Chapter 4
CLEMENTINE
Iwas vibrating.
My father guided me through the back hall toward the kitchen and I could barely keep still. This was like a tween getting to party with Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, and Billie Eilish. I was in the presence of greatness, surrounded by some of the hottest chefs in the world.
The world!
Dad was going to allow me to help in the kitchen. I had never been so happy to offer a little free work. I would work with any one of these chefs without asking for a penny. It was a privilege just to watch them.
I was going to help plate Hwan’s dish. Was it really a big deal? Probably not, but for me, it was better than winning the lottery.
“Hwan, I brought some help,” Dad said.
Hwan looked up and smiled. “Clem! Just what I need.”
His was wearing a pristine white apron and wielding a tiny pair of tweezers in one hand. The other held a delicate ramekin filled with dried purple petals.
The first course of gold-flaked seared scallops in a floral butter sauce smelled heavenly.
My dad gave my shoulder a little squeeze before he peeled off toward the front of house. “I’ll let you two geniuses do your thing.”
I stepped into place beside Hwan, hands clean, mind buzzing. He passed me the ramekin and a set of long tweezers. “Light hand. One pinch per scallop. Think of them like finishing notes. This dish is already singing. We’re just adding harmony.”
God, he made it sound like poetry.
I pinched the tiny, violet flowers and carefully let them fall onto each dish. Hwan nodded in approval, then adjusted one I’d laid a little too far from the butter pool.
“Always let gravity help you,” he murmured. “No need to fight it.”
I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek, and re-centered. It was such a minor detail but it was so important. I knew the lavender enhanced the recipe. Not overpowering. Just enough.
He glanced sideways at me. “You know, you’ve got a real feel for it. Are you still thinking about opening your own restaurant one day?”
“Every single day,” I said before I could stop myself.
He smiled. “Good. Then keep watching. The world has too many chefs who think they’ve made it. We need more who are still hungry.”
I wanted to hug him and cry and ask him to be my new mentor all in the same breath. Instead, I passed him the ramekin. “Thanks, Chef.”
“You’re welcome, Chef.”
After I finished with the plating, I looked around for something else I could do. I was desperate to stay in the kitchen. Other chefs were working on their signature dishes, but none of them were inviting me to stay.
Dammit.
“Go sit down,” Hwan said. “You’re here to eat, not work.”
“Thanks for letting me hang out for a bit.” I was flying when I left that kitchen. Like I could’ve levitated straight through the ceiling.
I cooked with my dad all the time, and yes, he was a world-renowned chef, but he was Dad. Getting to work with these people was so much more exciting.
Sorry, Dad.
The dining room was full now. I slipped through the crowd, looking for my seat at the head table. That was when I saw him.
Rhett Voss.
My knees almost buckled.
He was seated at the far corner of the room. In a black suit, his hair was a little messy, like he didn’t care enough to tame it. Like he just walked away from a stove, a fight, or a woman, or maybe all three.
And he was looking at me.
Dead in the eye. Not blinking. Not casual. Not distracted. Like he was seeing me. I felt like he was staring right into my soul.
My stomach dropped straight through my heels. My brain screamed at me to run.
It was like some gut instinct. Every fiber of my being told me the man was dangerous. Like I was encountering a lion in the wild. He was a jungle cat and I was just a little kitten. I drank in every detail of him, though.
I remembered someone calling him the Mortician.
That was before I actually saw him in person.
I had created an image of a short, bald, portly man in my head.
And then when I saw him, I got it. He was so dark.
He dressed all in black. His hair was black.
His eyes weren’t black, but they were definitely dark.
All those thick black lashes and bushy brows made them look black when in reality they are just a deep espresso brown.
Look away, Clem. Look. Away. Save your soul.
But I couldn’t.
There was an invisible tether pulling me toward him. I felt like he had put me under a spell. I used to read and watch a lot of vampire stuff. I was pretty sure Rhett was doing something similar to me. He was using some crazy woo-woo shit to draw me into his web.
I seriously considered diving under a stranger’s table just to get out of the line of fire of that impossible stare. Why was he looking at me like that?
