Chapter Nine
I found Wyatt in his office after almost everyone else had cleared the kitchen. I loved working on protein, but my station was a nightmare to clean at the end of the night. And it didn’t help that I was a perfectionist.
A polite person would have knocked and waited for an invitation to open the door. Poor Wyatt, because I didn’t have any manners left after that Epissessed interview.
He looked up at me from where he leaned over his computer. “Oh, hey.”
I slammed the door behind me. Wyatt jerked back, surprised by my outburst.
Waving my phone in the air like a crazy person, I said, “Oh, hey? Oh, hey?” He blinked at me in confusion, only fueling my fire. “When you said the Epissessed interview was good, I didn’t realize it was because you threw your entire kitchen under the bus! When you said it was good, I didn’t realize you meant because it’s literally only about you! You selfish, son of a b—”
He cut me off, throwing his body back in his chair and giving the ceiling an exasperated look. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious. They asked you who you can rely on in the kitchen and you said your instincts! Are you for real?”
“I said more than that.” He waved a hand at his computer. “They chose to print that. I had no control over what parts of the interview made the final cut.”
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Now it makes sense. You went on and on about how kickass your staff is, and they went with the offhand remark about your instincts. Those dirty rat bastards.”
He slid forward in his seat, his posture stiffening. “I did talk about the kitchen, Kaya. I talked a hell of a lot about you. But yeah, I also said my instincts because that’s true. My instincts have made this transition seamless. My instincts have known when to push Ezra into new dishes and when to wait for the fight.”
“And are your instincts to thank for me saving your ass every night too?”
He stood up and moved around the desk so quickly, I jumped. I wasn’t proud of it. But he had the quickness of a jungle cat. And his stupid long legs moved him faster than I could escape. Ugh! More reasons to hate him.
“My instinct kept you sous, did it not?”
“That wasn’t instinct, dummy. That was common sense.”
His mouth split into a sardonic grin. “I have never met anyone fuller of themselves than you. You’re unbelievable.”
I folded my arms over my chest and said something I was not proud of. But totally blamed on Wyatt. He turned me into a child. This was all his fault!
“Oh, yeah?” I taunted. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“Good God.” He groaned and laughed at the same time. “You’re impossible. Is this what you wanted to talk to me about earlier? This? You’re pissed because I didn’t squeeze your name into a random interview?”
“Yes,” I answered quickly. “I mean no. I mean, yes.” God, what was the question? I had wanted to talk to him about his weird looks lately, about that kiss that he had not bothered to bring up since it happened. I wanted to figure out what was going on between us to put an end to it.
But now that we were here, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. His actions in the interview had been enough to squash the weird sexual tension I felt earlier today.
“Which is it, Swift? Yes or no? Is there something else you want to talk about?”
He sat down on the edge of his desk, his long legs spreading out to both sides of me. We suddenly felt too close. I wanted to move back, but there was nowhere to go in his tiny office.
I reached for sarcasm, the lifeline to sanity. “I think you being a selfish asshole covers it.”
He smiled, and it was so genuine and significant, aimed so wholly at me that it took everything in me not to smile back. I mean, damn, his smile was a weapon.
He hid them so well. Deprived the entire world of that face looking that perfect. But when we were alone? He whipped it out like it was no big deal. Like I wouldn’t automatically melt into a pile of goo. Like he couldn’t get away with whatever he wanted because all he had to do was smile.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he asked, his voice soft, teasing.
I held my arms more tightly around my waist. “Good.”
His eyes twinkled, catching the affection from the smile. “We’re even, see?”
This was a trick. It had to be. Because I should have already stormed out of the office with my middle fingers thrown in the air for good measure. Instead, I found myself leaning against the door, my shoulders relaxing, my scowl fading, my entire body warming to him. “How do you figure?”
“I drive you crazy. You drive me crazy. Win-win.”
“I don’t think you know what that means.” My eye twitched when his smile stretched and I realized I’d walked into a trap. “Yeah, but you should know better. You’re the boss.”
He leaned forward. “That is the problem, isn’t it?”
My righteous anger melted into confusion. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m the boss.”
“That’s been clearly established. Believe me.” I stared at him. “Wait, what?”
He stood and towered over me. My heart stopped. He took another step towards me. My heart jumped into a sprint, racing as fast it could go, beating frantically against my poor, fragile breastbone.
“The problem is that I’m the boss.” The back of his hand brushed the underside of my jaw. “Otherwise, we could do something about the way we drive each other crazy.”
Now I couldn’t swallow and my stomach doing somersaults was making me dizzy. I blamed all of this on him. Somehow my voice still came out breathy, forgiving, perplexed. “How could we do that?”
His head dropped so he could whisper in my ear. “Use your imagination.” I leaned into him, hating the tickle and savoring the feel of him all at once. He took a step back, depriving me of him too soon. “But I can swear to you, I’d find a way to work your name in. And I’m fairly confident you’d remember to use mine.”
