by Beth Bolden
Kian’s eyebrows slammed together and the gaze he directed Bastian’s direction was decidedly frosty. “I see,” was all he said. “Welcome to Terroir.”
Between getting Mark’s orientation done, and getting him up to speed prior to service, there was no time for Bastian to pull Kian aside to try to explain.
The additional time was also helpful, because after watching him during the service, Bastian felt like Mark could actually be a decent addition to the team. He wasn’t quite quick enough yet, but he was careful, and had clearly learned some good habits at Michael Mina. Maybe Kian would come around once he saw Mark’s possibilities.
No, Bastian reminded himself resolutely, he would come around. Because Bastian had no intention of getting rid of Mark just because of a small personality conflict. He’d endured Xander’s sneers for years, and even that godawful ridiculous nickname, and he’d done it because Xander was a fantastic chef, and he’d wanted him in his kitchen.
It was too suspicious to be continually taking the same car to and from the restaurant, so Kian and he had driven separately this time. This is good, Bastian thought as he drove home after service, an extra ten minutes to get my head on straight.
Bastian knew Kian had every intention of cornering him to discuss Mark. He’d been terse and brief all service, and he’d barely looked in Bastian’s direction. None of those little quick glances that felt like a caress—something to connect them when they couldn’t touch.
He pulled into the driveway, saw that Kian’s little hatchback was already parked, and braced himself for the forthcoming and unavoidable argument.
It had been almost a week since Kian had shown up, determined not to be turned down, and it had been one of the best weeks of Bastian’s life. Still, in the back of his mind, he’d been bracing for the moment when something happened to mar all that uninterrupted perfection. He’d known it was inevitable because they were both two very opinionated, driven individuals and Kian’s new promotion, while not giving him equal footing with Bastian, gave him a decided step up from where he’d been before. From the way Kian had taken over in the kitchen, he knew it too, and no doubt he had every intention of exercising that newfound power now.
“What the hell, Bastian,” Kian spit out from almost the second Bastian opened the car door and stepped out. He’d given Kian the keycode to the house a few days ago, but he’d chosen not to use it tonight, and instead had lain in wait for Bastian outside.
“I take it you don’t approve of Mark as a choice of sous,” Bastian said, and hated how tired he sounded. He knew everyone believed he enjoyed a fight, but he actually dreaded them. He dreaded their prelude, he dreaded the actual yelling, and he absolutely dreaded the aftermath.
He knew they would get through this, because Kian was a reasonable person who wanted the best for Terroir, just the same as Bastian did, but he was also unexpectedly stubborn, when allowed the freedom to be.
It was sexy as hell when they were flirting or during foreplay or even in the middle of sex. It was not sexy as hell now. Now, all it meant was a conversation that should have been easier, wasn’t. Bastian knew he shouldn’t, but he resented Kian for it.
“Of course I don’t fucking approve,” Kian spit out, words tumbling over themselves. “How could I possibly approve when you never asked me?”
“Is that the problem? That you were not consulted?” Bastian typed in the entry code to the front door himself and walked in. Kian shut the door behind him harder than he needed to. Forcing himself not to jump at the sudden bang that echoed through the house, Bastian set his keys and wallet on the counter and walked over to his wine rack. Picking out a nice pinot noir, he opened the bottle with careful, slow movements and poured himself a glass. Didn’t pour one for Kian because he hadn’t asked, and Bastian wasn’t feeling particularly generous at the moment.
The whole time, Kian kept up a long monologue about why Bastian had fucked him over.
“There are a lot of problems with this. First, your fucking overbearing motives. You put me in charge of the kitchen, but then you keep interfering, you hire new staff without even asking, without even letting me interview them first. You always think you know what’s best for everyone, like a chess master setting out his pieces, and it fucking pisses me off. And then, you had to hire him.” Kian said the word like it was bitter and poisonous, and Bastian tuned back in. Maybe he would finally hear what the real issue behind Mark’s hire was.
Other than that you did it without his permission and without even asking him, Bastian’s guilty conscience proclaimed loudly and very clearly.
