Heat: A Bad Boy Chef Romance (5 page)

Beatrix

I woke to find Moreau gone. Why had he left? Did he regret sleeping with me? Was he embarrassed? I was sickened by the possibilities. Why would he sneak out? The only explanation was that he regretted sleeping with me. I wanted to die. Last night was amazing. Moreau was better in bed than I had imagined. Now that it was over, I started to worry I’d made the worst mistake of my life. What if he decided to fire me? It wasn’t unheard of. Plenty of men slept with their employees then decided to fire them rather than see them on a daily basis. It was terrifying to think about. My career could be over.

I didn’t believe that though. Moreau had gone out of his way to make sure I stuck around. It was unusual. Most chefs would have fired me for fucking up the way I did. Once I was gone they would never think about me again. Moreau was different though. He understood that I was sabotaged. But by who? Why would anyone want to have me fired? I’d never crossed anyone. I tried to be friendly and professional. Why would someone want to destroy my career? It made no sense.

I stumbled out of bed and glanced at the clock. Late again. Moreau was going to kill me. I took the fastest shower of my life, then threw on a pair of jeans and a black sweater along with a peacoat. I practically ran to the restaurant.

When I walked into the kitchen I immediately picked up a weird vibe. Everyone was standing around, waiting for orders. I started to ask one of the fry cooks what was going on when he nodded towards Moreau’s office. Through the window I could see him with a tall, thin woman. They kissed sweetly.

My stomach twisted into knots. Did Moreau have a girlfriend? People talked about him as if he was a lifelong bachelor. Who was this woman and why was Moreau kissing her?

The woman turned to leave. Moreau made direct eye contact with me. Now I knew why he’d run out of my place like a thief in the night. He had a girlfriend.

I went to the employee area and took off my coat and shoved my things away into a locker. I couldn’t let him get to me. Moreau may have seen me as nothing more than a cheap lay, but I couldn’t let that effect my work. In fact, I was going to use this as motivation. Today would be the best day of my career. Every sauce and hors d'oeuvres I prepared would be perfect. Not even Moreau would be able to find fault with my dishes. I would channel all my anger into my work. Today was the first day of a brand new beginning.

I slammed my locker shut and tied my apron around my waist. I headed out into the kitchen to begin prepping for the day. The entrée preparer was standing at my station.

“You can go now,” I said irritably.

“I’m the saucier,” he said with a thick French accent.

“No. I wasn’t fired. I was just sent home for the day.”

It was an embarrassing admission, but I was sure everyone in the kitchen had been publically yelled at, or sent home by Moreau at one point or another. It was just part of working in one of his kitchens. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself.

“I’m the saucier,” he repeated.

His cruel eyes focused on mine, never wavering. His face was pale with deep dark circles running beneath each eye. His mouth was a tight bloodless line. He was not going to budge. The only person who could solve this was Moreau. Great. The last person I wanted to talk to right now.

Moreau walked out of his office and said: “Listen up!”

Immediately, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to Moreau.

“We’re shutting down for the day.”

The chefs and servers started to mumble disapprovingly.

“I know,” he said. “This wasn’t my idea.”

The woman still lingered in the doorway, listening and watching. Her eyes scanned the kitchen, taking in every chef. When her eyes fell on me, they lingered for a beat longer than the others. Women are rare in the culinary world. The men outnumber us a hundred to one. I was the only girl working in the kitchen, so it wasn’t unusual that I drew attention. Still, I couldn’t help feeling there was something more in her appraising stare. I felt like I was being sized up.

“I want every inch of this kitchen spotless,” Moreau continued. “Clean your stations top to bottom, then I want you to do it again. I don’t want to see anything out of place or dirty. Maurice, I want you and your guys to focus on the freezer. Throw out anything that’s been in there for longer than a day. Clean it out then replace everything. I want it organized perfectly.”

Most chefs are pretty OCD about their kitchens. They want everything perfectly lined up and clean. They’re meticulous about cleaning and putting their tools exactly where they want them. It helps things run smoothly when we’re getting slammed during lunch and dinner service. It’s rare you’ll meet a sloppy chef. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever encountered one. No one working at this level would be that messy. You don’t get this far unless you take pride in your work.

“Let’s get busy. We open back up tomorrow.”

He gave the woman a hard look, as if he was challenging her to defy him. She stood to the side surveying the room. Who was she and why did the goings on of our kitchen concern her?