Was he serious? Sex? He was talking about sex?
What the ever-loving what?
He sat back down on the edge of his desk, his arms folded over his chest again, smug and arrogant and so fucking full of himself.
Nope. This could not stand.
He could not do an interview like that, work me into a frenzy like this, smile at me, and then do whatever the hell he just did and get away with it.
I decided I needed to teach him a lesson. And put my libido out of its misery.
Stepping into the space between his legs, I gripped his coat collar with two hands and leaned forward until my mouth was an inch above his. “Don’t be so sure of yourself.” The wickedness in my plan pulled a smirk from me and I savored the way his breath hitched, and his body went rigid. He had expected me to walk away.
Or run away.
See? He’d underestimated me again.
I let my mouth brush over his. “It’s not a given that’d I’d remember your name, chef. You might turn out to be totally forgettable.”
“Not a fucking chance.” His voice was low, hoarse.
I wasn’t sure who moved first. Whether it was him or me or both of us crashing together all at once in a tangle of lips and tongue and teeth. His hands were on my waist, pulling me closer, holding my body against his, searing me with the same heat that had branded my lips.
He tasted like coconut, and his lips were surprisingly cool to the touch like he’d just finished taking a drink of something cold. For as rock hard as the rest of his body was, his lips were the opposite. Lush and pillowy and too addicting.
Our kiss was frantic, unfamiliar and wild. I couldn’t get enough of him. The more I kissed him, the more I wanted. The more I needed.
And the more we practiced, the better we got too. I learned the contours of his mouth, the tilt of his head, the sound he made in the back of his throat when I sunk my teeth into his full bottom lip. God, this man.
His mouth moved from mine to trail kisses along the curve of my jaw, the length of my neck, the spot just behind my ear. And down so he could nip at my collarbone and do wicked things with his tongue to the hollow of my throat.
I shivered, a full body tremble that he caught with his arms wrapped around my waist. He laid his head on my breasts, holding me to him in an embrace that felt part genuine and part fear. I looked down at the top of his head and couldn’t help but whisper, “What are we doing?”
He pulled back and grinned at me. “I think it’s pretty obvious.” He pressed a lingering kiss to the underside of my jaw. “But I can show you again if you’re still confused.”
I set my hands on his shoulders, holding him at a distance. “Wyatt, this is crazy.”
His smile was less sure this time, but just as powerful. Maybe because it was nervous… insecure… maybe because it wobbled and sort of fell and hit me right in the chest. I wanted to bring it back in full. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him to me, making sure he never looked uncertain again.
That wasn’t who he was. He was confident to a fault. Cocky and fearless; completely sure of himself.
So, this vulnerable version needed to go away before it completely slayed me.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But maybe not so crazy either.”
I braved those brown eyes, dark with the secrets of what we just did. “What do you mean?”
His arms tightened around my waist. “I mean… it feels inevitable. I know things are complicated since I’m your boss, but it had to happen eventually, right?”
Maybe sleep deprivation had broken his brain. None of his words were making any sense. “Why eventually?”
He glanced at the ceiling, already getting frustrated with me. I nearly smiled at how quickly the bliss of kissing wore off. We would be back to bickering in no time.
“I don’t understand why you keep saying that. What had to happen eventually?”
His sigh was frustrated and annoyed. I tried to suppress a victorious smile. “This goddamn tension between us, Kaya. It’s been building and building and building. Eventually it was going to come to a head.”
I glared at him, irrationally angry that he was downplaying what happened here. I knew it made no sense. I was the one trying to convince him that nothing significant had transpired between us. But I was a female and therefore allowed to be fickle at least once a day. “That’s what you think this was? Sexual tension coming to a head?”
His rumbly chuckle chased another shiver down my spine. “No, this was more like a compression leak.” His hands moved down my hips, to the backs of my thighs where he gripped me beneath my ass. He tugged me toward him and I had to grasp his shoulders for balance. “We haven’t even begun to release the real pressure.”
I laughed, even though inwardly I was freaking out. “Wyatt, we’re not doing this again.” A slow smile spread across his mouth. I pushed at his shoulders, but even I had to admit I barely put any effort into the protest. “Wyatt, I’m serious,” I insisted. “This was a mistake. We’re smart enough to know not to repeat our mistakes.”
“You kissed me,” he said, totally catching me off guard.
“What?”
“Tonight. Right now.” His eyebrows jumped, insisting that he was telling the truth. “I wasn’t going to kiss you, but you practically threw yourself at me.”
“You’re blaming this on me?” I was too shocked to be pissed. Although I knew that would come later. Right after the shame and embarrassment.
Or maybe before.
It was hard to tell at this point. There were too many emotions clamoring for first place.
