The Problem with Him (The Opposites Attract Series Book 3)

by Rachel Higginson

  Most of the time.

  “No worries,” Dillon assured with a casual shrug. “The only man waiting for me tonight is my brother. Molly wanted me to come over to their place after work and hang for a while before they leave on their trip.”

  For some reason my stress level dropped back to normal. I came off snarky and sarcastic, and obviously I had my own set of issues, but I really was worried about my friend. Dillon was the most trusting human I’d ever met. If I wanted to hook up, I had an entire checklist the other party needed to fill out. Including an appointment at the local clinic to ensure I wasn’t going to catch something gross and permanent. I was basically one step away from a full-on background check before second base made it to the table for discussion.

  Dillon was the opposite. And that scared me for her and her liberal choices of bed partners.

  “I thought they were morning people.” The words came out with a clear tone of disgust that she matched with a nose wrinkle and eye roll. When you worked our hours, morning was a curse word you didn’t use lightly. But Molly and Ezra kept normal working hours. Er, Molly did. Ezra basically worked all the time. They went to bed at what some might call a decent time, to ensure they could wake up at the butt crack of dawn and get all those worms the early birds were always talking about.

  I preferred tequila worms after midnight myself. But hey, to each their own.

  “Usually,” Dillon agreed. “But they’re taking four weeks off for vacation and they wanted to hang out before they left.”

  “Four weeks? Holy cow. Where are they going?”

  She let out a longing sigh. “Somewhere tropical. And warm. And doused in piña coladas.” She paused so we could both take a minute to reflect on how nice it would be to have Ezra’s money and Molly’s flexibility—she worked for Ezra, managing his PR and marketing. They were one of the most perfect couples I had ever known.

  I was friends with Molly and I liked her a lot. I was mostly terrified of Ezra. But that was because he was legitimately terrifying. Together though? They were disgustingly adorable.

  “An entire month somewhere tropical? I want to be them when I grow up.”

  “Right?” Dillon laughed. “Ezra’s never taken a vacation before. Can you believe that? Never. Not once! So Molly is making him cram a lifetime of missed opportunities into one big shebang. I’m house sitting for them while they’re gone. They’re supposed to show me everything I need to know.”

  An obnoxious pang of helpfulness punched through my gut. “You should go then. I’ll cover your station.”

  Her blue eyes bugged. “You can’t do that. It will take you forever to get out of here!”

  I shrugged, letting her know it didn’t matter. “Put in a good word for me with Ezra, yeah? Tell him how amazing I am. And how competent. And that I could totally run this kitchen by myself.”

  Dillon’s gaze slid sideways toward Wyatt. “You totally could.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” I refused to look at him, knowing it would only make me angry. “Pretty please tell your brother?”

  Her smile was bright and grateful. “I will. I promise.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. I’d gotten used to her ways. And I endured the flashy display of affection because it was Dillon and I loved her. Before she all but fled the kitchen, she paused and asked one last time. “You’re sure? I mean, super sure this is okay?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Go!”

  “You’re the best!” she called over her shoulder as she made a beeline for the exit.

  “I know!” I hollered at the big metal door that was anything but quiet when she pushed on the handle.

  The kitchen was always hot, sweltering. But when Wyatt realized Dillon was in the process of abandoning her post for the night, the temperature dropped at least thirty degrees. A chill crept down my spine as I watched his sharp gaze snap from me to her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled as the door closed. He jerked around to face me. “Where is she going?”

  Moment of honesty? Sometimes Wyatt scared the living hell out of me. We grew up in this kitchen together. It was the first job either of us had in any kitchen. He beat me by four years, but he was hardly farther along in his career by the time I arrived. We’d both started right out of culinary school. It wasn’t fair that he was four years older than me.

  We’d been working side by side for five years now and we’d been through a lot together. But that didn’t mean we’d bonded over our struggles. Or that we even knew each other at all. Even as head chef and sous chef our relationship was decidedly strained.

