Kitchen Gods Box Set

by Beth Bolden

  Wyatt sure hoped God hadn’t been watching last night when he’d been with Ryan.

  Every time she brought up God or religion, that was usually his cue to leave. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to tell her that he was gay. Or that he thought she’d shun him or be disgusted by him. Her beliefs were part of who she was. She’d been raised that way, and spent her whole life going to Mass. She was one of the strongest, most loyal people he’d ever met. Wyatt knew she loved him, unconditionally. But fear was irrational and he couldn’t banish it and he couldn’t bear to push her away from him by telling the truth.

  Especially not now.

  “I have to get ready to go into work, Nana,” he said, rising to his feet. “Enjoy the macarons and your art class this week.” He dropped a quick kiss on a papery thin cheek and felt his stomach twist again.

  “Take care of yourself, darling,” Bea said as he turned to leave.

  * * *

  If Bea had had any idea what was in store for Wyatt, she might have worried.

  Which was exactly why Wyatt hadn’t told her.

  Bastian Aquino, AKA the Bastard, and the owner of the only Michelin-starred restaurant in California, stared down at the paper Wyatt had placed in front of him. His resignation letter.

  “What is this?” Chef Aquino demanded. “What is this bullshit?” He snatched up the letter and looked ready to shred it to pieces. Wyatt wouldn’t have been surprised. He’d seen it happen before and not just with paper. With homemade pasta. With fresh lettuce leaves. With a lamb chop lollipop he’d decimated, only the bone remaining. Never mind the gleaming white porcelain dishes. They routinely ended up chipped and mangled in the trash, their contents spilled across the walls of the kitchen, shards sprinkled across the floors.

  It was a rare service when the Bastard didn’t break something.

  “My resignation,” Wyatt said, making sure to keep his voice toneless, edgeless. Praying he wouldn’t upset Aquino more than he had to.

  “What, is working for the best restaurant in the world not good enough for you anymore?” Aquino sneered. “Do you fancy yourself somehow better than my kitchen? Feel like your shitty grillwork might be good enough to make it someplace else?”

  Wyatt had a fantastic, intuitive touch with meat, especially on the grill. It was not easy, but still doable, to push that insult away and leave it behind him.

  Mostly because he was going to be leaving this place and this asshole behind. Probably very shortly.

  “Did someone even hire your sloppy ass?” Bastian demanded.

  “Yep.” Wyatt had absolutely zero intention of telling him who it was. There was a single, heart-stopping moment where they just stared at each other, Bastian’s nostrils flaring with his terrible temper.

  “Well fine,” Bastian roared, sweeping a big hand across his desk, sending the resignation letter flying, along with cookbooks, recipe cards, a whole mug of pencils and pens, and his wireless keyboard.

  The resulting clutter brought Kian to the doorway, which Wyatt had been hoping to avoid, yet also knew was inevitable.

  “Get out,” Bastian growled, and because Wyatt was smart, he did what he was told.

  He should have spared a single sympathetic glance for Kian, who was about to head into the lion’s den and be eaten alive, all because of Wyatt’s defection, but he didn’t. He wasn’t that good of a person, apparently.

  Chapter Three

  “Do you think he figured it out?” Ryan’s best friend in the whole world sipped her chai latte and eyed him with a keen blue stare that could sniff out a lie no matter how good it was.

  Ryan was a terrible liar, and after being friends for three years, he’d learned it was always better to tell Tabitha King the truth.

  “Do I think he figured out that it was weird I happened to pick him up the night before the interview? Yeah, he’s not an idiot. He figured out something was up. I guess I should have told him it wasn’t planned. I recognized him from the photo they’d sent with his resume, and well,” Ryan shrugged, “he was so cute in person and suddenly it made sense. Two birds, one stone. A chef and a boyfriend.”

  Ryan pleated the empty sugar packet next to his coffee cup and wished that he’d texted Tabitha like he’d planned and canceled their coffee date. He was feeling weirdly guilty over his hookup with Wyatt, even though it had been unexpectedly spectacular, and he didn’t want to rehash all his ugly emotions with her.

