Chapter Eight Chase
Chapter Eight
Chase
Which I’m drinking, sitting on the couch, an uncomfortable leather one, as I listen to Eddie tell me about some girl he hooked up with last night.
“Hear me out . . . last night was spectacular. I think I’m in love. So what I’m saying is, I can meet you in about an hour and a half after I make a proper cup of tea and say our goodbyes.” I hear the whistle of his kettle go off in the background.
“Goodbyes? I didn’t know your dick could speak.”
He laughs, but just to fuck with him, I add, “And are you using a kettle? Just microwave the water.”
I stifle my laughter as he starts on a tirade about fucking Americans and how uncouth we are. Fucking British people and their tea.
“Calm down, Earl Grey,” I laugh. “I’m fucking with you. And an hour and a half works fine. Let’s hit the Hollywood Market. Not the Santa Monica one—that’s too far. I’ll jump in the shower real quick and make a list.”
“Sounds good. I’m looking forward to this master class. However, not so much to training everyone else.”
“That’s fair.”
He may hate the teaching part of cooking, but outside of creating a menu, my favorite part is passing down how to make the dishes. It’s incredibly rewarding to invite someone inside your head and let them see what you see. To witness the creation.
Kind of like if the universe gave someone a sneak peek while it created the stars.
And this is why chefs have the reputation for being assholes. We have god complexes. Just like Evie accused, I think I’m a food god.
But I don’t apologize for caring about my craft and doing the fucking work it takes to be the best. Or being arrogant about it—I’ve earned that shit.
“Hello, earth to Chase Beckett.”
I laugh in response. “Sorry. Zoned out.”
“Giving another acceptance speech about your greatness?”
“Shut up,” I shoot out, turning my head to see Evie coming down the hall, her voice getting louder with each step. She looks pissed.
“What do you mean shut down?”
Evie stops in her place, a hand on her hip as she stares at the ground, frowning. Damn, the grip she has on her phone is turning her knuckles white. She is pissed.
“What does that mean, Erin?” Her voice is louder.
Whatever is being said on the other end is not something she likes, because she blows out a harsh breath.
Eddie’s in my ear. “Is that the woman who hates you? Why is she yelling?”
I shush him.
Evie throws up her hands. “You’re fucking joking. This is a joke. I hate to keep repeating myself, but what do you mean she needs a closed set to commune with the werewolf?”
I’m watching her with rapt fascination because irate Evie is not someone I would want to make an enemy of. She’s a force of nature, all five foot three of her.
She shrugs, dripping in sarcasm. “Oh, well, that makes the difference. Needing to bond with the fur suit and not the man totally makes sense now. Of course . . .” She’s silent, and I’m pretty sure the person on the other end took her seriously because she adds, “No. I’m being sarcastic. What the fuck is wrong with this girl?”
I almost laugh, but that would most definitely put me in the line of fire.
Eddie’s in my ear again. “Your girl is sharp as a knife. She cuts to the bone.”
I shush him again, not wanting to miss a moment of the show.
She drops her head back, eyes on the ceiling, before she rubs her forehead.
“What I’m hearing is that although my list for effects keeps growing, production is shut down for the day so that our actress .
. . who has only been in hemorrhoid ads prior to this breakout role .
. . can get spiritually in touch . . . not with the man but the costume in which the werewolf lover will be playing.
I just want to make sure I have it right. ”
More silence, and then she says, “My whole team gets the full-day rate. I’m not kidding. And for the love of god, find my goddamn fish.”
“Oh shit . . .” Eddie whispers as I try not to even blink. “Looks like someone’s got a paid day off.”
Fish? She kept Evie Knievie?
My mind starts churning. This is a sign.
I search the space in front, thinking. When I was young, my mother used to say that I was good on the fly, and my sisters used to hate me for it because it meant I could come up with a lie at a moment’s notice to avoid getting in trouble.
But it’s like fate was training me for this very moment. She kept our fish.
I quickly look away and frown, raising my voice. “What the fuck, Eddie?”
There’s silence on the other end before he says, “Huh? Me, Eddie? Or . . . who are you talking to?”
The laugh stays deep inside because I have to commit. Fuck.
“This is really inconvenient,” I level. “You can’t just cancel at the last minute. I rely on you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he shoots back. “I told you I was meeting you in an hour and a half.”
“Eddie, you’re my sous. My right hand.”
“I know, but please slap me with the left one because what are you talking about? Are you going mad?”
