Chapter Four
Dillon and I walked into Lilou through the side entrance laughing about having coffee with Killian and Vera at Salt and the possibility of running restaurants in the same city together. It wasn’t a conversation I let myself indulge in often, but she wanted to know what Vera had said to me and I couldn’t keep a secret from her.
“What are you going to do? How are you going to get him to like you?” she asked.
“Vera said I should sleep with him,” I told her, giggling my way through the sentence.
Dillon laughed harder until it completely died on her lips. I looked up to find Wyatt, the very topic of our conversation, looming over us, staring at me. More like glaring at me.
My smile wobbled, but I managed a sarcastic, “Hey, boss.”
His eyes narrowed. “Can I see you in my office?”
That was the last place I wanted to go. I had food to prep and a menu to study. And a separate restaurant to takeover. “Uh, sure.”
Dillon stepped away from me to head the opposite direction, but not before she whispered, “Now’s your chance,” which made me cough and laugh at the same time.
Wyatt’s head snapped around to see what I was doing. I waved at him and continued to cough and also plot Dillon’s murder. That was the worst thought she could have planted in my head before I was forced to be alone with the man.
He held the door open for me and my mind immediately raced to memories of last night and his body touching mine… his late-night text that almost felt flirty. My thoughts sped forward and wondered if sleeping with him was even possible? Not because of the job. My integrity would never stoop to that level. But because… well, hell, because it was kind of impossible to not thinking about sleeping with Wyatt now.
Would he reject me outright? Or was he the kind of guy to never turn down free play? That thought made my nose wrinkle. I could hardly tolerate Wyatt in a professional capacity, but I didn’t think he was a douche in his personal life. In fact, the entire time I’d known him, he’d never bragged or even talked about nightly conquests. Around the time I broke up with Nolan, he’d started dating a girl and I thought it had gotten kind of serious, but they had broken up at least a year ago because she hated his hours. Since then if he hooked up with random girls or started dating someone new, he’d never said anything to anyone.
Oh, my god, why was I even considering this? It wasn’t like I’d let myself move forward in my career that way.
I pressed a hand to my forehead and tried to push the perverted thoughts out of my mind.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt asked from behind me.
Jerking to face him, I tried desperately to school my features into anything but guilty. “Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He watched me compose myself without another comment. I found him particularly unsettling today. He hadn’t donned his chef’s coat yet and his black t-shirt clung a little too tightly to his biceps and broad chest, tattoos on full display.
His tattoos were familiar to me now, at least the ones I could see, making them even more dangerous for some reason. The single feather that transformed into a bird stretching elegant wings wrapped around his neck. The fork, spoon, and butcher knife laid out on his right forearm like it was set for service. The outline of a pig on his left forearm with the cuts of meat dotted and labeled. There were more, so many more. They made full sleeves over his forearms and biceps, and I could only assume reached across his chest and touched the visible ones around his neck, but I’d never seen the ones beneath his shirt. Only the ones peeking out.
He wore tapered jeans and stylish gray tennis shoes that probably cost more than half my paycheck. His hair wasn’t disheveled from work and stress yet, artfully settled in lush waves.
When my eyes dropped to his stubbled jaw and tired eyes, the pang of sympathy for his late night was the wake-up call I needed. I was checking out my boss—the same boss I drove crazy with my presence.
This was Vera’s fault.
Sarita danced around my thoughts, taunting me, calling me with her Siren song. I met Wyatt’s mysterious gaze and wondered how I could get him on my side. On one hand, I imagined that he was dying to get rid of me. This was his opportunity.
Maybe. If the position at Sarita opened to the public.
On the other hand, did I have a chance in frozen hell that he would admit what a great chef I was? Especially to Ezra?
His eyes darkened as we stood there silently, staring at each other. His jaw ticked, and I realized how foolish this dream was. He was already pissed off and I hadn’t even said anything yet.
I cleared my throat and took a step back. We weren’t standing particularly close, but suddenly there wasn’t enough room in this whole damn kitchen to put between us. “Did you get any sleep last night?” The question came out differently than I meant it to. It sounded like a criticism when I’d meant it as concern. His eyes narrowed, and I knew he felt the accidental judgment.
He rubbed a hand over his face and turned away from me. “Not much.” With short, precise movements, he took a seat behind his desk and leaned back in his swivel chair. “That’s actually why I brought you in here.”
“I get it, Wyatt. You don’t have to berate me. I won’t cover for Dillon again. I realize now that it screws everything else up.”
He rapped his knuckles on the desk and continued to look at anything but me. “I appreciate that, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
My shoulders drooped in response to my disappointment. I had been expecting a fight. At the very least, a riled-up argument. But the tired tone of his voice made it clear he wasn’t up for sparring. And considering Sarita, I shouldn’t have been either.
