Heat: A Bad Boy Chef Romance (6 page)

Moreau

Get back to work.
Who did she think she was telling me to get back to work? Her words repeated in my head like an annoying song. No one bossed me around in my own kitchen.

There was a catch in her step as she left my office. She practically skipped back to her station. Roche was pleased with herself. She’d gotten under my skin and she knew it.

What was all that business about me knocking up a girl then abandoning her? People talked a lot of shit about me behind my back. It never bothered me until I heard those rumors coming out of Roche’s mouth. I’ve been an asshole to women, but I’ve never been
that big of an asshole
.

Christ. Did she believe the gossip? What could I do to prove the shit-talkers were wrong?

I couldn’t sit still. I walked out into the kitchen and examined the cleanup efforts. I carefully stepped around Roche. She never looked up at me as I passed her. She had a serene, angelic smile on her face as she cleaned. What was that look supposed to mean? No one is that happy to clean. She was satisfied with herself about telling me off. That was for sure.

“Marcel!” I snapped. “What the fuck is this?”

He looked surprised by my anger. He always followed my orders. I rarely had to get after him to do his job.

“Chef?”

He looked confused and a bit wounded.

“Your station is a mess.”

It was actually perfectly clean. I just wanted to fuck with him. I knew he’d ruined Roche’s dish even though I couldn’t prove it. The security cameras had revealed nothing except the image of him, along with half the kitchen going into the freezer after Roche had placed her sauce inside to cool. This was a common occurrence. The kitchen staff went in and out of the freezer for various reasons throughout the day. It was impossible to pinpoint when the act of sabotage had occurred or who was responsible. Still, I knew it was Marcel. Every instinct in me screamed that the rat bastard couldn’t be trusted.

“Chef, I will start again,” he said like a dutiful, little dog.

“No, that’s not good enough. I think you need a lesson in cleaning. You’ll spend the rest of the week working with the busboys.”

“Chef, that is not possible,” he said with a laugh.

Did he really think I was joking? He was in for a rude awakening.

“If you want to continue to work in this restaurant you’ll do as I say. You’ll spend the rest of the week scrubbing dishes- and I do mean
scrubbing
. If I see a single plate or glass with a spot on it, you’re fired.”

I walked away as he protested behind me. I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted him to stew in his misery. If I could prove he was responsible for ruining Roche’s dish, I’d fire him on the spot and I’d make damn sure he never worked at a respectable restaurant again. What he did was no joke. Not only had he tried to get Roche fired, but he could have poisoned a customer. He could have put someone in the hospital or worse.

Marcel threw down his towel and headed off to join the busboys. The sad thing was that he was a damn good chef. If I hadn’t stumbled upon Roche, I would have given the job of saucier to Marcel. He was next in line and he knew it. I was sure that was why he tried to get her fired. He thought he could steal her job.

Pathetic.

The more I thought about it the more pissed off I became. After Marcel spent a week scrubbing dishes I would fire him. No more games. I won’t tolerate anyone treating my kitchen like this is Game of Thrones. This is a business. No more bullshit.

I caught a smile on Roche’s face. She looked pleased to see Marcel had been dispatched. I walked around the kitchen, watching the cleanup effort. My attention continually drifted to Roche. She never looked up. Could she feel my eyes on her?

She’d rolled up her sleeves and was hard at work organizing her station. The messy way her hair was pulled up turned me on. What is it about a disheveled woman that’s so sexy? Maybe it’s because she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed after being fucked.

I stood on the far side of the room, trying to put as much distance between myself and Roche that I could. I didn’t care if anyone in the kitchen knew I’d fucked her, but I didn’t want them to know how she’d gotten inside my head. They’d be lining up to try and take advantage of me. Their work would become sloppy, the restaurant would suffer, then we’d all be out on our asses. I had to keep the ship afloat no matter what.

I let the team work for a few more hours before I told them to go home. But not before I made damn sure they’d cleaned top to bottom. I’d threatened to fire every last one of them if something like this ever happened again, then told them to fuck off.

