Tearaways

by Lily Harlem

  “What?” Evan asked.

  Raul didn’t answer. “Hey, Mr Sir,” Raul called. “Wait.” He strolled forward, his long legs covering the ground quickly.

  The man looked up, a frown marring his brow. “Yeah?”

  “Why you closed?”

  “Can’t you read?” He tapped the blackboard with his chalk, leaving several white dots.

  “Si, I can read. I can also cook, so if it is the chef who is sick, I can help.”

  “Cook?”

  “Si. I am chef.” Raul placed his hands on his hips and grinned.

  The man sighed as if already weary of the conversation.

  “I am chef and I have team.” Raul pointed to Olivia and the other men. “I have commis chef, waiters, and pot washer. We can run your restaurant for the evening, you won’t lose money.” He laughed. “As long as you pay us.”

  “What? Do I look like I’ve lost my mind? I’m not going to let a bunch of tearaways like you take over my restaurant, it’s my livelihood.”

  “Not tonight it isn’t. You make no money. Food go bad in the refrigerator.”

  “No thanks.” The guy tapped the side of his head. “I’m not crazy, okay.”

  “You have a phone?”

  “What?”

  “Do you have a phone?”

  “Of course.”

  “So look me up. Raul Santiago, head chef of Barcelona. You will see.”

  “Raul Santiago. Never heard of you.” The man huffed.

  Raul’s face darkened. “No, because this is small restaurant, serves food for the masses. I am an artist with food, I work with beauty, with flavors that will blow your mind.” He paused. “If you do not want this chance of a lifetime to have Michelin chef, that is your choice.” He turned and stepped away.

  “Wait.” The man said, pulling out his phone. “What did you say your name was?”

  Raul grinned then turned his attention back. “Raul Santiago. You will see it is me.”

  There was a little bit of tapping then the restaurant owner peered closer at his phone. He studied Raul as if comparing him to a picture. His expression softened. “This is you.”

  “Si. I am traveling with friends to raise money for charity. We need work, this could be good for both of us.”

  “And they can do front of house? I have no staff tonight, they all have flu.”

  “Of course they can do front of house, you will have handsome waiters, no?”

  “I’m not sure about the leathers.” He eyed the twins, who were standing side by side, arms folded, feet hip-width apart and their faces holding brooding expressions.

  “It is all we have, the ladies will love it.” Raul laughed.

  The man rubbed his chin then scraped his hand over his head. “What the hell.” He scrubbed out the chalked writing on the blackboard and replaced it.

  For one night only. Michelin Chef Raul Santiago all the way from Barcelona. Do not miss out.

  “Good man.” Raul clasped his shoulder. “You will not regret it.”

  “I hope not.” He held up a finger. “I will pay you as a team, forty percent of the profits I take tonight, the profit, you hear, not the takings.”

  “Fifty.” Raul said.

  “No, forty.”

  “Then we do not work.” Raul folded his arms.

  Olivia opened her mouth to protest. The cash would be brilliant. They might even get a motel for the night and not have to sleep outside with the risk of being mauled by grizzly bears.

  The owner tutted. “Okay. Fifty.”

  Harry and Evan caught one another’s gaze. They seemed both proud and a little shocked at Raul’s brazen bartering and the fact he thought they could run a restaurant between them.

  “We will get started,” Raul said, rubbing his hands together. “Where is the kitchen?”

  “This way.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Two hours later, Olivia had decided sleeping with bears would be more fun than working as Raul’s commis chef.

  She suspected Harry felt the same. He’d been assigned the job as pot washer so he wouldn’t get recognized in the restaurant.

  “Would rather have spent the evening being papped,” he muttered as Raul threw yet another pan into the sink, splashing him with greasy hot water and bubbles.

  “Hurry.” Raul clapped. “There is not enough pans here.” He pointed to the chopping board where Olivia was busy cutting up onions. “More, we need more, and smaller too, much smaller.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can.” She wiped her eyes. They were stinging from the onions. If she picked up her speed while her vision was blurred, chances were she’d lose a finger.