I wasn’t going to sleep with him. Obviously, that was crazy talk. But I could get on his good side. I could get him to warm up to me. I could maybe even convince him that I wasn’t always the villain.
It wouldn’t be easy. And not because of his feelings for me. I would have to be nice, kind… thoughtful. Blech. They were all qualities I wasn’t even sure I possessed.
Running a hand through my short hair and pushing it out of my eyes, I decided to make a vision board when I got home. Not that I was confident the universe would simply drop Sarita in my lap if I taped a picture of her to a poster board. The universe didn’t work like that. But maybe a physical reminder of my goals would incentivize me to change… work on who I was.
That’s when the universe moved. Not when I wished for something, but when I worked as hard as humanly possible to change, to go after the things I wanted, when I didn’t give up or quit trying.
I suppressed a grimace. This better be worth it.
“What do you need me for?” I asked in a tone I hoped came off as sweet.
His eyes lifted from the desk and he hit me with that darkened gaze all over again. His jaw ticked once. Twice. My hands balled into nervous fists from some subconscious reaction to him. This wasn’t irritation. Wyatt was a complete mystery in every way, but intuition whispered there was something else going on in his complicated mind—some emotion that made a tingle skitter down my spine and my breathing hitch.
Wyatt cleared his throat and subtly shook his head. “Uh, like you said, I’m tired today. And I, uh… this isn’t easy for me to ask. And I wouldn’t under normal circumstances, but there’s a critic from the Daily Durham coming in tonight. I know it’s a small paper, but it’s my first real write up, so I’d like for everything to operate as perfect as possible.”
He paused to take a breath and I decided to put the poor guy out of his misery. “Got it. I’ll be on my game tonight. Don’t worry about a thing.” I took a step back toward the door, ready to escape the awkward tension between us. It was thick and tangling and I wanted to pick a fight with him if only to put us back in neutral territory. But that would be antithetical to my goal. Instead, I reached for the door handle.
“That’s great, but not what I meant exactly.” His gaze darted to his computer and then his hands, then to the ceiling, and finally back to me. “This isn’t easy for me…”
“You already said that,” I reminded him in a deceptively gentle voice. Sharp, biting nerves gnawed through me and my guts started churning with the burn of anger. Was he going to fire me? Was this the end of my career altogether? I mean, we fought and bickered, and sometimes I made jokes at his expense, but he couldn’t fire me over all that nonsense… could he? I was a good chef, damn it. The best in his kitchen. If he even tried to—
He rubbed a hand over his face again and mumbled, “Right,” into his palm. All at once, as if he’d made some kind of internal decision, he dropped his hand and sat up straighter. “I need you to babysit me tonight. Okay?”
The anger dissipated just like that and startled confusion stepped in. “Babysit you?”
“I’m not sleeping well, okay? If I get to bed at a decent time I can manage a few hours off and on which has been enough so far. But I was here so late last night that by the time I got home I couldn’t even manage that. I’m worried what that will mean for my performance tonight, and with the review, I’m worried that…” His eyes turned pleading and hopeful. “Can you make sure I don’t send anything stupid out? I need you to keep me focused.”
“Why me?” The question came out as a whisper.
“Because you’ll tell me the truth. You won’t bullshit me because you’re afraid of me.”
“I am afraid of you.” Another sentence I hadn’t meant to say out loud.
“Yeah, but not in the ways that matter.” A ghost of a smile lifted one side of his mouth. “Keep me on my game tonight, Kaya. Don’t let me fuck up.”
I was flabbergasted. And that wasn’t a word I used often. Or ever. However, this moment called for it. Flabbergasted. Completely. Totally. Wholeheartedly.
He wanted me to keep an eye on him? He wanted me to micromanage him?
My first thought, and I wasn’t proud of this, was why should I? What had he ever done for me that warranted this kindness? But I quickly stomped it down and banished it completely.
I wasn’t a horrible person. Sure, maybe I had a “save yourself” mentality most of the time, but it wasn’t something I advertised or wanted to be known for. Of course, I would help Wyatt and do whatever it took to keep this kitchen the highest rated in the city.
At least until I ran my very own.
Wyatt’s performance reflected on me. And on the giant off chance that I didn’t get Sarita, I might want to apply for a job elsewhere. I would need a good track record to get me into a kitchen as good as Lilou.
Besides, this might also come in handy for leverage. I had already decided to get on Wyatt’s good side, to do whatever it took to get his recommendation. This was a first step toward that goal.
But again, my mouth detached from my brain and I blurted, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
He rubbed his eyes with balled fists as if the very mention of sleep made him feel tired. “I don’t know. I’ve never been awesome at it. But it’s been worse lately.”
I wanted to ask if it was because of his executive chef promotion, but I managed to hold my tongue. Sighing deeply, I said, “You can count on me tonight. I’ll be the first to tell you when you’ve screwed up.” I smiled, hoping it added levity to the truth in my words.
