Chapter Three

Proof

Five Years Ago

The lights are forgivingly low and I’m late as hell. I hate coming alone to things like this and almost stayed home to binge on Grey’s Anatomy and Chinese. Everyone else has a date or significant other and all I have is my phone. It’s my only partner in crime. If I get stuck talking to the wrong person, there is no one to bail me out. Paula will be just as busy mingling with guests as her fiancé and she would never forgive me if I missed the soft opening of their new restaurant, Proof. My junior year, we shared a two bedroom just off campus and I feel as if I’ve known her my whole life. A year my senior, that cute apartment launched Paula’s last hurrah of slumber parties and beer pong before graduating on to the real world, where families and careers come first. I live alone in that apartment now and if my being here is important to her, it’s important to me.

But I still don’t want to be here. I feel underdressed in my tight red dress even though I’m not. I feel fat despite working out four days this week. And I feel short, even though I’m wearing three-inch heels. Tucking a curling strand of hair behind an ear, I scan the crowd for a familiar face. Other than Paula and Jase, both of whom I do not see, I don’t know a single soul. I’m a stranger in a strange land and it feels like everyone is staring at me.

Smoothing my dress, I inhale a brave breath and remind myself to keep my chin up. I hate when girls walk around with their heads down like some kowtowed servant. Wading through the crowd, the place is much bigger than it looks from the outside and I feel like I’m in some cheesy Hallmark movie where everything turns out great. Strings of white lights dangle from the exposed ceiling, glowing against the bubbly faces below. Soft, classical music floats down over the blood red walls that set off the snow-white tables and chairs, sucking me into some contemporary fable I will one day tell my children before going to bed.

Casually swinging one black high heel in front of the other, I kill the catwalk with my head held high. But not too high. My smoky eyes sweep the giddy throng and where the fuck is the bar in this place? Three steps further, my gaze snags on someone staring at me from across the room and I can’t help but stare back. I’m caught in some weird gravitational pull and it doesn’t take long to realize I don’t know him. In a million years, I could never forget a face like that. He’s as hot as the day is long, dressed in a black chef’s coat with red trim. He must be the new head chef Paula told me about. The one she said looks like a skinnier Jason Momoa – minus the long mane and tats.

Curling a strand of hair around my finger, I look away and keep moving. There’s still no sign of Paula or Jase and I wish I was taller. Thankfully, the bar appears in the distance. Lit along the base, it’s slate gray and jumps off the red walls, beckoning me closer. My eyes dart back to Happy Chef and, just as expected, he’s still watching me. I smile a little because fate is a fickle beast. Here I was going to stay in tonight, and now…

“Sienna!”

Spinning on my heels, relief spills over me when I see Paula rushing my way. Her long, black dress is gorgeous and goes perfect with the walls. Pulling her into a hug, I’m careful not to smudge our makeup or spill her glass of champagne. “You look beautiful,” I whisper in her ear, smiling at her fiancé over her shoulder. “And you don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.”

Leaning in, Jase kisses my cheek and he’s never done that before. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to us, Sienna. It really does.”

Drawing apart from Paula, I sigh. “This place is so beautiful. I feel like I’m in some wonderful new world.”

“Thank you,” Jase replies, straightening a pinstriped, gray suitcoat. “I’m nervous as shit. My dad thinks I’m crazy switching to fine dining.”

“His dad lives and dies for barbeque,” Paula explains, fanning a hand through the air like someone just passed gas. “He wanted Jase to take over the family bar and grill and he is pissed.”

Jase nods hard. “Super pissed.”

My eyebrows dip. “Seriously?”

He gives me a loose shrug. “But fine dining is where the money’s at, and ya know what?” He snags a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and hands it to me. “I like rubbing noses with the big wigs in town. I feel like that one guy from The Sopranos.”

“Is your dad here now?” I hear myself ask, tipping the long glass back. I don’t know why I’m being nosey but I am.

“Yeah, he’s here somewhere,” Jase replies, searching the crowd. “Probably turning the center pieces face down.”

“Oh,” Paula says, setting a hand on my arm. “I want you to meet Jase’s sister, Stella. She just moved back to town and loves yoga and kickboxing. You guys will totally hit it off.” Her eyes roam the room. “Where’d she go, Jase?”

