Page 6 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire

I paused, surprised by the question.“How did you know I had one?”

“Research.You owned ‘Flavors’ in Seattle for three years before it closed.”

“Failed,” I corrected, measuring loose tea leaves into a strainer.“It failed.No point in sugar-coating it.”

“What happened?”

I sighed, focusing on the steeping tea rather than his intense gaze.“The usual story.Location issues, rising costs, insufficient capital to weather the slow periods.”

“But the food was exceptional,” he stated rather than asked.

“The food was never the problem.”I placed the cup before him.“Be careful, it’s hot.”

He wrapped his large hands around the cup, the size contrast making the porcelain look almost comical.“You’ll open another one,”he said.

Again, not a question but a statement of fact.

“That’s the plan.Once I save enough capital for another attempt.”I returned to cleaning my station.“This job helps with that.”

“A strategic decision, then.”

“Everything I do is strategic,” I said with a half-smile.“Including accepting triple my rate to cook for a demanding billionaire.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and surprisingly warm.“Am I that demanding?”

“You made me audition after I was already hired,” I reminded him.

“Fair point.”He sipped the tea.“This is good.”

“It’s just dried flowers and hot water,” I teased.“Nothing award-winning.”

“You undersell yourself, Janet.”

The way he said my name—with a hint of intrigue—made me pause.

“What made you choose me?”I asked.“Surely there are chefs with more impressive credentials.”

“Credentials don’t interest me.Character does.”He set down the cup.“I watched you on that show, cooking in impossible conditions, never complaining, never sacrificing quality in spite of the circumstances.”

“It was just a competition.”

“It revealed your character.”His gaze held mine.“You don’t cut corners.Neither do I.”

The kettle whistled, jarring me out of our connection.I turned to remove it from the heat, semi-grateful for the distraction.

“Thank you for the tea,” Jonathan said, rising from his seat.“I should let you finish.”

My hands busied themselves with wiping down the counter.“Sleep well, Mr.Black.”

“Jonathan,” he corrected, his voice a deep rumble.He stood, towering in the doorway.“My name is Jonathan.”

“Jonathan,” I repeated, the name feeling unexpectedly intimate on my tongue.

He smiled—a genuine expression that transformed his face—before turning to leave.His broad shoulder brushed the doorframe as he exited, his presence lingering long after he’d gone.

I leaned against the counter, trying to steady my breathing.The yacht’s gentle motion beneath my feet wasn’t the only thing making me feel unbalanced.I needed to maintain professional distance, but something about Jonathan Black made that increasingly difficult.

I closed my eyes, fingers gripping the edge of the stainless steel.I was here for the money, my future restaurant, and a second chance at my dream.Not for the way his presence made my pulse quicken or how his gaze seemed to see right through me.

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