The Hotshot Chef: A Billionaire Holiday Romance (International Bad Boys Set Book 3)

by JA Low

  I’m not so sure about where this is heading.

  3

  Sebastien

  “Welcome,” Lettie Clark greets me in her office.

  She’s an intimidating, beautiful woman, and I’m about to tell her that I’m not interested in signing on to the next season of Hotshot Chef.

  “Please, take a seat.” Giving me a warm smile, I do as I’m told. “Wow…” she steeples her hands together when she sits down behind her desk, “… what a first season.”

  “It was… surprising.” I’m not sure what else to say. I thought doing this reality television show about me opening up my restaurant in Los Angeles would be a bit of fun. I could make some money, and it would be great publicity for my restaurant, and it was. My profile has exploded in the States so much more than I could ever have dreamed, perhaps even more than I was expecting.

  The Americans are more enthusiastic about everything than us Spaniards. It’s taken me a little while to get used to that excitement. Add in that I’m friends with the Dirty Texas guys—one of the largest rock star groups in the world—and their families, have helped propel my profile into the stratosphere. Now the first season is done, complete, over with, and I’m burned out. I haven’t stopped working for eighteen months. I wrote a recipe book to accompany my show, which was a best seller. I had to fly all over the country doing signings for that as well. I’ve done all the morning network shows and cooked for them. You name it, I have done it. Now, I want my life back.

  “I hear that you aren’t interested in signing on for another season?” Lettie leans back on her chair. Her dark brown eyes narrow in on me.

  “That’s correct. I’m a little… um… how do you say… burned out.”

  “I can understand that, Sebastien. You have worked constantly for the show and the network. You have been a model employee. You never complained, you always did what we asked no matter how absurd it may have been.”

  Yeah, the naked cooking segment was pushing it, and thankfully they backed down on that.

  “But…” Of course, there’s a damn but. “The network has made you filthy rich, and you have helped their bottom line.”

  Here we go, the network is friendly to you if you do as you’re told, but if you don’t fall into line, there will be hell to pay.

  “I understand all that, Miss Clark, but I want something else. I want to go back to Spain. I’ve bought an old vineyard, and I want to do it up and live a quieter pace of life. I want to go back to my grassroots. I want to cook because I love it, not because I have to.” Being completely honest with her, she remains quiet for some time, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind.

  This woman is plotting something.

  “Tell me more about your vineyard.” She smiles widely at me.

  My eyes narrow. I feel like I’m falling into some kind of trap here, but I take the bait. So, I explain to her about this rundown old vineyard just outside of Barcelona. The old couple had no family to pass it on to, and now they’re ready to retire and live a more peaceful life. I saw it on the internet late one night when I couldn’t sleep and purchased it sight unseen. It grows Cava grapes, which is Spain’s version of French champagne. It’s set high atop a mountain and looks out over rolling green hills of vines.

  Paradise.

  There’s a heap of old farm buildings on the land that need to be renovated—it’s a perfect project for me to get away from tinsel town and all its trappings. I’m not going to lie, I enjoyed everything LA had thrown at me—especially the women—but too much excess isn’t good for you, especially when you lived up to your public image of a bad-boy chef. I’ve lost myself here in LA, and I don’t like the person I’ve turned into by being here.

  “I love everything about it.” Lettie smiles, and I see she will offer something for the chance to capitalize on my idea.

  “I’m not interested in filming it,” I quickly add.

  Lettie chuckles. “I know.” She nods her head at my statement. “It’s a shame because it sounds exactly like what I’m looking for.”

  “I appreciate everything you and the network have done for me.” Because I am genuinely thankful. This was a great opportunity and something I would have kicked myself years later if I had never done it, but it’s changed me, and I want to stop that change before I don’t recognize the person I used to be.

  “I understand, Sebastien,” Lettie tells me. “Are we going to see you at the network’s fall launch party?” she asks. Her change of conversation catches me off guard.

  I was so sure she would push her idea more.

  Maybe I was wrong.

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” Lettie smiles. “It will be a perfect time to say farewell to everyone.” Wait, she’s actually letting me go? “I understand this town isn’t for everyone, Sebastien. I also understand when someone says they need a break, they mean it.”

  “Thank you, Miss Clark, for your understanding,” I reply, feeling relieved about how this meeting has gone.

  “I’ll see you at the party. Enjoy your day,” she dismisses me, and I hightail it out of there before Lettie changes her mind.

  I’m free!

  Quinn

  Two Months Later

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “You have to,” Lettie tells me. “You have a contract, remember?” Urgh, fucking contracts. “It’s only a meeting. A pitch.”

  “And yet, somehow, you won’t tell me what it’s about. You know I don’t like surprises.” I glare at my best friend.

  Lettie laughs. “Trust me, you’re going to like this one.”

  I don’t think I am.

  My life has gone to crap after my last meeting with the network. Chad had been doing some creative accounting with our money and assets and has somehow been able to transfer practically everything we own into his new trust account. The documents I signed stupidly and naïvely about updating our LLC a while ago were to do with Chad putting everything we own in a new company where he is the sole proprietor.

