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

by JA Low

  “I’m going to be unprofessional for a moment,” Lettie warns. “I want to crush Chad Bailey for what he’s done to my best friend.”

  Oh, I see now what’s going on.

  Quinn looks up and gives Lettie a sad smile.

  “He took everything from Quinn. Everything she worked hard for and left her with nothing.”

  “Lettie,” Quinn warns her friend before turning her attention to me. Those bright blue doe eyes land on mine, and for a moment, I’m stunned, unable to move my attention away from her.

  “I’m sorry. None of this is your problem… at all,” she tells me. “Honestly. It’s utterly mortifying that you are even hearing about how much of a shit show my life has turned out. I mean, you’re Sebastien Sanchez.” She gives me a self-deprecating laugh as she shakes her head.

  “Chad Bailey thinks he’s the big man on campus, and I want to bring him down a peg or two… off the record, of course.” Lettie’s steely eyes warn me. She doesn’t need to tell me twice. “And I feel like you’re just the man to do it.”

  “Me?”

  Lettie nods. “Yes, you. I’m prepared to give you everything you want and need to be a part of this show. We will pay for all renovations… you won’t have to pay for a thing.” Oh, wow, okay. Now she’s talking. “I know you don’t need the money,” she adds. “And really, you owe either of us nothing, but I will warn you the network will not budge on your contract, and they will call it in. They will put you on some stupid-ass show that some dumbass junior executive has pitched to them to get their money from you, and unfortunately, it will be the same for Quinn.” Her attention moves to her friend. “I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “So, you’re saying the network will let me move back home. They will pay for all renovations if I let them film the process?” I’m double-checking precisely what it is she’s offering.

  “Yep. And Quinn, here, will be helping.” Turning and looking over at the younger woman sitting beside me, I ask, “And you are okay with it?”

  “Like you… I don’t have a choice.” She shrugs, which makes me frown.

  “Do you not want to work with me?”

  “I don’t know you,” Quinn adds.

  “I don’t know you either.”

  Lettie’s head bounces between us as if she’s watching a tennis match. “How about we change that… dinner and drinks tonight to see if whatever this is will work?” she suggests.

  “Fine.” Quinn rolls her eyes.

  “I’ll set us up in the private dining room of my restaurant.” Looking over at Quinn to see if she’s impressed by my statement, I can see she’s not.

  “Cool.” She simply shrugs her shoulders again.

  Does she not realize what a privilege it is to dine in my private dining room?

  “Great.” Lettie claps her hands. “See you tonight at eight.”

  6

  Quinn

  “I’m running late,” Lettie groans down the cell to me. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  “A couple of hours? What the hell am I supposed to with Sebastien Sanchez for that long?”

  “You serious?” Lettie laughs.

  “Mind… gutter,” I mumble at her.

  “You can’t deny the guy is hot,” she jokes.

  “I have eyes. But he’s a lot older than me,” I moan.

  “Hey, he’s the same age as me, and I’m not old. And remember with age comes experience.”

  “Is that what you tell your cougar baits?” I’m joking about her penchant for younger men.

  “Screw you.” She laughs. “Go eat some nice food, have some great wine, and enjoy the company of a hot guy as a sexy, single woman.” I let out a groan. I haven’t dated since high school, and the world is a different place now. “You better be wearing something sexy, too.”

  “I’m wearing a black dress,” I add. Looking down at it now, I realize it seems like something I should wear to a funeral.

  “Show me.” I flip my cell around and show her what I’m wearing in the mirror. “No. Urgh. No,” she hisses through the phone. “I’ll call you back.” And with that, she hangs up on me. Okay, now I’m stressing about what I’m wearing. Is it not appropriate? Moments later, my cell rings, and it’s Lettie.

  “Right. A dress is on its way, and it should be there in fifteen. You’ll thank me. I got to run. Have fun tonight. Bye.” And with those few words, she’s gone.

