Heat: A Bad Boy Chef Romance (7 page)

Moreau

Was Roche out of her mind? Why the hell was she asking me if the restaurant was in financial straits in front of the whole kitchen? Doesn’t she understand how poisonous thoughts like that are? Once it gets into people’s heads that we’re in trouble they’ll start to panic. Their work will suffer, the dishes will suck, the customers will flee and then we’ll really be in trouble.

In truth, our restaurant was still in the red. We never had an empty table during lunch or dinner services, but running a restaurant of this caliber is expensive and Gwen is greedy. She wants to squeeze every penny she can out of this place. Restaurants bleed money in the first six months to a year of being open. It takes time to establish a customer base, pay off all the debts incurred getting the place operational and more.

I didn’t need Roche spreading rumors that we were in trouble. If word got out into the public, they’d assume it was because our food was bad. They’d stay away and then we were really fucked.

Roche was new. She didn’t understand how restaurants live and die based on their reputations. She had to be more careful with her words. Luckily, the rest of my team is more experienced. They’d never blurt something like that out. They’re a superstitious lot. They don’t want to put any bad vibes out into the universe. They want this restaurant to be the best and they want to keep their jobs.

I understood that Roche was acting from a place of concern, but I couldn’t help being a little annoyed with her. When lunch service started, I soon forgot my irritation. She worked faster than I’d ever seen her work before, and more importantly, everything she prepared tasted fantastic. It was like she was in the zone. She kept her focus on her work in front of her, finishing off dishes and preparing perfect hors d’oeuvres.

“Nice job,” I said as lunch service came to an end.

She didn’t hear me; she was too focused on perfecting one last hors d’oeuvres, a caramelized egg with Brussels sprouts. I waited for her to get it just right. She passed it off to me and I handed it to the server without giving it close inspection. I trusted her to do it right.

“Good job everyone,” I said. “That was good practice for what we’ll be up against later. The food critic will be here for dinner service. The dishes should be perfect as always. Understand? Good. Now, I want-”

Gwen came running into the kitchen, cutting me off. She entered through the dining area, meaning she’d been in the restaurant, eating and talking to customers.

“Vincent, I need to speak with you in private,” she said.

I didn’t like to be interrupted, especially not in front of my staff. “Good work today,” I said addressing the kitchen. “Let’s keep the energy going through dinner. I want the same level of quality, the same hard work. Our last dish of the night has to be as good as our first dish of the day.”

“Yes, chef,” they responded.

I led Gwen into my office to talk.

“Boone loved his meal!” she squealed.

She threw her arms around my neck, practically choking me. It wasn’t lost on me that she referred to the food critic by his first name.

“What are you talking about? I thought he wasn’t coming till later.”

“He lied. He always does this. He likes to experience restaurants the way they normally operate. Boone knows that chefs go to extraordinary lengths to please critics. He wanted a typical meal at the restaurant, not one that was specially prepared for him, and he loved it!” She bounced up and down like an excited child.

“Good.”

“
Good
? That’s it? You’re not thrilled? Do you have any idea how many people this will attract? Boone has the most popular foodie blog on the internet. People will come from out of state to try our food.”

“We’re already at max capacity.”

“We’ll have to squeeze more tables in.”

“No.”

“Vincent, we’ve talked about this.”

“Yes, we have and the answer is still no. The restaurant already has too many tables. If you put any more in there people will be sitting on each other’s laps. It makes for a shitty dining experience.”

“But-”

“No but’s. I won’t allow it.”

“Allow it?” she scoffed. “What makes you think I’m asking your permission? This is my restaurant, or did you forget that?”

“Gwen-”

“No, you listen to me. If you want to continue to run this restaurant, you’ll do as I say.”

She was standing very close to me. Our bodies practically touched. There was an implication to her words I didn’t like. Gwen readjusted my collar, then kissed my cheek. I stood as still as a statue.

“Behave yourself,” she said. “I want to see you tonight. After work, I want you to come over to my place and cook a meal for me. Can you do that?”

Her hand slid down my chest and across my abs. I wanted to throw her out of my office, but I couldn’t do that. She could fire me in a heartbeat.

“Yes,” I said, practically choking on my words.

“Good.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “I almost forgot.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out my cell phone. “You forgot this at the bar last night.” She tossed it to me. I caught in and shoved it in my pocket.