  Chad transferred tens of millions of dollars of assets into his name. Everything we worked for over these past five years together, everything we bought, he now owns legally. As soon as I found out, I sought legal counsel, but because stupid me signed the papers that decreed him the owner of everything, I signed my rights away.

  I could fight it in the courts, but my lawyer advises that it would just chew up more money than it was worth, and we would be tied up in legal battles for years.

  Stupidest woman in the world right here.

  Chad took everything from me—my farm, our home, my horses.

  He graciously left me all the cash in our accounts. Obviously not the five-million-dollar two-year deal he just signed with the network, but I walked away with a big chunk of change, but barely half of the millions we had earned over the last five years. There was enough to start again. Enough never to have to work, but still.

  Fucking men!

  Oh, and the real kicker! Not only did he take everything financially from me, now he’s announced that he and this fitness bikini Instagrammer girlfriend are engaged. He never proposed to me in all those years together.

  Something doesn’t add up. Does it?

  Yep, that’s right.

  The cheese dick had been seeing her for over a year.

  One whole year!

  Everything makes sense why he told me in the car. Why he changed his, or should I say our assets. Why he wanted his brand to go in another direction.

  Yep, it’s with her.

  That’s right.

  The show’s now being relaunched as a new lifestyle show with fitness tips, wedding crap, and renovations—he’s hitting all the demographics.

  Urgh, I want to gag.

  Now, I have to sit through some bull-crap meeting with some executives who want to pitch ideas to me for a show. Lettie has told me I have no choice because the network owns me, and I need to do as I’m told. Suck it up for one year, get paid a considerable amount
of money, then I’m free.

  Lettie ushers me through her office and toward the conference room. Her assistant hands me a bottle of water as I enter, where I see five of her junior executives sitting there waiting for us. Why so many?

  “We are just waiting on one more,” Lettie advises me.

  Okay. Shrugging, I unscrew the top of my water bottle, take a sip of the contents, and hope my nerves calm the hell down.

  The door to the conference room opens, and I hear footsteps. They stop behind me, so I can’t see who it is.

  “What is going on?” The deep, accented voice echoes through the room.

  He does not sound happy.

  “Take a seat, Mr. Sanchez.” Lettie gives him her most professional smile.

  He does as he’s told and takes the seat beside me.

  Turning my head, I notice it’s Sebastien Sanchez, the Hotshot Chef sitting beside me. Geez, I thought he was attractive on television, but in the flesh, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen someone as handsome.

  Chad is that All American country boy, but Sebastien looks like pure and utter sex. I can see why he has a reputation—women must throw themselves at him all the time. I mean, in my mind, I’m seconds away from jumping him.

  Please, let me reiterate, in my mind. I’m not an idiot. Also, I’m not looking to get laid. I’m not ready to take that giant step. Anyway, it’s not like he would want to lay with me.

  I mean, urgh, this man has me mentally tongue-tied.

  Calm down, Quinn.

  Sebastien turns his head, and his eyes widen ever so slightly as he takes me in. Those chocolatey velvet eyes give me the once over, his lip curling in disgust before turning back to Lettie.

  Right! A dick!

  “What the hell is going on?” He sounds angry, but his accent is sexy as hell, even if he seems like a douche.

  “Since our last meeting, I decided to take another look at your contract,” Lettie begins. “Not sure if you have read it since you signed it, Mr. Sanchez.” Sebastien stills beside me, and tension fills the room. “I know you said that your contract was coming to an end—”

  “Yes. That’s because I have finished the first season of my show. That is all I signed up for,” Sebastien counters.

  “This is true.” Lettie smiles, but I can see by the way that she’s sitting that there’s more to it. “But there’s a clause in the contract that you may not have remembered signing because, let us be serious, not everyone reads everything in their contracts.” Lettie looks over at me.

  Is that a dig at me?

  “What clause?” Sebastien sits straighter beside me.

  “There is a clause in the contract that states if season two of Hotshot Chef isn’t commissioned, that you’re contracted to the network for two years. You are unable to do another program with another network until your contract has expired.”

  There is silence in the room while Sebastien takes in that news.

  “Okay. That’s fine. I’m not looking to do another show, anyway. I’m moving back to Spain,” he adds.

  “Yes, I understand that.” Lettie moves in a little closer, resting her elbows on the table. “But if you did another show, your contract would be reduced to a year, and then you would be free.” Her eyes are narrowing in on him.

  “Another show.” His voice rises, “I’m not doing another show. I told you I’m burned out. I hate LA. I don’t want to be here anymore, and now you are telling me that I have to stay for another year?” You can hear the distress in his voice, and I’m feeling mighty uncomfortable sitting here listening in on this.

  Why am I here again?

  “We have a proposition for you that I think will be beneficial to everyone.” Lettie smiles. I’ve never seen her in full shark mode. Now I get it. I get why she’s the best at what she does and why people are scared of her.

  “No. No. No,” Sebastien says beside me. “I don’t want to hear it. There is nothing you can offer me that I want. Sue me. I’ll break my contract,” he tells her, now sounding very agitated.