  Stepping out of the Uber in a very tight-fitting red mini dress that Lettie sent over, I am feeling like a different person as I step onto the sidewalk.

  “Quinn. Quinn.” A paparazzo springs out from nowhere and thrusts a microphone into my face. “Any truth to the reports that you and Chad Bailey have broken up?”

  How did he know? His lens zooms in, trying to capture as much truth on my face as he can to sell the image to the highest bidder.

  “No comment,” I answer while the bright light shines in my eyes.

  “What about the reports that he’s been seeing fitness model, Zara Grinds?”

  How the hell does this guy know all this? I think someone from the network has leaked the information, or maybe it was Chad himself. That wouldn’t surprise me one bit.

  “No comment.” As I try and move around him, he keeps blocking my path. I want to get inside and away from his consistent questioning.

  “What about the reports you’re seeing Sebastien Sanchez?”

  What? His question catches me off guard.

  “No.”

  “You are dressed as if you’re on a date, and you’re at his restaurant.”

  “That’s enough!” Sebastien comes out of nowhere and intervenes. “You will not harass my customers. Do you hear me?”

  The paparazzo continues to click away, getting Sebastien’s angry face. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and ushers me inside. I’m a little shaken by the encounter. I’ve never experienced anything like that before. Usually, they are lovely toward me.

  “You okay?” Sebastien’s large hands land on each side of my shoulders holding me in place. Those soft, molten chocolate eyes are inspecting me to see if the paparazzo has touched me.

  “I’m a little shaken.” Licking my dry lips, he nods his head and pulls out a chair, and I take it. He moves over to a bar set up in the corner and pours me a tumbler of something, then grabs a bottle of water from the mini bar fridge.

  “Here.” His voice is gruff as he hands me the drinks.

  “Thank you.” Gladly taking them from him, our fingers touch for a couple of moments, and tiny sparks of electricity run up my hand as if he’s given me an electric shock. He felt it too as he quickly pulled his hand away from me.

  “That shouldn’t have happened to you. I have an extremely low threshold for people like that.” He takes a seat beside me while tension radiates from him. I take a sip from the tumbler. It’s tequila, and I gladly let the alcohol help return my equilibrium.

  “He knew about my breakup. He knew about Chad’s girlfriend.” My hand shakes ever so slightly as I take another sip of the tequila. “He thought you and I were dating? How would he know all those things?”

  Sebastien’s brows furrow at my question.

  “I thought you were the network’s biggest star. Shouldn’t you be used to that?” He points his thumb over his shoulder.

  “No,” I answer while shaking my head. “I’ve been with Chad since high school. They have always left us alone. A few photos here and there but nothing like that.”

  “Guess you’re not so boring now.” He chuckles.

  “Boring?” My voice raises.

  “Yeah. You and Chad were high school sweethearts. You created whimsical farmhouses for TV. You had the cutesy, Instagram-worthy farm in the country. You were marketed as wholesome, all-American goodness.” Sebastien raises a brow to dare me to argue otherwise.

  “So, what’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s unsustainable,” he argues.

  “What do you mean? Our sho
w ran for five years. That’s hardly unsustainable.”

  “The façade of being perfect is.”

  “Who said I was perfect?” My blood starts to boil at his judgmental attitude.

  “That’s what you were portrayed as #couplegoals. I think the term would be like I said… unsustainable.” This man is getting on my very last nerve—judgmental ass.

  “We weren’t perfect or sustainable, were we?” The tears well in my eyes as I raise my voice at him. “Chad was messing around on me for a year. He got engaged to someone else while we were together. He stole my entire life savings.”

  Sebastien is stunned into silence, and his long, thick black lashes blink a couple of times.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  As an errant tear falls down my cheek, I wipe it away while trying to compose myself. “You didn’t. It’s all true. Everything you have said is true.” Throwing my hands up into the air, I continue, “My life… is a mess. And once this news becomes public, it’s going to be even more of a shitstorm. A public spectacle.” I let out a shaky breath. “Chad is going to throw his good fortune in my face every second he can.”