As Gwen left, I caught sight of Roche. She was pretending not to watch, but I could tell she’d seen everything from Gwen hugging me to kissing me. She looked pissed.

Beatrix

“Good job, Bea,” Tyson said.

“What?”

I’d been distracted by the lovefest taking place in Moreau’s office. Gwen was hanging all over him. Moreau was so shameless. How could he look me straight in the eye and lie about being in a relationship with her?

“I said, good job.”

“Oh, thanks. Tyson, would you like to-”

I was going to ask him to have a drink with me. I needed to drink away the day’s stress. I wondered if it was possible to get so drunk that you could completely forget about someone’s existence. I’d like to erase Moreau from my life.

Suddenly Moreau screamed my name across the kitchen. “In my office! Now!” he ordered.

I ran over to see what was wrong. He slammed the door shut behind me. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing off his muscular forearms. I cleared my throat.

“Yes, chef?”

He looked at me searchingly. I wasn’t sure what to make of his expression.

“What were you doing out there?” he said.

“Cleaning up and preparing for dinner service. Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said, sounding pissed off. “You did everything fine.”

Was he being sarcastic? If I’d screwed up, I was oblivious to my mistake. I worked hard to make sure everything was perfect today.

“Are you going out with him?” Moreau blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

“Tyson. You two have been flirting all day.”

“Is that a problem for you if I do?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Just because we slept together once doesn’t mean you have some say in my life now. Besides, you have a girlfriend. You should be worried about her finding out you cheated on her.”

Moreau ran his hands through his hair so hard I thought he was going to rip it out by the roots. “She’s not my girlfriend. How many times do I have to say it?”

“I know you were with her last night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I called you,” I admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Why did you call me?”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that she answered. It was clear the two of you were in bed together.”

“Wait, what? What the hell are you talking about?”

“When she answered the phone she was…” I didn’t know how to describe it without sounding weird. “She sounded breathless and there was this tone to her voice… it was clear I’d interrupted the two of you while you were… you know.”

“You think I spent last night fucking Gwen?”

“She answered your phone.”

“Last night after you dumped me, I headed to the bar. Gwen showed up and gave me a hard time. I was pretty drunk. I yelled at her then stormed out. I left my phone behind. Gwen picked it up. She just returned it to me now. She may have been fucking someone, but it wasn’t me.”

I studied him closely. The story didn’t sound like a lie.

“I don’t know why she answered my phone. Unless…” he started.

“What?”

“She’s jealous of you. She probably saw your name on the Caller ID and decided to answer just to fuck with you.”

“Gwen’s jealous of me? Why?”

“She knows I like you.” Moreau rolled his eyes like it pained him to admit this.

“You like me?” I teased.

“Yes. I thought that was clear when I asked you out multiple times.” I laughed. “It’s not funny.”

“You never get rejected by women, do you?”

“No.” He took a step towards me. “I’d like to take you out tonight. We could get a drink, then go back to your place.”

“And then?”

He smiled. “Say yes and you’ll find out.”

“Gwen won’t be mad?”

“I don’t care about Gwen.”

A loud crash from the kitchen ruined the moment. A fire had broken out in the grill station. The chefs were desperately trying to put it out. Moreau’s jaw tensed. I could see the call to action in him. He needed to take control of the situation before the whole restaurant burned down.

“Well?” he asked. “Say yes.”

We stood there trapped in limbo. I wanted to say yes, but could I trust him? Was he lying to me again? To my surprise, Moreau stood before me, waiting for a response. It must have killed him knowing there was disaster brewing in his kitchen and he wasn’t there to correct it. Was he really putting me ahead of the restaurant? It was hard to believe.

“Yes,” I said.

Moreau smiled and leaned in as if to kiss me. He thought better of it when he realized the entire kitchen was watching. He ran his hand down my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps across my skin.

“I’ll see you after work,” he said running out of his office to put out the fire.

Moreau

So Gwen was fucking the food blogger Boone? Figures. One way or another, Gwen always got what she wanted. She wasn’t above using her body to manipulate a situation. I’d fallen into that trap once before.

For a time, Gwen drove me crazy. She was amazing in bed, but the girl could be psychotic. She had a vengeful streak in her that any reasonable person would fear. Of course I wasn’t always the most reasonable guy. I thought I could control the situation, but Gwen was too much for me.