Even though we were all getting off early, the day felt incredibly long. I was happy to get out of the kitchen. When I’m preparing a dish, the time flies by. I can work for hours sending dish after dish out of the kitchen and it feels like I’ve only been at work for a few minutes. It’s like when you’re with a beautiful woman. Hours in her bed can feel like seconds.

I watched Roche put on her coat and head out the door. She was last to leave. I chased after her, unsure of what to say. Her hands were in her pocket, her stride even and slow, as if she was out for a Sunday stroll.

“Have you made up your mind?” I said, catching up to her.

She glanced at me over her shoulder as if she wasn’t surprised to see me standing there. “Made up my mind about what?”

“Don’t be cute. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Fine, I’ll play along. Earlier I asked you out to dinner and you said I don’t know. Well? Have you made up your mind?”

She paused, keeping her gaze straight ahead of her. “Yes,” she finally said.

“Good. Where would you like to go? I know a fantastic Thai place around the corner.”

“No. What I meant is
yes, I’ve made a decision
. The answer is no.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You’re not used to hearing no, are you?”

Suddenly, I understood her game. She thought she was going to teach me a lesson. She wanted me to suffer, then to chase after her. Fine. I’d play her game, but I wasn’t going to suffer. I’d let her think she won, then I’d pursue her later. I’d humble myself before her; show her I’d learned my lesson.

“Can I walk you home?” I offered.

“No. I think I’ll walk down to the park and enjoy the fresh air.”

“Fresh air? The city’s like a polluted aquarium. The traffic, the smog, there’s no fresh air to be had here.”

She gave me a look like she smelled something bad. Had I offended her? I was just pointing out the obvious.

“I mean, it is a lovely day,” I said trying to get back in her good graces. “A bit cool, but I suppose you could have a nice walk around the city.”

I glanced up at the skyscrapers. It was like being trapped in a metal jungle. Of course I’ve lived in the city a long time. After a while you stop paying attention. You focus on going where you need to and ignore the rest. The crazy guy on the street corner preaching about the end times? Ignore. The homeless man using the curb like his personal toilet? Ignore. The obnoxious tourists taking picture after picture of nothing? Ignore.

Roche didn’t see the city that way though. She hadn’t lived here long. It still held the promise of romance and unknown possibilities. I felt the same way when I first came here. Somewhere between hustling in my first job and opening a restaurant, the romance had died. I hadn’t noticed it was gone until that moment.

I hoped the city was always a place full of mystery and possibilities for Roche. It had worn me down, though. Maybe it wasn’t the city. Maybe it was just my life. The grind of running restaurants had carved me into someone my younger self wouldn’t recognize.

I was all hard edges and demands. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed myself. That wasn’t true. I did remember: last night; cooking with Roche and fucking her afterwards.

Sex before Roche had taken on mechanical quality. I enjoyed it to a degree, but it was nothing like last night. With other girls, sex was a need to fulfill. It was like scratching an itch. With Roche, I felt heat and desire.

“I’ll see you around,” she said.

She turned down the street. I started to follow her even though it was clear she wanted to go off on her own. I had to stop myself. I was acting crazy.

“Yeah, I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” I replied awkwardly.

She didn’t acknowledge me; she simply walked off. Her long, skinny legs gave her the rhythmic stride of a dancer. She seemed far too soft for this line of work. Roche would have fit in with a ballet company. There was something about her that was elegant. Maybe it was her long neck and big round eyes. She was innocent in a way that gave her the look of a nymph from a painting.

I stood watching longer than I should have. When she disappeared around the corner, I considered running after her. I could convince her to change her mind, couldn’t I? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to come across desperate. I stood on the street corner and debated with myself for a while before turning around and heading to the bar. If I was going to spend the night alone, I might as well be drunk.

Beatrix

Instead of heading to the park, I walked back home. The truth was that Moreau had worn me out the night before, and even though my workday was short, it left me feeling exhausted. I didn’t get to cook a single dish. All day was spent scrubbing. I felt like Cinderella.

The day had brought one good tiding though. Watching Marcel’s world crumble as Moreau demoted him to scrubbing the dishes was amazing. Teaches him right for messing with me, I thought.