Everyone in the kitchen got to work cleaning. The Frenchman trying to steal my job started to clean my station. He moved all my things around, rearranging them the way he wanted. I was on the verge of snapping. You don’t mess with another chef’s things.

I started to march up to Moreau and demand he fix this. I was too slow.

“Vincent?” the woman called.

Vincent? No one called Moreau that. I was under the impression he hated his first name.

Like a loyal dog, he came when called. I was surprised. Moreau didn’t answer to anyone. I never would have guessed there was a woman out there who could tame him. They spoke confidentially. Moreau listened with a tight jaw. He didn’t look happy about what the woman had to say.

I waited for them to finish talking, but they never stopped. Or rather, the woman never stopped. She talked while Moreau listened. It was a nice change of pace. Usually Moreau was the one who gave the orders while the kitchen was held captive.

“Do you need something?” the woman asked.

It took me a second to realize she was talking to me. Moreau glanced over his shoulder at me. His gaze held mine for a long time. What did that look mean? Was he scared I’d reveal we’d just slept together? I bet his girlfriend would give him an earful. A part of me wanted to spill the beans just to watch him squirm uncomfortably. If I did, I’d be fired immediately and I’d never work in a restaurant I could be proud of again. I cleared my throat and tried to stay professional.

“I need to speak with the chef for a moment.” He gave me a look that said I don’t have time for this. “It concerns my station,” I said. I motioned towards the angry Frenchman. “I’m afraid he’s taken over and won’t leave.”

“Marcel,” Moreau yelled, “fuck off back to entrée’s.”

The Frenchman, Marcel, gave Moreau a cold stare. He didn’t seem eager to give up his job. Of course, what he wanted didn’t matter. This was Moreau’s kitchen. He was the captain of this ship. Grudgingly, Marcel stepped back to his station.

Satisfied, I smiled smugly and turned to leave.

“Wait,” the woman said, stopping me. “What’s your name?”

“Bea,” I said.

“Roche,” Moreau answered at the same time.

“Bea Roche? That’s an odd name.”

“Beatrix Lorraine Roche actually. Most people call me Bea, except for here. Moreau only calls me Roche. I think it’s because he likes the way it sounds when he’s screaming out orders.”

To my relief, the woman laughed. “You seem to know Moreau well.”

I could tell she was fishing for something. She wanted to know just how well I knew her boyfriend.

“Not that well, actually. I’ve only been working here a few days.”

“Who did you replace? The pastry chef?”

“No. I’m the saucier.”

“Oh, wow. Good for you. You’re young. Most sauciers are older. You must have really impressed Moreau with your work.”

“I only hire the best,” Moreau replied. “The best is what you pay for.”

“Indeed, it is,” she replied. She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

I wondered what Moreau meant. What was this woman paying for?

“Well, Roche, I wish you more luck than the previous saucier. He lasted less than a week. Hopefully, you’ll last longer.”

“I’ll do my best.” An awkward moment of silence passed between the three of us. “I should get back to my station.”

“I want everything immaculate,” Moreau said. There was a catch in his voice. The authoritative edge to his orders had dulled. If I didn’t know better I might have mistaken his words for a request instead of an order.

“Of course,” I said. I turned and got back to work.

Moreau

After endlessly complaining about everything, Gwen finally left. She hated the way the kitchen was organized, the way the dining room was laid out, the way a server looked at her. On and on, it went. Curiously, she had nothing to say about Roche. I could see the suspicion in her eyes though. She knew there was something between us and she didn’t like it.

Christ, I hoped it wasn’t that obvious. How was I supposed to work in a kitchen with Roche if everyone knew we were fucking? I was getting ahead of myself. We’d fucked once. That didn’t mean we
were
fucking.

She probably wanted nothing to do with me after leaving this morning. At the time, I’d thought I was doing her a favor by letting her sleep in. She looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to wake her and tell her she had to get ready for work. I didn’t like the idea of Roche thinking of me as the boss when I was in her home. Not to mention the fact that we’d just fucked. Now I saw how wrong I’d been to leave. She probably thought I was trying to sneak out to avoid talking to her.

Things could get weird between us if I didn’t handle this soon. I looked at Roche through my office window. Her hair was pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head. She chewed on her lip as she scrubbed down her station. I watched her work and tried to find the courage to call her into my office.