“What is your issue with Mark?” Bastian asked and was more than a little proud of how even his voice was. Some of what Kian had said stung, but it was also true, so he tried to let it go. “I know you went to school with him.”
“He’s a fucking suck-up, piece-of-shit, copycat asshole,” Kian said bitterly. “Two years ago he wanted in my pants, probably to try to steal anything he could to get ahead of me. He would have, but he didn’t even realize I was smarter than he was and could figure out what he wanted in a second flat. He’s a snake, plain and simple, and I don’t want him in my kitchen.”
Bastian took a long sip of wine. “My kitchen,” he corrected softly, firmly.
Kian flushed a bright shade of puce. He didn’t say anything else.
“I’m sorry you don’t like him,” Bastian finally said. “I’m sorry you didn’t get along before. I’m sorry he was shitty to you in school. I certainly hope that he thinks better of trying to get in your pants now—because he’ll find that I do not like to share. But based on his performance tonight, I do think he could earn his place at Terroir. I want you to give him the chance to do that.”
“Why?” Kian asked, and he sounded even angrier now than he had ranting about Mark.
“Because sometimes we don’t personally like someone but they’re good enough at what they do that we tolerate their shittiness as a person. And also because sometimes we’re an idiot at eighteen, but we grow up,” Bastian said. “He did good work. He has good references. Let’s give him a chance.”
Kian frowned. “He was just on good behavior tonight because you were there.”
“And tomorrow, and during subsequent evenings, you will be there. As chef de cuisine, you are my representative. It’s up to you to make sure he stays in line. If he doesn’t, then you know what to do with him.”
Kian’s face grew harder around the edges than Bastian had ever seen it before. “Yes,” he said shortly, “I take out the trash.”
“Eventually, yes. If he proves that he can’t handle Terroir.” He tipped the wine in Kian’s direction. “Would you like some?”
“I really want to hate you right now,” Kian grumbled, and instead of answering, Bastian pulled out another glass and poured, generously. Kian had earned this wine today, though Bastian wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that.
“But you don’t,” Bastian said, smiling.
Kian smiled, thawing a little. “I really don’t, even when I do. How does that work?”
“God, I wish I knew,” Bastian said, and reached for him. “I am sorry that I didn’t consult you ahead of time. But I can’t say that if I had, and you’d told me all that, I wouldn’t have hired him anyway.”
“Because he had good references and did well tonight?” Kian slipped out of his grasp, eyeing Bastian coolly over his glass of wine.
“Yes,” Bastian said honestly. If he couldn’t be honest, this relationship would never get off the ground. Just because they loved each other didn’t mean that they could truly accept each other, and if Kian couldn’t accept that he’d do anything for Terroir to succeed, then this wasn’t going to work.
“So, that thing you said when you gave me this job,” Kian said steadily, “you meant that.”
“Did you want me to give you a free pass on Mark, and get to do whatever you wanted with him just because we’re sleeping together?” Bastian questioned. “Because I had the impr
ession that you wanted to keep Terroir at Terroir and sex at home.”
“I do.” Kian looked very unsure all of a sudden. “I was going to say, I wanted you to trust me, but then I realized that trust has to go both ways, doesn’t it? You want me to trust you, here.”
“While I’m trusting you with Terroir, which is the most precious thing in the world to me.” Almost the most precious, Bastian mentally corrected. He still hadn’t returned Kian’s three little words from the emergency room, but then Kian had yet to say them while not on drugs. They were still figuring all of this out. It was too soon to tell Kian that he’d become just about as important to him as the restaurant and the career he’d built from scratch with blood and lots and lots of sweat.
“Oh,” Kian said, and his eyes lit up, like he suddenly understood. “Oh.”
This time Kian was the one who moved closer to Bastian, reaching up and putting a hand on his neck, his shoulders. “Sweetheart, we’re figuring this out. I don’t know how the fuck to do this,” Bastian confessed quietly. “I don’t know how to love you and love my restaurant.”
