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“Sorry?”
“I want your eyes.”
What the fuck?
He laughs at my bemusement. “I mean I want to see your eyes.”
“Oh.” I make contact and hold it.
“Better. Now. What are your plans after I’ve trained you?”
“I…” I sip my vodka. “I haven’t really thought about it. I didn’t think I’d get this far, if I’m totally honest.”
He dips his head, his eyes still on mine. “Do you want to stay and work in my kitchen?”
My jaw hits the floor. Is he serious? I think I might be on the verge of having an excitement attack, which I assume is much like a panic attack except I’ll be smiling while I’m dying of suffocation. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Or are you planning on opening your own restaurant?”
“And compete with you? I’d fail.”
Breaking eye contact, he laughs and looks at his phone before stuffing it back in his pocket. “You don’t know your talent or worth.” He brings his glass to his lips. The amber fluid is gone in a second and he’s chasing it down with a sip of my water. “That’s excellent whiskey.”
“It’s Jack Daniel’s,” I point out. “Hardly fancy.”
“No, but still excellent.” He takes another sip of my water before sliding it back to me. “Where is our food? I need a cigarette.”
“You should quit.”
“So you’ve said.” My cheeky grin shines at him, though it vanishes when he pushes, “So, your plans?”
“Honestly, I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, I’m offering you full time employment in my kitchen. Eventually I’d like you standing by my side.”
I’m not sure how to take this. “Standing by your side?”
“Perhaps one day we can enter a partnership.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We’ll be head chef, side by side, tackling the culinary world.”
My lips form an O. He’s serious. I feel like crying with excitement. “What about Patience? Harold?”
“They’re excellent but they’re not you.”
“Not me?”
We’re interrupted by a delightful, warm scent as our food is placed before us.
“The first course,” Kerim states. I look down at a simple pate with redcurrant jam and what looks to be freshly made, thinly sliced bread. “I’m impressed with the presentation.”
“Me too,” I say, distracted from our prior conversation by the delicious looking food. “Can I eat?”
“Go ahead.”
The food, I’m horrified to admit because Kerim is really annoyed by it, was beautiful. Never have I ever tasted such beautiful chicken. It’s as if Silver read my mind.
Kerim thinks so too because he’s done nothing but mutter in Turkish since we left.
The dessert was glorious too.
“That was fun.” I break the almost silence.
He doesn’t look pleased with my words.
“It was more fun when you were being fun.”
I feel his anger begin to dissipate.
“I’m still fun,” he whines, his voice high.
“You’re grumpy is what you are. You shouldn’t be grumpy, not after that cake.”
“That was good cake,” he mumbles so quietly I can barely hear him.
“Didn’t it feel good to admit that?”
He rolls his eyes and rolls the car to a stop at a red traffic light. “Quiet.”
“But I’m so much fun.”
“It was good, wasn’t it?”
I nod, yes.
“Better than mine?”
“Not a chance.” I smile and place my hand on top of his on the gear stick. I don’t know why I’m touching him but now that I am I wish I hadn’t made the decision to. “His is good; yours is life-changing.”
When he turns his hand beneath mine, grips my fingers and brings my hand to his lips, I find myself struggling to breathe. This just became so inappropriate so fast and I think I may have instigated it.
“Sweet Gwen,” he murmurs and places my hand onto my lap.
I release the breath I was holding as he moves the car. Now I simply feel embarrassment, an emotion I’ve been feeling a lot as of late.
The way he placed my hand on my lap and patted it as though to make it stay…does he think I’m trying to push things with him? If so, that wasn’t a very subtle rejection. At least now I can safely say the kiss he placed was purely one of a gentlemanly kind and not one of lust.
My heart feels a little less heavy.
My mind feels a little less heavy too now that the vodka is swimming around up there.
Chapter Thirteen
I don’t turn on my phone at all for the rest of the work evening. My hands are shaking as I carry it into the house. In fact, I’m so focused on the phone in my hand finally turning on that I don’t notice the light come on as I enter.
A jolt strikes through me when I feel Nathan at my back the second I close the door. His hands turn me and press me against the door and his forehead presses against mine.
“Don’t you ever… EVER,” he shouts the word, forcing me back against the door. “Turn your phone off again.”
“I…”
“You’ve no idea what’s been going through my head.”
