He shook hands with his sous chef and smiled, wishing her good luck with her promising career. As soon as she moved away, I joined him and lowered my voice. “Ethan. We need to talk.”
The look he shot me was a mixture of anger and raw pain. If we had been anywhere private, it would have dropped me to my knees. When had we become this? When had we descended into something so toxic we couldn’t even be in the same room?
Before Ethan could respond, Chef Boulanger came to each of us, shaking hands and thanking us for a successful service. When he got to me, Trevor came forward to solidify our plans for the auction and the following weekend. Even though I was still upset with Trevor, his attention to detail and planning had always been in my best interest. Sadly for him, us being together the way he wanted wasn’t.
“It was good to see you and Monsieur Martin working together again. It has been too long since that has happened, non?”
My body went taut with tension, but I managed a small nod and smile. “It has. Thanks for the opportunity, Chef. It was wonderful to be back in the kitchen.”
“Our kitchens are open anytime for you, Monsieur Lassiter. I will see you tonight.”
Chef Boulanger moved to the side, a sly smile still on his face, leaving me in awe of how genius he still was at getting his students where he felt they should be. Trevor followed after him to finalize the details for the auction and I watched as Trevor seemed to become more confused the more Chef B smiled. I moved closer to them when I saw Chef B’s hand wave in Ethan’s direction.
“Oui. It was parfait seeing them together after all these years, especially after what happened during the last round of the scholarship competition. Mais, bien sur, Monsieur Martin did what he thought was the best at the time.”
Before I could hear the rest of their conversation, Sarah stepped in front of me. “Chef Lassiter? A few students were wondering if you’d sign autographs for them.”
Before I knew it, the student chefs engulfed me, bombarding me with questions about being a chef in New York to my opinion on the newest Asian fusion craze. Once I had shaken the last student’s hand, I turned and looked for Ethan. I had no idea if he was going to be at the gala tonight, but I had roughly four hours before I needed to be back at my hotel and dressed for the event, plenty of time for us to duck out and grab a drink and talk.
When I turned around, Trevor looked at Ethan’s empty station, then back to me. “Sorry, J. Ethan slipped out while we were talking to the students. Wanna grab a bite to eat? We need to talk.”
I released the breath I hadn’t known I had been holding. “Thanks, Trev, but can we talk tomorrow? I just need to get through tonight and then we’ll talk.”
He hesitated, looking back at the almost-clean prep stations, before narrowing his eyes. “I think we need to talk now. Just...trust me on this one.”
My entire body tensed, all the inner calm I’d felt earlier from being in the kitchen again, gone. Trevor rarely pushed me when I asked for space, but this time he seemed adamant about us hashing all this out now. I was afraid if we talked now, I’d say things I would later regret.
Following Trevor out of the kitchen, I wondered what had suddenly changed to make Trevor insist we talk. That was a close second to wondering if Ethan would ever stop running so I didn’t have to be the one to push for the discussion I knew we needed to have.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ethan
When I walked through the double doors of the ballroom, I blinked in awe. The lights were dimmed. Tables filled half the room while the other half held an enormous dance floor. The transformation was amazing.
“Holy shit. This looks incredible. Thanks for dragging me to this, E.” Claire had agreed to be my date for the evening after Cal had closed the restaurant for a few days until we could get the fire system recharged.
After we handed our coats to be checked, Claire smoothed down the fabric of her dress and squared her shoulders. I pulled at the stupid tux bow tie and cursed when my gaze landed on Jamie Lassiter in his tux. This time, without the haze of an excessive amount of booze, I could appreciate just how good-looking he was.
I stared until Claire tugged at my arm. “Stop searching for Jamie and let’s find our table.”
“Claire.”
“What, Ethan? Either get your shit together and make up with that ridiculously handsome man or shut up. This is the first time in five years I’ve been out of the kitchen in a goddamn dress and I plan on enjoying it without your pissy attitude, thank you.”
“Jesus, Claire. Could you be any louder?”
“Probably.” She smiled innocently at me. “Oh look, there he is. Hey, Jamie!”
She walked off toward Lassiter, who beamed at her. He used to smile at me that way, and even though I hated to admit it, I missed it. As I watched Claire wrap her arms around him, Lassiter shot me a look. I’d left the restaurant this morning to escape his constant need for us to talk, which I knew would ultimately land us in a fight. Otherwise, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what else I had done lately to warrant the frustration I felt rolling off of him.
Pissed at myself for even giving a shit, I weaved my way to the back of the crowded room. The last time I’d tried this had been an utter disaster. I knew a few of the faces milling around the room from before when I’d volunteered at the Institute, and of course Boulanger, Claire and Lassiter. Content to stay in the background, I grabbed a bottle of water from the bartender and hung off to the side.
“Ah, Monsieur Martin, good to see you again.”
I cracked a smile at Chef Boulanger. “Looking good there, Teach. As much as I hate wearing this monkey suit, this whole thing is pretty incredible.”
“Merci, Ethan. It has taken a lot of planning, but ultimately it is worth the monkey suits, oui?”
