Page 19 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

He ignored me. I wasn’t even sure he heard me.

The transition back to the cool night air felt jarring after the heated tension of the kitchen. But if I hoped the change of scenery might diffuse the situation, I was quickly disappointed. If anything, Rhett seemed more dangerous out here, away from the potential audience of restaurant staff.

It really was too bad Hwan had not made his way back to the dining room. With witnesses.

Rhett positioned himself slightly between Hwan and me. It was such a subtle gesture I almost missed it, but once I noticed it, I couldn’t unsee it. Everything about his body language screamed protection and possession in equal measure.

And hot damn, I was going to have a damn orgasm just watching him defend me. I was never the poor little damsel in distress, but shit, if it looked anything like me, I was good with distressed.

“Let’s be very clear about something,” Rhett began, his voice that same deadly calm. “Clementine is not some appetizer you can sample at the end of your evening. She’s Desman’s daughter, she’s a professional trying to learn this business, and she deserves to be treated with basic human decency.”

Hwan held up his hands in a gesture of wounded innocence that fooled absolutely no one present. “I think you’re overreacting here. Clem and I were just having a friendly conversation about her career aspirations⁠—”

“A friendly conversation that ended with you giving her your hotel room key?” Rhett’s voice dropped even lower. A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the night air.

The chef’s face flushed, a mottled red that was visible even in the dim light from the restaurant’s back exit. “She misunderstood my intentions⁠—”

“Did she?” Rhett took a step closer. Hwan seemed to shrink under the other man’s intensity. “Did she also misunderstand when you told her she was sexy? When you offered to go over industry advice thoroughly in your hotel room?”

I wanted to disappear into the ground. Hearing my humiliating encounter repeated back in Rhett’s coldly furious tone made it sound even worse than it had felt in the moment.

“Look,” Hwan said, his practiced charm finally beginning to crack around the edges. “She’s a beautiful young woman, and I thought⁠—”

“You thought wrong,” Rhett interrupted, moving close enough that Hwan had to tilt his head back slightly to maintain eye contact. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to finish out this evening like the professional you claim to be. You’re going to stay away from Clementine for the rest of the night. Hell, for the rest of your life. And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling this predatory bullshit with another young woman in this industry, I will personally make sure your reputation doesn’t survive the conversation.”

The threat hung between them like a live wire, crackling with barely contained violence. I could see Hwan weighing his options, probably calculating whether Rhett actually had the connections and influence to make good on his promise. Whatever conclusion he reached, it clearly wasn’t in Hwan’s favor.

“This is completely out of line,” Hwan muttered, but there was no real fight left in his voice. “I was trying to help her career, offer some guidance⁠—”

“By offering to fuck her?” The crude words were shocking. I gasped softly at both the language and the blunt accuracy of it.

Because that was exactly what Hwan had been offering, wasn’t it? Sex disguised as professional mentorship, with just enough plausible deniability that he could claim misunderstanding if called out on it. If I willingly went to his hotel room, he could say I knew exactly what the invitation was.

Hwan’s face went deeper red. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple. “You have no right⁠—”

“I have every right,” Rhett said. “Someone needs to tell you that your behavior is unacceptable, and apparently, that someone is me.”

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds. Some kind of alpha male standoff that made me simultaneously uncomfortable and oddly fascinated. There was something primal about it, something that spoke to some deep, evolutionary part of my brain that I wasn’t entirely comfortable acknowledging.

Finally, Hwan looked away, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Fine. Message received.”

“Good,” Rhett said, though his posture remained coiled and ready for trouble. “Now go back inside and enjoy the rest of your evening. From a respectful distance.”

Hwan stalked back toward the kitchen entrance, his earlier swagger replaced by the hunched shoulders of a man whose pride had taken a serious beating. I watched him go, then turned to find Rhett studying me with those intense dark eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentler now that the immediate threat had been neutralized.

I nodded, not entirely trusting my voice. The protective energy radiating from him had thrown me completely off balance. I’d never had anyone defend me like that before. I prided myself on always handling my own problems. I believed myself to be strong and independent and never needed rescuing.

And God help me, I kind of liked being rescued. At least by him.

“Come on,” he said, placing a hand on the small of my back to guide me toward the restaurant entrance. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

The main dining room was loud. The band Dad hired was playing something smooth and sultry, couples swayed on the small dance floor. The bar was serving top-shelf liquor to guests who weren’t ready for the evening to end. I caught sight of Dad across the room, deep in conversation with some potential donors.

Rhett led me to his table. “This is Simone and Conroy,” he said by way of introduction.

The two of them were involved in a heated debate. They barely glanced up as we approached, too caught up in their argument to notice our return.

“I’m telling you, it was cardamom,” Conroy said. “That mysterious little something in the lamb that made it so distinctive.”

“Cardamom?” Simone scoffed, her expression suggesting he’d just claimed the earth was flat. “Conroy, your palate is completely shot. It was clearly coriander seed, maybe with a touch of fennel.”

“You’re both wrong,” Rhett said calmly as he pulled out my chair with old-fashioned courtesy that made my heart skip. “It was saffron.”

Both Simone and Conroy turned to stare at him.

“He’s right,” I confirmed, settling into my chair and trying to ignore the way Rhett’s fingers brushed my shoulder as he pushed it in. “The chef used saffron in the spice rub.”

Rhett picked up his wine glass and took a slow, appreciative sip, his lips curving in the slightest suggestion of a smirk that made my stomach do unexpected gymnastics.

“Of course I am,” he said simply.

Here was a man who was used to being right, used to being in control, used to getting exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. The thought should have been intimidating. Instead, I was thinking about him naked.