  “Service!” Raul called, banging two plates with stacked high burgers onto the serving shelf. “Service! Now!”

  Mason rushed in, grabbed the plates, checked the ticket then dashed off.

  “Service!” Raul called again. “Where are you all?”

  Evan appeared, his already tousled blond hair wilder than ever. “I’m here.”

  “Table ten, two T-bones with ’slaw.” Raul shoved the next two plates forward.

  He worked at such speed it made Olivia dizzy. Already a person who moved fast, fidgeted and liked to be on the go, in the kitchen, working, Raul was a whirlwind.

  And he talked too. He hadn’t been quiet for a moment since he’d started cooking. If he wasn’t barking instructions at her, he was shouting at Lucas, Mason and Evan for service or snapping at Harry to hurry up with cleaning his pans.

  Olivia’s ears were ringing.

  “Table six. Two deep-fried shrimp and one southern fried chicken breast.” Lucas shoved a ticket onto the board.

  “Fried, fried, fried.” Raul held his hands heavenward and shook them. “Why these Americans have everything fried?”

  Olivia reached for another onion.

  Raul dropped the shrimp into the hissing fryer.

  “And table three says this steak isn’t medium, it’s rare.” Mason pushed a steak back over the counter.

  “Qué?” Raul wiped his hands on the blue and white apron he was wearing. “Let me see.” He prodded the meat. “It is perfect. That is medium any more and it is well done, see.”

  “Maybe cook it for another minute,” Olivia suggested with a shrug.

  “No.” Raul stabbed his thumb against his chest. “That would be saying I do not know the difference between well done and medium, and I do.”

  “Isn’t the customer always right?” Harry pointed out.

  “Customer knows nothing. American customer even less.” He pushed the steak back to Mason. “Tell them to order well done if that is what they want.”

  Mason looked doubtful and glanced at Harry.

  Harry shrugged.

  “Bloody hell,” Olivia muttered.

  Mason disappeared.

  “You want us to get paid for this or not?” Harry asked.

  “Si, we will. Many happy customers.” Raul began to dip chicken in batter. “Just one estúpido cliente.”

  “The restaurant is full to capacity.” Evan appeared again. “Inside and out.” He pushed a ticket on the board. “Two loaded fries, one chicken Caesar wrap and a hot dog.”

  “Si, si.” Raul gestured to Olivia. “Lettuce, tomatoes, chop, chop.”

  “Yes, chef.” She tipped the chopped onions into a bowl and dashed to the huge refrigerator. It took a moment to locate the next batch of salad and when she did she rushed back to her chopping board.

  “This oil will need changing.” Raul tutted. “Harry, wash the boards.”

  “Yes, chef,” Harry muttered. He looked at Olivia and rolled his eyes.

  She shook her head.

  Raul was driving them all crazy.

  They carried on cooking, chopping, washing and serving for another hour.

  “Last order,” Mason said as he wiped his forearm over his brow. “Chicken burger with extra bacon, ribs, ’slaw and loaded fries.”

  “Take this.” Raul slid two plates each c
ontaining a stack of fried chicken and a huge salad. “And this.” He placed two jugs of dressing next to them.

  “Yes, chef,” Mason said.

  “Olivia,” Raul snapped. “What is this?” He held up a thick slice of tomato. “And this?” In his other hand he wafted a lettuce leaf at arm’s length.

  “Er… is that a trick question?” she asked, shifting from one aching foot to the other.”

  “No, it is not.” He frowned. “This is not how I told you to do it. I want thin, so thin you can see through it.” He held the tomato to his left eye. “And this lettuce…This is thick, almost whole. And lettuce I want shredded not in leaves a rabbit would choke on.”

  Heat traveled over Olivia’s already hot skin and her peripheral vision blurred. Anger infused her veins and she could hold it in no longer. She’d had enough.

