Page 53 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

This time he did look at me. His expression was anything but welcoming. “You’re here to observe and learn. So please, sit down, be quiet, and let the adults handle this.”

The words hit me like a slap. Every insecurity I’d been battling since I woke up crystallized into sharp, humiliating clarity. He really did see me as nothing more than a child playing dress-up in a professional kitchen.

The kitchen fell silent around us. Even the dishwashers stopped what they were doing to stare at the public dressing-down. Simone looked mortified on my behalf, while Conroy suddenly found something very interesting to examine on his prep station, which he was setting up one-handed.

Heat flooded my cheeks, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. Oh no. It was from pure, righteous anger.

“Excuse me?” I said quietly, my voice carefully controlled.

Rhett was already turning away, dismissing me entirely. “We’ll talk later. Right now I need to⁠—”

“No.” The word came out sharp, the annoyance obvious. “We’ll talk now.”

He turned back, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. He had this idea he was some kind of culinary general. I wanted to take him down a peg or two.

“Clementine, this really isn’t the time or place⁠—”

“You’re absolutely right. This isn’t the time or place for you to humiliate me in front of a kitchen full of strangers.” I kept my voice controlled. “And it’s definitely not the time or place for you to treat me like I’m some incompetent child who doesn’t belong here.”

He looked surprised. It was the first hint that he realized he had crossed a line. But before he could respond, I was already moving toward the door.

If I railed at him and let him see he got under my skin, it would only embarrass me. I had to walk away before I did something that guaranteed I would never work in another kitchen again. I didn’t even know if I could work in my dad’s restaurants.

My first instinct was to call my father. I wanted him to handle this. He could use his influence to put Rhett in his place. The thought was so automatic, so ingrained from years of having Daddy fix my problems, that I actually pulled out my phone before I stopped myself.

That was exactly what Rhett expected me to do, wasn’t it? Run to Daddy the moment things got difficult. It would prove that I really was just a spoiled little girl who couldn’t handle herself in the real world.

Well, he was about to learn just how wrong he was about me.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and looked around the boardwalk. A line was already starting to form outside the restaurant, early arrivals hoping to secure the best seats for tonight’s dinner.

If Rhett wanted to be a storm cloud in that kitchen, that was his choice. But I was going to make sure our guests had a good experience. Rhett might be in the kitchen but my dad’s name, my family’s name, was attached to this thing. I was going to make sure it was done well.

I went back into the bar and convinced the manager to let me take some of the colorful cocktail ingredients outside. Within minutes, I had an impromptu drink station set up, complete with a cooler full of ice and a tray of those little paper umbrellas that always made people smile.

It was just a little extra something to make their evening complete.

“Good afternoon!” I called out to the people waiting in line. “I’m Clementine, and I wanted to thank you all for coming tonight. Can I offer anyone a refreshing drink while you wait?”

The response was immediate and enthusiastic. People started clustering around my makeshift station, grateful for the cold drinks and the shade from the umbrella I had commandeered from a nearby vendor. I mixed simple but delicious combinations that were alcohol free. Coconut water with lime and mint or fresh orange juice with a splash of grenadine and iced tea with fruit garnishes.

While I mixed up and served drinks, I talked to the people. I learned their names, asked about their families, shared stories about the tour and the charity work we were doing. They were real people, and they deserved to feel valued and welcomed.

“Are you one of the chefs?” an older woman asked.

“I am,” I said. “I’m working with Chef Voss on this tour, and I have to tell you, what he’s creating for you tonight is going to be incredible.”

It was true, despite my current anger with him. Whatever else Rhett might be, he was a fantastic chef. These people were going to have an unforgettable meal. I was determined to make sure everyone had a good night, too.

More people joined the line early, drawn by the festive atmosphere I was creating. I sent periodic updates to the hostess inside, making sure they were prepared for the larger-than-expected crowd.

By the time the sun started to set and the restaurant officially opened, I had personally greeted nearly every guest who would be dining tonight. My feet hurt, my voice was getting hoarse, and I was exhausted from maintaining such an upbeat attitude when all I really wanted to do was find Rhett and give him a piece of my mind.

But it had been worth it. The energy outside was electric, people were excited about their meal, and several guests had already asked about future events on our tour. I turned what could have been a boring wait into part of the evening’s entertainment.

The hostess came out to collect me as service was about to begin. “Chef Voss is asking for you in the kitchen,” she said. “I think they’re ready to start.”

I took a deep breath and smoothed down my dress. He didn’t say anything about it earlier, but I had a feeling it was coming. I had deliberately chosen the lime green dress for Miami. And I wore it tonight because I knew it would stand out in Rhett’s mortuary.

When I returned to the kitchen, the earlier chaos had resolved. Everyone seemed to have found their rhythm. People moved between stations, calling out orders and confirmations. Rhett stood in the center of it all like a conductor leading an orchestra.

I took my assigned position at the garnish station. I supposed I should be grateful I was allowed to work in the kitchen at all. It wasn’t glamorous, but I was part of the action.

Rhett appeared beside me, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re wearing green,” he said quietly. “I specifically told everyone the kitchen uniform was black. I know I told you.”

I didn’t look up from the micro herbs I was arranging on a plate. My hands remained steady even though my heart was racing with residual anger and adrenaline. I hated that even after the way he treated me earlier, I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted his hands on me.

“I’m not your employee, Mr. Voss,” I said calmly.

The formality of using his last name felt like drawing a line in the sand. We weren’t friends anymore. We weren’t whatever we had been last night in that hot tub. We were colleagues at best, and barely that.

I could feel him staring at me, but I kept my focus on my work.

Kiss my lime green ass, you jerk.