Page 5 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire

“No, I appreciate seafood.Just an observation.”He flipped to the second page.“Breakfast seems...elaborate.”

“I believe in starting the day right,” I said, unconsciously squaring my shoulders.“But if you’d prefer something simpler?—”

“I didn’t say that.”A hint of amusement played at the corners of his mouth, softening his serious demeanor.“I’m actually surprised to find someone who takes breakfast as seriously as I do.”

“The most important meal deserves proper attention.”

He tapped a spot on the menu.“Tell me about this dish.The herb-crusted rack of lamb with rosemary jus.”

“It’s one of my signatures,” I said, leaning forward as passion for my craft took over.“The herbs create a textural contrast to the tender meat, while the jus adds depth without overwhelming the natural flavor of the lamb.”I gestured with my hands as I spoke.“I’ve paired it with gratin dauphinois and honey-glazed carrots for balance.”

“I love your passion for food,” he said, his intense gaze sending a shiver of warmth down my spine.

“Food connects us,” I replied, searching for the right words.“A properly prepared meal creates an experience that transcends mere sustenance.”

“And you believe you can create that experience on this yacht?”

“I know I can.”

He studied me for a long moment before nodding.“I agree.This all looks excellent.”He slid the menu back toward me, our fingers brushing momentarily.

The brief contact sent a current up my arm that made me suck in a sharp breath.I pulled my hand back quickly, pretending to adjust the papers while willing my racing heart to slow down.

Jonathan cleared his throat.“There’s one addition I’d like to make.The night before we reach Saint Barthélemy, I’m hosting a small business dinner.Four guests, plus myself.”

“Not a problem.Any dietary restrictions I should know about?”

“I’ll have Sandra provide those details,” he said, rising to his feet.“The menu otherwise has my full approval.”

“Thank you,” I gathered my notes, conscious of his eyes still on me.“I’ll start preparing for tomorrow’s meals right away.”

“Don’t work too late,” he said, his voice softening.“We set sail at dawn.”

I preppedfor our first breakfast at sea, the rhythm of my knife against the cutting board matching the yacht’s gentle rocking.We’d moved from the marina to open water earlier that evening, and the kitchen was now my command center.

The repetitive motion of chopping fresh herbs soothed my nerves.I’d almost found my zone when the kitchen door opened, and I looked up to see Jonathan watching me work, his shoulder against the doorframe.

“Do you always prepare this far in advance?”he asked, stepping into the kitchen.

“In culinary school, they drill ‘mise en place’ into us—everything in its place before cooking begins,” I explained, not breaking my rhythm.“It’s practically a religion in professional kitchens.”

“Mise en place,” he repeated, pronouncing it perfectly.“French seems fitting for such an elegant process.”

He moved closer, his eyes tracking the movement of my knife.“You make it look effortless.”

“Years of practice will do that.”I slid the chopped herbs into a small glass container.“What brings you to the kitchen at this hour?Hungry?”

“Restless,” he admitted.“I find it difficult to sleep the first night at sea.”

I wiped my hands and turned to face him.“I could make you some chamomile tea.It might help.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your work.”

“It’s no disruption.”I filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove.“I’m nearly finished anyway.”

Jonathan sat at the counter, watching me move around the kitchen.In the confined space, I was acutely aware of how his shoulders strained against his shirt and his cologne mingled with the scent of fresh herbs.

“Tell me about your restaurant,” he said suddenly.

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