Page 9 of The Sweet Chef and the Corporate Queen

He places a steaming mug in front of me along with a small plate holding what appears to be a perfectly cooked egg white omelet with spinach and feta—exactly what I'd get in any restaurant.

"I didn't order this," I say, surprised.

"Mia mentioned it's your usual breakfast." He shrugs, the gesture casual but the thoughtfulness behind it anything but. "Figured you'd want protein before your strategy sessions today."

"Thank you." I'm momentarily thrown by the consideration. "That's very efficient."

His mouth quirks up at my choice of word. "High praise indeed. Enjoy your meeting. Mia's in good hands."

As he turns to go, Mia tugs on his sleeve. "Can I bring Mom a pancake when they're ready?"

"Absolutely. You can be our official pancake ambassador." He winks at her before disappearing back into the kitchen, Mia trotting after him like an eager puppy.

The moment they're gone, Andrea leans forward. "Well, well, well."

"Don't start," I warn her.

"What? I'm just admiring his hospitality skills."

Lisa snickers. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

I take a pointed bite of my perfectly cooked omelet. "We're here for a corporate strategy retreat, not summer camp."

"Shame," Andrea sighs dramatically. "Because that man looks like he could teach quite a few extracurricular activities."

"He's the lodge chef," I remind her, ignoring the flush of heat in my cheeks. "And he's helping with Mia as a professional courtesy."

"Mmhmm. He made you a custom breakfast."

"Based on information from my daughter."

"Details." Andrea waves dismissively. "The point is, he's hot, he cooks, and he's good with your kid. If you don't snap that up, someone else will."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not looking to 'snap up' anyone, especially not during a business trip."

"Of course not," Lisa agrees too quickly. "Because Jules Sinclair never mixes business and pleasure."

"Exactly."

"Even when pleasure comes with homemade pancakes and dimples."

"He doesn't have dimples," I say automatically, then realize my mistake.

"So you have been looking!" Andrea crows triumphantly.

Before I can defend myself, my phone buzzes with a calendar alert. "Ladies, as fascinating as this conversation isn't, we have the product development meeting in fifteen minutes."

"Saved by the schedule," Lisa teases, gathering her notes.

I stand, collecting my portfolio. "I need to check on Mia before the meeting."

"Sure you do," Andrea calls after me, but I pretend not to hear.

The kitchen is a hive of controlled chaos when I push through the swinging door. Staff members move with practiced efficiency between stations, calling orders and responses to each other. In the center of it all, Declan stands at the griddle, flippingpancakes with expert precision while simultaneously directing his team.

What catches me off guard is Mia, perched on a step stool beside him, carefully dropping blueberries onto cooking pancake batter in the shape of smiley faces. Declan says something that makes her laugh, her entire face lighting up with joy.

They look right together, somehow. Comfortable, like they've been doing this for years instead of less than a day.

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