Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  A thought occurred to me. It was absolutely batshit, but so was Wyatt wanting to make out with me. I narrowed my eyes at him as the suspicion started to take root and turn into an idea, and just like that, it grew roots and branches and leaves and became a verbal, anger-driven accusation. “Are you trying to seduce me to stay at Lilou?”

  His head snapped back, and his eyebrows drew down immediately. “What? No.”

  “Tell the truth, Wyatt. I will not be toyed with in your pursuit of greatness.”

  “That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. You know me better than that. I wouldn’t treat anybody like that, least of all you.”

  “Good,” I said quickly. “Because it wouldn’t work. I’m a much stronger woman than that.”

  Half his smile returned, softer than before, but no less dangerous. “Kaya, if all it took to get you to change your mind was dry humping in the cooler, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now because I wouldn’t be interested.”

  My heart kicked with embarrassment. “You wouldn’t like me if I wanted to make out with you?”

  “I wouldn’t like you if your mind changed that quickly and purposelessly because you were into me. I like you because of your strong opinions. I like you because you’re feisty and sharp and unwilling to change for anyone. Not even me and I’m your boss.”

  His words hit me in the chest like a shove or a slap across the face. I stood there, totally and completely upended, trying to absorb them, understand them. He was the first person that had ever complimented my stubborn will and opinionated personality. The very first.

  My friends felt that way. I knew they did. And I felt the same way about them. But most everyone else shied away from people with strong opinions and relentless drive. We were intimidating or weird. Or maybe our ambitions made us too self-centered to relate to. We were always so focused on our career and the path to get us where we wanted to go that we hardly ever picked our heads up and looked around at the needs of the rest of the world. I wasn’t proud of that, and I made a concerted effort with my friends, but there had been plenty of people that hated me because they felt trampled beneath my hunger to reach my goals.

  My parents were forever annoyed by my sense of self, my need to make my place in the world. They wanted a sweet, docile daughter that was willing to live close to them for the joy of a quiet, uninterrupted life.

  Nolan had only pretended to support my ideas and big plans, my drive and overwhelming need to do something with my life. Once I’d left Hamilton and it became clear that he wouldn’t join me, we’d had countless arguments. His abandoned promise was one of the reasons I knew I’d done the right thing when I broke up with him. He wanted a compliant wife, a woman to dutifully stand by his side and shut up until asked to speak. He wanted someone content with mediocrity.

  Nolan had never been cruel or unkind about what he expected from me, but the belief system was as ingrained in him as it was that entire town. It was a small town that expected small things from its inhabitants. And while that was fine for other people, I could not get on board. Bending to that will wasn’t me.

  I would never be content with small. Hell, I was desperate to get away from medium. I was a go big or go home girl all the way.

  “You mean that?” I asked him, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He held my gaze, his brown eyes darkening. “Yes. Nice bores me. I like you scary.”

  We both laughed, his dry sense of humor felt out of place considering the heart palpitations in my chest. But it worked. He lightened the mood and I was finally able to suck in a deep breath.

  “That said”—his expression grew serious again—“I can’t let you leave. I need you too much. Whatever they’re offering you, I’ll pay you more. I’ll double it if I have to.”

  My heart quit palpitating. Only because it stopped beating altogether. “You’ll double my salary?”

  He nodded. “If I have to.”

  “Now you do.”

  A deep chuckle tumbled out of him, zinging straight to my core and curling around my heart, coaxing it to beat again. “Who are they? I need to know who’s poaching my kitchen.”

  “Nobody,” I assured him, anxious to keep him off the trail of Sarita. “I’ve been looking, but nobody has offered me anything. It’s wishful thinking at this point.”

  He stared at me for a long minute, taking in my answer, weighing its truth, searching for the secrets I kept hidden away. Finally satisfied, he grunted a gruff, “Good.”