  “Fuck it.” She slammed down her knife. “I’m done with this shit, Raul.”

  His eyes widened and he stilled with tomato and lettuce held aloft.

  “You’re being horrible to everyone. I had no idea this was what you were like.” She pointed at the chopping board. “I’ve been doing my best for hours, for you. So has Harry, Lucas, Evan and Mason, and all you’re doing is being mean.” She pulled at the string in the small of her back to release her apron, then tugged it over her head. She wiped her hands on it and banged the crush of material onto the counter. “I’m done.”

  “Done?” He dropped the salad onto a plate.

  “Yes, done. I’d rather take my chance with the bears than stay in this bloody kitchen another minute.”

  She turned, stomped past Harry, then let herself out into the night. After slamming the door, she marched over the small concrete yard, past several large refuse bins illuminated by a bright wall light, and climbed a small fence onto a grassy area.

  She’d been good at keeping her temper in check lately, but Raul had pushed her to the limit. There was being in charge and taking control of a situation, and there was being insensitive, bossy, unreasonable and dictatorial.

  Come to think of it, she was surprised none of the other guys had told him what was what before now. They’d endured hours of his short temper, snappy remarks and asshole attitude.

  A small stream flowed at the edge of the bank; the grass dipping down to it held the first signs of dew. She pulled in long breaths, squeezed her hands into fists then relaxed them as she headed to a bench bathed in moonlight. The cooler air was welcome and she realized how hot she’d become in the kitchen with all the frying and steaming and the constant flow of piping hot water Harry had to have running. The scents of the kitchen still swarmed around her, her skin was clammy and seemed coated in oil from the fryers.

  She sat, closed her eyes, and tried to make her tense shoulders relax. What was upsetting was seeing a man she thought she knew so well in such a different light. Raul had only ever treated her with respect and kindness, yet in this kitchen he’d behaved in a way she couldn’t have imagined.

  A noise to her right startled her and she opened her eyes.

  Bear?

  Raul stood in the pale light with his arms hanging at his sides and his head bowed. “Mi niña hermosa.”

  “Don’t you ‘beautiful girl’ me.” She folded her arms. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “I am so sorry.” He pressed his hands to his chest and a pained expression crumpled his features. “You have to believe me.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  He stood still, stiller than she’d ever seen him.

  Somehow that just annoyed her more. “I mean it, leave me alone, Raul. I don’t want you here with me.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He took a step toward her.

  “I do mean it. I need to not hear your voice. My ears are ringing with it and you’ve given me a headache.” She turned so her shoulder nearest him was angled away and rubbed her temples with her index fingers.

  Over the gentle sound of the stream she was aware of his quiet footsteps.

  He sat next to her.

  She sighed, a long, huffy expulsion of air. “I know you speak English, so what don’t you understand about leave me alone?”

  “Why are you so crazy mad at me?”

  “Why?” She turned to him. “How can you ask that?”

  “I do not know.” He held up his hands.

  She stood and folded her arms with her shoulders hunched.

  “Why you so mad with me?” he asked again.

  A frustrated gasp burst from her mouth. “Because of how you were in there tonight. With everyone. Not just me. You must know that.”

  “I was getting a job done. We had fifty-five covers. It is a lot even though menu is simple, boring and bland.”

  “But you were so mean about it.”

  “Mean?” He stood but had the good sense not to close the gap between them.

  “Yes, mean. You were shouting, pointing, and being horrible to all of us.”

  “It is how it is in kitchen when working as a chef. Otherwise things don’t get done. Staff get lazy and sloppy, they don’t work well. Customers do not like the food or they do not get fed.”

  “But Harry, Evan, Lucas and Mason are not staff, they’re your friends. And I am not your staff, Raul, I’m your girlfriend.” She jabbed her hands onto her hips. “Or at least I was. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “No, no, please do not say that, por favor, por favor.” He rushed up to her and dropped to his knees, clasping his hands beneath his chin as if praying at the altar. “I am so sorry, so sorry.”

