“Promise me if he hurts you the way Edward did, you’ll twist his huevos into a pretty bow.”
“Jesus Christ, Mom. You should try using some Spanish words other than the curse words.”
She shrugs innocently. “It’s the first words your dad taught me. They stuck.” Grabbing both my arms now, her gaze bores into me. “Promise me.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me. If Ethan hurts me, I’ll turn his huevos into scrambled eggs.”
She nods with approval. “That’s my girl.”
As she takes me into her arms, I can’t help but think about the Le Cordon Bleu internship I’ve yet to tell Ethan or my parents about. If I don’t come clean soon, I may be the one who breaks hearts this time.
Chapter 15
ETHAN
Misty rips the order ticket off the printer and secures it with the clip in front of Alice. Then, she turns toward the swinging double doors as a server enters the kitchen to pick up an order.
“We need runners!” she shouts at the server. “Tell Ollie to pace the tables. We’re getting killed back here.”
Without hesitation, Alice glances at the two tickets in front of her and shouts out a request for venison, duck breast, and a Tomahawk. All the while, her hands continue stirring butter into the plum sauce she’s preparing for our last order of duck breast.
Warner returns from the walk-in cooler with the meat she requested. “Only one Tomahawk left.”
“86 Tomahawk!” Alice shouts at Misty, who shoves her way through the double doors to find Ollie, who will warn the rest of the servers.
My chest fills with pride as I watch Alice and Mario confer on the timing of preparing the rare venison and the medium-well duck so they’re plated at the same time as the Tomahawk. As they do that, Shanice requests the aged Montassio she needs for an after-dinner cheese course while she prepares two lamb carpaccios for another table. My three sous chefs—well, two sous chefs and one trainee—work together like a well-oiled machine.
Chuffed to bits as I may be, I can’t take all the credit. Actually, I can’t take much credit at all.
When Alice quickly proved her mettle on her first day in the kitchen, Mario’s initial reaction was to be even more afraid of being replaced. But after taking him aside and assuring him that was not going to happen—and after being bailed out more than once by Alice when we got slammed with tasting menu orders last night—Mario has settled into a rhythm with Alice.
I’ve since heard him reluctantly complimenting Alice’s work ethic when he wasn’t aware I was listening. Unfortunately, I’ve also caught him stealing glances at the way her jeans hug her arse in all the right places.
But I’m not worried about Mario making a move on Alice. She’s made it clear how much she craves my hands on her perfect curves. And as she glances at me while reaching for a plate on the shelf, the subtle wobble of her breasts makes me want to plunge headlong inside her.
She narrows her eyes at me as I watch her, my gaze blurring as I adjust the crotch of my jeans.
For a moment, I believe she’s going to chastise me, but then her eyes widen.
“Behind you!” she shouts.
I blink away the spell she’s cast on me, then I spin around.
A thick plume of smoke billows from the wood-fire oven, and I curse as I remember I had a steak in there. Pulling out the cast-iron skillet, I angrily chuck the blackened meat into the nearest bin.
Warner quickly abandons the line to grab the last Tomahawk out of the dry-aging fridge. Alice and Mario make no attempt to hide their laughter, though Alice’s cheeks are flushed.
I slide in next to her to whisper in her ear. “I reckon you’re blushing, love. Keep taking the piss out of me, and I’ll give you something to blush about.”
I smile as her hands begin to tremble. “Better keep an eye on your meat,” she murmurs.
“I’d rather you keep an eye on my meat,” I whisper, fully aware I’m pushing the boundaries of impropriety. “Meet me in my office at closing.”
As if summoned by my dirty thoughts, Alice arrives at my office door shortly before midnight.
I quickly add the final item to tonight’s produce order and close the lid on my laptop. “Come to bid me goodnight?”
She glances over her shoulder into the staff corridor, then she casts a sultry look in my direction. “I was wondering if we could continue that lesson we started a couple weeks ago. The menu-planning app.”
I keep my expression quite serious as I nod. “Of course. Please shut the door. We wouldn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Yes, Chef,” she coos as she closes the door behind her, remembering to turn the lock.
I curl my finger to beckon her to me. She tiptoes in my direction with her hands clasped behind her back. When she’s on my side of the desk, I lean back in my chair, widening my knees. She can’t be more than five-foot-two, as we’re almost eye-to-eye when I’m sitting in this chair.
“Who’s left in the kitchen?”
She purses her lips as she thinks about this for a moment. “I think it’s just Emilio mopping the floor, and I saw Andy taking out the trash.”
“Warner’s gone?”
She nods excitedly.
“Mario too?” I ask, unable to hide the note of jealousy in my tone.
She shakes her head. “You really need to stop burning food or people are going to get real suspicious.”
I finally allow myself to crack a smile as I reach forward and grab her hips. “Can’t help it when I have this in my face all blooming day,” I say, landing a soft smack on her arse.
She rolls her eyes. “So, quit your job and start a religion dedicated to worshipping my ass. Problem solved.”
I shrug. “Hmm… I reckon I might need to see it before I take such drastic measures.”
Her body tenses and she takes a step back. “We can’t keep doing this here. We’re going to get caught.”
I clench my jaw as I realize she’s hedging again. I’m beginning to wonder how much longer I can keep doing this back and forth.
“What do I have to do to prove to you I’m not him?”
Her eyes meet mine and she seems surprised I’m calling her out.
“Name it and I’ll do it,” I say without hesitation, and I mean every word.
A tentative smile curls her gorgeous lips. “Anything?”
I shake my head as I realize where this is going. “You agreed to a ninety-day probation.”
“But you know I can do the job,” she pouts.
“If I give you the job now instead of waiting ninety days, it won’t look good.”
“It won’t look good? What does that even mean?”
I stare at her in utter confusion. “If I fast-track you to the sous chef position, the staff will abso-bloody-lutely think we’re sleeping together.”
She winces at the reminder. “Right. Can’t believe I forgot that. But you’re the one who keeps ogling me and whispering in my ear. People are getting suspicious. We may as well just assume everyone knows.”
I let out a heavy sigh as I lean back in my chair again. “I don’t care if the staff knows. But I rather prefer not to be murdered by your father.”