“Oh, hey!” Jase reaches out and slaps a hand on someone’s shoulder. “I want you to meet our new head chef, Lincoln McConnel.”

Lincoln turns around and the sight of his face stirs my heart into a gallop. It’s the hot guy I just locked eyes with and I was right. He is the head chef who looks like a tidier Jason Momoa. Only, his eyes are hauntingly green up close. Even under the dim lights, they shine like jewels and I have to remind myself to breathe.

“Lincoln, this is Paula’s friend, Sienna…” Jase trails off and, thanks to Lincoln’s steamy gaze, it takes me a second to realize Jase is waiting for me to bail him out.

“Simpson,” I say, shaking Lincoln’s hand. “Sienna Simpson.”

“Nice to meet you, Sienna Simpson,” he tells me, pulling me closer. “I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on tonight’s meal.”

“Oh,” I smile, blushing from ear to ear. “I’m sure it will be amazing.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to swing by later and find out.” Releasing my hand, he trades a smug grin with Paula and Jase. “This place isn’t going to know what hit them tonight.”

“That’s what I want to hear, Lincoln. Let’s roll these motherfuckers up,” Jase says, slapping hands with him.

“Jesus, Jase,” Paula says, rolling her eyes. “Take it easy, will ya? This isn’t Twin Peak’s.”

“What? I’m just amped.”

Lincoln shoots a hand into the air and snaps his fingers. A tall, thin man dressed in a black bowtie lumbers over, a pitcher of ice water in one hand and bushy eyebrows climbing his expansive forehead. Lincoln waits for him to bend down before speaking in a low voice. “Someone turned all the center pieces face down. Can you go fix them up for us, Ned?”

“Yes, Chef,” Ned replies, giving Lincoln a royal bow before disappearing into the sea of humanity chomping at the bit. Everyone is drinking on an empty stomach and bursts of laughter are starting to pepper the room like fireworks, bouncing off the walls.

“Goddammit!” Jase angrily shakes his head. “I told you my dad was messing with the tables.”

Paula watches him follow Ned into the crowd, biting back a smile. “His dad is such a rascal.”

“I should probably get back to the kitchen.” Lincoln tips his head to me like Paula doesn’t exist. “Enjoy your meal.”

His warm smile steals my breath and I have no words. It’s all I can do to force a weak smile and I feel like such a fool. Paula gives me a weird look before turning to watch Lincoln disappear into the kitchen.

“What was that?” she asks, clutching a glass of champagne to her chest.

“What was what?”

She turns back to me, pointing between me and where Lincoln was just standing. “That!”

“That was nothing,” I confess, blood creeping into my cheeks.

“Uh-huh,” Paula mutters, face brightening when a handsome man in a black sports jacket bends to kiss her on the cheek.

“You look amazing,” the man says, looking her up and down. “Wow! And so does Proof. This place is beyond words, Paula. I love it.” His eyes flick to me, making my heart flip.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Paula gushes, gesturing at me with her glass. “I want you to meet my good friend, Sienna. Sienna, this is Jack.”

Staring up into his icy blue eyes, I give his hand a firm shake because I’m no wet noodle. “Professor McConnel,” I say, feeding his grin.

“I see my reputation precedes itself,” he says, holding my hand while sharpening his gaze. “Modern Religion and Culture.”

My heart jumps. “Monday, Wednesday,” I reply, desperately trying not to trip over my words. My breath comes faster because I can’t believe he remembers me. There must be over two hundred people in that lecture alone and God knows how many others he tackles on a weekly basis. I’m glad the lights are low because I can feel my face turning beet red. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve fantasized about fucking him six ways to Sunday and it always begins with me staying after class.

Finally freeing my hand, he cheers me with a scotch on the rocks, a coy grin brushing his lips like he’s reading my dirty little mind. “Here’s to Monday, Wednesday.”

Clinking my glass against his, I drink in the champagne and his sexy eyes all at the same time.

Smiling, Paula’s tight gaze bounces between us. “God, Jack,” she laughs, setting a hand on his forearm. “What’re you going to do? Send her to detention?”

We share an awkward laugh because I don’t know what that means. Jack and I stare at each other over our glasses, butterflies tickling my insides like I’m seventeen all over again.