Well, maybe he was doing this right now.
Kian’s mouth formed a small o of surprise. “You love me?”
“Did you ever doubt that I did?” Bastian stroked up and down Kian’s arms, bare as he was wearing just a t-shirt he’d thrown on after service.
“Noooooo, not exactly,” Kian hesitated. “Maybe a little bit. Tonight.”
Bastian had felt the doubt, the coldness radiating from him, and maybe that was why he’d finally let those words slip out. His subconscious had known better than he did just how thin the ice they were walking on was.
“I wanted to make the words more special,” Bastian confessed. “I always want to do right by you. Even when you think I’m fucking up, I’m still trying to do right by you. I didn’t think there was anyone at Terroir who deserved to be your sous and I went looking for one. For you. Only for you. All for you.”
Kian’s lip trembled. “You love me that much?”
“More,” Bastian chuckled, leaning down to brush a kiss on his lips. “So much more. If I loved you less, I could have resisted you. If I had loved you less, I wouldn’t have ever hired you to begin with. Less is not really a problem here, trust me.”
Kian melted into the kiss, and for a second, Bastian let himself be consumed by the fire that blazed between them. He was still shocked by how hot they always burned, and how quickly it always seemed to burn out of control.
But it was Kian who broke away, panting. “I do trust you. I do.” He hesitated, and Bastian’s heart became a manic thing, pumping away wildly as he watched Kian wet his bottom lip. “I meant what I said, when I told you in the hospital. I love you too. I’ve loved you for a long time.”
Bastian’s heart was still thumping hard as he pulled Kian flush against him. Somehow, he was still too far away, still not as close as Bastian needed him to be. “Mon cher, I’ve loved you for far too long,” he murmured against Kian’s lips, “I need a shower. Join me and let me show you how long.”
Chapter Eleven
It wasn’t that Kian didn’t theoretically agree with Bastian’s suggestion that he give Mark a try at sous. He’d made good points, and Kian was not only willing to approach his new position in charge of the kitchen at Terroir with logic, he wanted to.
Bastian finally telling him he loved him too certainly didn’t hurt either.
When Kian walked into the Terroir kitchen the next day, flipping on lights as he went, he was determined to fulfill Bastian’s belief in his potential. It started like so many days at Terroir, with Kian receiving shipments, logging them in, and making sure that the huge walk-in fridges were ruthlessly organized and that any item that was even slightly questionable had been disposed of.
Mark came in on time, which was really ten minutes early, and that filled Kian with additional optimism. He’d been notorious for barely ever making it to class on time, and Kian had hoped that Michael Mina had broken that particular bad habit.
“Johnson,” Kian acknowledged his arrival as he walked in from the locker room. “Do you want to go over prep assignments?”
Mark nodded, but his face contorted into a frustrated little grimace. Kian told himself that this was normal, prep was hell, and frankly they had a very green kitchen assistant who also happened to be a drama queen. Mark would have picked that up right away, and also probably knew Kian was going to ask him to watch Derek closely—just as Bastian had asked Kian to do. It was exactly the kind of expression Xander might have made, but of course, he wouldn’t have ever done it to Bastian’s face, he would have waited until he was gone first.
Mark, Kian acknowledged, was still a little stupid, but a little stupid was better than a lot stupid. He could work with that.
“Derek, you need to watch him. I want to see a perfect dice. I know he’s capable of it, he just gets lazy and sloppy, and that isn’t how we do things here,” Kian said as they hauled out crates of vegetables out of the walk-in.
“I’m surprised Aquino permitted it,” Mark said. Kian told himself firmly to ignore the little twisty jab in his words.
“Chef Aquino,” Kian said, emphasizing his title, “isn’t the villain he’s painted to be. He’s tough, he has exacting standards, but he’s willing to work with people to meet them. But Derek knows he’s on borrowed time, so if he gets sloppy, you let me know and I’ll deal with it.”
Glancing at Kian up and then down again, Mark chuckled under his breath. And yes, Kian was a decidedly less intimidating figure than Bastian was, but that didn’t matter. Kian had learned from the best. He could eviscerate anyone without lifting a finger.
