Natasha adjusted the strap of her worn-out bag as she stood in front of the towering glass building. The Blackwood Enterprises logo gleamed above her head, an emblem of power and wealth. She had only seen it in magazines before. Now, she was about to step inside—not as a guest, but as someone who had made a deal with the devil himself.
Her phone buzzed.
Edward: Reception will expect you. Don't be late.
Natasha clenched her jaw. The man's words were always short, sharp, and impossible to misinterpret.
The lobby was vast, with marble floors that reflected the golden light of a chandelier shaped like cascading crystals. Men and women in tailored suits moved with purpose, their eyes barely acknowledging her as she walked in. Natasha could feel the judgment in their quick glances—her simple blouse and dark jeans didn't belong here.
At the reception desk, a young woman with flawless makeup greeted her politely. "Miss Williams? Mr. Blackwood is expecting you. Please, follow me."
Natasha nodded and followed her toward a private elevator. The air inside was cool, scented faintly with something expensive—probably the kind of cologne Edward wore. Her heart thumped faster with each floor they ascended.
When the doors opened, she stepped into an office that could have been a luxury apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the city skyline, and a sleek black desk sat near the far wall. Behind it, Edward stood in a crisp charcoal suit, his attention on the file in his hands.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
Natasha checked her watch. "It's exactly nine o'clock."
His eyes finally met hers—sharp, assessing, and annoyingly unreadable. "Nine o'clock is when we start. Which means you should have been here at eight fifty-five."
Her lips twitched in irritation. "Noted, boss."
A faint smirk touched his mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Sit." He gestured to the leather chair across from his desk. "We have rules if you're going to work for me."
Natasha crossed her arms. "Rules? I thought I was just here to… what was it you called it? Help you with a personal matter?"
"This—" he tapped the file "—is business. And business runs on structure. You will follow my instructions. In return, you'll have access to information and opportunities you could never get on your own."
Her stomach tightened. She hated how much she needed him. "Fine. But I'm not your secretary."
Edward closed the file and walked around the desk, stopping just close enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne—rich, dark, and dangerously distracting. "No, you're not. You're going to be the head chef of L'Attente, my flagship restaurant. Officially. Unofficially…" His gaze sharpened. "…you'll be my eyes and ears."
Her brows knitted. "Inside your own restaurant?"
"Inside my empire," he corrected. "I have enemies in every corner, Miss Williams. The people who ruined you? They're connected to mine."
Natasha's pulse quickened. This was the first time he'd mentioned their enemies in the same breath. "Names."
Edward leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "Not yet. You'll earn them."
She wanted to demand more, but his tone left no room for argument. Instead, she exhaled slowly. "When do I start?"
"Tonight," he said. "There's a private event at L'Attente. I want you in the kitchen. Impress me."
Natasha gave a short, humorless laugh. "Impress you? Or them?"
His smirk returned, sharper this time. "Both."
---
That evening, Natasha stood in the gleaming kitchen of L'Attente. It was nothing like the modest restaurants she had worked in before. Stainless steel counters reflected the warm glow of pendant lights. The air was thick with the scent of fresh herbs, simmering stock, and seared meat.
"Keep up, rookie," a sous-chef barked, shoving a tray of plated appetizers toward her.
"I'm not a rookie," Natasha muttered, taking the tray. She moved with precision, each step measured. This was her element—the chaos, the heat, the rhythm of knives on cutting boards.
In the dining hall beyond the swinging doors, laughter and clinking glasses echoed. Natasha caught glimpses of expensive gowns, glittering jewelry, and men in tailored suits. At the head of one table sat Edward, speaking with a group of investors. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes… they were scanning the room, calculating.
Halfway through the night, a tall man in a gray suit entered the kitchen uninvited. His smile was charming, but his eyes were cold. "So you're the new chef."
Natasha straightened. "And you are?"
"Marcus Hale. I handle acquisitions for Blackwood Enterprises." His gaze slid over her, lingering just long enough to feel intrusive. "Interesting choice, Edward bringing you here."
Before she could reply, Edward appeared behind him, his voice like a blade. "Is there a reason you're in my kitchen, Marcus?"
Marcus chuckled, raising his hands. "Just curious. You've never been careless about personnel before."
Edward stepped closer to Natasha, a subtle, possessive gesture. "She's not a topic for your curiosity. Leave."
Marcus gave her one last glance before walking out, the scent of his cologne lingering unpleasantly.
Natasha looked up at Edward. "Friend of yours?"
"Not even close," he said. His gaze softened, just for a moment. "Watch yourself around him."
And then he was gone, leaving her with more questions than answers.
---
By the time the event ended, Natasha was exhausted. She stepped outside into the cool night air, her hands still faintly smelling of garlic and rosemary.
Her phone buzzed again.
Edward: You did well tonight.
A small smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. She quickly typed back:
Natasha: Don't get used to it.
She slipped the phone into her pocket, unaware that high above, from his office window, Edward was still watching her—calculating, protecting, and perhaps, against his better judgment, beginning to care.