For the next three days, all Victory could think about, aside from glorious kitchen chaos, was Niobe's sage advice. Steeped to her elbows in braised veal cheeks, red wine jus and roasted potatoes, Victory split herself between back kitchen and front of house.

Only a week since she'd opened her doors and tonight had been a never ending flow of patrons, a few of whom who had requested to meet and greet the chef to sing their praise. Such a hardship, she thought with a teasing smile, and such a joy.

It was almost two before she'd made it home, exhausted and bone weary but smiling, to find her mother sitting on the couch in the living room watching Last of the Mohican's and weeping into a fistful of tissue.

"Mom?" Victory whispered, setting her keys on the island as every muscle in her body whined and begged for sleep. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes." Aubrey sighed, dabbing at the corner of her eyes, then blew daintily into a wad of Kleenex the size of a snowball. "Couldn't sleep, and—oh, oh I just love this part."

Glancing towards the TV, Victory watched as the lifeless body of Uncas was heaved over the cliff, just as Alice, in a moment of heart breaking beauty, eased towards the edge to gaze down at the shattered body of her love before falling into the air to join him.

"How many times have we watched this together?" Victory sat down, snuggling against her mom as fresh tears spilled down Aubrey's flushed cheeks.

"Oh, at least a hundred." Aubrey laughed, and then lifted the remote, kissing the top of Victory's head. She lifted the remote. "Care to make it one hundred and one?"

#

With only a solid three hours of sleep under her belt, Victory squeezed in cardio at the gym before preparing to face another long day. She'd be chained in her kitchen for the bulk of it, but where once the thought of facing hours of prep might have grated her lack-of-sleep-frayed nerves, no matter how tired and snarly she felt, the thought of walking into what was hers gave her a boost of pessimistic energy that cut through the layers of overworked exhaustion.

Especially when her thoughts were all tightly bound and tangled up in the interesting package of Gage Donovan. Had she actually allowed the tragedy that was Derek Cole prevent her from forming long lasting, and healthy relationships? Sure, she'd dated, and even took a couple of steps towards serious with one or two. But they'd always spiralled down, fizzled out, or fell apart.

Their fault, she'd told herself. One was too needy, the other—too distant. But, upon closer inspection, and perhaps this is where hindsight always had the annoying habit of brutal clarity, she'd simply latched on to an excuse, any excuse, to keep that distance. For safety. Not to say that she'd been wrong in why the relationships failed, but rather she'd deliberately veered towards men she knew she could control. Who were safe and provided no risk of attachment.

Jesus, she thought with a disgusted shake of her head, how pathetic was that? And here came Gage. Funny, sexy in a way that made her toes curl with thoughts of lust, interesting and intellectual, all wrapped up in a body she wanted to nibble on as if it was made of the finest imported chocolate.

But that didn't stop the flurry of what if's from battering around in her stomach with a thousand wings. Was she ready for something complicated and potent? The launching of her first restaurant meant she'd be chained to her work, leaving little time for anything in terms of a social life. Then what little time she did have would be quickly snapped up with Niobe's appointments and meetings and...

You're making more of this than it needs to be, she told herself, Tucking her chin-length swing of hair behind her ears. Enjoy, let loose and have fun. That was the plan, now was time to execute. Turning away from her mirepoix, Victory hurried into her office, dug out her phone with purpose and a plan. She'd wasted enough of her life with regrets and hesitations. Now was the time to make a move, grab life by the horns.

And wrestle that bitch to the ground.

#

As the students filed out of the lecture hall, Gage slumped behind the desk, scrubbed the heels of his hands over his face with a jaw-cracking yawn.

Long day, long week, he thought grumpily, demanded lots of coffee, and right now, his tank was just about running dry. Glancing at his watch, he frowned at the time. Barely two, which meant he had a half hour to sprint across campus to the cafeteria to buy something greasy and an entire pot of coffee to wash it down.

But first he had to tweak a few discussion points he planned to cover in his final lecture for the day.

