“What?”
He laughs. “Come on, Rachel.”
“No, seriously, what are you talking about?”
Miguel looks up at me, surprised. Studying me, I see realization come over his face. “Oh my God, he has you running around doing so much shit that you don’t even realize it.”
“Miguel, what the hell?”
“This is your first big restaurant, right?”
I blush. “Yeah.” It’s the truth, but I don’t like to advertise it. I don’t want people thinking I can’t crack it just because it’s new to me.
“Well it’s not mine. And you’re really good. Everyone in the kitchen knows that. Everyone in the kitchen is there because they know that working for Solomon can help their careers, but they’re not there for him.” He shakes his head. “Do you know what head chefs do in actual restaurants, Rachel? They cook. And yes, they’re tasting the food and managing the kitchen and all the other things, but they cook the food too. It’s their food.”
“What’s your point?”
“That Solomon is a lazy piece of shit. The reason everyone gets so pissed at him is because he’s everywhere in everyone’s business all the time. But the only reason he’s able to do that is because he’s not busy. He gives everything that he should be doing to you, because you can handle it and you’d do it better than he could anyway.”
I feel myself go pale. He’s right. In the few smaller kitchens that I’ve worked in before I landed my job here, the head chefs had been far more hands-on with the food. I just assumed that because of Solomon’s status, that’s what celebrity chefs did. Managed. They’d already done the work so now everyone else could put in the work for them while they guided the lower ranks.
But Solomon never guides. He only criticizes. I blocked most of it out because this was a means to an end. A way to work up the ladder toward my own goals. But I do a hell of a lot of work in the kitchen. The restaurant is popular and always busy. And if everyone knows that I’m good…I swallow. “I just have to believe that if I’m as good as everyone thinks I am, my time will come,” I say quietly.
But will it? Now that I’ve rejected him?
I’d never even thought about Solomon that way, and until last week I had no idea that he thought of me like that. No matter what he says, it was inappropriate. My skin is still crawling from his hand on my ass.
Is Solomon the kind of man to recognize that he was wrong and give me the promotion that he promised me? Can he put aside the fact that I am not going to sleep with him?
Dread pools in my stomach.
No. No, he is not the kind of man.
A resounding crash comes from the kitchen, and all three of us sprint for the door without a second thought. The kitchen is in absolute chaos, a whole platter of food is on the floor, and Solomon’s face is so red that he looks like he might pass out. I hear him screaming as I run through the door.
“You.” He points at me, screaming so loudly that I have no doubt that the patrons can hear it. “You bitch, you did this on purpose.”
I freeze in place, unable to figure out what the hell I’ve done. The whole kitchen feels like it’s locked in a moment in time, everyone holding their breath to see what will happen.
My mouth is dry, but I meet Solomon’s gaze, the rage that I see there is terrifying. “What did I do?”
“You know that this is the signature dish in the restaurant. My signature dish. And you decided to ruin it—and my reputation—by putting the wrong sauce on the entrée?”
My eyebrows raise into my hairline. “I left the kitchen before the sauce was put on the entrée, Solomon.”
“Even if you didn’t put it on, you made it.”
Blood rushes to my face, and I know I must look as red as the sauce that is now spread all over the floor. “The sauce I made was the mushroom sauce. The same way I’ve been making it since you taught me how. The same way I’ve been making it for six months.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Melody step to my station, where the pot of sauce that I made is still sitting. The wrong sauce was on the entrée. But I’m not the one that put it there. Solomon is the one who did the final touches on the dishes. The one thing he still does because he wants control over how they look.
Everyone in the kitchen knows that. And if what Miguel said was true, that everyone in this shockingly silent kitchen knows how capable I am, then everyone knows that this isn’t my mistake.
Solomon laughs, maniacally. “You’re nothing, Rachel. This is a pathetic play to get back at me because I wouldn’t sleep with you for a promotion you haven’t earned.”
Rage tints my vision, and I hear gasps from my coworkers. I’m done with this shit. I’m done being nice. I’m done rolling over and putting up with Solomon’s abuse. My bills are taken care of now. I don’t have to worry about being on the street if I don’t have this job. “Oh really? I thought it was your hand that I had to push off my ass ten minutes ago.” I yank the necklace off my neck and put the ring on, holding it up for him to see. “Newsflash, asshole, I’m married.”
Solomon freezes, and then pure hatred spreads in his eyes. Rage like I’ve never seen. For a split second I wonder if I shouldn’t have told him that—if I maybe pushed him over the edge. But I don’t have time to wonder. He grabs a steak from the counter next to him and hurls it at me with a roar.
I catch it. Your reflexes have to be good working in a kitchen, and I don’t think twice before I hurl it back at him. His reflexes are shit. Yet another sign that he’s lost his touch and is riding on everyone else’s coattails.
The steak connects with his face in a satisfying smack.
Unbuttoning my chef’s coat, I drop it to the floor, and walk away, stopping only to grab my bag on the way out. I don’t need to say a word for everyone to know that I’m never coming back.
5
Clayton
The sight in front of me is not the one that I expected to find this early in the morning. Hell, I didn’t expect to see it ever again, and my gut twists up at the burst of strange pleasure and hope.
My not-quite wife is standing in front of me. She’s leaning up against the fence by the barn, blue jeans so tight I have no trouble seeing every curve of her gorgeous ass and what look like brand new cowboy boots.
Internally, I chuckle. Her feet will be blistering by morning. Boots aren’t the easiest shoes to break in, especially if you’re not used to wearing them. Hell, she’ll be lucky if she can walk in the morning.
There are other ways I’d like to help her not be able to walk.
The thought comes out of nowhere, and yet I can’t exactly say that I’m surprised. I had to walk away from this woman the second that we got married because I knew that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have let her go.
That kiss haunted me in ways that it shouldn’t, and that I can’t describe. But now she’s here on the ranch, looking even more delicious than on our wedding day last week. And she’s spotted me.
“Can’t say that I ever thought I’d see a city girl like you in a place like this.”