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Some people thrived locked in an office surrounded by paperwork. Others dreamed about finding cures to diseases. Kiera had been born to create new recipes while surrounded by pots and pans.
She added a pinch of rosemary to the sauce. People bustled around her as they prepared gourmet dishes for the restaurant’s patrons. Most of her friends would find the fast-paced kitchen a living hell, but she couldn’t imagine working anywhere else.
“Everyone I’ve served the veal chops to tonight cannot stop raving about the Cabernet Sauce,” Erica, one of the waitresses, said as she paused next to Kiera.
Yes. She’d worked hard perfecting that recipe. Unfortunately, Chef Andrien would get all the credit, but she expected that. After all, that was how things worked in this business. Someday, when she was in charge of her own kitchen, she’d get all the credit for someone else’s work, too.
“Maybe it’ll be added permanently to the menu.” Kiera sprinkled more salt into the sauce she was cooking
“I bet it—Wow, what’s he doing here?” Erica’s sudden comment had Kiera looking up at her.
“Who’s here? Please tell me it isn’t Jean-Paul.”
A wealthy Frenchman, Jean-Paul owned several restaurants and expected all his employees to all but kiss his butt. No, if he actually thought he could get away with it, he would’ve told his employees to do that, too.
“Not unless Jean-Paul found a fairy godmother to make him hot.” Erica didn’t look at Kiera as she spoke. “I could stand here all day and look at that guy.”
Their surprise visitor definitely wasn’t Jean-Paul. No one would willingly spend the day looking at him unless they wanted to go blind. Jean-Paul might have lot of money, but his face and posture reminded Kiera of a troll. And he had the personality to match.
“Turn around before he leaves.” Erica touched her arm. “You’ll be sorry if you miss him.”
Curiosity captured, Kiera turned but tried not to make it obvious.
“Kiera, I need to speak with you for a moment.” Pierre, the restaurant’s general manager, called out.
“Fudge,” Kiera mumbled under her breath. Not once in all the year she’d worked at Mon Soleil had Pierre singled her out.
Kiera rolled her shoulders back and spun on her heel, prepared for anything. Then she saw who Erica had been gushing about standing next to restaurant’s general manager.
Okay, maybe prepared for anything had been a stretch. She certainly wasn’t prepared to see Gray in her kitchen.
It’d been a week since Gray had canceled their plans and she hadn’t spoken to him since. He’d called her twice, but she’d missed both calls. When she tried calling him back, she’d reached his voice mail.
A finger jabbed her in the back. “Go on, they’re waiting,” Erica whispered.
Kiera cleared her throat. “Jeremy, please keep an eye on this.” She waited for Jeremy to take her place, then made her legs carry her toward Pierre.
“Mr. Sherbrooke would like a word with you,” Pierre said. He gestured toward Gray.
“Do you mind if we use your office?” Gray asked.
Kiera held her breath and waited for Pierre’s answer.
“Go right ahead.” Pierre forced a smile as he left. “I need to make a walk through the dining room anyway.”
“Come on. Before he changes his mind.” Gray’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, and he led her into the office behind them.
Relax.
Gray pulled the door closed behind him, then crossed the room and closed the second door to the office. Tonight he wore jeans, and a black leather jacket. A five-o’clock shadow covered his cheeks, completing the bad boy look, and his eyes hinted at many sleepless nights.
“How did you ever get Pierre to let you in the kitchen?”
Gray’s eyebrow arched. “Do you really have to ask?”
Right, dumb question. Nobody said no to a Sherbrooke. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a cute sous chef working here. I had to see for myself.” Gray flashed her a grin.