  “Does he still have feelings for you?” Sebastien questions.

  “Hell, no. But he likes to win. He’s always been competitive. He should have been a pro athlete, but he had a motorbike accident in high school which ruined his chances of going pro. He channeled that drive into our business, and well, here we are.”

  Urgh, I hate Chad Bailey so much.

  “Take it from someone who has been through a messy breakup in public. Wear a mask, that way they can’t get to you.”

  “You think I should wear a disguise?” Okay, that seems a rather weird thing to do.

  Sebastien lets out a hearty laugh at my comment. “No. I mean an invisible mask. No matter what they say, it doesn’t bother you. No matter what Chad does, you rise above it. The media loves nothing more than to rejoice in the drama that you portray.”

  Maybe he’s right.

  “Thanks.”

  “Not a problem.” He looks down at his watch. “Looks like Lettie is running late.”

  “Oh, yeah, she’s stuck in a meeting. She told me she will join us later. She said to start without her.”

  “I’ll let the kitchen know.” Sebastien stands and heads out of the private room, leaving me alone. It’s the first time I take in my surroundings. As I gaze around the luxurious dining room, I love its sleek modern look with its timber- featured wall that merges with the ceiling on all four sides. The dining room table is marble, and the place settings are white with gold cutlery. It’s not my style.

  I wonder if this is what he likes in interior design?

  In the middle of the table, falling from the ceiling is a sculpture-like chandelier made of golden bronze glass.

  Moments later, he returns to the room.

  “Appetizers will be served in a moment,” he tells me with a blinding smile showing off the dark, tanned features of his handsome face. Seriously, no one should be that good-looking.

  “I’ve been admiring the design of your private dining room.” Slowly easing myself into the conversation, I say, “It’s sleek and minimalist. Is that your preferred style?”

  Sebastien shrugs. “Not sure. I paid someone to design this. They were the best, and I trusted their judgment.”

  “I’m surprised you would put such faith in someone like that.” I run my finger over the edge of my glass tumbler. “Aren’t chefs known to be control freaks?”

  He quirks a surprised brow at me. “How many chefs do you know?” he questions as he raises his glass to his pouty lips.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’m trying to work out how you got to the notion that all chefs are control freaks.” Those dark and stormy eyes flare at me.

  “I, um …” His intense stare makes me flustered, and I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

  He leans forward as if he’s about to tell me a secret. “The only places I want complete and utter control in is the kitchen and the bedroom.” His eyes dip down for the first time at my cleavage before slowly coming back up to my face. “Everything else… I will leave to the professionals.” He doesn’t break eye contact with me. Is he trying to intimidate me? The man thinks I’m wholesale and naïve. It’s written all over his face. He’s trying to get a rise out of me, test me, push me, maybe even make me quit before we’ve even begun. I know he’s not interested in working with me as I am with him.

  Now, I lean forward, copying his actions, giving him a good look at my well-endowed cleavage. I watch his eyes dip again.

  Mr. Hotshot Chef, you’re not as indifferent as you want me to believe.

  “We are remarkably similar, then. I’m used to being in control of men in and out of the bedroom.”

  His lips quirk into a small smile. “Looks like one of us is going to have to convince the other to give up control if we work together, then.” His accent swirls around the words adding a seductive layer to them. Those chocolatey eyes turn molten liquid as they take another glance over my cleavage.

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  Oh, wow, now that was full-on flirtation there, Quinn. What on earth do you think you are doing?

  My comment makes Sebastien chuckle.

  “Game on, blondie.” That dirty smirk makes my body buzz with excitement.

  Thankfully, we are rescued before I embarrass myself any further by two gorgeous waitresses who have brought in a couple of trays. They are covered, so I’m not sure what’s underneath. They place them in the middle of the table and leave us to it.