  I would love to say that since we’d worked together for so long I knew everything about him. But the truth was, Wyatt had always kept to himself. He’d always been private and mysterious and a bit of an asshole. Sure, before he was my boss, we were friendly-ish. But he was the kind of guy that kept his cards close to his vest. It made sense, because it would suck to be forced to make friends only to end up stabbing that person in the back on his way up the ladder.

  And with me, he was totally standoffish to avoid hurting our friendship. Or at least that was what I liked to believe. I was the only one in the kitchen that could compete with him. I was his major competition. That was why he kept his distance, why he always went out of his way to avoid or ignore me. Or bark at me over text.

  Competition or no, he had a few things I didn’t that catapulted his career ahead of mine. Mostly they appeared in the form of industry connections. And he had no issue cashing in on them.

  It had paid off for him. Killian Quinn, the Michelin decorated, James Beard award-winning, and former executive chef of Lilou, had named Wyatt his successor. That pushed Wyatt even farther from my orbit.

  Now, he was way, way up there. And I was still on the ground fixing his mistakes and making sure he got all the credit.

  The culinary world had been downright apoplectic over Lilou’s fate after Killian left. And Wyatt was more than happy to step into shoes that were way too big for him and claim the glory for himself.

  Most of the time, I found him irritating. And difficult. And rude. Honestly, I was the same. Especially to him. But when he was like this—a sudden thunderstorm, lashing out, lightning flashing and thunder rolling— even my knees trembled.

  “She has a thing with Ezra,” I answered, purposefully name-dropping our boss. “I told her I’d cover for her.”

  “You’re not responsible for her station,” he snarled. “Now it’s going to take you twice as long to finish and get out of here. That means I’ll have to stay here twice as long to make sure you do a good job. And Benny will have to stay here twice as long waiting on me to make the nightly deposit at the bank. And Endo will have to stay twice as long because he can’t do his work until you finish yours. Next time you want to do your friend a favor, why don’t you try thinking about the rest of us.”

  See? Irritating. Difficult. And definitely rude. “Or you could clean her station for me. Then nobody has to stay late. Win-win.”

  He took a step toward me, and I knew it was a subconscious, slightly murderous response to my taunt. He wanted to strangle me. He wouldn’t obviously—at least not with so many witnesses present. But he wanted to. “Excuse me?”

  “Before the pay raise, that was your job, Shaw. Or don’t you remember?” I refused to call Wyatt chef. It was his rightful title, earned and owned by the position he occupied. But I could not bring myself to say the word. And that pissed him off more than anything else I said or did.

  His jaw ticked once, and I savored that visible angry flex that always gave him away. I loved pissing him off. But he also had a ridiculously attractive jawline, and it looked best when he was furious.

  Okay, after everything I’d said about him, I knew that sounded crazy. But Wyatt was one of those people that no matter how much you hated him, he was still very attractive.

  Sometimes you got to know someone and if they had an awful personality they got uglier the longer you were forced to inter
act with them. But Wyatt was pretty much the opposite. The more I got to know him, the more I couldn’t stand him. And yet, he was so unbelievably attractive that his looks never seemed to diminish.

  He was tall, at least six-foot-four, and even though his frame was thin—probably because of the whole height thing, a concept I was totally unfamiliar with—he was tightly muscled. I mean, muscles were everywhere. Long, sharp, cut muscles that wrapped around his body in sinewy bumps and bulges.

  His hair was artfully styled in a hipster swoop with the sides recently shaved, and the longer top pushed to one side. His eyes were deep brow, like melted milk chocolate.

  And then there were the tattoos. The ones that covered Wyatt from his wrists to biceps and his entire torso, front and back. Images even snaked up his neck in a visible display of eclectic individualism. His entire body was a work of art. One I wanted to paint or photograph. Or trace with my tongue.

  He was everything I shouldn’t want, like, or notice. Not because of the tattoos. Or even because of the piercings he’d removed once he’d been promoted. He was the kind of guy I should have been able to ignore entirely because of how opposite we were, because of how much we hated each other.