  The first problem was that he’d chickened out at the last moment and went anyway, and the second problem was Tabitha was the universal expert at rehashing ugly emotions.

  “You like him,” Tabitha stated, looking very delighted at this turn of events. Ryan was not delighted at all. He was regretting the whole damn thing, even while acknowledging that it was the right thing to do under the circumstances. And all that conflict was making him feel queasy. The three sugars he’d thoughtlessly poured into his coffee weren’t helping. He pushed the cup aside, wishing he could get something else to wash away the overly sweet taste lingering on his tongue. But Tabitha already knew something was up, and also that he really didn't want to talk about it.

  “I thought that was the point,” he pointed wryly.

  “I still think you should have picked one of those randos you like hooking up with.”

  Ryan was glad he’d stopped drinking his coffee because he might have choked. He’d known Tabitha for three years now; he should long be used to her frank way of speaking, but she still managed to surprise the hell out of him once in awhile.

  “First off, they’re not randos, and second,” Ryan paused with exaggerated faux affront, “I don’t like hooking up with them.”

  “You don’t like it?” Tabitha raised a flawlessly groomed blonde eyebrow. “That must be rather odd. I had this notion that sex was generally an enjoyable act.”

  “It is.” Ryan ground his teeth together. “You know what I mean. I don’t enjoy it because they’re random guys, but a relationship just isn’t for me.”

  Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Just because one relationship turned sour doesn’t mean that every relationship will.”

  “It didn’t turn sour. It became too damn boring,” Ryan said.

  “And yet, a relationship is exactly what you are hoping to achieve,” Tabitha said, setting her latte down with a pointed click on the marble tabletop. “How do you propose to stay un-bored with Wyatt?”

  “It’s not going to be a real relationship,” Ryan said. “You know that.”

  “It’s real enough that you like him. It’s real enough that you hired him to cook you egg white omelets every morning and grill your chicken every night. He’s going to practically live in your backyard. That seems pretty damn real to me.”

  “I’m attracted to him. The sex was fantastic. If it’s not serious and it’s not real, I can’t imagine why the sex wouldn’t stay fantastic. And once in awhile, he’ll come with me and we’ll hold hands and get papped We’ll host dinner parties and post sappy Instagram pics. And that’ll fix all my problems.”

  “Sappy Instagram posts and holding hands in public once in awhile aren’t going to solve everything,” Tabitha said, sounding faintly exasperated. “You know that,” she echoed him. Her eyes flitted to the coffee cup he’d bought and hadn’t drank.

  His stomach was still churning with all the sugar he didn’t usually drink, but he still picked up his cup and took a healthy gulp, meeting Tabitha’s eyes with a challenging glance of his own. “It’ll fix enough,” Ryan said. “The rest, I can fix on my own.”

  Tabitha let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe Eric fucking Talbot convinced you that you had to do this.”

  “You just don’t like him,” Ryan said. Which was true. Tabitha had hated his agent since day one—before Ryan and Tabitha had even met the first time, she’d hated Eric Talbot. But Ryan couldn’t deny that the guy had done a very good, very aggressive job as his agent. He’d known that was what he needed, considering that even before the draft, Ryan had planned
on coming out of the closet.

  To his credit, Eric had not flinched once when told this, and had proceeded to make deals and eke every dollar out of Ryan’s promo deals, despite that he was going to be the first professional baseball player to be out.

  So when Eric said that Ryan had a problem with the new general manager of the Dodgers, and that he might choose not to sign Ryan to a new contract, Ryan couldn’t help but believe him. No matter what Tabitha said.

  “I hate him,” Tabitha said, draining the final drops of her latte and setting the cup decisively on the table. “So when are you going to tell Mr. Blake that you’ve hired him as more than your personal chef?”

  “I don’t know,” Ryan confessed. Eric had wanted to offer both jobs at the same time, and let Wyatt take his pick, but Ryan had vetoed that because after their hookup the night before, he wanted Wyatt. And Ryan knew Wyatt wouldn’t agree right away.