Marcel had no idea what he was doing, or did he? Did he understand that if his plan had worked that not only would I be unemployed, but no one would ever hire me? Moreau would not let me walk away from poisoning his customers without facing any consequences. Of course, compared to what would have happened to me, the consequences Marcel faced seemed trivial. He’d be back to work in a week. Why hadn’t Moreau fired him? I was starting to feel better about my decision to resist temptation and send Moreau off alone.

I’d tried to keep my cool with him earlier, but I was desperate to have him cook for me again or at least share a meal with him. He knew all the best restaurants in the city, and he could get us in anywhere. Then there was dessert. Would he take me to bed and have his way with me again?

The ghost of his touch on my skin sent a fresh chill through my body. I reminded myself that he needed to suffer a bit. A taste of his own medicine was exactly what he deserved. It was justice for all the women he’d wronged.

The problem with guys like Moreau is that they don’t understand the affect they have on women. He’s gorgeous, charming and amazing in bed. Guys like Moreau know how to make you feel special. When they inevitably disappear after getting what they want, it’s maddening. Men have no idea how it messes with your head. You start wondering what you did wrong. Was I too clingy? Did he think I was ugly naked? Did he find my personality unappealing? It’s a vicious cycle. Once those questions pop into your head it’s hard to stop them from replicating and consuming you.

Sleeping with Moreau felt dangerous. He was one of those guys- oblivious to the damage he left in his wake.

I reminded myself of the way he chased after me down the street. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t just a one night stand to him. Still, I couldn’t help thinking a large part of his attraction to me was the fact that I was playing hard to get.

Becoming involved with him was a mistake. There was the blond woman Gwen to consider. Moreau looked offended when I suggested she was his girlfriend. I wasn’t sure why. She was pretty and tall; she wore an expensive designer outfit and she financed the restaurant. Clearly she had money, looks and connections. She seemed like the kind of girl men go crazy for. Not Moreau apparently.

Gwen seemed territorial over him though. There was something there. I was sure of it. It was a matter to puzzle over later. I had the rest of the evening off and I was going to enjoy it.

I stopped at the farmer’s market and picked up some fresh fruit and vegetables. I was going to make a home cooked meal for once. It was criminal how little I ate at home, especially considering I was a chef. I was desperate to play around. I love experimenting with new recipes and ingredients.

As I laid my market haul out on the kitchen counter, a pang of loneliness hit me. I turned to look at my bed. The sheets were knotted and messy. There was an indention on the side of the bed Moreau had slept on last night. The idea of spending another night alone held little appeal. It had been a couple hours since I’d talked to Moreau. Had he suffered enough? No, but I was lonely.

I started to talk myself into calling him. I told myself I was being foolish trying to teach him a lesson. What did Moreau have to learn from me? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I was being prideful. It was silly really. We were both adults. If our relationship turned out to be nothing but sex, so what? At least I’d have fun in the process. Loneliness could take a backseat for a while.

I took out my cell phone and dialed Moreau’s number. It rang and rang. The longer I listened, the more convinced I became that I was making a mistake. I should have stuck to my original plan. It was best to make Moreau come to me.

I started to hang up when there was a sound from the other end of the line. There was a shuffling noise as if the phone had been dropped. I heard a woman giggle in the background.

“Hello?” she said breathlessly.

I recognized the voice as Gwen. What was she doing with Moreau’s phone?

“Hello?” she said again in a singsong voice.

“Hi, I’m looking for Moreau.”

“He’s indisposed right now.”

Again she giggled, as if someone was tickling her.

“Okay. Tell him I called,” I replied lamely.

“Sure,” she said, sounding as if she wasn’t paying attention.

The line went dead. I suddenly lost my appetite.

The next day I walked into the kitchen expecting a scene. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because I spent all night obsessing over Moreau like a crazy person. I’d been foolish to think that after being rejected by me he would go home alone and suffer in silence. Moreau was famous. Women practically lined up to sleep with him. He would have no trouble replacing me with another girl.

