by Jill Haven
“Go on.”
Those two words of permission released me from my bonds of rigid self-control. “You’re wrong.” I started out talking to him as my equal, not my boss. “My work speaks for itself. You know it, I know it. And while your reasons not to give us a chance might seem reasonable, they’re just excuses. You’re hiding. Because let me tell you one thing.” I paused and sucked in a deep breath.
It felt good to give Ewin a small taste of the temper I usually kept under wraps. It felt even better that I seemed to have surprised him by even having a temper. Oh, yeah, my balls still clanked when I needed them to.
“And, while we’re at it, I don’t need to sleep with my boss to get ahead. But don’t worry. Don’t even lose one moment of sleep over it.” I dug deep for the final hit. “You once told me that mistakes are proof we’re trying. Well, I don’t make the same ones twice, and you’re no exception to that.” I finished on a rush of adrenaline, with my heart thumping so loud Ewin should have heard it.
He didn’t say anything.
“Am I free to go?” The sudden, intense heat of anger faded, leaving only the cold emptiness of loss.
His gaze emptied and he turned his attention his hands. The clock I’d watched so closely all day ticked like a bomb, marking off the seconds until Ewin finally nodded.
He didn’t intend to fight for me. For us. So much for have fun, take care, and put your heart into it.
The rest of the training time passed in a blur of technique and tasting sessions, but I didn’t enjoy it. Nothing came close to the first few highs of securing Ewin’s admiration over my cooking or causing his arousal with my kisses.
Just as we began to use hour-counting to measure the time until we opened the doors to our first customers, Ewin called us together for a staff meeting. I wiped my hands on the nearest towel and joined the cluster of chefs in the middle of the kitchen.
“First,” Ewin began, a smile on his lips. “You have all done really well. You’ve pulled together to learn new techniques and buoy each other up with constructive criticism and thoughtful feedback. That’s exactly the behavior I like to see in my kitchens.”
A small ripple of applause danced around the space at his words, but he waved the acknowledgment away.
“I’ve called you together to explain our opening schedule and my expectations of all of you. Initially, STK Storm will only open for evening service.” He held up his hand at a few murmurs. “Now I know that might disappoint a few of you, but this isn’t my first rodeo.” His eyes twinkled but his smile looked strained and my heart ached for him, even though I didn’t want it to.
It seemed I couldn’t turn my feelings off for Ewin Storm. At least, not like he could for me. I lifted my chin and stared at him as he continued to speak.
“Because of this, you’ll all work the same shifts to start with. Essentially, you’ll continue as you’ve started—one big team. We’ll be a little overstaffed to start with, but that’s not a bad thing until you grow in confidence at the routine and workstations. It also gives you opportunity to revolve and continue your learning.”
Seeing him impassioned like this sent a thrill right through me, and I almost forgot how we’d left things. As he gestured with his hands, I remembered his fingers on my body, and heat licked across my skin. Swallowing, I tuned back into his words, focusing with all my might on Ewin as my boss. Nothing more.
“Today is an exciting day. We’re going to attempt our first trial run, and we’ll be doing trial runs of all of our menu dishes from now until opening night. But the exciting part about today is I’m asking your mentors to step away from the kitchen, into the restaurant, and they’ll be your first customers. Truly out of the frying pan and into the fire.” He winked. “Don’t leave them hungry.”
I looked at Jonas, and he high-fived me. “You’ve got this,” he said.
I knew, but apprehension still filtered through me. We’d arrived at a moment where I needed to prove myself in a different way. Training for a job was very different from actually doing the job, and Ewin’s grading criteria would surely be different.
I pushed my hand through my hair, my teeth nibbling my lip, as he continued his instructions, directing people to various workstations.
“And August,” he said finally. “I have you on the…” His hesitation was barely there, but I felt it. “On the meat station.”
I glanced at the area he indicated. Very far away from the station he nearly had me on the other night, and an expected wave of desire rushed through me.
Ewin pinched the bridge of his nose, his face twisted as if he had a headache, and the scent of spice and honey grew stronger, inflaming my desire further.
Then he clapped his hands, looking surprised as he did so. “Right everyone, get to your stations, and we’ll begin. Mentors, out to the restaurant and we’ll try to produce something edible.”
Ewin started at the far side of the kitchen, by the appetizers, but I heard every word he spoke perfectly as he coached people on their timings and which other stations they needed to watch and synchronize with. “It’s very important you all work as a team. If you’re timings slip, you can cause a backlog, and if you run too fast, it’s just as bad.”
I glanced around, mentally noting which stations would be important to the meals I was helping create, and by the time Ewin stood in front of me, he only reassured me that I already knew what I was doing. Then he retreated to a corner of the kitchen to watch.
Our first run-through ended in disaster. Dishes were burned, with some elements also flirting with undercooked, and our mentors laughingly returned them from the dining room. But with each run-through, Ewin’s barked instructions became fewer, until the fifth run-through when he finally smiled as he examined the dishes under the heat lamps.
