Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  ‘That’d be it.’ She puffed out a little sigh. ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity to showcase Homage and what we are doing here. I’d be a fool to say no.’

  ‘And you are no fool. Just a little—’ he held up his thumb and index finger, slightly apart, ‘scared.’

  Irritation replaced desire, ice for heat. ‘I’m not scared. I just don’t want to be a performing showboat. That role is all yours.’

  ‘I do have a visage for the camera.’ His brown eyes sparkled, like a gemstone glinting in the sun.

  ‘Ha. You do realise that there are not many pretty chefs on food TV. Anvita didn’t say yes to your show for your cute face.’

  He grinned, a rare full smile that felt genuine to her, and another rush of heat flooded her body.

  ‘You agree. I am handsome.’ Oh, that accent and the way he dropped the h off handsome. She wanted to cross her legs as she grew wet. For a long moment she stared, unable to think of a retort to push him away.

  ‘Only when you smile like that. Mostly you glare at me as if I am hair in your food.’

  He pressed his palm to his chest in a dramatic gesture. ‘You wound me.’

  ‘No. I barely scratch your armour.’

  He shook his head slowly and she held her breath. They usually traded insults, then abandoned each other to do work, but this banter bordered on dangerous. If it kept going, she might have to admit that she enjoyed it.

  ‘I will go now.’

  Bianca felt herself lean towards him and she nearly told him to wait. Stay with her. No. Instead she nodded slowly, not trusting her voice.

  ‘But first, before I leave you to your solitude, I want to say one thing.’ Hmmm, that didn’t sound good. She braced herself for another insult.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I have the contracts in the kitchen. You need to sign them before we get started on the pilot episode tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? I thought that was what we did today.’

  ‘Non. Today was a test to see if Anvita liked me.’

  ‘Okay.’ She rolled her head on her shoulders, trying to loosen the taut muscles. Etienne jammed his hands into his pockets, a deep frown suddenly appearing on his brow. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. Just sign them. I need to supervise the dinner shift.’ He marched off, leaving her more confused than ever. She waited until the sun disappeared, and all the orange faded from the western sky, before she started the tractor and drove back to the shed. Maybe she could sneak dinner from the kitchen staff and read over the contract he wanted her to sign before she went home to bed. Alone. Just how she liked it. Quiet, in her own space where she could pleasure herself to a fantasy version of Etienne, just like every night. Maybe tonight, she’d think about Anvita—the way she wielded power was so hot, and that absolute ripper of a tailored suit clinging to her lush curves. She was taken, and he was her boss. Fantasy was all Bianca had. But first, she had to interact with people one more time today. She breathed in deep as she parked the tractor and jumped to the ground. Being an introvert meant spending time with people took a lot of energy—she enjoyed people most of the time—it was just that she needed time alone to recuperate afterwards.

  ***

  ‘Etienne. Am I reading this correctly?’ She’d read that section three times but she couldn’t believe the words written on the page. She stood in the doorway of his office, looking out over the restaurant kitchen. The typical dinner chaos reigned, with Etienne conducting his staff as they put together meals for their patrons. It was only Thursday, yet the restaurant was nearly three-quarters-full. With Valentine’s Day in a couple of weeks, people who hadn’t booked months ago were celebrating early. Valentine’s Day went for a whole damned month at Homage. Etienne glanced over his shoulder at her.

  ‘You can read. I am busy.’

  ‘But it says I get half of everything?’

  The dish boy wolf-whistled, and the kitchen staff all laughed. A couple of lewd comments were called out, but she couldn’t see who they came from.

  ‘Of the TV contract. I don’t want to hear a word from any of you about this. The TV contract is confidential.’ Etienne yelled at his staff.

  ‘So, you aren’t going to marry her? She’d be a great fuck.’ Joey, the sous chef, laughed at his own comment.

  ‘Not going to happen, Joey.’ Bianca had worked alongside this kitchen for long enough that she could give answers to their crap without taking any of their nonsense to heart. Usually, she avoided the dinner shift, but on weekends, they were here all day.

  ‘The fucking or the marrying?’ He laughed and Etienne glared at him.

