rush is winding down when I spot Jules Sinclair sitting alone at a corner table on the terrace, laptop open, face illuminated by the blue screen glow. The rest of her team dispersed an hour ago, some to the lodge bar, others to their rooms, but she's still working. No surprise there.

I finish wiping down my station and hand off the remaining cleanup to Georgia, my most reliable line cook.

"I'm taking fifteen," I tell her, untying my apron.

Georgia follows my gaze to the terrace and smirks. "Fifteen minutes with the corporate mom? Good luck with that."

"It's not like that," I protest, though even I don't find my denial convincing.

"Sure it's not." Georgia shoos me away. "Go rescue her from that spreadsheet before her brain explodes."

I grab two mugs of the spiced cider I've been simmering all afternoon and head toward the terrace.

The temperature has dropped with the sunset, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of pine and woodsmoke. Jules doesn't look up as I approach, her fingers flying over the keyboard with impressive speed. She's changed from her daytime businessattire into what I assume passes for casual in her world—dark jeans and a soft-looking sweater that's probably cashmere, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back in its usual severe bun.

"Working overtime?" I ask, setting one of the mugs down beside her.

She startles slightly, looking up with momentary confusion before her professional mask slides back into place. "Catching up on emails." Her eyes narrow at the steaming mug. "What's this?"

"Callahan family cider. Non-alcoholic," I add, settling into the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. "Lodge tradition for chilly evenings."

She glances at the mug skeptically but doesn't push it away. "Thank you, but I'm fine with water."

"Try it," I challenge gently. "One sip. If you hate it, I'll bring you water and never interrupt your email marathon again."

Her eyebrow arches in what I'm beginning to recognize as her signature expression of reluctant amusement. "Are you always this pushy with guests?"

"Only the ones who work through dinner while their seven-year-old asks at least ten times when they'll be finished."

That gets her attention. She checks her watch, looking momentarily guilty. "Is Mia still awake? I thought she'd be tired after all the activities today."

"She is, but she wanted to wait up for you. Mom finally convinced her to get ready for bed about twenty minutes ago. She's reading her a story in the library."

"Your mother doesn't need to do that," Jules says, closing her laptop with a decisive snap. "I should go get her."

"Relax." I hold up a placating hand. "Mia's fine. Mom loves storytime, and this gives you a few minutes to actually enjoy your surroundings." I gesture toward the stunning viewof the mountains, outlined against the deepening twilight sky. "When's the last time you just sat still and looked at something beautiful?"

She looks like she's about to argue, then surprisingly, deflates slightly. "I honestly can't remember."

"Then you're overdue." I push the mug toward her again. "Cider first, parenting second."

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