by Lila Moore
I was suddenly angry at Moreau. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ll find a new job in a heartbeat. What about me? I’m nobody. I’m finished.”
“Do you really think I’d abandon you like that? Whatever happens we’re in this together now.”
He took my hand and pulled me to him. I sat down on his lap. He lifted my chin and kissed me sweetly.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
“Don’t worry. Gwen’s not the only one with connections.”
Moreau
“You have got to be kidding me,” Bea said skeptically. We stood in front of the trailer. The outside was rusted and covered in graffiti. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic. It needs some work, but we’ll fix it.”
“Some work?”
“Okay, a lot of work. I’ll hire some guys to take care of the rust and give it a fresh paint job, then we’ll take care of the inside.”
Bea had been less than enthused about my idea. Instead of working at a new restaurant and giving Gwen the opportunity to destroy us again, I decided to take to the streets. Bea and I would start a food truck.
“This feels like a step backwards,” she said. “I mean, we were working in one of the best restaurants in the world, and now…”
She looked at the flat tires on the trailer with disdain.
“I know it looks bad, but you have to trust me. We’re keeping them guessing. Gwen expects me to try and find a job as an executive chef at a new restaurant. She has sway with almost all the investors in this business. The rich are a close knit group. They socialize together, date one another, their kids marry into each other’s families. She has influence with almost everyone in this business. She won’t have control over us here. We can do whatever we want.”
Bea opened the backdoor and looked inside the trailer. “Whatever we want… as long as it can happen inside a kitchen the size of my closet,” she said.
The inside of the trailer needed a lot of work. By the time we put all the cooking equipment inside we’d barely have enough room to move. Still, I was confident we could make it work.
“What about Gwen and Marcel?” she asked. “I hate the idea of them getting away with it.”
“Don’t worry about them. It will take care of itself in time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Boone will take care of it.”
“Boone? The foodie guy?”
“Yeah, the one with the blog.”
Boone had given my food an amazing review. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Gwen’s skills in the bedroom or because he genuinely liked my cooking. In any case, I’d contacted him to inform him that Gwen was only fucking him to get a good review and that I was unceremoniously fired shortly thereafter.
He laughed when I told him. Apparently, he genuinely liked my food; fucking Gwen was a bonus. We would have gotten positive marks regardless.
Now that Marcel had taken over the restaurant, he’d thrown out my menu and created one of his own. Boone had promised to go back to the restaurant unannounced and review the food again. I could tell he was itching for drama. He asked me to provide a quote for a new piece he was working on about Gwen’s influence in the restaurant business. It was clearly going to be an expose on her shady business dealings. I couldn’t wait. Half of her restaurants had ties to the mob. She’d started out running restaurants that were money laundering fronts.
This piece would destroy the restaurant, and if didn’t, the bad reviews Marcel’s new menu was getting would.
“Look at this,” I said to Bea.
I showed her a new review on my phone. A national paper had shown up the night of Marcel’s big debut as executive chef. They’d savaged the food and the service. The place was in shambles, customers were cancelling reservations left and right. It wouldn’t be long before Gwen was forced to shut down and Marcel was out on his ass.
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the rest of the kitchen staff and servers though. They didn’t deserve to lose their jobs over this mess. The kitchen staff was talented; they’d land on their feet. If everything went the way I was planning with the food truck, I’d hire back most of them shortly.
“When we expand to a restaurant, this will all seem like a distant memory,” I said.
“Wait, what? What restaurant?”
“Once we hook everyone with our amazing food, we’ll attract investors. We can expand to an actual restaurant.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. This is only the beginning.”
Starting over with Bea was exciting. The last time I felt this way I was nineteen, practically homeless, and desperate to get in a kitchen. The hunger I’d lost was back in full force.
Three Months Later
Beatrix
“Behind you! Watch out!” Moreau called.
I ducked as he lifted a tray of fresh vegetables over my head. We’d developed a certain rhythm to working in such tight spaces. It was a kind of trapeze act. You had to know exactly when to move and duck. Then there was the matter of timing the dishes perfectly. If I was too slow the meat would go cold by the time the sauces and roasted vegetables were ready. If Moreau was too slow, the meat would burn. In the beginning, we’d ruined a couple dozen dishes trying to get our timing right. Now we worked like a well-oiled machine.
I ventured a glance out the window. The line for the food truck was down the street and around the block. Demand was so high that several customers had brought lawn chairs with them, so they could sit while they waited.