  Bianca grinned. ‘Not going to marry anyone, and not going to fuck you.’ She winked at Joey, rather enjoying the way Etienne’s nostrils flared and his jaw tightened.

  ‘Shut it. All of you. The TV show will happen on the days we are closed for lunch, and none of you will be involved. If I had my way, it’d be just me, but Ms Khatri wanted Bianca to be involved because she’s our head gardener and it’s a paddock to plate show. That means Bianca gets half of the income the TV show generates.’

  ‘No wonder you’ve been shitty all shift. She’s taking away your glory moment.’

  Bianca frowned. ‘Joey, you’ll get yourself sacked talking like that.’

  ‘You talk to him like that.’

  ‘Yeah, but I can escape to the farm. You work beside him with knives. Have a care.’

  ‘Oh shucks, do you care for me?’

  Bianca rolled her eyes. All chefs were the same—bloody arrogant. ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Go in.’ Etienne stood in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. If she tilted her head up, and he bent down a little, he’d be able to kiss her. He pushed against her shoulders, backing her into his office. Her knees went weak under his control—being shoved into his office shouldn’t be this hot. She tried for something snarky, like ‘consent is a thing’, but no words emerged from her dry mouth. He shut the door behind him and snatched his hands away from her, crossing them over his chest. His default stance.

  ‘I didn’t want those nosy bastards to know all the details. The TV thing is a separate contract to your employment contract with me—it’s between you and Ms Khatri. And yes, you get half of everything.’

  ‘Does that mean we are peers?’

  His face darkened. ‘Only for the show. I’m still your boss all the rest of the time and I won’t fuck you.’

  ‘You wish.’ Her voice squeaked. He’d thought about having sex with her? That changed everything. She grabbed a pen and signed her name, hoping he wouldn’t see the way her hand shook, then shoved the papers at him. ‘Done.’

  ‘Be in the kitchen at ten Monday morning for shooting.’

  ‘Sure.’ Monday made sense for shooting. Homage was shut, and all the staff had a day off. They’d be able to shoot without stressing about patrons or getting the kitchen clear for the dinner shift.

  ‘Fine.’ He didn’t move.

  She lifted her chin. ‘Go back to the kitchen. You are in my way.’ With an infinitesimal gasp, he left. Had she imagined that?

  4

  Chapter 4

  ‘Okay. Take one. What are you making today, Etienne?’ Anvita asked. Etienne grinned at the camera, wiped his knife on his apron, and laid it on the wooden cutting board beside the foot-long Samson fish. He’d spent the last hour doing preparation for today’s dish and had laid out all the core ingredients into little dishes on his kitchen bench. Anvita hadn’t wanted him to start with anything from the garden, because they were going to shoot that part next, so there were plenty of empty bowls surrounding the cutting board, waiting for different vegetables and fresh herbs.

  ‘Good morning. Today I have had delivery of several of these beautiful local Samson fish for Homage, and I want to use the offcuts to make a fisherman’s stew called bouillabaisse.’

  ‘Stop. Don’t talk to the camera. Talk to Bianca. Start again.’

  Etienne reminded himself that this was
his dream. He let out a long breath. A few false starts were part of the learning process.

  ‘And remember, natural. You don’t need to introduce yourselves or each other—the opening titles will do that for you.’

  ‘Do you want me to start in the kitchen? Or walking in? Should I carry something?’

  Anvita pursed her lips for a second and considered Bianca’s questions. Etienne picked up his knife and polished the blade on a tea towel. Anvita wanted the whole process to look natural, so she hadn’t really given them any instructions on how to proceed. Nothing about working alongside Bianca was natural—they tended to stay in their own spheres—for good reason. That little incident in his office when she’d signed the contract had been on non-stop replay ever since. Touching her, even on the shoulders, was a huge mistake.

  ‘What feels most natural to you? How do you normally talk about menu decisions?’

  Bianca shrugged. ‘The same way we talk about everything.’

  ‘Combative with a touch of humour?’ Anvita asked. ‘Perfect. Go outside, and then walk in and ask what he plans for the day.’

  Bianca laughed. ‘Come on. That’s not natural. Get him to send me a terse text and I’ll respond to his command.’