  My stomach twisted with nerves and I felt inexplicably guilty. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should have told him what I’d been up to and hoped for. At the very least he deserved honesty. But Sarita seemed impossible at this point. Ezra was still on vacation. I’d had one lesson with Vera and I hadn’t even worked in the kitchen. There were too many unknowns still.

  Better to keep it quiet until I knew if I could even apply for the position.

  Wyatt shuffled to the door and grabbed the handle. “If you’re not going to make out with me, you should probably get back to it then.”

  I turned toward him and couldn’t resist that wicked half smile of his and the words he’d said to me, the affirmations, the sweet confessions. Did Wyatt really like me? Not just as a sometimes friend or loyal employee, but like girlfriend potential?

  It didn’t seem possible.

  After all the grief we’d given each other through the years, he felt more apt to hate me than want to start a relationship with me. Except if I were honest with myself, fighting with him had never felt like fighting.

  Our arguments had always shown how we challenged each other. It was like we were playing tag. Or chess in our more sophisticated moments. There had always been a heart-pounding competition to it.

  That would have been enough for me. I enjoyed our headbutting bouts. I had fun with them. Fun with… him. Even if it felt like World War Three between us sometimes. But now he’d gone and said everything else. He’d admitted to liking me for me. Now I couldn’t unhear his life-giving affirmations no matter how badly I wanted to.

  I paused by the door, knowing this would only complicate things between us even more. But my body was moving on instinct and my fingers were already pressed against his crisp black chef coat.

  His body stilled beneath my touch. Enjoying his reaction more than I should have, I stepped forward and pressed my body against his. The kick of his heart beneath my palm was the final incentive I needed.

  My left hand slid behind his neck, putting pressure on the warm column, bringing his face closer to mine. “Thank you for saying what you did, chef.” His eyes lit with anticipation. “They make me hate you a little bit less.”

  I pressed my lips to his in a sweet, lingering kiss that only held the promise of something more. He wanted more, but I wanted to give him something more meaningful.

  And so, we kissed in that slow, tantalizing way that made my toes curl from the frustration layered between the sweet tease of it. I nibbled his lower lip and ran my tongue across it, promising wickedness I wasn’t sure I could deliver. He made a sound in the back of his throat, half groan, half satisfied moan and I wanted to strip us both down and see exactly how far he was willing to take this.

  But I didn’t.

  I pulled back, taking a step away from him to catch my breath. Then I fled from his office and into the safety of the kitchen. I knew my cheeks were blazing red and I was visibly out of breath, but I needed the kitchen, the buzz of it. I needed the clanging of pots and the bustle of my coworkers. I wanted the sweet smells and the sizzle of the grill. I needed my equilibrium to return and for steadiness to settle in my soul.

  Because Wyatt had taken them from me. He’d flipped me upside down and turned me inside out and then left me to piece myself back together.

  I didn’t get giddy about men. I certainly wasn’t infatuated with them.

  Not even when they said the sweetest things and turned out to be so much more than I ever gave them credit for.
Not even when they looked like a demigod and tasted like sin.

  Not even when they were Wyatt fucking Shaw.

  From this moment on, I would get over him and this new and sudden attraction between us. I knew I kept saying that, but this time I was for real.

  Wyatt was becoming a problem I couldn’t afford to ignore. A problem that felt too big and too complicated to solve. A problem that also felt like a solution. I shook my head and decided I needed to stop trying to figure it out, figure him out. Mostly, I needed to stop kissing him.

  And I would. I would stop all this nonsense and put my career back on the pedestal where it belonged and forget about my crazy, stupid, hot boss.

  Starting… now.

  Twelve

  “Son of a bitch!” I shouted at the full glass of Diet Coke that slipped from my hands and crashed to the ground. Miraculously, the glass didn’t break thanks to the rubber mats beneath my feet, but I did end up with sticky soda all over my shoes.

  My shoes would never be the same. Damn it.

  “How’s it going over there?” Vera called across the kitchen.

