He’s so close, it feels like he’s boxed me in.
His breath stirs the fine hair on my head. Huh, did he sniff me? This is ridiculous. I can’t keep talking to him without looking at him.
I square my shoulders and turn, only to find he’s already stepped back. I’m both relieved and a tiny bit disappointed.
“Oh, I don’t need?—"
He cuts me off with that cold stare. "I don’t need to do it because I have an evolved palate. You, on the other hand, must do it so you don’t mess up your already below-average cooking."
My jaw drops. I must have imagined being affected by his nearness because, surely, he’s the rudest man alive.
I want to tell him off for that not-very-veiled insult, but I bite my tongue and swallow down my retort.
He snatches up a bottle of sparkling water from somewhere beneath his station, because of course, he keeps supplies stashed in his pristine workspace.
With precise movements, he pours me half a glass.
He cuts a green apple slice with three efficient strokes. Then he pours a small amount of room-temperature still water into a second glass.
He slides all three toward me.
"Cleanse your palate. Then get back to work. You're holding up my kitchen."
Anger bubbles up my throat.
Who does he think he is, treating me like I don’t know my way around the kitchen?He’s James Hamilton. Chef extraordinaire. Lord and Master of this kitchen.
And currently, of my fate, apparently.
He waits, as if he’s sure I’m going to lose my temper.
But when I smile at him sweetly instead, he turns away. In doing so, he catches the edge of the bowl with the handmade hollandaise sauce. The bowl crashes to the floor. The yellow liquid splashes on my pants.
I flinch.
Did he do that purposely?
“Oops.” He looks me up and down. “You need to be more careful, Richie. Clean it up. Make a fresh batch.”
I’m aware of the brigade watching us with interest.
Heat flushes my cheeks. Indignation twists my guts.
I am so embarrassed. He dropped the bowl, andI'membarrassed. I open my mouth to snap at him.
But he’s standing there, with a gleam in his eyes. An emotion very much like gloating on his face. Ugh.
“Oh, how clumsy of me."
Not going to give him the satisfaction of losing my temper.I grit my teeth and arrange my features into a sweet smile.
"I'll get that cleaned up right away... Sir."
6
James
It’s been three days, and I still haven’t brought up our shared history.