  This rivalry had been simmering for years, and if I’d learned anything in that time, it was that he didn’t change his opinion. Not ever. Once he decided something, that was it. And he’d decided a long time ago that he didn’t like me.

  That should have been more than enough for me to keep my distance and my mouth shut.

  But Wyatt had the kind of body and personality that demanded attention. And I was as helpless as everyone else. He walked into the kitchen and immediately we all stood up straighter, straightened our coats, focused on our tasks. And when he left, we exhaled gigantic breaths of relief.

  For as beautiful as he was to look at, the man was a dictator in the kitchen. Rationally, I knew that was his right. This was his domain. He was the captain of this ship. Lilou lived and died by his direction.

  There was even a part of me that was jealous of how he commanded so seamlessly. His decisions were calculated and well thought out. He’d stepped into Killian’s shoes and not once faltered. Even if he didn’t always make what I considered to be the best decisions, he never revealed regret or insecurity. He was almost entirely emotionless.

  Except for anger and irritation. Usually directed at me.

  Like right now.

  “I remember, Kaya.” His voice had pitched low, causing goose bumps to scatter over my arms and the back of my neck. “Do you realize that it’s no longer my job?”

  I swallowed a lump of resentment. He knew I had been gunning for his position. And if I’d had a little more time to prove myself, I could have made a good run for it. But Killian had left so suddenly that I never had a chance to throw my hat in the ring. One night I was dreaming of the day that Lilou would be mine, the day that Ezra Baptiste, the city’s foremost restaurateur, finally hired a woman to fill one of his executive chef positions, and the very next night it was gone. I was back at square one, looking at a position that would never open up again. At least not within an acceptable window of time.

  Because of this man.

  Because of this arrogant, obnoxious chef I was supposed to call boss.

  Holding Wyatt’s sharp gaze, even though I desperately wanted to look away, I nodded. “It’s impossible to forget. You’re constantly reminding us.”

  “Reminding you,” he countered. “You’re the only one in this kitchen who manages to forget I’m in charge.”

  The kitchen fell silent as my coworkers turned to watch the drama. They loved when we went after each other. They loved the intrigue and gossip that came with it. Mostly they loved that Wyatt’s rage was totally focused on me and not them.

  I shrugged, playing the indifferent, blasé part I knew drove him the craziest. Wyatt was all fire and brimstone. He had no patience for apathy. “Guess I’m a slow learner.”

  His jaw ticked again, and my heart jumped with it. I could pretend I was unaffected all I wanted, but the truth was so opposite. My insides were tingling with adrenaline, my blood rushing through my veins at warp speed.

  “Let’s hope you’re not as slow at cleaning.” He turned around, giving me his rigid back and stiff shoulders. “Get to work, Swift.”

  Unable to stop myself, I threw up an exaggerated salute with my middle finger. “Aye, aye, captain.”

  Chapter Two

  Three hours later, my feet were begging me to take them home, and I was covered in sweat and kitchen grease. I would probably have to burn my clothes. There wasn’t any amount of laundry detergent that could cut through the grime that covered me.

  I’d shed my coat as soon as we’d closed the kitchen. That wasn’t as easily replaced as a pair of black pants. Well, it could have been. But I liked this one. Call me superstitious, but it had weathered a lot of stressful nights with me. It was the old friend I could always count on.

  Stripped down to a tight black tank top and my loose black pants, I stumbled my way to Wyatt’s office. I’d been as slow as he’d foreseen cleaning the two stations. But I had also been thorough and meticulous. Throughout the late hours, I’d watched him berate my coworkers when their work had gotten sloppy. I’d gone with the do-it-right-the-first-time method, hopefully saving me from a bitch fest.

  But knowing Wyatt, he was bound to find something to nag at me about.

  I knocked on the heavy door to his office and waited for his invitation to enter. I was the only one left in the kitchen. Benny and Endo were around somewhere. I had a suspicion they were in the dining room sleeping while they waited for me to finish. Unsurprisingly, nobody had offered to help me. Working in a kitchen was like willingly spending your evenings in a shark tank. Without a protective cage to save you from getting bitten.