“Finally!” he boomed, clapping the nearest chef on the back. “We just need this standard every time. You’ve sweated your asses off to get here, but don’t think you can relax this pace when you’re at work. Now, though, take your dishes and go share them with your mentors. They need something decent to eat after the shit we’ve been serving up all afternoon.” Tension played across his brows and he didn’t soften his words with a smile.
I grabbed my plates and hustled through the doors to the dining room, shock nearly stopping me when I saw it all laid out.
Crystal wine glasses glinted in the sun streaming through the huge windows, but they would have looked equally good in the low light of the ornate chandeliers that cast rainbows around the room even during the day. Linen tablecloths—crisp and clean—covered all of the tables, and silver-colored cutlery gleamed alongside tasteful nests of plates. Candles and single flower stems added touches of simple elegance in an otherwise opulent setting.
“Wow!” I greeted Jonas as I set his plate in front of him.
“Why, thank you,” he replied. “I dress to impress.”
I laughed. “Not you, doofus. This place.”
“I know, right?” Jonas looked around, his eyes narrowing speculatively. “Ewin always pulls it off. I know he’s a hard taskmaster. Believe it or not, he puts all his chefs through the exact same thing.”
I choked back a laugh. I was pretty sure not all his chefs went through the exact same thing. Pain began a slow beat at my temples, and I massaged one with my thumb as Jonas continued speaking.
“I’m serious. Working in Ewin’s kitchen is exhausting but rewarding for sure. I wouldn’t be the chef I am today without his training.” He grabbed a fork and stabbed a bite of steak.
Yeah, I knew exactly what he meant about Ewin’s training, and I loved the rush of producing such high-quality dishes under his watchful eye. I opened my mouth to speak, but intense pain created a band around my head, and I flinched.
“What’s up?” Jonas drew his brows together as he watched me.
“My head, it’s killing me.” I gave it a tentative shake, as if I could shift the pain to a different spot.
“Huh.” But he reached out an
d pressed the backs of his fingers to my cheek. “You do a feel pretty warm.”
I laughed. “You know that access to drinks and ice you guys have been enjoying out here? Well, I’ve been standing over a hot plate and range cooking the same dishes for hours.”
“Tell me about it. I tasted some of them.” He stuck out his tongue then sighed and drew his hand away.
For a moment, I missed the touch, the care. “Too bad I’m not into other omegas.” I lifted one side of my mouth in a smile, and Jonas laughed.
“I don’t give pity fucks to sick dudes anyway, so you’re safe.”
I mock gasped and pressed a hand to my chest as I tried to ignore the headache that had started a drumbeat on my brain. “You wound me.”
“Nah.” Jonas shook his head and chuckled. “I get it. I’m bi, but if I’m ever lucky enough to choose between guys, I’ll take an alpha every time. There’s just something about them…” His gaze unfocused then snapped back to me. “But what am I talking about? I have Jenny, and girlfriends are great. Hey”—he clasped my shoulder—“I should get the two of you to meet sometime. I think she’d love you.”
I covered his hand with mine, glad to have found a new friend, especially one who understood the stresses of the kitchen, even if I hadn’t told him the full story.
As he released me to put another forkful of food in his mouth, I glanced across the dining hall. And met the hard-eyed stare of Ewin Storm. One of his fists clenched and unclenched at his side, and his jaw worked tensing and releasing, but he didn’t look away.
Just as I looked away, my phone buzzed, and I grabbed it.
“What you got, August?” Jonas spoke around his latest mouthful of steak, and I blinked, trying to bring the words into focus as a fresh wave of pain assaulted me.
“Oh, nothing.” I set my phone face down to my left. “Just some stupid town gossip site.” But the words were already burned on my brain, as if they’d been written just for me, and a shiver of awareness flittered through me at how close to home recent gossip had landed.
Oh, little mouse, a lion has its sights set on you. Better be careful or he just might pounce.
10
Ewin
I took a deep breath, then another, until all I could think about was drawing lungful after lungful of cool, woodland scented air deep into my chest. Fuck, I needed to get my shit together. And right when August turned toward me, I wondered if he was as aware of me as I was of him.
His blond hair caught the light as it shimmered down from the chandeliers illuminating the space, and the feel of his muscles under my hands played through my mind. I wanted to cup his ass in my hands again, stand pressed against the sleek lines of his body. I caught my breath as images and thoughts assailed me—some remembered, some pure fantasy. He laughed, and every note in the sound echoed right through me as I watched his eyes, the eyes I could drown in, focus only on the man in front of him.
I needed to shift my focus. I couldn’t just stare at him across rooms. That was as damaging to his reputation as any relationship, if the wrong person saw. I counted my breaths in and out, willing myself to calm.
I dragged my gaze away from August and Jonas, but it took physical effort. The way Jonas had touched him, the way August had allowed—and even encouraged—it, covering Jonas’s fingers with his hand. Hot bile rose in my throat.
I’d expected them to grow close. Working in the kitchen day after day, sharing the stresses and strains of producing perfect dish after perfect dish… Even the mentee-mentor relationship. The level of trust that developed fostered closeness.
My mouth twisted in a bitter smile, the only outward sign my brain was sending a ‘fuck you’ to my heart. When I pulled Jonas into the position, I only had half my attention on what a great chef he’d turned into. I also thought he was straight. But after watching him touch August with such casual tenderness, my belief wavered.
