Victor Grayson has one rule, and it built a four-billion-dollar empire: check the bolts first. Trust nothing. Price everything. Never leave an exit unplanned. Then, at midnight, fifty-one floors below his office, he walks into his own test kitchen and finds a coordinator hand-making three hundred servings of pasta to fix a disaster that was never her job. She mistakes him for security. She calls him honey. She sends him home with leftovers. Frankie Moretti has a plan and a whiteboard: nineteen more months of saving, and she buys back her nonna's shuttered restaurant on Morgan Street, the one with the family name still ghosting through the vinyl banner. She did not budget for the CEO. Falling for the man who signs your paychecks isn't a fairy tale. It's a fire drill. HR has a mechanism. The gossip column has a nickname. And his ex's billionaire father is circling with a merger, a grudge, and a private investigator - until the fight comes for the one thing money never touched, and Frankie calls in everyone the powerful never think to price: her family, her best friend's spreadsheet, and the ex herself. >An open-door, slow-burn workplace romance featuring one blackout, two good coats on an unleased floor, seven fishes, a pasta machine with sixty years on the crank, and a happily-ever-after with extra Parmesan.
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