After her husband caught us together, she blamed me for her divorce. She was under the impression she bore no responsibility for anything. I told her that I wasn’t the one who took a vow to love, honor and cherish her husband. She didn’t care.

I put the incident behind me when she approached me with an offer I couldn’t refuse. Gwen was opening a new restaurant with a group of investors. They wanted me to oversee it. She promised me total control. I got to pick the menu, the ingredients, how the restaurant was decorated, everything. I should have known it was too good to be true, but I was too eager.

I wanted to start a new restaurant after the disaster that was my last place. We’d managed to get a Michelin Star, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I hated everything about that place. The investors were constantly breathing down my neck to maximize profits, the staff was incompetent, the clients were demanding. It felt impossible to please anyone.

Eventually, the restaurant folded. The failure humiliated me, but I was more than happy to get out of there and start over.

Lost in thought, I suddenly found myself in front of Roche’s apartment. Was this what starting over felt like? My stomach was a bundle of nerves. Girls don’t make me nervous, but there was something about Roche. Not only was she stunning, but I felt like I had to prove something to her. Maybe that I wasn’t the asshole everyone dismissed me as.

I knew I’d been hard on her in the kitchen, but that’s life in a stressful, demanding job. I didn’t treat her any differently than the others.

I cleared my throat and rang the buzzer. The door unlocked and I headed up. I’d come with an impressive spread: a charcuterie board full of the best meats and cheeses in the city, not to mention a very good bottle of wine. I was sure she’d appreciate it, if for no other reason than the fact she’d been eating nothing but crap lately. I don’t know how a chef could tolerate microwavable dinners. It was sacrilegious.

Roche opened the door as I approached her apartment. She gave me a small, enigmatic Mona Lisa smile. Her hair was down, hanging long over her breasts. She wore a tight ankle-length, white dress- again without a bra. Did she do that on purpose because she knew it drove me wild?

I wasn’t sure how to greet her. Should I hug her? Kiss her? Luckily, my hands were full. I didn’t have the opportunity to be awkward and set a strange tone for the night.

“Am I late?” I said, for lack of anything better to say.

“No. We never set a time, really… though I was starting to wonder if you were coming.”

“I wouldn’t let you down like that,” I said awkwardly. So much for setting the mood. I was blowing this.

Roche tried to take one of the bags from me as we entered her apartment. I wouldn’t let her. I wanted to set everything up perfectly for her. I took my time placing the food on the wooden board, arranging the meats and cheeses perfectly. I added some spicy mustard and olives.

“I thought you were going to cook for me?” she said.

“This is better.”

“Are we going on a picnic?” She eyed the board and bit her lip.

“I thought we’d eat here, and that maybe something a bit lighter was in order.”

“Why’s that?”

“You spend all day tasting sauces and rich foods. I assumed you’d like a break from all that. This is simple; the flavor speaks for itself and it’s delicious.”

Roche grabbed a slice of prosciutto and ate it. Her eyes closed.

“Good?” I asked.

She answered with a smile and reached for another piece. I moved the board out of the tiny kitchen and set it down on the bed. She followed close behind. Roche sat down and crossed her legs beneath her. I busied myself with the wine and watched as she spread cheese over bread then took a big bite. She didn’t peck at her food like a bird; she dug right in and enjoyed every bite.

“What?” she said, catching me staring.

“Sorry?”

“You’re smiling. What’s funny?”

“Nothing. I just like a woman who eats.”

She rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand self-consciously. “Am I being a pig?”

“No. I was being serious. I hate sharing a meal with someone who doesn’t appreciate it.”

I handed her the wine glass. She sipped from it then picked up a slice of cheese and ate it slowly.

“What do you think?”

“The cheese pairs with the wine nicely. It makes it taste sweet like honey.”

I popped one of the olives into my mouth then dug in. After a glass of wine, we’d both loosened up a bit, in fact I was starting to suspect Roche was a lightweight. After only one drink, she acted drunk. She held out her empty glass to me and asked for a second. I filled her wine glass half full this time. I didn’t want her to get wasted. She took a sip, then another.

“Be honest with me,” she said. “Are you really dating Gwen?”

I poured more wine for myself and took a drink. I’d grown tired of this argument. What could I do to prove to her that Gwen and I were not an item?

