Page 18 of The Sweet Chef and the Corporate Queen

"About an hour more than our original route."

"An hour?" I shake my head. "Absolutely not. We're turning back."

Just as I pivot to retrace our steps, a low, distant rumble of thunder reaches us. We both look up to see dark clouds gathering over the mountain peaks.

"Storm's moving in," Declan observes. "Faster than I expected."

"You said you brought rain ponchos," I remind him.

"I did, but this trail gets slippery when wet. The 5A route has better coverage and passes by a wildlife blind where we can take shelter if needed."

Another rumble of thunder, closer this time, punctuates his point.

I clench my jaw, hating the position my overconfidence has put us in. "Fine. Lead the way."

"You sure? You were pretty adamant about being the navigator."

"Just show me the correct trail before we get soaked," I snap, my frustration bubbling over.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, ma'am."

As he steps past me to take the lead, the first fat raindrop lands on my cheek. Within seconds, more follow, and the gentle patter quickly intensifies to a steady downpour.

"Perfect," I mutter, yanking the rain poncho from my pack. "Just perfect."

"Don't worry," Declan calls over his shoulder, already moving at a brisk pace along the new trail. "I know exactly where we're going."

"I'm not worried," I insist, hurrying to keep up as the rain continues to intensify. "I just don't appreciate being lost in a downpour during what was supposed to be a simple team-building exercise."

"We're not lost," he corrects with infuriating calm. "We're taking the scenic route."

As the rain soaks through my hiking boots and the thunder grows louder, I realize I've unwittingly handed control over to Declan Callahan—exactly what I'd been determined not to do. And the most irritating part? A small, traitorous voice in myhead suggests I might actually be safer following his lead than my own.

Chapter Six

Declan

"Almost there!" I shout over the increasingly heavy downpour, pointing ahead to where the trail curves around a massive oak tree.

Jules follows behind, her poncho plastered against her body by the wind, determination etched on her face despite being thoroughly soaked. The wildlife viewing blind appears through the curtain of rain. It’s a sturdy wooden structure nestled against the hillside, partially hidden by rhododendrons. My brother Rowan rebuilt it last year, turning what had been little more than a dilapidated shed into a proper shelter.

I reach the door first, yanking it open against the wind and holding it as Jules ducks inside, water streaming from her poncho in rivulets.

The interior is small but thoughtfully designed. There’s a bench along the back wall, shuttered viewing windows, and a small table with trail guides. It smells of cedar and pine, the wood still relatively new.

"Welcome to five-star mountain accommodations," I say, pulling out a small battery-powered lantern. Soft light fills the space, casting long shadows.

Jules doesn't smile. She removes her poncho, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door, then runs a hand through her damp hair.

"How long will the storm last?" she asks, all business.

I check the small weather station Rowan installed. "Barometric pressure's still dropping. I'd say we're in for at least an hour, maybe two."

"Two hours?" She pulls out her phone, frowning at the screen. "No signal, of course."

"There's a radio," I offer, pointing to the emergency equipment. "We can let the lodge know we're safe if you're worried about Mia."

"I'm not worried about Mia," she says, though her expression suggests otherwise. "She's with your mother. I'm concerned about my team. We were supposed to complete this exercise and return for the strategy session at three."

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