Heat: A Bad Boy Chef Romance

by Lila Moore

Moreau

  After endlessly complaining about everything, Gwen finally left. She hated the way the kitchen was organized, the way the dining room was laid out, the way a server looked at her. On and on, it went. Curiously, she had nothing to say about Roche. I could see the suspicion in her eyes though. She knew there was something between us and she didn’t like it.

  Christ, I hoped it wasn’t that obvious. How was I supposed to work in a kitchen with Roche if everyone knew we were fucking? I was getting ahead of myself. We’d fucked once. That didn’t mean we were fucking.

  She probably wanted nothing to do with me after leaving this morning. At the time, I’d thought I was doing her a favor by letting her sleep in. She looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to wake her and tell her she had to get ready for work. I didn’t like the idea of Roche thinking of me as the boss when I was in her home. Not to mention the fact that we’d just fucked. Now I saw how wrong I’d been to leave. She probably thought I was trying to sneak out to avoid talking to her.

  Things could get weird between us if I didn’t handle this soon. I looked at Roche through my office window. Her hair was pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head. She chewed on her lip as she scrubbed down her station. I watched her work and tried to find the courage to call her into my office.

  We needed to talk so that there were no misunderstandings about the nature of our relationship. When we were in the kitchen I was her boss. Outside the kitchen… well, I wasn’t sure. Normally, I stick to one night stands. The restaurant is too demanding. I don’t have time for relationships, and to be honest, I get bored easily. I tried to think back on my last girlfriend. Evie… or Edie… I couldn’t remember. Christ, had it been so long since I had a girlfriend that I couldn’t even remember her name?

  I watched Roche brush a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. I wanted to see her again, but I had to be careful. Gwen had picked up a scent and she could be a real Bloodhound. She wouldn’t let this go. If anything, she was looking for revenge for ruining her marriage.

  Still, I couldn’t find the strength to stand up and call Roche into my office. What was wrong with me? The kitchen was my turf. I’m used to being completely in control when I’m here. Roche had thrown me off my game.

  I took a breath and went to the door. I tried to summon the most pissed-off chef voice I could.

  “Roche! Get in here!” I called.

  She looked up at me, bewildered and frightened. I didn’t want to scare her; I only wanted the others to think nothing had changed. I was her boss; she was my employee. I was still in control. Only I wasn’t. Everything had changed.

  Beatrix

  Moreau screamed my name so loudly I dropped the bowls I was cleaning. They clattered to the floor with a loud bang. Marcel smirked as I got down on my knees to pick them up. I had to resist the urge to hit him in the face with one of the heavy mixing bowls as I stood.

  I cleared my throat and walked past him into Moreau’s office. I had a bad feeling, like I was a kid being sent to the principal’s office. I walked into Moreau’s office and held my breath.

  “Close the door,” he said.

  I shut it behind me. He leaned against his desk with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His muscular forearms drew my attention. They were an unwelcome distraction. I was at work. This was a business. I had to focus.

  “Yes, chef?”

  I hoped he’d called me into his office on a work-related matter. I didn’t want to talk about last night, especially now that I knew he had a girlfriend.

  “I wanted to talk to you about last night,” he said.

  Shit. I tried to keep my composure.

  “Okay,” I said neutrally. “I shouldn’t have left this morning. I didn’t want to wake you. You had a hard day yesterday and I thought it was best to let you sleep in.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him. Moreau never gave anyone a pass, at least not where his kitchen was concerned. The restaurant was his baby, his wife, his art, his passion; it was his life. Everything came second to the success of his restaurant.

  “Okay,” I said again for lack of anything better to say. I didn’t want to pick a fight.

  “Okay? That’s it?”

  I shrugged noncommittally.

  “Look, you’re obviously pissed, so just tell me what’s on your mind,” he said.

  The smart course of action would be to bite my tongue, forget about last night and carry on with my life. So naturally, I did the opposite.

