3

Harper was just about to leave the kitchen when Armand suddenly walked in with a cunning look on his face. Behind him stood two black-suited security guards, their bodies towering at nearly two meters tall.

"Gentlemen, she is Harper, the head pastry chef responsible for tonight’s desserts," Armand announced with great delight.

Whispers broke out among the staff still in the kitchen.

"Harper’s getting fired? Besides, she’s weird, isn't she? She used chili earlier, right?"

"What do you expect from a fool? It's a good thing she's leaving! No more eyesore!"

Harper looked stunned, but there was no panic within her. She glanced toward Mateo, who could only offer a look of regret.

"Miss Harper, you have been summoned by the executives. Come," one of the guards said.

"Move it! You’re always so slow," Armand snapped, grabbing Harper’s arm roughly.

Harper nodded slowly while hiding her annoyed expression. Not a sound escaped the curvy girl's mouth.

They then walked out of the kitchen toward a private elevator that no one else was permitted to enter.

"After you, Miss Harper."

The two guards flanked Harper inside the glass elevator that shot upward through the ship’s hull. The numbers on the floor panel kept flashing, moving toward the restricted deck: the Penthouse.

Armand won, Harper thought bitterly. That old bastard actually reported me. They’re definitely going to fire me. Or worse... throw me into the middle of the sea with nothing but a cheap life jacket.

Fear gripped her throat as she remembered the pile of her aunt's medical bills waiting back on the mainland. However, when the elevator door chimed and slid open, Harper took a deep breath, puffed out her full chest, and lifted her chin. She was a pastry chef who knew her own worth, not a criminal.

"Walk," one of the guards said, gently pushing her back.

Harper stepped out, her feet sinking into the thick charcoal-colored wool carpet. As soon as she passed through the mahogany double doors that opened automatically, the air around her changed instantly. The scent of the sea and kitchen smoke vanished, replaced by an intoxicating blend of masculine cedarwood, expensive cigars, and bourbon.

The penthouse was massive, surrounded by giant glass windows that showcased the dark ocean night. But it wasn't the luxury that took Harper's breath away.

In the center of the room, three men stood waiting like three apex predators who had just found fresh prey that had strayed into their den.

On the center leather sofa, Raymond sat in a dominant posture that radiated absolute authority. The CEO wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his ice-cold eyes locked directly onto Harper’s face, staring with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

In the corner of the room, Kael stood with his broad back against the wall, arms tightly crossed. The former mercenary stared at Harper like an operation target ready to be neutralized.

Then, there was Tristan.

Tristan set down his crystal glass and stepped forward with a devilish smirk that was incredibly charming yet deadly. He signaled for the two guards to leave immediately.

His bright blue eyes didn’t look at Harper’s face, but instead dropped, shamelessly sweeping from the curve of her neck, down to the cleavage straining against her chef’s jacket, over her wide hips, and down to her thick thighs.

"So, this is the chef who served the best dish tonight! I must admit, that damn kitchen CCTV footage didn't do your real form justice. You are much more... voluptuous in person, darling."

Harper clenched her fists tightly. Her body heated up with anger ignited by the man's insolent gaze.

"If you brought me here just to fire me because I didn't follow Chef Armand's recipe, just do it now! There's no need to comment on my physique and talk filth like that!" Harper growled.

Tristan laughed softly as he circled Harper, stopping only an inch from her back. He leaned in, inhaling the scent of melted chocolate and sweet sweat from the crook of Harper’s neck.

"Fire you? Good God, no. We invited you here for one interesting thing we haven't done in a very long time, and I think you are the right person for it."

Tristan’s fingers reached out, gently stroking the apron strings tied tightly around Harper's solid waist.

With a quick reflex, Harper spun around and slapped Tristan’s hand away roughly. "Don't touch me!"

The tension in the room instantly exploded.

Kael, who had been silent until now, moved with speed impossible for a man of his size. In a split second, he was standing right in front of Harper, his broad chest colliding with her shoulder, forcing her to stumble back with a breathless gasp. Kael looked down, his eyes glinting wildly with a threat.

"Watch your attitude, Miss," Kael growled low, his warm breath hitting Harper’s face. "You are in our room. If you scream one more time, I will silence that sweet mouth of yours myself in a way you won’t like."

Harper looked up, her heart pounding wildly.

"Then what do you want?! I made you the best dessert on this ship! If you don't like it—"

"I liked it."

Harper turned. Raymond slowly rose from the sofa. The man stepped forward. Unlike Tristan, who was flirtatious, or Kael, who intimidated with physical aggression, every step Raymond took was elegant terror.

The CEO stopped right before Harper, causing Kael to grunt softly and step back a pace to make room for his boss.

Raymond looked down, staring deep into Harper’s eyes. Harper swallowed hard, suddenly feeling dizzy from the absolute dominance radiating from Raymond’s body.

"That cake was perfect, Harper."

Raymond’s long fingers slowly rose, smoothing a strand of hair that was damp with sweat and tucking it behind her ear.

Harper dared not move. Raymond’s gaze pinned her in place.

"Please, what do I have to do to leave? I just want to rest!" Harper said.

Raymond tilted his head, his fingers now dropping to grip Harper’s chin softly yet powerfully, forcing her to keep looking into his eyes.

"We checked your background, Harper Evans. We know you work like a sick dog to pay off your aunt's hundred-thousand-dollar medical debt and support your younger brother, who is a foolish gambler."

"T-that's none of your business!"

"It became our business the moment you stepped onto our deck," replied Tristan, who was now standing, leaning against the glass table beside Raymond, arms crossed with a satisfied smile.

"You need money," Kael added from behind. "And we want more than what you’ve been offering in the kitchen."

"What do you mean?" she asked warily, glancing from Kael’s savage face to Tristan’s devilish smile, and finally back to Raymond’s possessive stare.

Raymond released Harper’s chin, turned toward the glass table, and picked up a black leather folder. He tossed the file onto the table with a soft thud. A ten-page document with the golden seals of West Group and RScott—Raymond’s giant corporation—was displayed there.

"Starting tonight, you will return to being the head pastry chef. We will put Armand on trial immediately. Your aunt's debt will be settled tonight, and you will receive ten million dollars in cash at the end of this voyage."

Harper’s breath hitched. "T-ten million?"

"With one absolute condition," Raymond continued, his eyes darkening, staring straight at Harper’s slightly parted, full lips.

Tristan laughed softly, walking around and standing behind Harper. He leaned his lips toward her ear, whispering the condition in a tone that made Harper’s body shiver violently.

"You will sign this exclusive contract, darling," Tristan whispered, his hand slowly circling Harper’s waist, feeling the thick curve of her hips through her chef pants. "You will move into our room, sleep in our bed, and for the next three months, you will serve our hunger."