  But if Ryan could work a little charm on him? Convince him it was necessary? Seduce him with another few rounds of really good sex? Ryan’s chances looked better.

  “You’re not going to tell him right away.” Tabitha crossed her arms across her chest and looked even more pissed than when Ryan had brought up Eric Talbot.

  “How can I and get him to say yes?”

  Tabitha stood abruptly, and Ryan scrambled after her, as she gathered her purse and headed to the door of the café.

  “Where are you going?” Ryan asked, even though he already knew.

  “To go yell at your tiny-dick agent,” Tabitha said between clenched teeth, turning in the direction of her car, heels clicking determinedly on the sidewalk. “If you don’t think I don’t see his ugly fingers all over this, then I’m a lot blinder than you were counting on. You’re better than this, Ryan.”

  Despite already convincing Wyatt to take the chef job—or maybe because of it—Ryan’s day was already shitty. He did not want to spend the next two hours separating his best friend and his agent in order to prevent them from kicking the shit out of each other.

  Tabitha had never explicitly told him all the unsavory things she’d had to do in her career as a sports journalist, but he’d heard enough to know she’d crawled through mud and shit and blood. And not all metaphorically either. Men she hadn’t liked had touched her and they’d believed they deserved that privilege.

  There was an underside to professional athletics that was dark and seedy as hell. Ryan had always prided himself on avoiding it, but he knew he was sinking into the mud with this fake relationship.

  But the same panic that he felt every time he thought about being traded or his contract expiring streaked through him. Shouldn’t he do everything he could to prevent either possibility?

  “I’m not saying don’t do it,” Tabitha said softer, empathy in her eyes as she reached out to squeeze his arm. “I’m saying how you go about it is the difference between sliding into the shit and rising above it. You’re a riser.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow and they both burst out laughing. “I’m going to text Cal and tell him you told me I was a riser,” he said and Tabitha made a face, but she was still smiling.

  “Like my boyfriend would actually believe I saw your dick,” Tabitha retorted, rolling her eyes.

  “I’m telling him anyway.”

  Tabitha sighed. “I’m telling you—be honest. Lay it all out on the line. Give him the option to stay your chef. I wouldn’t complain if there was something edible in your fridge.”

  “I’ll tell him in a few days. Give him time to settle in.” Ryan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. If he said more, if he said he was also panicking at the thought of Wyatt turning him down, Tabitha would know he really liked him. And she was suspicious enough as it was. He didn’t need to give her any more reasons to deploy her well-meaning interference.

  “Just . . . soon.” Tabitha’s eyes had softened, but they sharpened abruptly back into knife points. “And don’t let that fucktard convince you to do anything else.”

  * * *

  The fucktard was waiting in the driveway, having an intense conversation in his car over his Bluetooth.

  It wasn’t like Ryan denied Eric was a fucktard, but he was Ryan’s fucktard, with Ryan’s leash tied really tightly around his neck. Ryan reminded himself firmly of this fact as he got out of his own car, and walked over to where Eric had parked.

  Eric hung up with a barked order and Ryan braced himself for an argument, because basically everything with Eric ended up an argument. Sometimes Ryan thought Eric argued because he didn’t even know how to do anything else.

  “I got a text from your new guy,” Eric said. “As expected, Aquino threw him out when he gave his notice, so he’ll be here sometime tomorrow. Probably afternoon-ish. Do you want me to be here, to go over the rest of the expectations?”

  Rest of the expectations. What a nice, polite way of saying Ryan would expect him to pretend to be his boyfriend and definitely not pretend to fuck him on a regular basis. And how unlike Eric to shy away from putting it bluntly.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll tell him myself.”

  “You’re not changing your mind, are you?” Eric demanded.

  “No. But I want to give him an out, if he’s not okay with it.”

  “You said you two hooked up, and it was good. Why wouldn’t he want to?”