  ‘How alpha of him.’ Anvita almost grinned.

  Etienne swallowed his irritation at their time wasting. ‘Hey, I’m right here. Can we get on with the show?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll just go and wash my hands again.’ Bianca turned towards the backdoor, her long black hair swinging around her shoulders. Anvita’s crew had spent an hour fussing with Bianca and they’d transformed her from casual garden minx into elegant farmer. Her tight jeans showed off her slim legs, although her cute arse was covered by an untucked dark green checked collared shirt that the crew had left unbuttoned over a white singlet.

  ‘Okay. Take two. And remember, ignore the cameras. Be natural. Etienne, we will film the formal recipe section later, and you can talk to the camera then. Relax, you’ll be great.’

  He nodded and laid down his knife again. Bianca sauntered into the room, drying her hands on a hand towel.

  ‘I’m not late.’

  Etienne raised his eyebrows. ‘Late?’

  ‘To our usual Friday morning meeting to discuss the menu for the weekend.’

  ‘Of course. What do you have that needs to be used up?’ Could he sound more stilted?

  ‘Sarcasm?’ Bianca turned to Anvita. ‘This is not going to work. He’s supposed to tell me what to do. He’s trying to be too nice.’

  ‘True. Etienne—you need to be more natural. Not this faked happiness. When she says she’s not late, you tap your watch or something. Once again, you don’t have to introduce yourselves, you don’t have to discuss that you’ll be having a meeting about the menu—the show will do that for you. Just get into the meat of it.’ Anvita waved at Bianca. ‘Out. Start again.’

  ‘Natural? I’m not…’ He paced in a circle and stared at the ceiling. Why did they all think he was an asshole? He wasn’t going to prowl around the kitchen and swear at people like other famous chefs. And he couldn’t ‘unsee’ that moment in his office last Thursday night, when Bianca had looked up at him with expectant eyes as he steered her back inside. He’d spent nearly two years pretending not to see her like that. Now he knew how she felt under his hands—the strength in her shoulders from days spent outside shovelling dirt or whatever—and he wanted her to ask him to back her against a wall and fuck her senseless until they both cried out in pleasure. He’d hoped that a busy weekend in the restaurant would help him forget, but no amount of work could take away the anticipation that boiled in his veins. This bickering was unsatisfactory when all he wanted to do was make her scream with pleasure.

  ‘Chemistry, remember. People will watch because they’ll want the tension, the banter, the almost sex.’

  He spun to face Anvita. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Oh, spare me your fragile ego. You want this show. Do the job. Take three. Bianca, come.’

  She slid into the kitchen and flung the hand towel over her shoulder. ‘I’m not late.’ Something in her insolent gaze reminded him of days past and he felt their old roles beckon. He tapped his watch, as requested by Anvita, and raised his eyebrows in an attempt at mockery. No one could see the way his pulse raced as Bianca stepped into his kitchen with her lips pursed.

  ‘Precision is the key to success in the kitchen.’

  ‘Tell that to the pigs—one of them got stuck under the fence this morning. It’s fine.’ She held up her hand. ‘I’ve showered. I wouldn’t dare enter your kitchen smelling like angry pig.’

  ‘The pig is fine now?’ He really didn’t want to think about her in the shower, water rinsing away dirt. Or with her hands in her hair, and her body stretched up and her breasts lifted.

  Bianca’s mouth twitched. ‘Yes. No harm done. I’m fine too. Thanks for asking.’

  He disguised the rush of heat to his groin with an insolent wave of his hand over the fish lying on his wooden cutting board. ‘Today I have had delivery of Samson fish for Homage, and I want to use the offcuts to make a fisherman’s stew called bouillabaisse.’ Thanks to Anvita’s little talk, the words came out a little wooden because they were practiced. He forced himself not to glance at the cameras.

  ‘A testing dish? Homage patrons get the good cuts, and you play with the off-cuts?’

  Etienne nodded. ‘But of course. If the bouillabaisse is as good as I expect, Homage patrons will get to taste that too. That’s my no-waste philosophy. Respect the fish, use everything.’