  “Are you worried about your girlfriend finding out you fucked another girl?”

  “My girlfriend? Do you mean Gwen?”

  “The blonde woman. She clearly didn’t like the idea of me working in your kitchen. If she knew we spent the night together, she’d be furious.”

  “First of all, that woman is not my girlfriend, she’s an investor. Second of all, it’s rare to see a woman working in the kitchen of a restaurant like this. So, you’re right, she probably does assume we’re sleeping together because…”

  “Because you’re a slut?” I offered. He gave me a hard look. “What? That’s your reputation.”

  “I know what my reputation is.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “People say you’re a womanizer, that you take advantage of girls. You’re notorious for dumping girls after fucking them. In fact, I heard you got a server pregnant then abandoned her.”

  “What?” he shouted. Moreau uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the desk. “That’s not true. I like to fuck around-I don’t deny it-but I’ve never abandoned a pregnant girlfriend, or whatever nonsense people are saying behind my back.”

  I shrugged as if it made no difference to me, but in truth it did. I couldn’t help being attracted to Moreau even though I knew I’d end up being burned by him. I hated to think of him as the kind of guy who’d tell a girl he knocked up to get lost. Though, judging by his anger, he seemed sincere. Maybe he was telling the truth.

  “I’m no saint, obviously, but I’m not a monster.” Moreau took a step towards me. “Look, let me set this straight. I want to see you again.”

  I was tempted to say yes, but I didn’t want to make things too easy for him. Moreau got everything he wanted in life. Women never turned him down, chefs bent over backwards to make him happy. For once, he was going to have to work for a girl’s affection. And, if he wanted to see me again, he had to prove he wasn’t a fuckboy.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I’ll think about it.”

  He looked like he’d just been slapped.

  “I should get back to work and so should you,” I added.

  His jaw tensed. No one told Moreau to get back to work. He was always the hardest working person in the kitchen. I smiled sweetly and left him to seethe.

  Moreau

  Get back to work. Who did she think she was telling me to get back to work? Her words repeated in my head like an annoying song. No one bossed me around in my own kitchen.

  There was a catch in her step as she left my office. She practically skipped back to her station. Roche was pleased with herself. She’d gotten under my skin and she knew it.

  What was all that business about me knocking up a girl then abandoning her? People talked a lot of shit about me behind my back. It never bothered me until I heard those rumors coming out of Roche’s mouth. I’ve been an asshole to women, but I’ve never been that big of an asshole.

  Christ. Did she believe the gossip? What could I do to prove the shit-talkers were wrong?

  I couldn’t sit still. I walked out into the kitchen and examined the cleanup efforts. I carefully stepped around Roche. She never looked up at me as I passed her. She had a serene, angelic smile on her face as she cleaned. What was that look supposed to mean? No one is that happy to clean. She was satisfied with herself about telling me off. That was for sure.

  “Marcel!” I snapped. “What the fuck is this?”

  He looked surprised by my anger. He always followed my orders. I rarely had
to get after him to do his job.

  “Chef?”

  He looked confused and a bit wounded.

  “Your station is a mess.”

  It was actually perfectly clean. I just wanted to fuck with him. I knew he’d ruined Roche’s dish even though I couldn’t prove it. The security cameras had revealed nothing except the image of him, along with half the kitchen going into the freezer after Roche had placed her sauce inside to cool. This was a common occurrence. The kitchen staff went in and out of the freezer for various reasons throughout the day. It was impossible to pinpoint when the act of sabotage had occurred or who was responsible. Still, I knew it was Marcel. Every instinct in me screamed that the rat bastard couldn’t be trusted.

  “Chef, I will start again,” he said like a dutiful, little dog.

  “No, that’s not good enough. I think you need a lesson in cleaning. You’ll spend the rest of the week working with the busboys.”

  “Chef, that is not possible,” he said with a laugh.

  Did he really think I was joking? He was in for a rude awakening.

