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If she thought meeting him eye to eye was enough to get him off her back, she’d been wrong. He only went after her harder.
Demanded more.
Lucas Brierly became more than her boss, he became her nemesis.
He made her frustrated.
He made her seethe with anger.
He made her bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming at him and then when she got things right, he wanted it faster… better.
So why, the day that she was finally done working under the most irritating son of a-
“Are you thinking of where you’re planning to hide my body after you kill and dismember me in my own kitchen?”
It took her a moment to process the words and when she looked up into his eyes, she couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her lips. “Nope.”
He returned her smile.
“I’ve already got that figured out. The problem is if I can get you carved up and lugged out to my car before the morning shift comes in for prep.” She raised one brow as she leaned against the cold metal prep table at her side. “Or how much it would kill you not to be able to critique my butchering technique.”
His eyes looked away, down to the brick-colored tiles of the flooring. She saw the slightest movement of his head, nodding. When he looked back up into her face, she was relieved to see the laughter in his eyes.
He looked damn good when he was raging in the kitchen, but with his eyes sparkling in the afterhours light, he looked sinfully hot.
“I believe I deserved that.”
“What?” She let her shock show on her features with a bit of comic over-exaggeration. “No! You’re a sweetheart. A total pussy cat.”
“And you, Miss Franzen, are a talent.”
She sputtered out a laugh and couldn’t seem to get the laugh to stop, even when she lost the ability to get in a lungful of air, and tears gathering on her lashes.
“Miss Franzen-”
She held up a hand to get him to wait while a second wave of laughter tightened her stomach to the point of cramping.
“Wow!” She sucked in a breath and placed a hand on the prep table to keep her on her feet as she caught her breath. “That was what I call a parting gift!”
She caught sight of him watching her with an expression that seemed halfway between concern and horror.
“Are you having a fit? Should I call a medic to assist you?”
She managed to pull herself nearly upright. “Do you think you could put that in writing? And make some kind of comment that you wrote it of your own freewill, so people won’t think I held a knife to your throat?”
“Miss Franzen-”
“Nope, never mind. No one is going to believe you said that. Even if I videotaped it.”
“Miss Franzen, I’m going to have to insist that you-”
“The English Dragon,” her shoulders were barely shaking, her heart nearly back to its normal stumbling rhythm around him, “if you’re not careful,” she sent him a warning look, “people are going to think you’ve gone soft if they hear you’ve even uttered those words to anyone, let alone a woman. Your reputation will be ruined.”
He grabbed her shoulders and she looked down pat one hand and the other in stark contrast against her red plebe chef’s coat.
“Caroline.”
Her head snapped up to look at him. “Chef?”