  I bit my tongue to keep from telling her exactly how it was going. Because that explanation would have involved more expletives. An excessive number of expletives.

  “Have you ever bussed tables before?” I called back, already knowing the answer. At least I thought I knew the answer.

  “I ran a food truck, sweetheart,” she sassed back. “I worked the whole damn operation by myself.”

  I rubbed the sole of my shoe on my pant leg, hoping to wipe off the remaining liquid, then I set my foot down and realized that my pants as well as my shoes were wet now. So there was that. “Yeah, yeah, you’re superwoman. But have you ever bussed tables at a real restaurant before?”

  The entire kitchen burst to life with “oohs” and “burns” and someone even snuck an “oh, snap” in there. I blushed but held my ground.

  Vera’s head tipped back, and she laughed at my dig. “Can’t say that I have.”

  Our eyes met across the busy kitchen. “We’re not paying our bussers enough money. They deserve a pay raise.”

  She rolled her eyes at me while the two bussers on shift cheered loudly.

  “You’re a bad influence,” Vera scolded. “You’re going to start a riot in my kitchen.”

  I looked around at the staff unable to suppress a smile. They had warmed up to me a little. Not a ton. I mean, they weren’t ready to throw down arms for me like Vera suggested, but they didn’t totally hate me now. I was making progress.

  I needed more time though. Ezra was coming back soon. I had hoped to inspire fierce loyalty to the point where maybe they would strike if I didn’t get the job. At this point they only barely tolerated me. Steps in the right direction, but not good enough.

  And Vera hadn’t even moved me to the kitchen yet.

  I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and reached for the dish caddy again. “I better head back out there. Stay calm, everyone! We’ll save the uprising for next week.”

  Vera threw her fist in the air and laughed. “Keep up the good work, grasshopper.”

  In the dining room, I waved at Christian and got back to work clearing off tables and wiping them down, so they were ready for the next group of people.

  I knew from last week that Sunday was one of the busiest days thanks to the all-day happy hour policy at Sarita. It was a genius business plan and something Lilou didn’t offer.

  Although to be fair, Lilou didn’t need added incentives for diners. The drinks at Lilou were good, but people came to have their minds blown by the cuisine.

  Sarita had a more laid-back menu and the atmosphere was vivacious, primed for drinking and having a good time. Plus, the cocktails were the best in the city—that’s how she was able to survive so long with her former chef.

  Tonight seemed even crazier than last week though. The constant stream of people through the front door hadn’t let up in the several hours I’d been here. My feet were already sore, and I smelled like salsa gone bad. The spilled drink coating my legs and shoes didn’t help.

  I don’t remember ever working this hard. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. There were nights in the kitchen that totally and completely kicked my ass. But usually I could end the night at only completely exhausted, instead of the way I was going to end it tonight—utterly exhausted.

  Another table paid their bill and I patiently waited for them to gather themselves and leave. I took the opportunity to glance at my phone. My focus narrowed on the only notifications I cared about. Three missed texts from Wyatt.

  You’re not here again. And it’s the worst. Benny bumped into Gail and made her drop three plates. I’m never going to get this risotto out of my shoes. I blame you.

  Seriously, where are you? Are you bored? You should bring me dinner. Something greasy and terrible for me.

  I grinned at my phone and wondered when I’d become so totally infatuated with this man. He was too bold and too pushy and too totally ridiculous. And yet my head felt dizzy and the invasive butterflies were back, swooping and twirling and reminding me that his adorable texts were stronger than my will to stay away from him.

  Ten minutes ago, he’d texted to say, Fine, I’ll let you bring me tacos. Hector’s please. I realized that I might have done just that had I not been preoccupied. Especially since he’d picked the best taco truck in all the land. There was a serious problem if I was willing to drop everything to take Wyatt supper on my night off.

  Sorry, chef. I’m unavailable for tacos tonight. Maybe I’ll let you buy them for me some other time though. If you’re good.

