Heat: A Bad Boy Chef Romance (3 page)

Beatrix

I walked in circles. The buzz of the city disappeared into a droning background noise that left me disoriented. I passed in front of the restaurant three times before I realized I was circling around it.

Fired. After only a day and a half of work. It was pathetic. If word got out, I’d have a hard time finding a job at any respectable restaurant. The only job I’d be able to find would be flipping burgers at a fast food place.

I finally managed to find my way home. I walked into my place and collapsed on the bed. I buried my face in the pillow and cried until I fell asleep. I woke to someone calling my name.

“Roche? Are you in there?”

It was Moreau. What was he doing here? I jumped up and went to the door. He wore a leather jacket and jeans. His hair was shaggy; it hung in his severe eyes.

“Didn’t you hear me knocking?” he asked.

“No. I was asleep.”

“Did you sleep all day?”

I nodded. He pushed his way inside my apartment. He looked around at the unmade bed and cramped living quarters. There was nowhere for him to sit so he stood in the middle of the room.

“You’ve been crying.”

“No, I haven’t,” I lied. “I just woke up, that’s all.” He frowned, clearly not believing me. “I’ve never been fired before,” I added lamely.

“Whoever said you were fired?”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You did.”

“I told you to go home. I didn’t say you were fired.”

I wanted to hit him. I’d been through hell all day, thinking my career, my dreams were gone.

“Roche, did you leave your station unsupervised at any time today?”

His question caught me off guard. Was this a test? “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know?”

“I… well, no.”

His frown deepened. “It must have happened in the freezer then.”

“What?”

“Someone poured old oyster water into your sauce.”

“What? Why would someone do that?”

“Because they want your job. The only way they can have your job is if they get rid of you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “I didn’t screw up.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You just said someone is trying to sabotage me. How is this my fault?”

“You should have tasted the sauce before you put it on the plate. It never should have been served to the customers.”

I couldn’t argue with him. I got cocky and it almost cost me my job.

“You’re right. It won’t happen again,” I said, hoping I would get a second chance.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“No, I’ve been asleep.”

I was met with a disapproving look. He took off his leather jacket and tossed it onto my bed. Beneath he wore a skin tight black shirt that hugged his muscles perfectly. Where did he find time to work out? He practically lived at the restaurant.

He opened my refrigerator and bent over to look inside. “Christ, Roche, how do you survive with nothing but frozen pizzas, string cheese and ranch dressing?”

“I haven’t had time to go to the store lately.”

“You call yourself a chef?”

He meant it as a joke, but after the day I’d had I didn’t much feel like laughing. He pulled out his cell phone and quickly made a call. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m at-” He turned to me. “What’s your address?” He repeated what I told him into the phone. “Bring me whatever is the freshest. Yeah. A bit of everything.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

“Who was that? A takeout place?”

“Takeout?” he scoffed. “You need a home cooked meal. That was my grocer. He’ll have his guy deliver the essentials.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll cook you a meal. You’ll feel better and be ready for work tomorrow.”

I couldn’t help smiling. I had one of the best chefs in the world in my apartment, personally cooking for me. Celebrities paid tens of thousands of dollars for private meals prepared by Moreau. I was getting him for free.

“Try and relax. I was only trying to toughen you up today. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

“That almost sounded like an apology.”

“It wasn’t,” he said, clearing his throat. “Even knowing what I know now, it was right to send you home for the day. You need to toughen up. This will make you stronger.”

“I don’t feel stronger,” I replied pathetically.

“You will tomorrow.”

He placed his hand on my back then slid it down till it rested on my hip. The room suddenly felt very small. His body was extremely close to mine. I looked up into his eyes. There was a spark between us. If he leaned down to kiss me, I wouldn’t stop him.

“Why don’t you have a seat? Let me cook for you. Just relax. Okay?” He went to the door. “I’ll go meet the delivery boy downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

I nodded. Why was he being so nice to me? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d turn down an opportunity to get laid, and yet here he was acting like a gentleman. Maybe I’d judged him incorrectly?

Moreau

I had to get out of Roche’s apartment and catch my breath. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her top was almost completely see-through. Her perky breasts and nipples were making me hard. The way she stared at me like a wounded animal made me feel like a monster though. Had I really been so horrible to her? I treated her like any other chef that enters my kitchen.

I wanted her to be the best; in turn my restaurant would be the best. Eventually she’d leave with the tools she’d learned from working with me and start her own restaurant. Everyone wins. So why did I feel like a bastard?

I stood out in the cold and waited for the delivery boy to bring the food. The cold was exactly what I needed. My blood was running hot. It cooled me down. I was going to have to keep my wits about me around Roche. She was stunning, talented and sensitive. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had.

I heard a bicycle coming. I turned to find the delivery boy with a stack of groceries in the basket of his bike. He handed them off to me. I gave him a hundred dollar tip. His eyes went wide at the sight of the money. I started out working as a server. I know how hard it to survive on tips that’s why I always over-tip.

“Thanks!”

“No problem. Stay safe.”

I took the bag of groceries back upstairs. Inside, Roche had changed clothes. She was wearing a long, tight black dress that hugged her curves and swept across the floor. She still wasn’t wearing a bra. Her perky nipples were an invitation that was hard to ignore.

“You look stunning,” I said without thinking.

Her cheeks turned red and she looked down at her feet. I meant every word of what I said- she was breathtaking- but I was troubled by how surprised she was to receive a compliment from me. She must have really thought I was an asshole.

I turned away and started to lay the ingredients out on the kitchen counter. The bag was full of fresh vegetables, prawns and herbs. I smelled the herbs, then held them out to Roche. She leaned in and took a deep breath. Her eyes closed and she smiled.