  ‘Trust a French chef to have a philosophy.’ Bianca paused, then threw out her next words in rapid fire. ‘But you want to discuss this stew first?’

  ‘Oui. The fillets will be used for a tartare entrée, finely sliced with a citrus cure. The rest will go into the bouillabaisse.’

  ‘The stew? Trust a chef to overcomplicate stew with a fancy name. I take it you’ll need all the usual stew bases then, potato, carrot, bay leaves…’

  ‘Bay leaves, yes. The rest, non. Basically, I will make a stock with orange, fennel, herbs, and the fish bones.’ Etienne caught Anvita’s handwaving from the corner of his eyes and paused. ‘And it is bouillabaisse, not stew. It might be a working man’s dish, made famous by the brilliant Auguste Escoffier, and eaten all along the Mediterranean coast where I grew up, but it is delectable and deserves its proper traditional name. Bouillabaisse.’

  ‘Traditional?’ Bianca licked her lips and cracked a little half-grin. He caught the reference to their conversation the other day and ignored it with a little huff of breath. He’d found his flow in front of the cameras now. Anvita was right—ignore them. Bianca’s lips pouted in a perfect ‘O’ as she reminded him of her very valid argument over traditions—she’d been right. She’d probably laugh at him if she knew how erotic he found it when she bested him. Not many people could, which was probably why he loved the challenge of her. There was nothing insipid about Bianca.

  ‘Oui. Very traditional, but this time with an all-Australian twist by using the local Samson fish.’

  ‘I suppose you are going to tell me why it’s called the Samson fish?’

  Etienne waved his hand to indicate that he didn’t really care why. ‘Very strong swimmer.’

  ‘And when you cut off it’s hair, it weakens.’ Bianca twisted her own hair in her fingers and his mouth went dry. It shouldn’t look so attractive as she hinted he would be brought down by her beauty.

  ‘Ha. Can we focus on the work? I will require an orange, some fennel, thyme, marjoram, and tarragon. Of course, a bay leaf, two shallots, some leeks, and what tomatoes do you have?’

  Anvita pointed at the back door, the signal that Bianca should say something to indicate they should go outside.

  ‘It would be easier to show you than describe seven different varieties. Shall we have a look in the garden? Grab your basket and you can choose.’

  ‘Cut. Let’s move into the garden and Bianca can show us some differ
ent tomatoes, Etienne you can explain which ones you want, and we really don’t need the whole list of ingredients—people can go to the website if they want the full recipe. You are both doing well so far, it will be great once we edit it. Bianca, nice touch with the hair twirl, he looked like he wanted to thread his fingers through your silky locks.’

  Bianca coughed. ‘I didn’t mean it that way. I only wanted to tease him with a threat to weaken… Never mind.’ She bolted out of the door.

  ***

  Etienne waited for the camera crew. Last night, on the tractor, she’d mentioned she needed space, and so he’d give it to her. Give her some time to get set up in the garden, before everyone surrounded her again. It might be only a tiny moment, but after that moment in his office, it was suddenly important he show her that he wasn’t a complete asshole.

  ‘The tomatoes are this way.’ Etienne indicated the direction to the camera crew. He couldn’t see Bianca anywhere in the garden, but the mix of different-sized plants meant she could easily be hiding behind the tall frame covered in sweet peas, or the group of sunflowers, or the collection of corn over in the far left corner. With a deep breath, he filled his lungs with all the fragrance of the garden, blending herbs and other flavours together on his tongue. The punchy liquorice of the fennel would be perfect with the Samson fish. Sambos, as the locals called them, weren’t known for being great eating, but the smaller ones had a good firm flesh for soups and they picked up the flavour of the broth really well. Using the fillets for a tartare was an experiment, and he wasn’t sure how that would work out. If it wasn’t good, he’d throw it in the bouillabaisse.

  ‘Did you smell something bad?’ Bianca popped out from behind the sweet peas and he tried not to jump.

  ‘You really shouldn’t give me an opening like that.’

  ‘Am I losing my touch?’ She put her hand at the base of her throat and gave a little fake gasp. A grin seemed to bubble up from inside his chest and he couldn’t stop it bursting across his face.