  “If you want to continue to work in this restaurant you’ll do as I say. You’ll spend the rest of the week scrubbing dishes-and I do mean scrubbing. If I see a single plate or glass with a spot on it, you’re fired.”

  I walked away as he protested behind me. I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted him to stew in his misery. If I could prove he was responsible for ruining Roche’s dish, I’d fire him on the spot and I’d make damn sure he never worked at a respectable restaurant again. What he did was no joke. Not only had he tried to get Roche fired, but he could have poisoned a customer. He could have put someone in the hospital or worse.

  Marcel threw down his towel and headed off to join the busboys. The sad thing was that he was a damn good chef. If I hadn’t stumbled upon Roche, I would have given the job of saucier to Marcel. He was next in line and he knew it. I was sure that was why he tried to get her fired. He thought he could steal her job.

  Pathetic.

  The more I thought about it the more pissed off I became. After Marcel spent a week scrubbing dishes I would fire him. No more games. I won’t tolerate anyone treating my kitchen like this is Game of Thrones. This is a business. No more bullshit.

  I caught a smile on Roche’s face. She looked pleased to see Marcel had been dispatched. I walked around the kitchen, watching the cleanup effort. My attention continually drifted to Roche. She never looked up. Could she feel my eyes on her?

  She’d rolled up her sleeves and was hard at work organizing her station. The messy way her hair was pulled up turned me on. What is it about a disheveled woman that’s so sexy? Maybe it’s because she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed after being fucked.

  I stood on the far side of the room, trying to put as much distance between myself and Roche that I could. I didn’t care if anyone in the kitchen knew I’d fucked her, but I didn’t want them to know how she’d gotten inside my head. They’d be lining up to try and take advantage of me. Their work would become sloppy, the restaurant would suffer, then we’d all be out on our asses. I had to keep the ship afloat no matter what.

  I let the team work for a few more hours before I told them to go home. But not before I made damn sure they’d cleaned top to bottom. I’d threatened to fire every last one of them if something like this ever happened again, then told them to fuck off.

  Even though we were all getting off early, the day felt incredibly long. I was happy to get out of the kitchen. When I’m preparing a dish, the time flies by. I can work for hours sending dish after dish out of the kitchen and it feels like I’ve only been at work for a few minutes. It’s like when you’re with a beautiful woman. Hours in her bed can feel like seconds.

  I watched Roche put on her coat and head out the door. She was last to leave. I chased after her, unsure of what to say. Her hands were in her pocket, her stride even and slow, as if she was out for a Sunday stroll.

  “Have you made up your mind?” I said, catching up to her.

  She glanced at me over her shoulder as if she wasn’t surprised to see me standing there. “Made up my mind about what?”

  “Don’t be cute. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Fine, I’ll play along. Earlier I asked you out to dinner and you said I don’t know. Well? Have you made up your mind?”

  She paused, keeping her gaze straight ahead of her. “Yes,” she finally said.

  “Good. Where would you like to go? I know a fantastic Thai place around the corner.”

  “No. What I meant is yes, I’ve made a decision. The answer is no.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “You’re not used to hearing no, are you?”

  Suddenly, I understood her game. She thought she was going to teach me a lesson. She wanted me to suffer, then to chase after her. Fine. I’d play her game, but I wasn’t going to suffer. I’d let her think she won, then I’d pursue her later. I’d humble myself before her; show her I’d learned my lesson.

  “Can I walk you home?” I offered.

  “No. I think I’ll walk down to the park and enjoy the fresh air.”

  “Fresh air? The city’s like a polluted aquarium. The traffic, the smog, there’s no fresh air to be had here.”

  She gave me a look like she smelled something bad. Had I offended her? I was just pointing out the obvious.

  “I mean, it is a lovely day,” I said trying to get back in her good graces. “A bit cool, but I suppose you could have a nice walk around the city.”