  “Have you had Spanish tapas?” Sebastien asks. I shake my head, indicating I haven’t. “Do you trust me?”

  “Not really,” I answer honestly.

  He lets out a deep, timbered laugh. “Okay, I earned that. I want you to close your eyes while I feed you.”

  “Is this some kind of kink? Asking an unsuspecting young woman to open wide before stuffing your salami in her mouth?” He gives me a what-the- fuck-are-you-on-about look.

  “I can assure you I don’t think there’s any salami on this plate.”

  “Salami is a euphemism for your dick.”

  Sebastien chokes on his breath as he takes in my comment. “Yes, I got that, Quinn.” He chuckles. “I can promise you there are only pure intentions here. It’s all about the food, nothing more.” I eye him suspiciously. “Let me put your mind at rest… you’re not my type.”

  Wow. Right. Well, that’s a kick in the guts.

  I wasn’t interested in him either, but I can appreciate him being attractive. Guess I’m not anyone’s type, then.

  I place my hand on the table as I push myself up from my extremely uncomfortable chair.

  This was a mistake.

  All of it.

  I can’t do this.

  I can’t do any of this.

  I feel my throat closing as panic creeps over my skin.

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Quinn?” He seems surprised by my reaction.

  Shaking my head, I state, “This was a mistake.” I try to turn on my heel to leave the room, but he reaches out and grabs my arm.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you with my comment.” His brows are pinched together.

  “I don’t give a crap if you are into me or not. You are the first man I’ve been alone with since…” throwing up my hands high in the air, “… high school.” I cringe as I say it out loud. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. My entire life has been turned upside down. I feel like some kind of baby bird who’s recently been kicked out of the nest, and I don’t know what the hell this weird world is that I’ve been thrust into. I’m lost. Confused. Like the ground has fallen away, and I’m free falling. Everyone tells me… screw him, you deserve better. You dodged a bullet, girl. And I know all this, but I can’t stop my heart from wanting him.” Tears are falling down my cheeks.

  “And now I
’m having a mental breakdown in front of you.” I point at a shell-shocked Sebastien Sanchez.

  “You already think I’m some young, country bumpkin. A stupid, naïve girl, who probably deserved to have all her money taken from her because she trusted someone she loved not to fuck her over. You look down on me as some unsophisticated, pitiful girl, and maybe I am. Maybe I am that pathetic that I even attempted this for some stupid reason. I’ll blame it on the tequila. How dare someone like me try to flirt with Mr. Hotshot Chef himself… the sophisticated, worldly Sebastien Sanchez, just to make myself feel better. How wrong was I?”

  “Don’t look at me like that.” His face says it all—I’m a loser. “Goodnight, Sebastien. Lettie will be here soon. You can have some sophisticated adult conversation, then.” And with that, I turn on my heel and walk out of his restaurant.

  7

  Sebastien

  “Hey, where’s Quinn?” Lettie asks.

  “She left a while ago. I assume she’s at home,” I tell her.

  “How long ago did she leave?” Lettie pushes.

  “Hours. Why?”

  “Because she hasn’t come home yet, unless—”

  “No. She is not here with me,” I add quickly because I don’t want her thinking anything along those lines.

  “You have a reputation, Mr. Sanchez.” Lettie chuckles.

  “I know. But I don’t hook up with potential business partners.”

  “How did it go tonight?” Lettie questions.

  “Not so great. It might be the reason why Quinn’s not home.”

  “What the fuck did you do?” Lettie raises her voice.

  “Nothing. I swear. She had a run-in with a paparazzo outside the restaurant. I also kind of told her she wasn’t my type. She then had a full-on mental breakdown over Chad after that.”

  “Fuck!” Lettie curses. “I thought she was coping too well. I hate that son of bitch for doing this to her. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a good girl. The paparazzi are going to eat her alive.” Lettie lets out a heavy sigh. “Thanks. I’m sorry about all this. I tried to help you both out, but I seem to have messed it all up instead. I thought she was ready.”