“All of this?” Mark asked as Kian hauled the last of the eggplants out. “That’s a lot of work.”
“Terroir is a larger restaurant than Michael Mina,” Kian said shortly. “You’d better get on it.”
All in all, not the greatest start to their working career together, Kian considered as he grabbed his own veggies to start the daily soup special, but it also hadn’t been the worst. Mark was suspicious and a little intractable, but Kian still believed he could win his respect. He had always been a good chef, but from Bastian’s mentorship, he could run this restaurant exactly as it needed to be run.
He didn’t intend to have quite as firm of a hand as Bastian had—he believed that he could get results without any of the yelling or the worst of the insults. But the way Kian got there mattered far less than the end result. He knew that was all Bastian cared about.
As Kian’s knife flew through the carrots he was prepping for the soup, it was a habit to watch out of the corner of his eye for Bastian—forgetting that Bastian was meeting with Nathan Hess today, and wouldn’t be in until much later. If at all, Bastian had added absently.
Kian wasn’t dumb enough to take his tone at face value. This was, undeniably, a test. A test Kian intended to ace. Even without Mark, Kian knew he was still at a disadvantage. Bastian might have promoted him, but a part of Kian knew he wasn’t really ready, and that meant he needed to work twice as hard to prove himself.
He took an hour and took his time on the soup, believing that the prep was underway by Mark. Kian had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate being checked on every ten minutes anyway. None of the work he was doing was particularly difficult, except maybe dealing with Derek, and Kian had left a detailed list of what needed done.
He also had a pretty solid idea of how long it should take to complete the list he’d compiled, so he was surprised—and not in a good way—when he detoured through the prep station to find that after an hour, Mark and Derek had barely made a dent in the crates of vegetables spread out over the counter. If he looked at the list, he would guess they’d barely completed a quarter of the prep, when they should really be more than halfway done.
And even worse, instead of working with purpose and speed, they were taking their sweet-ass time and gossiping like two old ladies.
“He came in with this whole
chain of bruises down his neck. And I know there’s no boyfriend,” Derek said, completely fulfilling Kian’s worst impression of him. “So who gave them to him? I’d like to know.”
“You don’t think it was Aquino, do you?” Mark said, and there was that sly tone that Kian remembered so well from their culinary academy days.
“Excuse me,” Kian said in the firmest Bastian impression he could manage.
Mark didn’t look the tiniest bit embarrassed at being caught gossiping about Kian or the illustrious head chef of Terroir. Derek, however, did Kian the favor of at least blushing at his sudden appearance.
“Why is this not all done, already?” Kian asked. “You should be a lot further along by now. We have a lot to do. There’re stocks to get ready. Sauces to start. And you guys are still fucking prepping.”
“Derek here was just giving me the big scoop,” Mark said, and glanced right at Kian’s neck. Thankfully in the last week, the bruises Bastian had kissed into his skin had already faded considerably. This morning he’d looked in the mirror and been a little disappointed to see them slowly disappear, but now he was undeniably glad. Mark could not find out that Bastian had been the one to leave them. Kian wasn’t sure what he’d do with the knowledge, but it wouldn’t be good; Kian knew that much.
“Derek’s job,” Kian emphasized, “is to help you with the prep work of the day, not gossip.” He didn’t reiterate what Mark’s job was because Mark fucking knew what his job was. He was just pushing Kian, seeing what he could get away with, and he had to know, Kian needed him to believe, that Kian was going to push back.
But the way to earn Mark’s respect wasn’t to call him out in front of Derek. It was to show Mark that Kian was in charge, and that he wasn’t going to tolerate any bullshit on shift.
“Just to make sure that’s very clear,” Kian continued, “Derek, I’d like you to go help Jorge in the dish room. I’ll finish assisting Mark with prep.”
Of course, Kian had other things to do, but with his presence to stifle any further laziness, he knew they could finish blowing through the rest of the list.