“Basil,” she said. “What are you going to make?”

“Prawns with butter and herbs, roasted vegetables and whatever else I can manage.”

“Sounds good. Of course everything you make is good. I wasn’t trying to imply you’re not a good chef, or-”

“Roche, you’re rambling.”

“Sorry,” she said, averting her gaze down to her feet again.

“I’m being an asshole, aren’t I?”

“No. I’m just nervous.”

“Why do I make you nervous?”

For the first time in my life, I actually cared. People have always hated me or been jealous of my success. I always shrugged it off and continued on with life. As long as I was doing well, who cared about the critics? I couldn’t get Roche out of my head though. I didn’t want her to hate me.

“It’s been a long day,” she replied.

I could tell she was holding back. She was afraid I’d punish her if she was honest with me. I turned my back and started to prepare the vegetables.

“You can be honest with me. I want you to be honest with me. God hates a coward.” I spoke lightly, as if it was no big deal, but I was terrified of what she’d tell me. This was a new sensation for me. I’m never nervous around girls, nor do I particularly care about the feelings of my chefs. All I care about is their performance. As long as they do their job, they can think whatever they want about me.

“You’re the greatest chef in the world,” Roche said. “It’s intimidating to work with you. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You haven’t disappointed me.”

“But today…”

“Well, you’re right. Today was disappointing on a number of levels. You screwed up, but it happens. You learned your lesson. When I find the person who sabotaged you, I’m going to make sure they never work in this business again.”

“You really think someone did it on purpose? What if it was an accident?”

I glanced at her over my shoulder, expecting to see a sarcastic look on her face. She had a wide-eyed, concerned look about her. Roche’s sincerity could be disarming. She really wanted to believe the best about people- the best about anyone who wasn’t me, anyway. She was convinced I was a tyrant.

“People can be vicious in this business. You shouldn’t be so trusting. There’s no doubt in my mind that it was intentional. This isn’t the sort of thing that happens accidentally. After I’m done with the bastard, the only job he’ll be able to get is flipping burgers at McDonald’s.”

At that, Roche smiled. I was relieved she wouldn’t try to talk me out of punishing the saboteur. I put some butter and garlic in a pan and lit the stove. It didn’t put out much heat. Roche’s apartment needed a lot of work.

“You should really get out of this neighborhood,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t bite my head off about being poor again. She was paid well, but living in the city is expensive.

“What’s the point in throwing my money away on rent? I practically live at the restaurant. Besides, I’m saving up.”

“For what?”

“To start my own restaurant.”

I glanced at her over my shoulder. I recognized the look in her eye. It was the same hunger that drove me when I was starting out. I was determined to succeed no matter what. Roche had the same fire inside her.

“How much have you saved? If you open a restaurant now you’ll be younger than me when I opened my first place.”

“I’ve got a long ways to go,” she admitted. “But I’ll get there.”

“Of course you will. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She perked up a bit and ventured into the kitchen. She kept her distance as if she was afraid I might bite. She watched me toss the prawns in the butter while roasting the vegetables on a separate burner. I poured butter, white wine and herbs into a second pan and started to make a sauce. Her critical eye followed my every move. I couldn’t tell if she was watching for a mistake, or trying to memorize my moves so she could replicate them herself. Probably both.

“You’re fast with your hands,” she said.

“I’m used to working with a skeleton crew. It wasn’t until recently that I had a big kitchen staff. I had to work quickly in the early days to keep up with demand.”

I opened the cabinets and pulled out two plates. I plated the roasted vegetables first, then the prawns and sauce. Roche pulled out two forks and handed me one. There was nowhere to sit in her tiny studio apartment except on the bed.

Roche sat down on the corner of the mattress. I tried to give her space. She was already so jumpy around me I didn’t want to scare her away. I sat a couple feet away, but under my weight the mattress bowed causing Roche to slide towards me. She smiled and mumbled an apology as our body’s crashed together.

I watched her face as she dug into my dish. Her eyes closed as she chewed the prawn.

“Oh my God…” she said.

“Good?”

“How can you bring out so much flavor with only a few simple ingredients?”

“Magic. Keep eating.”

She took a bite of roasted asparagus and smiled. From then on, she was so focused on eating she barely spoke. It was one of the best compliments you can give a chef. When we finished, I took her plate and put them in the sink. I started to clean up, but she stopped me.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

“Nonsense. Relax. I’ll take care of the mess.”

“No, really. I’ll do it,” she protested. She put her hand over mine, stopping me from scrubbing the plates. For a moment our eyes met. Her hand lingered over mine.

“Your skin is like velvet,” I blurted out. “That’s rare in a chef.” We’re usually covered in burns or cuts.

“I try to take care of myself,” she said weakly.

She stepped back and let me finish with the dishes. I took my time cleaning them. The situation made me nervous. I had to get a grip. When I was finished, I turned to Roche. She sat on the edge of her bed, her legs crossed beneath her. She leaned back, propping her chest out. I tried to keep my eyes on her face. It wasn’t easy.

“Get some rest tonight,” I said. “I expect to see you early tomorrow.”

I should have turned and left, but I couldn’t make myself move. Suddenly Roche was before me, barefoot and tiny. I could smell her hair, fresh and sweet like coconut.

“Don’t forget your jacket,” she said, handing it to me.

I didn’t take it from her. Her eyes pulled me in like a magnet. I leaned down and kissed her. I should have walked away, but her lips were so soft and full. My hand slid around her waist and I pulled her to me. This was going to be a long night.