  “I’m sure that is not the route you would like to go down, Mr. Sanchez,” Lettie warns him coldly.

  I felt her warning to my bones, and it chilled me.

  “You dare to threaten me, Miss Clark.” Sebastien glares.

  “No. No. Just making sure you understand all of your options first.” She gives him a sunny smile.

  Sebastien grumbles something in Spanish beside me, but I don’t catch it.

  “Go on, then...” He waves his hand in the air.

  “Thought you might come around.” Lettie chuckles, then her attention is pulled into my direction before she addresses Sebastien again. “We are offering you to go back to Spain and to work on your vineyard,” Lettie starts.

  “And you want to film me doing that?” Sebastien adds.

  “Yes.”

  “And the catch?” he questions her.

  A grin falls across her face. “The catch is Quinn is going to help you.”

  “What?” both Sebastien and I answer at the same time.

  “Quinn here is stuck just like you, Sebastien.” Her eyes narrow on him, then me. “We think this will be a great pairing. Quinn is one of our network's biggest stars. Plus, she is a phenomenal interior designer and renovator, which I think is probably something you might need on your project.” Lettie grins.

  “I’m sorry, but what the hell?” I speak up.

  “Yeah. What she said,” Sebastien agrees.

  “The network thinks this is a brilliant proposition, the Hotshot Chef and the Reno Queen in a crossover show. It’s going to be a winner,” Lettie exclaims enthusiastically.

  “I think you’re forgetting one thing,” I tell my friend. “It’s in Spain.”

  “Exactly. You need to get away from here for a while. We could give an Eat, Pray, Love vibe to your story. How Quinn Miller finds herself again after her breakup from Chad Bailey.”

  My jaw falls wide open. Did my friend just use my personal life as part of the pitch?

  I can’t focus. Tears begin to well in my eyes, feeling betrayed by my best friend. Standing quickly, my chair scrapes across the floor as I hightail it out of there. Pushing my way out the door, I rush down the corridor to the bathroom, where I slam the door shut and lock it as I collapse in a hot mess on the cold tiles.

  “Quinn.” Lettie knocks on the door. “Babe.”

  “Go away,” I scream through snot bubbles as my entire existence feels like it’s been pulled out from under me.

  “Quinnie,” Lettie whispers through the door. “I’m sorry, okay. That wasn’t right, bringing in your personal life like that. I got carried away being professional, Lettie, and forgot to be a friend.”

  I suck in a shaky breath listening to her words.

  “I think this will be good for you.”

  “How?”

  “One… you can get away from Chad and his new woman prancing around in front of you. Because you know he’s going to be a publicity whore once the show is announced.” This is true. “Two… the media is going to find out America’s Reno sweethearts have parted ways, and they’re going to want all the gory details, especially when they find out Chad is engaged to someone else.” I didn’t think of that, but she has a point. “Three… it’s Spain.” Guess that could be nice. “Four… Sebastien is hot as fuck.”

  “I’m not interested,” I add.

  “I know, babe. But he would be nice to look at for a while. Who knows, maybe he has a hot brother or something?”

  Damn her! I am trying to fight the grin that’s forming on my face. Standing, I unlock the door and let her in. She pulls me into a big hug, which I welcome.

  “And five… they are going to pay you so much money to do this show.”

  “You know I’ve never been about the money.”

  “Yeah, I know, but…” she grins, “… they will pay you more than they did Chad.”

  Now, she has my attention.

  Yeah, I know that sounds petty that I�
�m happy they will be paying me more than him, but I can’t help thinking, Suck it, Chad.

  “Fine. I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

  “Good. Now fix yourself up and get your butt back in there.” She gives my ass a hard slap and disappears back to the conference room.

  5

  Sebastien

  Eventually, Quinn, I think that’s her name, comes back in. Her eyes are a little puffy from where she’s been crying.

  She’s as thrilled over this idea as I am.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Quinn gives me a small smile as she retakes her seat.

  “Entirely my fault, Quinn.” Lettie apologizes. “Would you mind giving us a moment,” Lettie tells her staff, who pack up rather quickly and get out of the room. Once the conference door is shut, and the three of us are alone, Lettie’s demeanor changes, it softens even.

  “As I heartlessly announced earlier in front of everyone that Quinn and Chad Bailey have broken up…” She gives Quinn another apologetic smile. Who is this woman? “And I can see by the confused look on your face, Sebastien, you are not following.” She can say that again. “You have heard of the show Farmhouse Reno?” Lettie asks.

  “Yes.” Of course, I have. It was airing around the same time as my show, and I remember my manager at the network focusing on who had the highest-rated show.

  “What you might not know is this power couple have broken up.” I am still not following how this has anything to do with me. “He’s been playing hide the salami with an Instagram fitness model,” Lettie adds.

  I look over at Quinn and take her in. She’s pretty, cute even. She’s giving me that wholesome American vibe. She’s probably boring in a goody-two-shoes way and not my thing at all. Probably tastes like cinnamon and apple pie. As Lettie speaks, she’s playing with her hand nervously. I notice her teeth have sunk into her bottom lip—a very plump, luscious bottom lip.