Chapter 3 Rocky Start

I stood outside the grand entrance of Moretti's Patisserie, clutching the strap of my bag as I took in the sight before me. The bakery was even more breathtaking in person than it had been in the glossy magazine spreads I had pored over for years.

The exterior had an old-world charm-elegant gold lettering spelling out Moretti's Patisserie across the pristine glass windows. Inside, I could already see customers indulging in delicate pastries, sipping espresso from dainty cups, and chatting over plates of perfectly golden croissants.

I inhaled deeply. This was it-the beginning of everything I had worked for.

Steeling myself, I pushed open the glass door.

The scent hit me first.

A heavenly blend of butter, sugar, and fresh bread filled the air, wrapping around me like a warm embrace. It was the smell of perfection-the kind that made people stop in their tracks, close their eyes, and sigh in delight.

I didn't have the luxury of stopping, though. I was here to work.

I stepped inside, my heart pounding, and approached the counter where a young woman in a crisp white uniform was arranging an assortment of éclairs.

"Excuse me," I said, offering a polite smile. "I'm Laura Mendes, the new pastry chef."

The woman looked up, her sharp brown eyes scanning me quickly before nodding in recognition.

"Ah, you're the new hire. I'm Elena Moreau, head pastry chef." She wiped her hands on a clean towel and extended one. "Welcome to Moretti's."

I shook it firmly, relieved by Elena's direct but professional demeanor.

"Follow me," Elena said. "I'll give you a quick tour before you meet the rest of the team."

I nodded and followed her through a side door, leaving behind the polished, elegant storefront and stepping into the real heart of the bakery-the kitchen.

The change in atmosphere was immediate.

If the front of Moretti's was all about refinement and sophistication, the kitchen was controlled chaos.

Chefs in white coats moved with practiced efficiency, piping cream onto pastries, kneading dough, tempering chocolate. The air buzzed with the hum of industrial mixers, the sharp clatter of baking trays, and the occasional shout of instructions.

My eyes lit up.

This was where the magic happened.

"Elena! Where the hell is the hazelnut praline?" a voice barked from across the room.

And just like that, the spell was broken.

I turned toward the source of the voice, and my stomach twisted slightly.

Because there, standing at a stainless-steel counter with an air of complete authority, was Shawn Moretti.

I recognized him immediately. The heir to the Moretti empire. The next in line to take over the legendary Moretti's businesses including the bakery.

I had read about him in articles-how he had trained in the world's finest patisseries, how he was rumoured to be a perfectionist, how he was said to be ruthless not just in the kitchen but also in the boardroom. He was also named the world's most handsome and eligible bachelor in 2024 Vogue news.

The Moretti's business not only included the bakery but also hotels, casinos, bars, companies in which he is set to inherit once he is 30 – which he would be by the next year.

What the articles had failed to mention, however, was how effortlessly intimidating he was in person.

Shawn had the kind of presence that filled a room. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a white chef's coat with the Moretti family crest embroidered on the sleeve, he looked like he belonged here. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run a frustrated hand through it one too many times, and his sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms lightly dusted with flour.

His sharp blue eyes landed on me.

"You're the new chef?"

It wasn't really a question. More of a skeptical observation.

I lifted my chin. "That's right. Laura Mendes."

Shawn didn't even pretend to be welcoming. He let his gaze rake over me, as if trying to determine whether I was worth his time.

Elena, sensing the tension, cleared her throat. "She starts today. She's the best we could find within short notice. I was just about to show her around."

Shawn's expression didn't change. "Wonderful."

There was no warmth in his voice.

I felt my irritation rise. He didn't even know me, yet he was already judging me.

"Well," I said, forcing a polite smile, "it's great to meet you too, Shawn."

His lips curved slightly, but it wasn't a smile-it was more of an amused smirk at least that's what I think it looks like. I've heard rumors about how he rarely smiles rather he has a permanent scowl on his face.

"Let's see if you still think that after a week," he muttered before turning back to his workstation.

I bristled, but before I could think of a response, Elena tugged her forward.

"Don't mind him," she said in a low voice. "He's always like that. He doesn't trust outsiders."

I frowned. "I'm not an outsider. I'm here to work."

Elena gave her a knowing look. "Try telling him that."

With a sigh, I decided to push Shawn's attitude to the back of my mind and focus on the tour.

Elena guided me through the different sections of the kitchen, pointing out where ingredients were stored, which ovens were the most temperamental, and introducing me to some of the other staff members.

There was Henri, the older, no-nonsense bread specialist who barely grunted in acknowledgment. Camille, the energetic junior pastry chef who offered me a bright smile and an enthusiastic "Welcome to the war zone!" And Marc, the chocolatier, who greeted me with a nod before returning to his meticulous work.

"You'll be working mostly in this section," Elena said, stopping at a clean stainless-steel counter near the large industrial ovens. "We rotate tasks, but since you're new, you'll be focusing on the basics for now-puff pastry, choux, laminated doughs."

I nodded eagerly, already itching to get started.

I glanced back toward Shawn, who was barking instructions at one of the junior chefs.

His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his gaze-a silent challenge, maybe.

I wasn't sure what his problem was, but one thing was clear:

I would have to prove myself.