Page 52 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

18

CLEMENTINE

Iwoke up in a strange bed and immediately panicked. And then I remembered where I was and why I was in the bed. In Rhett’s suite. I groaned and grabbed one of the pillows and pulled it over my face.

The champagne from the night before had definitely been a mistake, but not nearly as much of a mistake as everything else that had happened on Rhett’s balcony.

What the hell was that about? I wanted to blame it on the champagne. It lowered my guard. But honestly, I didn’t need champagne to want to ride that man in a jacuzzi. It was a good excuse. But damn, my ego was seriously bruised. I knew he wanted me. I felt it.

Hello. That thick erection he was sporting was hard to miss. He may have pushed me away, but his cock wanted me. All of his lame excuses did nothing to soften the blow of his rejection. It stung and was definitely humiliating.

I was not looking forward to the awkward morning-after ritual. But I was determined to keep my chin up. He was not going to embarrass me any further than he already did.

I turned my head and saw the digital clock on the nightstand glowed an accusatory 10:47 a.m. I never slept this late, especially not on a workday.

“Shit!”

Panic tore through me as I realized how much of the morning I already missed. The pop-up restaurant was opening tonight, and there had to be a thousand things that needed to be done.

I threw on my dress and hurried out of the room. The living area of the suite felt empty. There was a note on the kitchen counter. Gone to prep the restaurant. Simone and Conroy with me. Join us when you’re ready. - R

That was it. No explanation of where exactly the restaurant was located. He didn’t tell me what time they had left. It made me feel like I was an afterthought.

The three of them had left without me. Had probably been planning and prepping for hours while I slept off my champagne hangover like some college student who couldn’t handle her liquor.

Rhett had mentioned my age. I was proving his point. I was the slacker sleeping in. I should have set the alarm. I honestly didn’t think I would sleep so late. I never did that.

Simone had probably been tangled up with Conroy until God knew what hour and they both still managed to get up and be useful. I was pissed they didn’t wake me up. It felt intentional.

The insecurity hit me like a physical blow. Was this how they all saw me? Was I just the young tagalong on this trip, the boss’s daughter who needed to be managed and accommodated but never truly included? Was I kidding myself thinking I had anything valuable to contribute to this tour?

Worse, was that all I was to Rhett? Just another responsibility he had to handle?

The memory of how he pulled away from me in the hot tub burned with fresh humiliation. He made me feel like I was some groupie who followed him around. It seemed like he forgot I was a trained chef with my own credentials and experience.

I had beaten him in our little cooking competition, after all. How many chefs could make that claim?

I let myself into my room across the hall, and yep, it was empty. Simone and Conroy were long gone.

“Rude.”

I showered and changed into fresh clothes, trying to wash away the lingering embarrassment and hurt from the night before. By the time I made it down to the Miami Boardwalk, the midday sun was blazing and tourists were already starting to gather around the restaurant. Inside, it was chaos. Cooks I didn’t recognize bustled around the kitchen while servers set up tables and tested equipment.

I found Rhett at the center of it all. It was Chef Voss in full professional mode. He was every inch the demanding perfectionist. Stone-cold. His expression was a permanent scowl.

“Those plates need to be spotless,” he barked at someone who was working on dish prep. “I don’t care if they look clean to you—if there’s so much as a water spot, they go back to be rewashed.”

A young cook approached him nervously with a sauce that needed approval. Rhett tasted it. His face remained impassive for a long moment before he shook his head.

“Too much salt, and the consistency is off. Start over. And this time, follow the recipe exactly as written instead of trying to improve on it.”

The cook’s face fell. I could see the dejection in his shoulders as he returned to his station. These were all local cooks hired specifically for this event. They were talented but unfamiliar with Rhett’s exacting standards. The way he was speaking to them was only going to make them more nervous. They were more likely to make mistakes with his asshole attitude.

I approached him during a brief lull in the chaos, trying to find a diplomatic way to make my point. “Hey, do you think maybe⁠—”

“Not now, Clementine,” he cut me off without even looking at me. “I need to focus.”

“I know, but I was just thinking that the kitchen staff might respond better to⁠—”