Most guys don’t understand that you want them to earn your attention. He probably took my rejection at face value. He assumed I wasn’t interested then decided to go find a girl that was. In this case, the girl turned out to be Gwen. Why her of all people? He swore there was nothing between them. Why would he run straight into her arms? He must have lied. I bet they were dating. At the very least, they had a history.

Not that it mattered. Moreau and I had only slept together once. It was no big deal. He could do whatever he wanted and so could I. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself as I walked into the kitchen.

I was fifteen minutes early, but the kitchen was packed. It looked like I was the last one to arrive. Everyone was getting ready for the day. Everything looked normal. I scanned the room for Gwen. I don’t know why I expected her to be there that morning. Thankfully, she was nowhere in sight.

Moreau was arguing with a deliveryman. Apparently they’d shorted us on the order. I threw my things down on my station, attracting the attention of the new entrée preparer. He smiled at me brightly. I recognized him as one of the line cooks.

“The first week is the hardest,” he said.

“It gets easier?”

“Moreau doesn’t get any easier, but you’ll get tougher. You have to have thick skin to survive in Moreau’s kitchen.”

I looked down at my hands. I had a wound across my palm from where I’d cut myself a week ago. It was almost healed, but it would leave a pink scar. What if I wasn’t cut out for this life? Were my dreams of opening my own restaurant a foolish fantasy?

“You’ll do fine,” he said, as if reading my mind.

“What?” His words startled me.

“Don’t worry about Moreau. Just focus on doing what you do best: cooking. I’ve tasted your food. It’s amazing. As long as you focus on your strengths you’ll do fine.”

“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “My name’s Bea.”

“I’m Tyson.”

I shook his hand. It was warm and rough. The way he was looking at me made me blush. I turned back to my work to find Moreau standing a few feet away. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and he was watching us. He looked pissed. What had I done wrong now?

“Making friends?” he asked snidely.

“Just introducing myself,” Tyson said.

“Focus on your work and stop flirting.”

Tyson nodded and went back to work. I felt my face burn hot. Was Tyson flirting with me? If he asked me out would I say yes? He was lean and tall with darkly tanned skinned. He was pretty cute and he had an amazing smile. Not to mention the fact that he was the only guy in the kitchen who was nice to me.

If he asked me out, I would say yes. If nothing else it would drive Moreau crazy. I looked up at him. Moreau was watching me.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked. He didn’t seem angry, only curious.

“Nothing. I’m just happy to be back to work,” I lied.

“Today’s a big day. We’ve got a food critic coming in. He’s a blogger,” he said with disdain, “but he has a huge following. Gwen is bending over backwards to please him.”

At the mention of her name, I stood up straighter.

“She’s convinced people will be lining up around the block to get in here if he gives us a good review,” Moreau continued.

“Will Gwen be here today?” I asked.

Moreau looked confused by my question. “I don’t know. Why?”

“You’re enough to handle as it is. Adding her to the kitchen will only add to the stress. We don’t need two bosses in here yelling at everyone.”

Moreau raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t my place to tell him how to run his business. And it definitely wasn’t my job to tell one of the investors to stay out of the kitchen. If she could hear me now, she’d probably demand I be fired.

“Thanks for the advice,” he said drily. “I’ll be sure to tell Gwen to stay away- oh wait, no one tells Gwen what to do. If she wants to show up and shut us down again, she can. This is her restaurant.”

“I thought it was your restaurant?”

Moreau looked around like he’d rather not be having this conversation in the middle of the kitchen where everyone could hear.

“I’m the captain, but she owns the ship. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

Gwen was the investor. Moreau took her money and made the restaurant a hit, but he could only do that if he had complete control. Gwen didn’t seem eager to give him total authority over the place. I wondered if the restaurant was in trouble.

“Moreau, is this blogger’s approval really that important? I mean, I’m sure he’ll love our food, but does it really matter?”

“Of course it matters. Every good review helps.”

“Do we need help? Are we in trouble financially?”

“Of course not. Now get back to work. I want everything perfect for this asshole. I don’t want to hear a single complaint from him.”

A chorus of, “Yes, chef,” echoed from behind me. This was going to be a long day.