Shit… I was such a dick. I’d hired a man I didn’t think would want August even as I rejected him myself. Jealousy whispered through me, and regret fled. I didn’t feel guilty for hiring someone I thought was straight. I was protecting August from any more distractions. I was keeping my kitchen free from the kind of drama that could derail my entire project.
Watching Jonas touch August’s cheek, his shoulder, brought back memories of the feel of his skin and the heat of his body. The soft breaths as he panted his need, the slide of our tongues as they touched each other, the prickle on my scalp as he tugged my hair. I wanted him, but I couldn’t have him, and it tore me up to watch August and Jonas so carefree and easy with each other.
August bent his head again, a shadow of pain darting across his features, and I had to look away. I had to…but before I did, Jonas touched August’s cheek again, and fiery grief raged through me. August needed someone like him…someone young. But the alpha in me disagreed. August needed me.
“When you’re all done, we have a kitchen to clean up.” I raised my voice louder than usual, trying to drown out the regret I didn’t want to feel.
Jonas quirked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
As I left the dining room, most of them picked up on my cue and followed me to the kitchen. The fun was over for now.
“Today was a good day,” I bit out, once every workstation was ready for the next day. “But I think this moment is a good one to remind all of you of my policy against work relationships. You’re a very new team and you don’t need distractions, no matter the heat of the kitchen. Keep it drama-free, people.”
August shifted, bringing one hand to his forehead, and as I caught his gaze, he glared at me, his blue eyes icy in his anger. Then he clenched his jaw and shook his head, anger fading to…disappointment.
I caught my breath as his expression pierced my chest. I was right, though. I knew I was. No fraternization. But it didn’t have the same ring, and remorse for what might have been overtook my zeal to keep August away from Jonas. Maybe Harland was right about missed chances.
August’s disappointment was contagious, and as I retreated to my office, it dogged my steps.
When I emerged into the gloom of the kitchen later, I wasn’t surprised to see August had waited for me. “This is becoming a habit.”
“A bad one,” he conceded. “But my station needed a deep clean, and I need to talk to you.”
My heart clenched. I wanted to do a lot more with August than talk to him, but I sighed instead and folded my arms, protecting myself and preventing me from reaching out to him. “What’s the problem?”
He spluttered. “Isn’t it obvious? What was all that crap about your relationship policy again? Have I done something you disapprove of? Or were you just reminding yourself?”
I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes. Give me strength… “You and Jonas. You can’t start anything.”
August jerked back, away from me, and his eyes widened then narrowed, his earlier glare back in place, and he pressed his palm to his forehead. “What are you talking about, dumbass? There’s absolutely nothing going on between Jonas and me. We’re friends, and he wants me to meet his girlfriend tonight, but am I not even allowed to do that? No relationships means no friendships? You know what, you need to get over yourself and pull your head out of your rear. What an ass,” he finished, a disapproving set to his mouth that I hadn’t seen before.
I threw my hands up. “Well, what did you expect me to think? I’ve had to watch you flirt with him all week, and today in the restaurant he kept touching you, which you seemed to like…”
“I don’t screw anything that moves, Ewin.” His voice dropped to monotone, and his eyes seemed to stare right through me. “I don’t get you. You blow too hot and cold.” He squeezed his eyes shut tight, creases of pain at the corners. When he opened them, he jabbed a finger at me. “You made your feelings very clear when you brought Jonas in to mentor me that day after you kissed me. So, don’t pull this crap now. Just…just don’t.” He swayed, his face paling, and I stepped toward him, my a
rm already out to steady him.
“No. You don’t get to touch me.” He waved me off and bent double, his breathing heavy.
A faucet dripped somewhere to my right, and one of the fridges hummed as a fan kicked in, jangling my last nerve.
August straightened and met my gaze. “I care about my job, you know.” He leaned back, resting against the prep table behind him, his movements not as casual as he might have liked them to be. “I won’t risk my job or my future career for anything.” He paused and hit me with another hard stare. “Or for anyone.”
I took a small step forward. “Look, I didn’t mean…”
“Just let me finish, okay?” He grimaced and pressed his fingers to his forehead again then clasped a hand around the edge of the table behind him, as if he needed the anchor to keep himself steady. “I admit, my crush on you has been stupid. And I was dumb to act on it. But you know what? I know where you stand now, and I won’t make a fool of myself again. I know better than to act on it.” He blew out a slow inhale, as his eyes fluttered closed. “I just want to do my job. We can put all this behind us, and I’ll focus on my career.”
He…I…what? He was still talking, but I wasn’t taking his words in. Not like I should have been. My brain kept repeating ‘crush’ over and over, making it difficult to listen. August had a crush on me, and I didn’t know what to think. Maybe that crush still existed. Pleasure coursed through me alongside panic that this was a much bigger issue than I had time for. I glanced around my kitchen. It was a cookie cutter replica of every other kitchen I created. I needed that order, that sameness. Anything unexpected was too messy.
Then my glance landed on August, and I swallowed loudly. “How long?” The words rasped into the room, and I waited.