We needed to talk so that there were no misunderstandings about the nature of our relationship. When we were in the kitchen I was her boss. Outside the kitchen… well, I wasn’t sure. Normally, I stick to one night stands. The restaurant is too demanding. I don’t have time for relationships, and to be honest, I get bored easily. I tried to think back on my last girlfriend. Evie… or Edie… I couldn’t remember. Christ, had it been so long since I had a girlfriend that I couldn’t even remember her name?

I watched Roche brush a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. I wanted to see her again, but I had to be careful. Gwen had picked up a scent and she could be a real Bloodhound. She wouldn’t let this go. If anything, she was looking for revenge for ruining her marriage.

Still, I couldn’t find the strength to stand up and call Roche into my office. What was wrong with me? The kitchen was my turf. I’m used to being completely in control when I’m here. Roche had thrown me off my game.

I took a breath and went to the door. I tried to summon the most pissed-off chef voice I could.

“Roche! Get in here!” I called.

She looked up at me, bewildered and frightened. I didn’t want to scare her; I only wanted the others to think nothing had changed. I was her boss; she was my employee. I was still in control. Only I wasn’t. Everything had changed.

Beatrix

Moreau screamed my name so loudly I dropped the bowls I was cleaning. They clattered to the floor with a loud bang. Marcel smirked as I got down on my knees to pick them up. I had to resist the urge to hit him in the face with one of the heavy mixing bowls as I stood.

I cleared my throat and walked past him into Moreau’s office. I had a bad feeling, like I was a kid being sent to the principal’s office. I walked into Moreau’s office and held my breath.

“Close the door,” he said.

I shut it behind me. He leaned against his desk with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His muscular forearms drew my attention. They were an unwelcome distraction. I was at work. This was a business. I had to focus.

“Yes, chef?”

I hoped he’d called me into his office on a work-related matter. I didn’t want to talk about last night, especially now that I knew he had a girlfriend.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night,” he said.

Shit. I tried to keep my composure.

“Okay,” I said neutrally. “I shouldn’t have left this morning. I didn’t want to wake you. You had a hard day yesterday and I thought it was best to let you sleep in.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him. Moreau never gave anyone a pass, at least not where his kitchen was concerned. The restaurant was his baby, his wife, his art, his passion; it was his life. Everything came second to the success of his restaurant.

“Okay,” I said again for lack of anything better to say. I didn’t want to pick a fight.

“Okay? That’s it?”

I shrugged noncommittally.

“Look, you’re obviously pissed, so just tell me what’s on your mind,” he said.

The smart course of action would be to bite my tongue, forget about last night and carry on with my life. So naturally, I did the opposite.

“Are you worried about your girlfriend finding out you fucked another girl?”

“My girlfriend? Do you mean Gwen?”

“The blonde woman. She clearly didn’t like the idea of me working in your kitchen. If she knew we spent the night together, she’d be furious.”

“First of all, that woman is not my girlfriend, she’s an investor. Second of all, it’s rare to see a woman working in the kitchen of a restaurant like this. So, you’re right, she probably does assume we’re sleeping together because…”

“Because you’re a slut?” I offered. He gave me a hard look. “What? That’s your reputation.”

“I know what my reputation is.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“People say you’re a womanizer, that you take advantage of girls. You’re notorious for dumping girls after fucking them. In fact, I heard you got a server pregnant then abandoned her.”

“What?” he shouted. Moreau uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the desk. “That’s not true. I like to fuck around- I don’t deny it- but I’ve never abandoned a pregnant girlfriend, or whatever nonsense people are saying behind my back.”

I shrugged as if it made no difference to me, but in truth it did. I couldn’t help being attracted to Moreau even though I knew I’d end up being burned by him. I hated to think of him as the kind of guy who’d tell a girl he knocked up to get lost. Though, judging by his anger, he seemed sincere. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“I’m no saint, obviously, but I’m not a monster.” Moreau took a step towards me. “Look, let me set this straight. I want to see you again.”

I was tempted to say yes, but I didn’t want to make things too easy for him. Moreau got everything he wanted in life. Women never turned him down, chefs bent over backwards to make him happy. For once, he was going to have to work for a girl’s affection. And, if he wanted to see me again, he had to prove he wasn’t a fuckboy.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’ll think about it.”

He looked like he’d just been slapped.

“I should get back to work and so should you,” I added.

His jaw tensed. No one told Moreau to get back to work. He was always the hardest working person in the kitchen. I smiled sweetly and left him to seethe.