I laughed. “If it brings in some much-needed money for charity and the school, it’s worth it. The required dress code I could do without, though.”
He nodded and took a sip of his drink. “If it gets donors in the doors to contribute, it’s more than worth it to me. We do an event like this every few years just to remind people in the community we exist.”
I nodded at the crowd. “Whatever it takes, I guess.”
“People contribute however they can. With their time, like yourself, or monetary donations like Monsieur Lassiter. Never underestimate the power of celebrity—or in your case, notoriety.”
“At least the money and fame is good for something,” I acknowledged.
“Ah yes, but we both know it is not everything.” He gave me one of his serene smiles and patted my shoulder. “I must mingle, but thank you again for participating.”
He quickly disappeared into the throng of expensively dressed attendees, leaving me alone to my thoughts. I’d figured it would be a no-brainer cooking in the school’s restaurant again. I’d spent three years there until I landed my job at Cal’s place. But seeing Jamie working alongside me had stirred emotions I wasn’t ready to face. I was still pissed he had chosen someone like Trevor over me. Pissed that he had been blind to what had happened between us when he was in Paris, and even more blind to Trevor’s current manipulation. I was pissed at myself even more for believing Trevor’s lies when I should have fought harder.
A gentle arm wrapped around my waist. “Let’s find our table. I heard they’re going to announce who won the auctions after dinner, and you know how I love to live vicariously through rich people’s deep pockets.”
Claire winked at me, nudging me away from my place against the wall and into the dining area. Trying to be nonchalant, I looked at our tickets for our table numbers, desperately hoping we were not at the same table as Golden Boy and Trustfund.
Claire tugged me toward a table to the left of the stage. “We’re not at the same table, E, so you can stop worrying.”
; I glared at her, stuffing the tickets back into my jacket pocket. “Bite me, Claire. I wasn’t worrying. I was just double-checking our table number.”
She snorted. “Sure. Whatever you say, E. But you can calm down now. He’s at table eighteen, next to the podium.”
I bit back an angry retort as I followed her to our table, loosening my tourniquet of a tie. Once I finally got the damn thing to stop choking me, I settled back in my chair and scanned the room. Usually when I was surrounded by this much money I would bolt, not wanting to deal with the fake smiles and insipid conversation. Tonight I only saw dollar signs for the charity. I had spent too many nights scraping by with what little we had to not appreciate how this much money gathered together might save other kids from what Claire and I went through.
My eyes swept the room, looking for anyone else in the business I knew. There were a few local chefs present, but the majority were high-dollar couples in uncomfortable clothes, writing checks for more than I made in a month.
To distract myself, I looked around the room again and noticed Trevor sitting stiffly in his chair and looking distinctly uncomfortable. Trouble in paradise already? I knew I should have felt guilty for reveling in his discomfort, but Trustfund had been a thorn in my side since Jamie had moved to Paris all those years ago, and if time had done anything, it had only made him more of a prick.
Claire talked to our tablemates over dinner, laughing and joking as if she had been friends with all of them her whole life. It was times like these when I knew I was a bristly bastard, but I just couldn’t fake it around people I knew I was never going to see again. I’d miss her people skills when, probably someday soon, she got her own place and made it the talk of Seattle. I’d been overjoyed when Cal hired Claire to work alongside me in the kitchen at Sharpe’s, and she’d been content to work as my sous chef after Cal promoted me to executive chef. Recently, though, the desire to be head chef at a place of her own had grown. She had promised me she’d stay with me for the first year after I bought the restaurant from Cal, but we both knew it would be temporary until she could find a place for herself. I wasn’t sure how I’d manage without her.
After dessert, we settled back in our chairs as Chef Boulanger stepped onto the stage. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention and smiled at the assembled guests. “Bonsoir and bienvenue. From the initial estimate from our brunch this morning, in addition to the ticket sales for tonight’s event, we are happy to announce we will be contributing at least ten thousand dollars to No More Hunger’s campaign to end childhood hunger. On that note, can we please have our guest chefs from this morning rise so we can properly thank them? Their expertise and unique dishes were quite a hit amongst this morning’s diners.”
As I tried to slink down in my chair, the audience erupted into applause. Claire’s sharp jab to my ribs forced me to lurch to my feet as the spotlight moved around the room. I plastered on what I assumed was a genial smile and hoped for the best.
After I waved to the applauding crowd I sat down heavily in my chair and shot her a glare. “Thanks, Clairebear. I don’t need to be able to breathe or move or anything.”
“E, you need to practice smiling more. You look like a serial killer.”
“Not funny. Not everyone is good at the fake shit.”
“Like Jamie?” She smiled at me. “But you know he’s not really fake, E. He’s just got his game face on. You have one, too, you know. It’s your don’t-fuck-with-me look. You see? You’re really not as different as you want to believe, are you.”
She settled back in her chair as Boulanger began speaking again. “In addition to the fundraising efforts to which we are participating to benefit No More Hunger, I’m also pleased to announce the establishment of a new scholarship endowment at the Institute for a student who shows great need. The donor, a valued member of the local restaurant community, wishes to remain anonymous but we give him our thanks.”