His mouth moved, forming a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I knew I could count on you to nag me.”
My smile turned fake as his words rubbed at the bad blood between us. “Remember that you asked for it this time.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and craning his neck toward me. “Don’t let me fire you tonight.”
I set my hands on his desk and mimicked his position. “I’d like to see you try.”
This time his smile was real. It appeared at the exact moment his gaze dropped to my boobs that were pushed up accidentally for his viewing pleasure. Shit.
His eyes returned to mine a second later and I wondered if he had even meant to look. Maybe it was a guy reflex. Maybe I shouldn’t be throwing my boobs in his face to begin with.
Either way, I couldn’t help but enjoy the pink tinge to his cheeks and the stalwart way he refocused on my face. “Don’t tempt me,” he muttered. I had to press my lips together to hide my smile when his eyes widened at his own words.
I stood up, taking the temptation away from him. And then the devil entered my body. My eyelids drooped, and I took a slow, flirty step backwards. “No promises.”
Without another glance back, I fled from the office and found sanctuary in the kitchen. My cheeks blazed with embarrassment and incredulity at my behavior. Who was I? And why was I flirting with Wyatt of all people?
Vera was obviously some kind of witch.
Or maybe that’s exactly how desperate for human interaction I was.
My fingers itched to text Nolan. But that wasn’t human interaction either. That was a bad habit I had already kicked. There was no sense in reopening that gaping wound.
“Hey, what did Wyatt want?” Dillon asked as I buttoned up my chef’s jacket next to her prep work.
“Work stuff,” I mumbled absently. “Hey, can you set me up?”
She put her knife down and turned slowly to face me. “What?”
Her open assessment of my out of the blue question made my cheeks burn a brighter red. I immediately reached for my apron in my purse and busied myself with tying it around my waist. “I think it would be fun. Do you feel weird about it? Is it weird that I asked? Just ignore me. It’s fine. I’ll join Tinder or something.”
“Oh my God,” she laughed. “Don’t join Tinder! At least not yet.” Her eyes sparkled as she rubbed her hands together. “This is going to be so much fun!”
Oh, no. What had I done. I pointed my finger at her. “No weirdos.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “Obviously.”
“And nobody in the food industry.” I glanced around the kitchen and noticed everyone pretending not to listen to us. Gossips. All of them. Plus, I’d already dipped my toes in these waters and no thank you. After Nolan, I’d made several bad mistakes around this kitchen. It wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat. “I don’t want to date another chef.”
Rolling her eyes, she went back to chopping. “I’m not a total idiot. Nobody wants to date a chef. We’re all egomaniacs that work the absolute worst hours. You have to date from the outside because they don’t know any better. You have to trick them.”
I blinked at my friend. “Are you serious?”
She lifted her head and seemed to realize she’d said something she hadn’t meant to. “I mean, not like really trick them. But you should probably leave all the details about your career and ambition out of the conversation for a while. In my experience, when they find out how much you work and then you tell them you’re hoping for a promotion, so you can work more, they tend to run away like frightened kittens.”
I felt a pang of sympathy for my friend. She was a catch, damn it. Super smart, super talented and super hot, she was like the holy Trinity of dream girls. She shouldn’t have to hide who she was or what she wanted out of life just to get a second date.
Plus, that was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. My career and ambition made me who I was. It would be one of the first things I talked about. To know what I wanted in life was to know me. At least in part.
And I knew that to be true for Dillon too. She acted like she didn’t care, but she was a shark in the kitchen. She didn’t put up with bullshit, she was the fastest learner I had ever met, and I knew she was doing whatever it took to earn one of Ezra’s kitchens by rightful skill, and not only because she was his sister.
But this also put her late-night activities into new perspective for me. I had been worried about her approach to dating because I thought she was worth more than random one-night stands. But maybe there was a deeper issue at work. Maybe it was harder for her to find someone than I realized.
Which sucked for me. If gorgeous, perfect Dillon struggled to find someone, I was screwed.
And not in the fun way.
“Are you looking for a date, Kaya? I’ll go out with you, chica,” Endo called from across the kitchen.
When I turned to look at him, he made kissy noises at me.
I rolled my eyes at him but laughed anyway. “Thank you, Endo. But I’m terrified of Maria, so I’m politely declining.”
Endo’s twinkling brown eyes turned serious. “As you should be. That woman is muy loco. I love her, you know, but she would probably take a baseball bat to your car.”
“Have you seen her car?” Dillon asked Endo. “I don’t think you’d be able to tell the difference.”
I punched her in the shoulder. “We can’t all drive a Lexus, richy-rich.”
She was unapologetic. “No, I guess we can’t.”
Wyatt walked in the kitchen and the joking stopped. We stood up straighter, we straightened our chef coats, we stopped throwing barbs. It was a switch that was thrown the second the title of executive chef showed up.
