Deal is Struck

Thaddeus cut into the glazed salmon with a slow, deliberate motion, lifting a bite to his mouth. Sabrina watched, arms crossed, tapping her fingers against her elbow.

The moment the food hit his tongue, she caught the subtle flicker in his eyes—too fast for most people to notice, but she wasn't most people. That was the look of someone who just had their expectations shattered.

He chewed slowly, as if trying to find something to criticize, but the way his jaw flexed told her he was doing mental gymnastics to keep from admitting it was good. Really good.

Sabrina smirked. Gotcha!

After another bite, Thaddeus finally leaned back, dabbing his mouth with a napkin like he was contemplating something important. Then, instead of giving her the satisfaction of a compliment, he did what she suspected he would.

He changed the subject.

"Who taught you to cook like this?" he asked, his voice casual but edged with something unreadable.

Sabrina shrugged. "Self-taught. Picked up techniques from different places, experimented a lot, and, well… turns out I'm naturally talented."

He rolled his eyes, but she could see it now—he wasn't as unimpressed as he pretended to be.

"You sure you're not just showing off?" he mused, setting his fork down.

"Maybe." She flashed him a cocky grin. "But if I was, wouldn't that mean I have something worth showing off?"

His lips twitched, almost like he was fighting a smirk of his own, but then he did something unexpected.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. His fingers tapped idly against the table as he eyed her, and for the first time that morning, there was no trace of mockery in his expression.

He hated to admit it—even to himself—but damn, she was good. Not just good. Impressive!

His gaze drifted back to her, this time with something closer to curiosity than arrogance. "You really made this yourself?" he asked, as if still trying to wrap his head around it.

Sabrina crossed her arms, tilting her head. "Would you like me to summon my imaginary sous-chef to confirm it?"

A ghost of a chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. He shook his head, his usual cool demeanor slipping just a little. "Alright," he muttered, still watching her. "Maybe you do have something worth showing off after all."

Thaddeus leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as he studied Sabrina with a critical gaze. His sharp eyes swept over her, scanning her from head to toe—because if this woman had just cooked a meal that actually impressed him, he needed to figure out what kind of sorcery was at play.

She wasn't exactly the type of woman who turned heads at a gala. Not conventionally stunning, but there was something about her—something that made her presence hard to ignore.

Her hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face. No designer dress, no expensive perfume—just the faint scent of herbs, butter, and whatever else she had been throwing into a pan back in the kitchen.

She was... plain. Not ugly, but definitely not the kind of woman who turned heads in a crowded room. Her hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, with a few stray wisps clinging to her forehead, probably thanks to the heat of the kitchen. There was no fancy makeup, no designer dress—just a simple chef's coat, slightly wrinkled, and an apron that had definitely seen better days.

Her apron was slightly dusted with flour, and there was even a tiny smudge of sauce near her wrist. She looked like she belonged in front of a stove, not in a candlelit dining hall, exchanging sharp banter with a man who was used to finer company.

And the smell? Oh, she smelled exactly like what she was—a chef who had been hovering over sizzling pans and bubbling sauces all night. A mix of garlic, butter, and something vaguely smoky clung to her like a personal fragrance. He almost smirked. Not exactly the perfume of high society, but oddly fitting.

His brows furrowed slightly. She had to be in her mid-twenties, give or take. Hard to tell, given how she carried herself with that confident, almost defiant energy. There was a sharpness in her eyes, an edge that said she wasn't someone easily intimidated. If anything, she carried herself like a woman who had been through enough nonsense to have zero patience for more.

Of course, she was a chef. And now that he had really looked at her, he wasn't sure whether to be more impressed by her cooking skills or by the sheer audacity she had to challenge him like this.

He leaned back slightly, resting his elbow on the table. "Figures," he muttered. "You smell like a five-star kitchen."

Sabrina raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she shifted her weight to one side. "Well, that's a relief," she shot back. "I'd be worried if I smelled like a car mechanic instead."

Thaddeus huffed a short laugh, but quickly masked it by reaching for his glass of water. He took a sip, eyes still on her, as if he were assessing not just her food, but *her*.

"You're an interesting one," he finally said, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "Not exactly what I expected."