Boulanger winked at me and I grinned. Subtle as a bowling ball, Chef B.
“I’m guessing you had no part in creating the scholarship, right?” Claire’s knowing voice made me smile and I looked at her.
“What? Tyler needs to learn how to cook a proper steak. Plus I talked to financial aid. If anyone would qualify, it’s him.”
I focused as Chef B rattled off the items donated to the silent auction, which people had apparently been bidding on all night. “...a weeklong pastry class for beginners at the Institute as taught by yours truly, a special wine pairing dinner for six...” He paused as a woman in an evening gown handed him a piece of paper. “Well, it looks like one of our items has surpassed all of our expectations. Local chef Ethan Martin has generously donated his time to prepare a private chef’s table dinner for the winning bid of one thousand dollars. Congratulations to the winner and to everyone else who helped to make tonight such a huge success.”
When the spotlight landed on me again, I knew I hadn’t succeeded in pasting on my fake grin this time. I’d hoped my auction item would raise money for the school, but a thousand dollars was an insane amount for it. The longer the applause went on, the more it sunk in. Goddamit, I’d just gotten myself sold off to the highest bidder like a piece of meat.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jamie
I sat in one of Seattle’s more famous independent coffee shops, enjoying my lack of commitments. For once I wasn’t speaking to anyone, pimping my latest book, or even trying to sell my brand. I simply sat by myself, people-watching from my seat in the back as I snacked on a pastry and sipped my coffee. I should have felt guilty for not inviting Trevor to join me, but at the moment I relished the fact that I was finally alone with nowhere pressing to be.
Our ride back to the hotel after the brunch had been tense. At first I thought he wanted to talk about doing more public engagements, but instead he’d dropped a bomb on me, one I wasn’t sure how to process. Needing more time to wrap my brain around it all, and knowing the gala was neither the time nor the place to bring anything up, I kept my distance from both Trevor and Ethan. Two days later and I still didn’t know what I was going to do.
When my phone beeped with a text message, I almost didn’t answer it since I knew it could only be one person.
I know you’re not interested, but you just got an offer to do a guest spot at a local restaurant.
My fist tightened around the phone as I typed out my one-word answer with my free hand and hit Reply. Nope. A part of me believed Trevor thought he could keep me from dwelling on things if he kept me busy. The truth was I honestly needed a break and if he didn’t understand, I didn’t know how else to explain it.
I picked up my paper, flipping to the restaurant scene section, intent on getting caught up when my phone beeped again.
Are you going to avoid me forever?
Of course I wasn’t going to avoid him forever. I just wanted five minutes alone to breathe. I couldn’t fathom throwing away nine years of friendship, but his actions had definitely made me want to take a step back and regain some perspective.
I quickly texted him back.
I need time to digest everything, Trev. After what you told me, I deserve that much.
Ok.
I paid for my coffee and food and grabbed my paper. So much for getting away. While I respected Trevor for trying to communicate after all the things he’d said and done, right now I just wanted a break from it. I wandered around the area, checked out a few of my favorite landmarks from before when I’d lived in Seattle, and even walked around the Market.
I’d visited the sprawling historic building with Ethan and Claire. We’d frequented the small, locally supplied stalls for ingredients, walked over for takeout when we had the extra money, picked out flowers for Claire’s birthday.
I wandered aimlessly until I found myself standing in front of Sharpe’s on Fifth. Ethan’s restaurant. I’d
been here before, but at the time I hadn’t really focused on anything beyond a confrontation after New York.
Since I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him after the gala, now was as good a time as any. The lunch rush probably had been over for a while. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. A pleasant-looking waitress came over to greet me.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lassiter. I’m sorry, but we’re still closed for business. We’re only keeping the doors unlocked for the work crews to come and go. Sorry for the confusion. We should be back open by the end of the week.”
The surprise must have shown on my face. She shook her head sadly. “Don’t worry, everything will be taken care of and we’ll be back open for business in no time.”
“I’m sure it will. Actually, I was hoping to speak to the chef. Is Eth...Mr. Martin around?”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry, but Chef Martin is out of the kitchen at the moment. May I pass along a message for you?”
“How about the other Chef Martin? Is Claire here?”
“Let me check if she’s available. Please wait here.”
This time I looked around the room, noticing all the dark masculine lines and gleaming mahogany paneled walls. Sharpe’s on Fifth looked like a classy gentleman’s club from a bygone era. Even though it was a beautiful space, it didn’t fit Ethan at all and I wondered if he’d remodel later on. It was way too formal for him and his style of cooking, which had tended to be more eclectic and less stuffy.
“Chef Martin says feel free to come back to the kitchen. Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Lassiter.” She smiled and gestured for me to follow her back.
Claire was hard at work, her dark head bent as she conferred with a much younger man in whites, who still had the gawky look of someone nearing the end of their teenage years. When she looked up and met my eyes, a genuine smile spread across her face.
“Jamie. I’d hoped you’d be back for a visit.” Surprised but touched, I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her back gently. Claire had always given awesome hugs. Ethan didn’t know how lucky he was.
In the Fire Page 16