  “Why wouldn’t he want to play my boyfriend? I don’t know, maybe he just doesn’t want to. Not everyone is incredibly mercenary like you,” Ryan said with an eye roll as punctuation. “Anyway, if he doesn’t want to, he can stay on like he planned, as my personal chef, and we’ll find someone else for the boyfriend.”

  “Who else?” Eric said impatiently, drumming his hands on the fire engine red hood of his Maserati. “Do you even have someone in mind?”

  “Not at this time.”

  “I have things lined up . . .” Eric started in, voice growing more intense by the second, and Ryan didn’t want to hear it, because he already knew it and also because Eric really was a fucktard.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ryan interrupted with a harsh edge to his voice. “If Wyatt says no.”

  “So when are you going to ask him?” Eric snapped.

  “Soon,” Ryan said. Reminded himself again that Eric worked for him, and whatever he wanted to do, however he wanted to proceed, everything was ultimately up to him. Eric couldn’t make decisions for Ryan, he could only advise.

  Eric digested this, and even though he clearly wanted to demand a specific date, probably even a specific time, if Ryan knew Eric at all, he didn’t. Definitely a good thing because Eric would have gone postal if he’d discovered Ryan intended to wait a few days. At least until Wyatt got settled in, and wasn’t a total stranger.

  Ryan didn’t expect Wyatt to trust him so quickly, but he at least needed to show Wyatt that he wasn’t a manipulative jerk. Tabitha had been right about that; like she was right about so many things.

  “I also have the details of the new Adidas shoot,” Eric said, following Ryan as he keyed in the garage code and ducked through the opening door.

  “You could have emailed it over,” Ryan said, annoyed that Eric hadn’t taken a hint and left. He walked into the kitchen, and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. He didn’t offer Eric one and pointedly drank deeply as Eric leaned over the island counter and went over the main points of the new Adidas commercial shoot Ryan was doing soon.

  “I asked them to try to downplay some of the more LGBT-friendly symbols,” Eric said. “It’s a contract year. I want them to emphasize that you’re an athlete. A pro athlete.”

  Ryan made a face. “I wish you hadn’t told them that. We can emphasize I’m an athlete some other way. You can get me another one of those Men’s Health covers or something. I love that Adidas is ready and willing to embrace that I’m gay. That was why we signed with them instead of Nike.”

  “You can definitely do better than Men’s Health,” Eric scoffed, clearly changing the subject, which an
noyed Ryan even more. “I think we can get Sports Illustrated, maybe even for their Opening Day special issue.”

  “You really think you can convince Sports Illustrated to pick me, instead of any of the other dozens of high-profile baseball players?” Ryan was not convinced. He had had a good year last year, and he’d made his mark in the playoffs the year before that. He’d already been a household name because he’d come out before the draft, but he was definitely beginning to be recognized for his baseball skills. As far as he was concerned, it had taken too long, though Eric kept telling him he was doing even better than the ten-year plan.

  Eric was a fucktard, but he also had a ten-year plan for Ryan, which made hating him difficult. The ten-year plan also made deliberately circumventing Eric’s ideas pretty stupid. Ryan usually tried to follow them, but this was a subject he was definitely willing to draw a line about.

  “It’s not decided yet, of course,” Eric said, “but I feel good about your chances.”

  “I don’t care. Call Adidas back,” Ryan said with clipped tones.

  Ryan saw Eric hold himself back for a second time in the last fifteen minutes, and that was basically a record, so it was probably better to end this conversation now, before Eric lost his temper and so did Ryan. They’d been working together for over three years now, and he’d learned that everything was just smoother if he could bring Eric around to his way of thinking without having to yell at him.

  “You’re sure?” Eric asked skeptically.

  “Was I sure three years ago when I sat in your office for the first time and said I wanted to come out before the draft?” Ryan demanded. His temper was definitely fraying at the edges. He squished the plastic bottle in his hands and it made a satisfyingly loud crackling noise.

  To his credit, Eric looked him straight in the eye. “You told me you had balls enough for both of us. I’d never had a client who questioned my balls before.”

  “There you go,” Ryan said, tossing the bottle in the recycling bin. “Find them and call Adidas back.”