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No executive chef came in and wanted to serve his predecessor’s food.
Nico and Sid had told me there were two staff chefs when they had come to me with the job offer. They hadn’t given names, but I was familiar with Martin because he’d been on the scene in Brooklyn for years, long before Brooklyn was trending, and I had known he worked at Bone. He was at least ten years older than me and I had thought it was going to be a challenge to win him over because I knew he would be pissed that he was being passed over.
I hadn’t known who the second chef was and I hadn’t bothered to ask because that wasn’t relevant to my decision-making process. Call it what you want, but I had a goal, and the staff surrounding me wasn’t going to prevent me from earning that spot. For a decade I’d been working towards the title of executive chef, so once it was offered from a reputable restaurant, I hadn’t been concerned about details.
Isla rolled her eyes.
Now I wished I had asked.
I would have been better prepared for that icy stare. And my cock’s reaction to it.
There were only two available seats at the table and one was the head spot. I knew better than to sit there. It was a douche move and I wasn’t going to make it.
The other spot was next to Isla. I walked over to it and eased the chair out. She watched me, her nostrils flaring.
“Good to see you again,” I murmured.
“I can’t say the same,” she replied.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” I said. “Maybe we can start over.” That sounded good. Polite. Appropriate. Unlike what I really wanted to say, which was that I wanted to take her out back and finish what we started while she screamed my name.
“And maybe you can choke on an ox tail.”
I laughed, not in the least surprised. I also didn’t doubt that she was just as hot for me as I was for her, even if she didn’t like me. Or that I was her new boss. “At least I know where I stand.”
“Do you two know each other?” Nico said, sitting across from us.
I didn’t think he’d heard our exchange. I nodded. “We have met briefly. Mutual acquaintances.”
“It was just for a few minutes,” Isla said. “I didn’t even know Sean was a chef.”
“Likewise. We were on an elevator together going to the same party.” Then my tongue had been inside her mouth and her body pressed against mine. “That was the extent of our meeting.”
During which I had come to the conclusion she was both infuriating and arousing.
“The elevator stopped running. We were stuck for a couple of minutes,” Isla said. “It was no big deal.”
She sounded remarkably calm for a woman who was clutching a fork like she wanted to jam it into my jugular.
“I would totally freak if I got stuck on an elevator,” one of the female servers said.
She had a nose ring and hair that looked like she’d forgotten to brush it in a few days. Ten years ago, she would have been my type. The party girl.
That gave me pause. I wasn’t sure what the hell was my type now other than women who made no demands on me beyond sex.
“No one has ever died from being trapped in an elevator,” Isla responded, sipping her water. She gave me an amused look.
It had been no small secret I didn’t exactly enjoy being trapped. Her amusement gave her the upper hand and I hated that. “Do you have actual statistics on it?” I replied, bumping my knee into hers. “I can guarantee it’s happened at least once.”
Her hand shook as she set the water back down, revealing either nerves or anger. Maybe both.
“Yes. The answer is zero.”
She was lying, of course. Arguing with me just to argue. “Someone has to be the first. It could have been me.”
“Too bad it wasn’t you.”
She said that with enough bite that the ten staff members around the table all seemed to pick up on it. I had clearly made a hell of an impression on her in the elevator.