  His response was much faster than I expected. Too busy for tacos? It must be serious.

  He was fishing. My smile stretched until my cheeks hurt. God, this man. I’m in the middle of dishes, I confessed. Obviously, it’s very serious.

  Liar.

  Never.

  He sent back the halo emoji to which I countered with the kissy face one. I pretended that small interaction didn’t make my entire night.

  Tucking my phone back into my apron, I hurried over to the now abandoned two-top and started stacking messy plates and ice-filled cocktail glasses into my tub, so I could wipe down the table and set it for the next couple.

  I did appreciate how small the tables were here. At first, I had expected them to be an annoyance to diners because there was barely enough room for the towers of tapas and multitude of drinks. But after a couple of nights observing the dining room, I’d changed my mind. The intimate atmosphere pushed couples together. And for bigger parties, the servers simply combined tables.

  Unlike Lilou, where everything felt staged and carefully planned, Sarita had a warm, inviting atmosphere that drew people together. Lilou was a dining experience. Sarita was a relationship experience. And it helped that the dishes were shared family style. Customers ordered a number of small plates, so everyone could try a little of everything.

  The more I worked at Sarita, the more I loved her. The more I wanted her.

  I had come to believe Vera was a genius for giving me this view of the restaurant. On the off chance that I had been hired based on my skill level alone, I wouldn’t have seen this side of the business, I wouldn’t have had the privilege of knowing her this intimately.

  This was a gift. And I planned to use it to my full advantage.

  “Kaya?”

  Shit.

  I took it back. All of it. This wasn’t a gift, this was exposure I wasn’t ready to face yet. And mildly embarrassing since I was sous chef at one of the best restaurants in the city and I was currently bussing tables pro bono at a competing restaurant.

  “What are you doing?” Killian’s voice was obviously confused.

  I tucked a strand of my curly short hair behind my ear and turned around to face him. “Oh, h-hey, chef.”

  Our smiles wobbled, mine because I was humiliated and his because he had no idea what to make of the tub of dishes in my hand and the dishra
g hanging out of my apron pocket.

  “Since when do you work here?” he pressed, his eyebrows furrowing into a concerned expression.

  “I, uh, don’t.”

  His eyes dropped to the bucket of dirty dishes in my hand. “That’s not what it looks like.”

  Clearing my throat, I decided honesty was probably the best policy here. Okay, real talk, I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough, so honesty spilled out in an open confession. “I want Sarita,” I confessed, hating the words once they were in the air between us. They left me too exposed, too vulnerable. I wanted to go hide in the kitchen and not come out until Ezra gave me the job. “I mean, I want the executive chef position. Vera has been, er, coaching me to get it.”

  “Vera?” he asked, sounding more befuddled than ever. “My Vera?”

  “Yeah. She’s the only Vera I know.”

  He gave me a sardonic look. “She hasn’t said anything about it.”

  Oh, shit. I knew she wanted to keep it a secret, but it wasn’t like I could get out of it now. Or even make something up that was kind of believable—trust me, I was trying.

  There was no way to explain what I was doing here on my one night off, posing as a busser. that could possibly make sense. Except the truth. The truth of it made perfect sense. At least to me.

  Although, I could have gotten away with some weird dirty dish fetish. Killian might have believed that. Or at least not asked very many questions about it.

  Oh, hey, Killian. I have a depraved obsession with dirty dishes. There’s just something about greasy plates… I’m working on it, but I’m, uh, weak.

  Then I would have had the super fun experience of watching him run from the restaurant to never speak to me again. Or look me in the eyes.

  Yeah, the truth was better.

  “Oh, I asked her not to say anything to anyone.” Pretty much the truth.

  His gaze dropped to the dishes again. “I can see why.”

  Setting the tub on the table, I took a step closer to him and glanced around at the dining room. Suddenly, I felt overwhelming panic. If Killian had already found me, it was only a matter of time before our little community knew what I was up to.