I couldn’t believe it. Were we really this in demand? People were willing to wait over an hour to get a taste of our food. We were making money hand over fist and the best part was that we didn’t answer to anyone. We had total control over the menu, the service, the ingredients. It was a lot of work, but I was in heaven.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. Moreau’s hand slid around my hip as he slipped around me. I handed him a plate full of kimchi sweet potato fries to go with the rest of the order. It was one of our most popular side dishes and we’d just sold out.
“The sweet potato fries are finished,” I said.
“Already?”
I checked my watch. It was only half past twelve. If we kept selling out at this pace, we’d be completely out of food my three. Moreau handed the food to the waiting customer then ran outside to change the chalkboard menu outside the truck. He scratched out Kimchi Sweet Potato Fries and wrote, ‘Sold Out,’ next to it.
A loud groan went up from the crowd. It made me smile. I didn’t want to disappoint our customers, but leaving them wanting more had a certain appeal. Moreau ran back inside and we got back to work.
I was wrong about us selling out by three o’clock-we sold out by two.
We cleaned and closed up shop early. I was exhausted. Moreau handed me a beer. We sat next to each other on the steps of the food truck. People still wandered up to the trailer hoping to order. The disappointed looks on their faces when they saw we were closed gave me a rush. We were one of the hottest food spots in the city.
“What’s next?” I asked.
“Next: we slave away in this tin can for a couple more months. I’ve already got investors interested in a restaurant. They want to build a brick and mortar store version of our little food truck. Then, it’s me and you. We need to work on expanding our menu, picking a location, choosing a decorator, hiring staff-”
“Stop. I don’t want to think about it right now. Let’s just enjoy our success.” I clinked my beer bottle against his. “To our success.”
I took a long drink of my beer. It was ice cold, perfect for a hot day. Working inside the food truck all day was like working inside an oven. A beer was exactly what I needed. Moreau leaned in close and kissed me.
“Hey you two, break it up,” a familiar voice said.
I looked up and was surprised to see Tyson. I jumped up to greet him with a hug. He looked taken aback by my
embrace. He laughed it off then shook Moreau’s hand. Moreau looked less enthusiastic about the way I greeted Tyson. I gave him a look that warned him to be nice.
“What brings you here?” Moreau asked Tyson.
“I quit the restaurant. After Marcel took over everything went to shit. He changed your menu to a pretentious French mess. The customers hated it. What made it worse was that Marcel didn’t care about quality control. He’d buy low-quality food from the cheapest grocers, then do nothing to supervise the preparation of the dishes. The food was terrible. We were bleeding customers like crazy. And Gwen decided it was the perfect time to put as many tables as she could fit inside the restaurant. We actually got shut down by the fire marshal one night-that’s how bad it was.”
I couldn’t help smiling. The restaurant deserved to fail after the way Gwen had treated us.
“The writing’s on the wall,” Tyson continued. “It’s only a matter of time before they shut down.”
“So, you’re here looking for a job?” Moreau asked.
Tyson shrugged. “I noticed you don’t have any desserts on your menu. I thought maybe I could lend a hand. I know how much you hate baking,” he said with a smirk.
“I don’t know,” Moreau replied. I elbowed him in the side. “The trailer is pretty tight as it is. Bea and I barely have room to walk around.”
“I’m sure we can make it work,” I said.
Moreau sighed. “Okay. You’re hired. I hope you don’t mind helping out with the customers. I need help on that front too. It’s not easy taking orders and payments while cooking.”
“No problem.”
I laughed with excitement. Our little kitchen had expanded to three. Soon we’d have a full staff and be working in a restaurant co-owned. I wrapped my arms around Moreau’s neck and kissed him. He slipped a hand around my waist to my lower back and pulled me close.
“Are you two like this all the time?” Tyson asked.
Moreau kissed me harder. His kiss left me hungry for more, but that would have to wait until later. I looked into Moreau’s eyes and marveled at what my life had become. Not only did I land the world’s hottest chef, but I would soon have my own restaurant. Life had thrown me a curveball, but for once everything had turned out in my favor.
“Let’s get to work,” Moreau said. “We need to prep for tomorrow. Tyson, I need a list of ingredients from you for your desserts.”
“Wait, now?” he said. “I haven’t really thought about it…” Moreau gave him a look. “Okay. I’ll write everything down.”
“Good. Roche, I want you to work on expanding our menu and prepping the vegetables for tomorrow.”
“Aye, aye captain,” I replied.
I smiled. Moreau was still Moreau. It was nice to know some things never change.
The End
Thank you for taking the time to read Heat. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Thank you.
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Trysts: Stepbrother Romance Mega Bundle
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