His head cocked back and his hold on my waist went slack. “I wasn’t blaming you,” he said. “I was… crediting you.” His eyes flashed with something that looked too much like hope and I wanted to take back my words and swallow them just to erase that look on his face.
But I couldn’t. I was too worked up, too out of my depth. As much as I liked to pretend I loved spontaneity, what I really loved was predictability and obviousness. I hated change. And I hated not knowing what happened next.
That was one of the reasons I loved cooking so much. I knew what would happen. I had the variables calculated and my processes in place. If I cooked a specific size protein for a certain number of minutes, it would turn out exactly how I wanted it to. If I used x amount of spice with x amount of other spice, I would get a very consistent flavor profile.
Sure, there was some change and I couldn’t predict the future no matter how hard I tried. But for the most part, I could get pretty damn close.
And that was important to me.
I’d run from a past that had been way too predictable, but I hadn’t left that girl behind completely. She still lurked inside me, a shadow of a past I desperately wanted to forget. But I couldn’t. And I couldn’t completely forget the girl I used to be either.
“I don’t want the credit,” I told Wyatt. My eyelids slammed shut, hiding the shame for my cruel words. I took a step back and Wyatt let me go.
He was going to be pissed. The man did not handle rejection well. I knew this from working with him. This would wound his pride, chip away at his testosterone. He’d hate me forever now.
So, I drove the nail into the coffin and let go of this delicious, wonderful, totally unexpected moment of insanity. It was better this way. “I don’t want you.”
Only his smile turned genuine again. His eyes twinkled and darkened, beckoning all at once. His hands rested on his desk, his fingers curling around the edges. He stretched his body back all cocky arrogance and self-satisfied man. “Liar,” he taunted.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a dirty liar, Swift. You fucking want me.”
Red. I went red. From head to toe, including my vision. “I don’t want you.” I stepped forward and pointed a finger directly in his face. “I seriously don’t want you.”
He sucked in his bottom lip and let his silence speak for him.
“You’re out of your damn mind.”
He remained silent.
“I honestly can’t believe you. Or how you could even come to that crazy conclusion! What have I ever done to give you any indication that I want you? I was being polite, asshole. Nice. I didn’t want to wound your poor, fragile ego.” I yanked open the door, but before I walked through it I had to turn around and say, “Tomorrow morning you’re going to feel embarrassed about all of this. And I’m not going to feel bad for you, Shaw. This is what you get.”
I turned my back on him and that’s when he decided to speak. His voice still low, he asked, “And what if I want more of it, Kaya? Then what?”
I looked back at him over my shoulder. “Then find somebody else.”
He shook his head and mouthed one word. “No.”
My body finally reacted the way it should have a half hour ago and I ran from the building like the hounds of hell were chasing me.
If I thought his barely there kiss a few days ago was bad, that was nothing compared to the torment a full on make out session put me through. I tossed and turned for hours, replaying every second of the night.
I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d done to lead Wyatt on. And then every single interaction between us seemed obvious and fraught with sexual tension. Hadn’t I bitten his finger? How else was he supposed to interpret my actions?
And, God, was he that far off?
Alone, in my room, with nobody to face and no one else to answer to, I had to be honest with myself. Of course, I wanted Wyatt and I had imagined us together. I had noticed his body, his mouth, the way he would casually touch me every once in a while. I had played around with the idea of how good we would be and how he would totally rock my world in every sense of the phrase. But that was a natural reaction to what he looked like. That wasn’t my fault! He was objectively attractive.
I was reacting to him as any woman in my position would react to him.
When I rolled out of bed in the morning, he’d sent me an email. There was no subject or personal message other than a link that led to another interview.
The interview had gone live last week on a more popular website than Epissessed called Cocktails and Carnivores. It was a national site and didn’t have the promise of local gossip, so I didn’t check it often. I read through it three times before I believed the words on the page.
“How has the transition gone?” they’d asked him.
His reply? “Unbelievably smooth. Honestly, I expected a fight. Killian was made in that kitchen and I feel totally unqualified to fill his absence.”
“You must be doing something right,” they’d said.
“It’s the staff mostly,” he’d answered. “Especially my sous chef. Kaya Swift. She’s stayed strong through the entire overhaul, giving the kitchen confidence to do what it does best—cook good food. I’d be completely lost without her.”
I swallowed my tongue. Or nearly did. That should have been enough. That would have been enough to shut me up about the Epissessed interview. But they’d gone on.
“She sounds special,” the interviewer had commented.
And in print, in type, right there in front of me, from a reputable website that claimed Wyatt had verbalized these exact words, said, “She is.”
So that was basically the sound of my entire world collapsing. Or exploding. Or altering entirely.
Wyatt was full of surprises lately.
It was probably time I decided if I liked those surprises or if I wanted him to get the hell out of my kitchen.