Even if we didn’t all respect Wyatt the way we did Killian, the title would forever command our better behavior and obedience. When Wyatt stepped up as executive chef, we swallowed our protests and hurt feelings. We forgot about the times we’d seen Wyatt screw up and the years of growth we’d spent alongside him. He was chef now. And we worked for him and to please him.
He walked to the center of the kitchen and clapped his hands together. We gathered around him, as was our daily routine, and waited for instructions.
Usually I tolerated his pep talks and suffered through his reprimands. He didn’t detail everything that was expected of us tonight, but he also took the opportunity to critique our previous night’s performance. And Wyatt could come across harshly.
Killian too. But Killian was also such a legend that it somehow made it more tolerable. Wyatt brought out the worst in me—which was probably why we clashed so often. Also, because he was nitpicky and severe. The rational side of my brain argued that he was still making a name for himself and therefore had to be those things. He was still trying to prove himself.
But I rarely listened to the rational part of my brain. Mostly, I told her to shut up so the bitchy side of me could play.
Today was different though. Wyatt stood in the middle of us and I could see how exhausted he was, the toll the job had started to take on him. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken. His face seemed thinner and haunted. His hands had a tremor that I hadn’t noticed until after he’d confessed his insomnia and I’d looked closer at him.
My heart lurched in sympathy. I was literally always annoyed with how hard he was trying. I found his efforts to live up to Killian obnoxious and tedious, especially when he blamed mistakes on me. But maybe my criticism of him wasn’t fair.
Wyatt was given the chance of a lifetime. He ran one of the best kitchens in the region, an award-winning kitchen that he’d earned by right of being Killian’s second in command. Of course, the weight of his burden would be heavy, of course he would struggle to hold it and carry it and live up to it.
I resolved to treat him with more grace in the future. He had a hard job, and someday, hopefully when I stepped into a similar position in my own kitchen, my staff would treat me with grace as well.
Seven hours later during the middle of service, I felt differently.
“What is this?” he demanded in the same tone I imagined the devil used when his evil minions disappointed him. “This is crap, Kaya! You’re better than this. Do it again.”
“It’s fucking perfect, Wyatt. You’re wrong.”
“It’s too dark. It looks burned to hell. I’m not sending it out.”
I swallowed thirty synonyms for asshole and decided this was not the fight I wanted to lose my career over. But he was an asshole!
“That’s golden brown,” I argued, waving my hand at the duck breast I’d pan seared to perfection.
“It’s overcooked,” he growled. “Our tables deserve better. Do it again.”
Cognizant of the entire kitchen watching our exchange, I leaned forward and dropped my voice. “You asked for my help tonight. Remember?”
He dipped his head down, crowding me with the entirety of his body. “That’s why I need you to do it again,” he snarled. “I would do it myself if I fucking could.”
The world disappeared behind a curtain of red and all I saw was this arrogant chef I wanted to kick in the shins. I opened my mouth to scream at him, but he pressed his hand against my lips before I could make a sound. Ignoring the hate lasers I was shooting out of my eyes, he leaned even closer, dropped his voice to a whisper and pleaded, “Please, Kaya.”
It was the stupid please that disarmed me. And the matching tremor of his voice and hand. Son of a bitch. I hated this man, I reminded myself. He annoyed the ever-loving hell out of me and treated me like I was less than. The duck was fucking perfect, but he’d said please, so I would reluctantly redo my perfect duck. Goddamn him.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to fight back. Faster than I could talk myself out of it, I opened my mouth and bit his fingers. He pulled back, shaking them out. Our shocked expressions had to mimic each other.
Oh, my god. I just bit my boss!
I turned around to run away, possibly out of the building altogether, maybe even the city, when his hand at my waist stopped me. His mouth moved next to my ear and I felt his lips brush against the sensitive flesh of my earlobe.
His words were steel, gritty, deadly serious, but I could barely focus on them with the press of his hot hand against my waist and his impossibly soft lips against my ear. “Careful, Ky,” he warned in a deep, throaty voice. “I bite back.”
He let me go or I escaped, I would never know which of us moved first. But we sprang apart like cymbals after they’d crashed together in a symphony-ending crescendo and staunchly ignored the open-mouth staring of our coworkers. I doubted they’d overheard him whispering in my ear, but they saw it happen.
The next time I brought him the duck breast it was unarguably perfect.
He didn’t comment. And I didn’t comment. And the duck went out and the diner didn’t comment. At least not negatively.
I was determined to totally focus on my job for the rest of the night and completely forget about the weirdly hot moment between us in the middle of the kitchen and the frantic butterflies still swarming around in my stomach.
My resolve lasted for all of twenty minutes when he found a problem with my filet. I decided that I was safe to hate him all over again.