  I glanced up at the skyscrapers. It was like being trapped in a metal jungle. Of course I’ve lived in the city a long time. After a while you stop paying attention. You focus on going where you need to and ignore the rest. The crazy guy on the street corner preaching about the end times? Ignore. The homeless man using the curb like his personal toilet? Ignore. The obnoxious tourists taking picture after picture of nothing? Ignore.

  Roche didn’t see the city that way though. She hadn’t lived here long. It still held the promise of romance and unknown possibilities. I felt the same way when I first came here. Somewhere between hustling in my first job and opening a restaurant, the romance had died. I hadn’t noticed it was gone until that moment.

  I hoped the city was always a place full of mystery and possibilities for Roche. It had worn me down, though. Maybe it wasn’t the city. Maybe it was just my life. The grind of running restaurants had carved me into someone my younger self wouldn’t recognize.

  I was all hard edges and demands. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed myself. That wasn’t true. I did remember: last night; cooking with Roche and fucking her afterwards.

  Sex before Roche had taken on mechanical quality. I enjoyed it to a degree, but it was nothing like last night. With other girls, sex was a need to fulfill. It was like scratching an itch. With Roche, I felt heat and desire.

  “I’ll see you around,” she said.

  She turned down the street. I started to follow her even though it was clear she wanted to go off on her own. I had to stop myself. I was acting crazy.

  “Yeah, I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” I replied awkwardly.

  She didn’t acknowledge me; she simply walked off. Her long, skinny legs gave her the rhythmic stride of a dancer. She seemed far too soft for this line of work. Roche would have fit in with a ballet company. There was something about her that was elegant. Maybe it was her long neck and big round eyes. She was innocent in a way that gave her the look of a nymph from a painting.

  I stood watching longer than I should have. When she disappeared around the corner, I considered running after her. I could convince her to change her mind, couldn’t I? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to come across desperate. I stood on the street corner and debated with myself for a while before turning around and heading to the bar. If I was going to spend the night alone, I might as well be drunk.

  Beatrix

  Instead
of heading to the park, I walked back home. The truth was that Moreau had worn me out the night before, and even though my workday was short, it left me feeling exhausted. I didn’t get to cook a single dish. All day was spent scrubbing. I felt like Cinderella.

  The day had brought one good tiding though. Watching Marcel’s world crumble as Moreau demoted him to scrubbing the dishes was amazing. Teaches him right for messing with me, I thought.

  Marcel had no idea what he was doing, or did he? Did he understand that if his plan had worked that not only would I be unemployed, but no one would ever hire me? Moreau would not let me walk away from poisoning his customers without facing any consequences. Of course, compared to what would have happened to me, the consequences Marcel faced seemed trivial. He’d be back to work in a week. Why hadn’t Moreau fired him? I was starting to feel better about my decision to resist temptation and send Moreau off alone.

  I’d tried to keep my cool with him earlier, but I was desperate to have him cook for me again or at least share a meal with him. He knew all the best restaurants in the city, and he could get us in anywhere. Then there was dessert. Would he take me to bed and have his way with me again?

  The ghost of his touch on my skin sent a fresh chill through my body. I reminded myself that he needed to suffer a bit. A taste of his own medicine was exactly what he deserved. It was justice for all the women he’d wronged.

  The problem with guys like Moreau is that they don’t understand the affect they have on women. He’s gorgeous, charming and amazing in bed. Guys like Moreau know how to make you feel special. When they inevitably disappear after getting what they want, it’s maddening. Men have no idea how it messes with your head. You start wondering what you did wrong. Was I too clingy? Did he think I was ugly naked? Did he find my personality unappealing? It’s a vicious cycle. Once those questions pop into your head it’s hard to stop them from replicating and consuming you.

  Sleeping with Moreau felt dangerous. He was one of those guys-oblivious to the damage he left in his wake.

  I reminded myself of the way he chased after me down the street. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t just a one night stand to him. Still, I couldn’t help thinking a large part of his attraction to me was the fact that I was playing hard to get.