His Private Chef (by Amycee) novel Chapter 66

Chapter 66

I stared at him, anger flaring. “You always do this. You act like caring means control.”

“I act like I give a damn about you,” he said. “But maybe I care too much.”

I didn’t say anything else.

I turned and left.

Down the stairs, past Sophia, who paused her movie and gave me a questioning look.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t say goodnight.

And when I stepped outside, the night air hit my face like a slap.

My hands were shaking.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But maybe I should’ve known… Liam Black doesn’t share.

And I had just become the exception that proved the rule.

Suitcases lined the edge of my bed like I was moving to Mars.

Maybe not literally, but it felt that way. With things between Liam and me ending on such a sour note, this tour with Mason felt like the escape I didn’t know I needed. I wasn’t just running from drama. I was sprinting, suitcase in hand.

I folded a few outfits with care, mostly comfy travel pieces, a few dresses, makeup I barely used, because Sophia’s voice haunted my conscience, and a red lipstick I hadn’t touched in days. Just in case I needed to feel bold.

My phone buzzed.

Mason: We’re outside.

I grabbed my bags, took one last look around the room, and locked up.

Outside, Mason leaned against a sleek black SUV, sunglasses on, hoodie up, his signature

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Chapter 66

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cool energy on full display. His driver, a sharp–looking man in all black, was already loading my luggage into the trunk.

“You ready, superstar?” Mason teased as he opened the door for me.

I gave a small laugh. “I’m not the one with sold–out stadiums, but sure.”

I climbed into the car, trying to pretend my stomach wasn’t doing somersaults. The excitement was real, but so was the nervousness. This was a new world. Mason’s world.

We arrived at the private terminal of the airport within the hour. That’s when reality punched me right in the face.

Cameras.

Paparazzi.

Like bees to honey, they swarmed the car before Mason’s foot even hit the ground. I shrank back in my seat, stunned by the flashes and shouting.

Mason leaned in through the door. “Hey, you’re good. Just stay close and keep your head up.”

I nodded.

He took my hand gently, guiding me into the waiting jet.

Inside the jet, plush leather seats lined the cabin, bathed in soft, ambient lighting. A fully stocked mini bar gleamed under the glow, while smooth jazz played faintly in the background. It was calm. Beautiful. And completely intimidating.

Three people were already seated: his stylist, his assistant, and a man I later learned was his manager, Joe.

Joe stood to shake my hand. “So you’re the mysterious Emily.”

“Only mysterious to people who haven’t spent five minutes in a kitchen with me.” I replied, earning a chuckle.

Joe grinned. “Mason talks about you.”

That made me blink. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but Mason didn’t give me the chance.

“Hey, Joe, leave her alone,” came Mason’s voice from behind me. “She’s new to the

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Chapter 66

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madness.

And then she made her entrance.

Olivia.

Supermodel. Joe’s little sister. A stunning hurricane in designer sunglasses, impossibly long legs, and a pout that probably broke hearts for a living.

“Mason,” she purred, standing up and smoothing her silky dress. “I told you that beige hoodie washes you out.”

He gave her a polite half–smile. “Noted.”

She cast a glance my way. Sharp. Assessing. Dismissive.

“Emily,” Mason said, turning to me, “come sit by the window.”

That earned me a silent death glare.

Cool.

I wasn’t here to fight over anyone. Least of all Mason. I just wanted to enjoy this tour, breathe a little, and maybe, just maybe, forget the ache Liam left behind.

The jet took off smoothly. Somewhere between clouds and catered snacks, I finally started to relax.

Chicago was the first stop on the tour. Mason’s opening night. When we landed, the city energy felt skyline glittered beneath us. Flashing billboards. Sunset–kissed rooftops. The electric, even from above.

We were whisked away to a luxury hotel that looked like something off a magazine spread. Glass walls, rooftop infinity pool, golden elevator buttons that dinged softly like music notes. My room?

No. Not a room.

A suite.

With floor–to–ceiling windows, a view of the skyline, and a bathroom so massive, it could host a five–a–side game. I stood in the center of it, stunned, phone in hand, taking it all in.

Later that evening, I followed Mason and his team to the United Center for soundcheck.

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Chapter 66

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It was… chaos. Beautiful, organized chaos. Dancers warming up. Technicians shouting into headsets. Massive screens flickering to life. Every inch of the space buzzed with movement

and urgency.

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