  “Raul.” She stared at the top of his head. “For crying out loud, don’t be so dramatic.”

  “But you are breaking my heart. I am sorry. It will never happen again.”

  “Too damn right it won’t. I wouldn’t be your commis chef for a million pounds.”

  “It is true, I was harsh on you all. My staff in Barcelona, they know me, they understand it is just work, getting job done. Afterward we drink, laugh, say how busy and good our night was.”

  “But we were working in there because you wanted the money for Vegas, not because it’s our job.”

  “I will do good with the money, I promise.” He reached forward, wrapping his arms around her hips and burying his face against her abdomen. “Do not say I am not yours, please.”

  The cool air going in and out of her lungs, and the desperation in his voice dampened her temper. The pounding in her head receded and the ringing in her ears was replaced with the calming sound of the stream.

  She sighed and stroked her hand over his jet-black hair. The strands were thick and long and her fingers became lost in them.

  “Olivia,” he whispered onto her t-shirt. “I am sorry for what I said and did.”

  Damn it. He’d driven her insane for the last few hours but within minutes she was ready to forgive him.

  “I know I am not perfecto.” He looked up at her, his sexy dark eyes wide. “But I will try to be, for you.”

  “I don’t want you to be perfect,” she said quietly. “I just want you not to shout at me when I don’t cut tomatoes and lettuce to your exacting standards, or have a go at the guys when they’re doing their absolute best.”

  “They worked well, you all did.”

  She pushed his hair back from his brow and cupped his chin. “None of us have worked in a restaurant before from what I know, and Harry… you got the great Harrington Vidal washing up for you, and he didn’t complain once.”

  “No, he didn’t.” A flash of surprise washed over his face, as if he’d just realized this. “The captain did good.”

  “He did. We all did.”

  “I know.” He rested his cheek in her hand. “And it is done now. Customers have eaten, money in till. Owner is very happy.”

  “Good.”

  “No, it is not good.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I have upset the woman I love. How can that be good? I hate myself. What I am.”

  “Raul, don’t say that.” Her hea
rtstrings tugged.

  “But it is true. I want to make you happy not sad.”

  “Come here.” She tugged on his top. “Get off the damp grass.”

  He stood, unfolding himself so she was looking up and not down at him. His eyelids were heavy, and his mouth didn’t hold its usual easy smile.

  “Don’t speak to me like that again, okay.” She gripped his t-shirt in her fists, as if grabbing the lapels of a jacket.

  “I won’t.”

  “Or the guys, no one likes it.”

  “I understand.” He slipped his hands around her waist and drew her close. “Mi niña hermosa.”

  She allowed him to kiss her. After a few seconds of his lips moving, she reciprocated and touched her tongue to his.

  He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and squeezed her to his lean, strong body.

  She became lost in him. He wasn’t perfect. Neither was she. But he had to know how far he could push it with her and the others. And tonight he’d stretched it to the extreme.

  “I have a surprise,” Raul said, lifting up but keeping her locked in his embrace.

  “Oh yes?”

  “Preston, that is the owner, he said we can sleep above the restaurant. There is a few bedrooms up there.”

  “Really?”

  “Si, no bears.”

  She grinned. “That almost makes it worth working in your kitchen. Almost, but not quite.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Olivia cuddled up next to Harry in a small bed. Their legs were entwined all night and she was shoved by the wall, but she didn’t care about the lack of space. Being dog-tired and not having to worry about bears suited her very well.

  When she woke, Harry wasn’t there, but the scent of bacon was wafting into the room.

  “Hey,” Lucas said, sticking his head around the door. “I’ve brought you tea.”

  “What a gem.” She smiled and sat.

  “And Raul is making us all a slap up, Michelin star breakfast to apologize for being a dickhead last night.

  “It’s the least he can do.” She took the tea and frowned at the memory of how he’d spoken to them all.

  “Ah, he’s okay. A wild Spanish chef, but we knew that.” He paused.

  “What?”