The problem was he couldn't keep his own attention focused when all his mind wanted to do was wander towards thoughts of Victory. And it didn't help matters that she hadn't bothered to call in nearly a week.

Was she avoiding him? Brushing him off? No, he set the thought—and the panic it evoked—aside. Busy. Just busy. She was a new chef and owner with a bustling restaurant barely open a few weeks. He knew too well how easy it was to get caught up in work—lose track of time—days.

Should he call her? No, maybe just an email, something light and flirty and within the comfortable vicinity of casual. Or perhaps he shouldn't even bother...just wait until she reached out to him.

Scanning notes as his thoughts spun obsessively, at the light rap of knuckles against the door, he called out a distracted, "yes?"

"Excuse me professor. A moment of your time?" That sultry, smoky voice jolted his senses awake in a way coffee never could. Gage snapped his head up and there she stood in a flowy top of coral and a pair of shorts showcasing the legs he so loved to admired, hands linked over the black straps of a reusable grocery bag.

He looked so good, she thought, dressed in casual jeans and crisp pinstriped shirt, one or two buttons undone showing the muscular column of throat and chiselled neck. And that easy smile, the light of it shinning in his bold and intensely blue eyes all added up to a pretty package that made her think back to her earlier thoughts of him and chocolate...

"Hey." Pushing to his feet, he rounded the desk and eased a hip on the edge. "How did you find me?"

Victory's lips bowed up in a smug little grin. "A woman never tells. You're an intriguing man, Gage. Architect and part-time professor, who'd have thought?"

Blushing just a tad, Gage smiled. "Professor is a bit of a stretch. But occasionally I give a lecture or two whenever I'm able. Most academic institutions feel my success and notoriety gives me an added edge with engaging students."

"I think it's admirable." Victory brightened. "You're shaping lives, minds. It's another sort of way to build, isn't it? But instead of with bricks and mortar you've got dreams, ambitions, goals, as your materials, and inspiration to bind them together. Who knows, in this room could be the next great architect and you would have been the one to spark that flame." His blush deepened through the haze of sandy stubble, an irresistible blend of humility to temper the easy confidence she found so intriguing.

That man so accomplished and handsome could still have the ability to be humbled, said something about his character.

"I had a couple classes in this room. During my final year." Turning, she let her eyes wander the space, to the rise of seating and desks facing the trio of black boards along the south wall, and could almost see the faces crowded into the hall, hear the echo of Professor Mullark's voice, the scrape and hiss of chalk. "I used to sit right there, front row and center, rapt with attention during my English lit lectures. I loved it here." Victory sighed and turned back to Gage. "My parents always said they would be the best years of my life. And they were."

"Most people have fond memories of their college or university years. I certainly do." He cast his eyes upwards as if seeing moments replay there on the exposed rafters. "The parities. The girls. The sports and athletic events. The girls. Did I mention the girls?" He smiled when she laughed. She had, he thought, a really great laugh. "I bet you were top of your class."

Her nose wriggled with a proud little smirk he found utterly adorable. "Second, but only to Niobe, and by an incredibly narrow margin." Her grin flashed. "We were close. Took a lot of the same subjects, and she was every bit as studious as I was, so we kept each other focused, driven."

"So, what brings you here? Interested in making a career move from cuisine to construction?"

"Sadly, no." She lifted the bag she was carrying, gave it a little wiggle before setting it down on the desk next to him. "As an apology for being so...inaccessible this last week, I brought you a late lunch."

Tawny brows arched over summer blue eyes. "Did you?"

"Yes." Leaning in, she reached into the black mouth, pulled out a bundle wrapped in parchment paper. "One manly grilled cheese. Thick slices of freshly baked brioche, slices of prosciutto and crisp salami, spicy mustard and a fried egg smothered in hot, gooey aged Swiss."

"Manly, huh?" He asked, accepting the bundle from her.

