Page 63 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

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CLEMENTINE

The hotel spa was exactly what my soul needed. The dim lighting, soothing music, and the promise of someone else taking care of me was perfect. I settled into the pedicure chair next to Simone and felt some of the tension I’d been carrying since Miami start to melt away.

“Oh my God,” I sighed as the warm water began working on my tired feet. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

“When is the last time you treated yourself to something like this?” Simone asked, already looking more relaxed than I had ever seen her.

She was wound tightly but she always had this calm expression. I could feel her tension. She just did a good job keeping it under wraps.

“Honestly? I can’t remember. My feet have been taking a beating.”

It wasn’t just the standing, though that was part of it. It was the constant awareness of being watched, evaluated, judged. The pressure of being Desman’s daughter while trying to earn respect as a chef in my own right. And lately, it was the exhausting emotional gymnastics of working alongside Rhett every day while pretending his proximity didn’t affect me.

“You seem really stressed,” Simone observed gently. “I mean, more than usual tour stress.”

I glanced at her, weighing how much to share. We had been friendly throughout the tour, but this felt different—more personal, like actual friendship instead of just professional courtesy.

“It’s complicated,” I said finally.

“Rhett?”

The fact that she could read the situation so easily made me wonder if everyone could see what I was feeling. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s been watching the two of you dance around each other. And someone that knows him very well. Maybe better than he knows himself. He pays me a lot of money to know him. To anticipate his needs before he knows they exist.” Simone smiled sympathetically. “He’s not easy to figure out, is he?”

“That’s the understatement of the century. One minute he’s this demanding perfectionist who treats me like I’m some amateur who doesn’t belong in his kitchen. The next minute he’s different.” I stopped, not sure how much I wanted to reveal about Miami.

Simone nodded knowingly. “That’s Rhett. He’s always been a lone wolf, you know? Walks to the beat of his own drum, doesn’t let people in easily. But once he does let you in, even a little bit, all his pieces start to make sense.”

“You’ve known him long?” I asked, suddenly curious about their professional relationship.

“A few years. I started working with him when he was still building his reputation, back when a lot of people in the industry didn’t take him seriously.” She paused while her nail technician switched to a new tool. “He’s not who he seems on the surface, Clem. He’s broken a lot of expectations put on him and made a life for himself that he had to fight for. That’s why he takes everything so seriously.”

I thought about the culinary students in Miami, how they’d talked about him with such reverence. The careful way he mentored them. That version of Rhett seemed to contradict the harsh taskmaster who’d humiliated me in front of the kitchen staff.

“I take it seriously too,” I said, hearing the defensiveness in my own voice. “I’ve worked just as hard as anyone to be here. He thinks I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth. Maybe I did, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t worked my ass off to learn.”

“I know you have,” Simone said quickly. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. But your challenges are different from his, aren’t they?”

She was right, and we both knew it. I had advantages Rhett probably never dreamed of. I had financial security, family connections, access to the best culinary schools money could buy. But those same advantages came with their own pressures.

“I’m always at risk of being accused of nepotism,” I admitted. “People assume I got opportunities because of who my father is, not because of my skills. It’s part of why I’ve held myself back sometimes.”

“Held yourself back how?”

“I’ve been afraid,” I said, the words tumbling out fast. “Afraid of what people would think if I failed, afraid of what they’d say if I succeeded. Afraid of taking up space that someone else might deserve more. I push myself to be better through practice. It’s not like cooking is a skill you actually inherit like you inherit blue eyes. I’ve had to work hard. My dad is a great teacher, but we have very different styles. And flavors. That’s all me but no one sees that. They see Desman’s daughter and assume I’m just a carbon copy.”

It felt strange to voice these insecurities out loud, but also oddly liberating. I had been carrying this fear for so long that it had become background noise in my life.

“But when I’m in the kitchen with Rhett?” I paused. “When I’m working next to him, creating something beautiful, it’s like everything else disappears. It’s just me, the art of cooking, and the knowledge that what we’re creating will bring families and friends together around a table.”

Simone smiled. “That’s beautiful, Clem. And it tells me everything I need to know about why you’re here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Rhett are more alike than you realize.”