“I saw you kissing her,” she said with a drunken lilt to her voice.

“What? I didn’t kiss Gwen.”

“In your office! I saw you.”

“She kissed me. I did not kiss her.”

“Women are just throwing themselves at you all the time,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“No… just Gwen. Lately, it seems as if the one girl I’m interested in wants nothing to do with me.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?” she asked.

I gave her a meaningful look. She took a big gulp of wine.

“Gwen and I used to sleep together,” I blurted out.

I’m not sure why I was telling Roche this. Maybe it was best to clear the air between us. If she knew my history with Gwen maybe she’d stop asking questions about her.

“She was married at the time. It ended her marriage. She’s always blamed me.”

“But you work together?”

“Yeah, well, sometimes life is complicated. She presented me with a once in a lifetime opportunity to open the restaurant I’ve always wanted. How could I say no? Would you turn down that offer just because it was coming from an ex?”

“No,” she admitted.

“I was willing to leave the past in the past. Gwen is possessive though. She doesn’t like competition. And she’s out for revenge. It wouldn’t surprise me if she knew that you were watching when she kissed me. Then there’s the whole thing with her answering my phone while she was fucking that food blogger.”

“Wait, she’s fucking the food critic?”

“Apparently. She was with him when she answered my phone. She could have told you that I wasn’t there, that she only picked up my phone after I’d forgotten it, but that would ruin her fun. She wanted to make you think I was fucking her.”

“Out of revenge?”

“Revenge and jealousy. You’re beautiful and talented. Gwen knows I like you. This is her way of destroying competition and hurting me.”

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

Roche looked down shyly. I lifted her chin and kissed her without thinking. Her lips tasted of wine. I kissed her softly at first, then harder. Roche’s lips parted and her eyes closed. I ran my fingers through the length of her soft hair. I was trying to take things slowly, but that was proving difficult.

Heat shot from the base of spine to my cock. Her pleasure was most important to me; it was going to take a lot of self-control to wait. I wasn’t sure I possessed the level of control it took to resist throwing Roche down and fucking her.

I slid my hand up her dress and caressed the inside of her thigh. A whimper escaped her lips. The sound made me hard.

I touched her lightly, running my fingertips over her skin before coming to her pussy. She wasn’t wearing underwear. I touched her clit and she gasped. I stopped kissing her so I could watch her moan. I rubbed her clit in circles, never changing pace. Most men mistakenly believe that when a woman is turned on by your touch that she wants you to amp up the intensity. I’ve learned that what they really want is to keep doing exactly what you’re doing.

I waited for her to give me a sign to move on. I didn’t want her to cum yet, but I wanted her wet and begging for more.

She grabbed my thigh as if she was looking for something to hold onto. I took her hand and brought it to my lips. I kissed her sweetly. She pulled free from my grip and unbuttoned my pants. Before I knew what was happening she had my cock in her mouth. She sucked greedily, moving her mouth up and down the shaft slowly.

Roche took the length of my cock down her throat while flicking her tongue along the shaft. It felt amazing. Liquid heat shot through my cock. For a second I thought I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from cumming.

I tried to think about anything other than Roche’s full, wet lips moving over my cock. I ran through recipes in my head and tried to recall the exact ingredients and measurement for various dishes. My mind was blank. It was like I’d never cooked a meal in my life.

Roche’s hungry mouth moved quickly. With effort I pushed her away. I didn’t want to cum and leave her unfulfilled.

I hiked her dress up around her waist. Roche spread her legs wide. Her tight, pink pussy was dripping wet. Lying flat on her back, she stared up at me with innocent eyes. She wasn’t an innocent girl. Far from it. She knew what she wanted and she went after it. I suddenly realized that’s why I was so drawn to her. We had more in common than either of us realized.

Roche bit her lip; her hands gripped the bed sheets in anticipation. I positioned myself between her legs then leaned in close. I wanted to see her moan when my cock entered her. She didn’t disappoint.

Roche’s mouth opened; her eyes closed. She threw back her head and cried out. I found myself moaning along with her as I pumped into her.

She squeezed my cock, milking it for every drop. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could last. Roche writhed beneath me, matching my every stroke with the curve of her body. I couldn’t hold out any longer. The pressure building inside me was too much. With a quick thrust, I was deep inside Roche. I came inside her just as there was knock at the door.