Peeking inside, a mouth-watering aroma, sharp and meaty, struck him first. "She's beautiful." Gage sniffed, dashing an imaginary tear from his eye. "This is it. I'm in love with a sandwich."

"And this," Victory giggled, lifting out a glass mason jar with ruby red liquid and slices of orange, apple and a scattering of fresh berries bobbed within, "is my very popular virgin—since you're on the clock—sangria."

And just like that his face fell, Gage eyed the jar with distrust. "Virgin?"

"Don't worry," she patted his cheek, "it'll taste so good you'll never miss the booze."

"I see there's only enough for one. Aren't you going to join me?"

"Wish I could, but I've got to head back to the restaurant and preparing our inventory orders for next week, among a million other things."

"So, when can I see you again?" Forget the sandwich, although it smelled and looked fantastic, his stomach rumbled for a taste of her. And because the urge was so great, Gage reached out, circling her waist, drawing her close enough so he could smell the scent of her lotion: peaches and cream.

She squirmed against him with a smile as he nipped the side of neck and worked his way up to her jaw.

"When, Victory, and please tell me soon."

"Tomorrow night, if you're free." Laughing, she peeled his hands off her hips.

As it so happens he wasn't, but Gage would gladly spend however long as necessary to rejig his schedule. "Just tell me when and where."

"Eight-fifteen. Sharp. Meet me at my place."

Intrigued curiosity tempered his sudden appetite. "And are you going to tell me what you've got planned?"

Because she, too, felt the rumbling of hunger, Victory leaned in and brushed her lips against his for a quick, teasing kiss. Smiling, she tousled a cloud of dark waves around her beautiful face, whiskey eyes alight with something sassy and dangerous that almost made him yank her back for something a little deeper.

"Just be there, handsome."

Cocking his head, he watched as she sashayed up the steps and through the doors, turning once more with a smile and a lingering glance.

That was one hell of a woman, he thought as the door closed behind her.

From the moment she'd walked into his lecture hall, and throughout the rest of the afternoon, no matter how hard he tried, Gage couldn't stop smiling.

#

Pleased with the events of her afternoon, Victory had returned to Soleil in time to complete the last touches before dinner service. Leaving the second turnover in Belinda's hands, she wrapped up the evening in her office, sitting behind her desk to refine inventory logs, revenue spreadsheets, charts, work rotation and kitchen schedules. Shoes tucked under her desk and legs crossed in her seat, she blinked at the time now zeroing in close to eleven-thirty. Dining room would be empty at this hour, the lounge still hopping and in the capable hands of her evening general manager, Nicholas.

She calculated at least another hour of paperwork for her to sort through, the day winding up as a particularly heavy and demanding one, considering the light start to the week. But the next few days promised to be a little less intense once she'd submitted orders with suppliers and vendors. With any luck, she'd be able to crawl into bed before one and treat herself to a solid six hours of sleep.

One estimated hour of paperwork was closer to two, and Victory all but limped home, barely making it through the door before her phone shrilled in her pocket. Who, for the love of god, would be calling at such a ridiculous hour?

Too tired to even bothering reading the display, she wedged it between shoulder and ear and snapped out a fatigued, "What?"

"Vee?" Niobe's voice wafted through in a soft hush. "Sorry, couldn't sleep and figured you'd be up working."

"Just got home," she yawned as she stripped off shoes, jeans and socks, leaving them strewn where they fell and lumbered into her bedroom. "How did your meetings go today?"

"Wonderful." Niobe's voice brightened, rising a few octaves then dropped back to a hushed whisper. "I've been dying to call you all day. Shay and I found the venue."

Her belly twinged with a jab of regret. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

"I know you wanted to be, and that's all that matters. You've got a lot going on right now. But you'll get a chance to see it this weekend. We're having brunch Saturday morning, to go over table linens and centerpieces with Isabel's supplier from Suitable Elegance."

"Alright." Victory sighed through an eye-watering yawn, head to pillow and sleep already creeping into her exhausted body. "Sounds good. Night."

She was snoring into her pillow before the line went dead.