  After waiting for what I considered a lengthy amount of time, I knocked again. Harder this time. Still no answer from the other side.

  Since the office was located at the back of the kitchen, I was confident Wyatt hadn’t left. I’d watched him walk inside after he’d checked out the expo station and shut the door behind him. Unless I was so focused on my work that I hadn’t noticed him tiptoe past me, he was still in there, probably maniacally plotting my demise, or at the very least, world domination.

  I pushed open the door and found him sleeping.

  The adrenaline came back in full force and I wasn’t sure why. This was the most nonthreatening I had ever seen him. Even when he wasn’t my boss, he’d always carried around this razor-sharp bite that scared away most people.

  The only person I’d ever seen Wyatt behave nicely toward was Vera. But since she didn’t work in our kitchen but owned a food truck across the street at the time, she wasn’t considered competition. Killian, his idol, had also fallen for Vera and that was all the seal of approval Wyatt had needed. I’d even seen them laugh and joke around together. It was like watching an alien invasion.

  Wyatt didn’t joke around. And he didn’t smile. He preferred to snarl, snap, and wear a scowl that was giving him massive forehead wrinkles. Vera was the only person I’d seen him chill out around.

  Seeing him asleep at his desk, his head resting on his folded arms, his body totally relaxed and loose, did something to my dislike of this man. My heart, for an insignificant millisecond, turned squishy and soft. How could someone so domineering all the other moments of the day, look so incredibly inviting in this one? How could someone that preferred to growl and bark and never say anything nice become so boyish and gentle-looking?

  I was tired. That had to explain my momentary lapse of reason. And maybe, possibly hallucinating. That was why I felt a weird ache bloom inside my chest. That was why I let my gaze linger along the lines of his face, tracing the curve of his jaw and planes of his cheekbones, the fan of his eyelashes against his cheek, the tousled hair that had fallen over his forehead.

  There was something about him like this that made me forget what a douche he alway
s was. His eyebrows furrowed, creating little creases over his nose and I had the strongest urge to rub my finger over the spot and whisper something kind to him.

  My eyebrows bunched together in utter confusion. I couldn’t imagine what that sweet nothing would be. I wasn’t exactly the poster-child for soft and feminine.

  He awoke with a jerk as if my thought had scared him awake. I jumped in tandem, my heart hammering with the same fear. Thankfully he didn’t notice my reaction. He didn’t even seem to notice me at first.

  Sitting up with a giant inhale, he rubbed his face with both hands. His sleepy eyes slowly moved to me, and I was thankful my hand had been frozen in the shape of a fist against his door. I hoped he thought he caught me in the middle of knocking. And not standing there ogling him like a total creeper.

  “H-hi,” I said shakily and immediately regretted it. I never said hi to him. Never.

  His eyebrows drew down even more and his grimace said everything. “Are you finished?” he asked in a sleep-roughened voice.

  Afraid of what I would say next, I opted to nod instead. Watching him sleep had done something to my brain. Like made it stupid. Plus, I was tired, I reasoned. Plus, Mercury was in retrograde. Plus, they found zombie-like leeches in a lake somewhere down South. See? I had all kinds of rational reasons why I suddenly felt overly warm and flustered.

  Wyatt braced his hands on his cluttered desk, readying to stand. “Are you ready for me to come look at you?” Our gazes crashed together, running into each other with the force of a high-speed car crash. “I mean your station,” he clarified, clearing his throat. “Are you ready for me to come check out your station?”

  I nodded again. My tongue had apparently lost the ability to form words. I blamed the bleach I’d been up close and personal with for the last few hours.

  He continued to stare at me. “What’s the matter, Kaya? Cat got your tongue?”

  I shrugged, cleared my throat, and faked a yawn. “I’m just tired,” I managed to say.

  He rubbed his eyes with his fists and I considered getting my head examined. Why was that sexy? It shouldn’t be sexy. And yet there was something about a sleepy, disheveled man that made my heart go pitter patter.