Sabrina smirked, tilting her head slightly. "Let me guess—you thought the chef would be some old guy with a fancy mustache and a secret spice blend passed down for generations?"

He exhaled through his nose, something between amusement and mild irritation flashing across his face. "Something like that."

"Well, sorry to disappoint," she said, clearly not sorry at all.

Thaddeus paused, his fingers idly tapping against the table as he studied her. His pride wouldn't let him outright admit that she had exceeded his expectations, that she had won—both in the kitchen and in whatever strange little game they had been playing. But there was no denying it. She had.

With a slow inhale, he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. His voice was smooth, laced with feigned indifference. "Alright, Chef. You win." He tilted his head slightly, as if he were merely indulging her. "What's your prize?"

Sabrina didn't miss the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly, like it physically pained him to acknowledge her victory. The thought nearly made her grin. Nearly. Instead, she shrugged, playing it cool. "Oh, you know," she said casually, dusting off an imaginary speck of flour from her apron. "Just that little thing we agreed on—saving my restaurant."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn't argue. Instead, he leaned back, exuding an air of careless arrogance, though she could tell he was considering his next words carefully. "And you think that meal was enough to earn it?"

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. "I know it was." She crossed her arms, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "Or are you the kind of man who goes back on his word?"

That made him stop. His fingers stilled against the table. A muscle in his jaw ticked. Then, finally, with an exasperated sigh, he dragged a hand down his face and muttered, "Damn it!"

Sabrina smirked. "I'll take that as a yes."

Thaddeus let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe he was even entertaining this. "Fine. You got your deal. I'll make sure your restaurant doesn't—"

Before he could finish, Sabrina held up a finger, cutting him off. "Ah, ah, ah! Not so fast, Mr. Big Shot." She leaned in slightly, her smirk widening. "There's still one more part of our agreement."

He raised a brow. "Oh? And what would that be?"

Sabrina crossed her arms, tilting her head at him. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Thaddeus blinked, then scoffed, shifting in his seat. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious," she shot back, her tone laced with amusement. "We agreed—if I won, you'd save my restaurant and marry me." She gestured toward him dramatically. "And look at that. Here you are, defeated, and here I am, still single."

He let out a dry laugh, rubbing his temples as if this was giving him a headache. "That was a joke."

Sabrina grinned. "Was it, though?"

Thaddeus narrowed his eyes, studying her like she was some rare species he couldn't quite figure out. "You're really not letting this go, are you?"

Sabrina shrugged, her smirk never wavering. "Nope. A deal's a deal. Unless, of course, you're the type to go back on your word?" She tilted her head, feigning disappointment. "I thought a big-shot billionaire like you would have more integrity."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, she could *see* the war waging inside his head—his pride versus the absolute absurdity of the situation. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his thumb along his jawline.

"You're ridiculous," he muttered.

"And yet, here you are, still talking to me." She leaned against the table, resting her chin on her palm. "So, what's it gonna be, Mr. Big Shot? You backing out, or are you about to make me the luckiest chef in town?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking like a man questioning every life decision that had led him to this moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he finally said, "Fine."

Sabrina straightened. "Fine what?"

His gaze flicked to hers, unreadable but resigned. "Fine. I'll marry you."

A slow, triumphant smile spread across her lips. "Good. Hope you'll like home-cooked meals."

Thaddeus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling like a man who had just agreed to walk into a burning building. "This is insane," he muttered.

Sabrina grinned. "Nah, this is just good business. You get what you need, I get what I need. It's a win-win, my husband-to-be." She emphasized the last part just to watch him flinch.

He lowered his hand and leveled her with a look. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Oh, absolutely." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "I mean, how often does a chef negotiate a marriage proposal over a plate of chicken roulade? This is going in my memoir for sure."

Thaddeus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "There's still paperwork. Legalities. I need to have my lawyer draft a contract."

"Sure, sure," she waved a hand dismissively. "Do whatever makes you sleep better at night. Just don't think for a second that I'm backing out. You will be putting a ring on it."

His expression darkened slightly, and he muttered, "What kind of mess did I just walk into?"

Sabrina gave him a bright, toothy smile. "Too late to back out now. You've got me now."

He groaned.

As the reality of the situation hit him, he couldn't help but think—what the hell had he gotten himself into?