The soft strains of jazz floated through the living room, a gentle backdrop to the warm glow of the overhead lights. The dining table was set neatly, crystal glasses catching the light, a bottle of red breathing beside a pair of half–filled glasses. The scent of roasted duck and citrus lingered in the air, rich and inviting.
Izzy watched Liam carefully, fork in hand, as he took a small bite of the Duck à l’Orange. His eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, chewing slowly. She leaned forward, eyes glinting with excitement.
“Well?” Izzy pressed, lips twitching at the corners. “Do you like it?”
Liam raised an eyebrow, setting his fork down. “This is Duck áà l’Orange?” he asked, a hint of amusement flickering in his
eyes.
Izzy rolled her eyes. “Obviously,” she huffed. “I just followed the recipe. It’s a bit complicated, but definitely worth it.”
Liam took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. He finally nodded, leaning back in his chair. “This is really good,” he admitted, lips twitching faintly. “I didn’t know you could cook something like this.”
Izzy snorted softly, stabbing a piece of duck with her fork. “Is that an insult?” she shot back, eyes narrowing playfully.
Liam’s eyes glinted with something amused. “No,” he said mildly, swirling the wine in his glass. “I just thought you didn’t have time for cooking, considering how busy you always are. This dish isn’t something for the weak.”
Izzy exhaled sharply, inwardly rolling her eyes as she thought of the past. Busy was an understatement. Meetings back to back, late nights at the office, dinners with clients–she’d barely had time to breathe, let alone cook. And she was doing all those things for that damn Calen! “Don’t remind me,” she muttered. It was a good thing that following instructions had never been a problem for her. She wasn’t that stupid.
She took a sip of wine, savoring the warmth that spread down her throat. “I can follow instructions,” she muttered, feigning nonchalance. “Besides, you make it sound like I’ve never touched a kitchen before.”
Liam’s lips twitched. “Well,” he drawled, “considering the disaster that was your beef bourguignon back when we were sixteen, I’d say that’s a fair assumption.”
Izzy’s fork paused mid–air. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “That was a long time ago,” she bit out, though a faint flush crept up her cheeks. “I was just a kid.” Why was this man suddenly talking about the past, again?
“Your grandfather nearly disowned you,” he mused.
Izzy groaned, dropping her face into her hands. “Don’t remind me,” she muttered, the memory clear as day. Her grandfather’s horrified expression, the way the entire kitchen had filled with smoke–the soup that had turned into a thick, inedible sludge. She grimaced, peeking at Liam between her fingers. “I was experimenting,” she defended.
Liam’s eyes glinted. “Experimenting?” he repeated, clearly amused. “You nearly burnt down the estate kitchen.”
Frederik leaned back against the high–backed leather chair, fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the polished desk. The view outside his office window was all sleek glass and gray skies, the cityscape of Paris stretching endlessly beneath a layer of clouds. The soft hum of traffic filtered through the glass, distant and muted.
He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as his assistant continued to rattle off updates. The headache thrumming at his temples wasn’t easing, and the news he’d just received wasn’t helping
“He actually wanted that incompetent to take charge?” Frederik muttered, fingers stilling abruptly. His eyes narrowed with disdain. “How utterly useless.”
Across the desk, his assistant adjusted her glasses nervously. “From what our sources have gathered, Mr. Weiss is trying to stabilize the company’s image,” she explained, her voice measured. “He believes that putting Vice President Calen Weiss in charge of the Macau Project will reassure investors. The Johnson family’s involvement seems to play a part as well.”
“Johnson Family,” Frederik scoffed, fingers curling loosely against the armrest. “Of course,” he muttered, eyes glinting coldly. “That man would sell his own son if it meant buying a few more months of stability.”
The assistant hesitated, glancing at the tablet in her hands. “There’s more, sir,” she added cautiously. “It appears that Miss Rossi has decided to leave Weiss Inc. altogether. Her resignation letter was already submitted.”
Frederik’s eyes darkened. His fingers stilled. “She what?”
“Resigned,” the assistant confirmed. “Effective in two weeks.”
