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“Sorry, I wasn’t clear enough. Yes, I want your opinion. Your ideas.” I had a few of my own, but she was going to be working side by side with me. There should be some elements of collaboration.
Isla gave me side-eye as she worked. She was shorter than me but despite being petite had a large presence. When I stood next to her like this, I was acutely aware of her body. Hell, who was I kidding? I was twenty blocks away from her and I was aware of her body. We had unfinished business that unfortunately needed to remain unfinished. Indefinitely.
As a result I was going to work extra hard to not let her know how much I really wanted to press her against the wall and bury myself inside her.
“No chef wants his sous chef’s opinion. Or if you do, you’ll just steal my ideas and pass them off as your own.”
In a lot of cases, she wasn’t wrong. I was mildly offended, but she didn’t know me and she was looking out for herself. I had to respect that. “That wasn’t my intention, seriously, but I get your hesitation. Here’s what I was thinking. Since we’re known for our East Coast barbecue style, we play with that. Pull seafood and traditional deli food into our concept. Elevate the clam, do a spin on a lobster roll. A brisket bagel. Really lean in to that angle.”
Isla gave me a look of surprise. “I had similar thoughts,” she said. “I thought it was a reach to go Tex Mex last year when that’s not what we’re known for. It felt like a cop-out. Like when you think cookout you have to go street corn.”
“Exactly. Are you on board with helping me plan the menu? Both our names on it.” That was certainly being nice to Isla. Nico would be happy. Besides, I was curious about Isla. As a person, as a chef.
Oh, not to mention that Nico said if Isla quit, he was going to fire me. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I sure in the hell didn’t want to take any chances.
There was a slight pause, where she looked like she was trying to figure out my angle, but she just nodded and said, “Sure.”
“Are you free next week to come in early? We can play around in the kitchen.”
I had thought she would bristle just a little at my choice of words. Instead she gave me a smile. “Of course. I love to play.” She reached out and picked up a piece of mango.
She slid her tongue over the fruit in a way that had my cock responding.
Damn. She had turned the tables on me. Again.
Isla was a hot little enigma and I had a feeling I was going to get burned before this was all said and done. Burned? Fuck. I was going to be fully lit on fire.
Six
The plan to drive Sean crazy was backfiring.
Because mostly, I was just driving myself crazy.
I liked flirting with him.
I liked seeing his eyes darken with desire.
I looked forward to seeing him every day at work. And like Dakota, I had suddenly found the name of my restaurant worthy of a giggle. Bone. It was all I could think about when Sean was in the kitchen.
After days of me dressing like I was going out to dinner or a nightclub instead of going to work, Sean appeared largely unaffected. Occasionally, he offered an innuendo in response to something I said, but he didn’t look in danger of losing his cool or wanting to quit to prevent himself from ravishing me in the kitchen. The only comment he’d even made about my wardrobe was to tell me I should wear nonslip shoes.
It made me irrationally and unreasonably angry at him.
Chef Eight Dates. Pfft. He was probably boning half of Brooklyn. Unlike me, he probably wasn’t sexually frustrated, so he could handle being around a woman (as in, me) and control himself. Dakota’s strategy had done the exact opposite of its intention. I appeared to be the only one distracted. Which was bullshit. He could at least have the decency to be rattled, but nope. He was Chef Casual.
He was also a talented chef, confident, with a balance to his food. I wouldn’t say he was the most creative chef that had ever existed, but he had a deft hand, a subtle flair, and an excellent palate.
He was also standing outside of the door to my studio apartment.
After my shift I had rolled out of work as fast as possible and walked home in a cold rain. Three quarters of the way home I’d realized I had left in such a hurry I had forgotten my phone in the break room, but since it was raining and I had to be back at work in the morning, I didn’t bother to return for it. I trusted no one would steal it. When my intercom buzzed I had jumped. Almost no one used that thing anymore. People usually texted me directly to request access to the building.
It was after eleven, so I debated not answering it at all, but then curiosity got the best of me. “Yes?”
“Hey, it’s Sean. You forgot your phone at work, so I thought I’d swing by on my way home.”
I eyed my cat, Scott, releasing the button so Sean couldn’t hear me. “Is it a bad idea to invite my boss upstairs?”
Scott, an impassive tabby, had no opinion. He was deep into a grooming session in his cat bed by the sofa.