I turn my profile away from Evie because there’s no way I can hide my smile now. He’s going to kill me for this.
“Leaving me high and dry for this farmers’ market defeats the purpose of your position. I thought you understood this.”
I hear his kettle slam onto the stove.
“Chase. What are you saying? I do understand the importance of my position.” His voice moves further away as if he’s looking at the screen. “Hold on, am I muted? Can you hear me?”
Fuck. I cover the laugh that starts by coughing and forcing my words out stronger.
“I’m really disappointed. This restaurant isn’t just my dream. I’d hoped that what you learn would help build your own one day.”
“Are you fucking high right now? Were you caught eavesdropping and hit in the head?”
I let the silence stretch out before I say, “Listen, I don’t want to use words like ‘unprofessional,’ but that’s what this is. I’ll just have to find someone else to help me today. We can talk about this tomorrow. Got it?”
More silence. Then he erupts.
“You son of a bitch. This is about the girl. Hey, hey, hey . . . don’t oversell it. Be cool. And good luck, sir. You owe me for the slander.”
“Absolutely.”
I hang up and dramatically toss my phone across the couch, cracking out “Fuck” before letting out a hoarse exhale.
Please have bought it. Please . . .
A thought strikes. What if she walked away and this is all for nothing? So I roll my neck like I’m stressed before I glance her way, not even having to feign surprise when I see she’s staring at me.
“Oh damn,” I rush out. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were standing there.”
She stares me down like she’s trying to see through my bullshit before she shrugs.
“You didn’t hear me?”
Hear that I have a baby mama? I shake my head.
“No, were you talking to me?”
“No. But it sounds like we’re both having a rough day.”
I raise my brows. “I hope yours isn’t as bad as mine. Because I’m fucked.”
Am I being devious? Yes.
Do I feel guilty? No.
What’s a man to do when he yearns for a woman? Play dirty, of course.
She crosses her arms. “My production got canceled for the day because of an overly dramatic actress. I’m not fucked, but I’m irritated.”
I make a face like Ah before stretching my arms across the back of the couch. “My sous bailed on me for the farmers’ market. So now I have to push training my crew.”
She returns the Ah face.
“But I still have to go pick up the ingredients,” I toss out, laying the groundwork. “I need two of me, ya know?”
I chuckle, but internally, I’m patting myself on the back because I’m masterful right now. I’ve got her right where I want her.
“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” she says, turning around. “I’m going back to bed.”
Fuck. No.
I shoot to my feet. “Maybe you could help me?”
You’re a dumb prick, Chase Beckett. She turns back around, the look on her face like she’s smelled shit.
“Why . . . ? Nooo.”
“You’re off work, though,” I blurt out. She narrows her eyes, so I add, “I just need an extra set of hands.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t say no, so I keep going. “I’ll buy you a smoothie while we’re there. It’s legitimately for like an hour.”
“Still no.”
I walk around the couch toward where she’s standing. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but it would be really decent of you . . . you know, in the spirit of a new friendship?”
It’s a reach, but I really hope I scored some points the other night, or, at the very least, I make her feel guilty enough for leaving me to eat alone.
She groans, scrunching her nose before rolling her eyes. “Fine. Okay.”
“Yeah?” I clap my hands together.
She begrudgingly nods. “Yes. Just let me change. Give me ten minutes.”
I smile, trying not to look too enthusiastic. “I need a shower, so I’ll meet ya back here in ten. It’s a date.”
Shit. I hear it the moment it comes out of my mouth.
Evie points at me, her forehead wrinkling. “Oh my god. Nice try. Forget it. No. I should’ve known better.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” I rush out as she turns and walks toward her room with me on her heels. “I swear. I just need the help. And for the record, I’m gonna try and not be offended that you think I’m undatable, as well as thinking I’d plan the farmers’ market as a first date.”
She spins back around, forcing me to almost skid to a stop as I say the last part.
“—I’m a lot of things, but unromantic is not one of them.”
Oh man, I’m floundering and digging myself deeper in this hole.
“Gimme a break,” she snarks. “I’ve never even given you that much credit.
You strike me as a guy who brings a girl to his restaurant and cooks while you drone on and on about your own genius and how you’re so creative.
It’s all blah blah broody . . . blah blah misunderstood .
. . blah blah rich. Then she has sex with you. ”
I’ll never admit that I’ve actually done that and had that exact result. Jesus, she could start her own psychic network with skills like that.