No way he recognizes you, Clem. Don’t be stupid. He’s Rhett freaking Voss, and you’re a kid named after a fruit. He probably thinks I’m the least interesting person in this room.
Still, I could feel his gaze following me as I slipped into my seat between my mom and Henry.
My fingers fumbled for the stem of my water glass. My palms were sweating. It was ridiculous to be so unnerved by a man I didn’t know. A man that would never know me.
I barely stopped myself from fanning my face.
Hwan stepped onto the small, raised platform at the center of the room, microphone in hand. “Friends. Family. Lovers of food. May I present to you tonight’s first course?”
Servers entered in sync, carrying the trays on one hand. The scent of browned butter and something savory filled the room. As they delivered the scallops to each guest, sighs of approval rippled through the room like wind.
I glanced up. Rhett hadn’t stopped watching me. He still wasn’t smiling.
Oh god.
“Why is he doing that?” I muttered.
“Who?” my mother whispered.
“Nobody,” I said. “Don’t look.”
“Is it Rhett Voss?”
I shot her a look. “Don’t.”
She looked anyway. Of course she did.
I willed my heart to calm the hell down.
The first bite melted on my tongue. It was amazing, of course.
It was rich and delicate and just perfect.
We all raved about the dish. It wasn’t hard to overhear the other diners talking about how good it was as well.
Although I did nothing more than drop a few flowers on each plate, I felt like I contributed.
Which was ridiculous.
My father stood. He tapped his glass once and raised it. The room quieted and all eyes were on him.
Most eyes.
When I glanced over to check on the man that seemed obsessed with me, he was staring directly at me. At first, I thought it was hot.
Then creepy.
Now it felt rude.
I turned my attention back to my father.
“I’ll keep this short, I promise,” he said. “But I want to thank you all for being here tonight. This tour… this mission… it means something personal to me.”
He paused, glancing toward my mom, then back to the room.
“I grew up without much. We didn’t always know where the next meal would come from. And now I’m here, surrounded by food and family. I think, if we can have this, why can’t someone else have one good meal, too?”
Murmurs. Nods. I felt pride. My dad worked his ass off to get where he was. He never let us forget his humble beginnings. We lived well. Henry and I never had to worry about food or paying rent. I still lived at home. I had clothes, a car, and enjoyed every luxury money could buy.
But our parents made sure we knew that we were very, very fortunate and it should never be taken for granted.
“This tour is about giving back,” Dad went on.
“Every stop, every pop-up, every ticket sold will raise funds for new soup kitchens in the cities that need them most. Feed America is our sponsor, and they’ll be involved in every build.
And if you want to write a check tonight, I’ll love you forever. ”
Polite laughter.
He turned toward the kitchen. “Thank you, Chef Hwan, for making tonight’s first course unforgettable.”
More applause.
“And thank you to every chef on this tour. I’m honored. Including, of course, a man who needs no introduction.” He looked toward Rhett.
My skin went cold. My heart skipped a beat.
“Mr. Rhett Voss.”
The room clapped louder.
Rhett rose from his seat like a shadow come to life. I was sure he was about to speak but he didn’t. Just gave the room a quiet, respectful tip of his head, then sat back down.
Of course. Of course he wouldn’t give a speech. That would be too easy.
After a few more remarks, people began eating again. Dad returned to our table and we all finished our first course.
The servers removed the empty plates in preparation for the next course. I noticed a few people get up and move around the room.
Dad got to his feet. “Come on, kid. Time for an intro.”
I blinked. “What?”
“To Rhett.”
My knees turned to water. “No. Dad—no, no, no. Please. I don’t want to bother him.”
But he was already steering me across the floor. “He’s not going to mind.”
We reached the table. Rhett looked up.
And that stare washed over me. Like he was undressing me slowly.
“Rhett,” my dad said proudly. “This is my daughter, Clementine.”
His eyes never left mine. “Clementine,” he repeated, low and slow.
He was testing my name on his tongue.
Oh no.
Shit, shit, shit.
My panties were suddenly damp.
I was so embarrassed.
“You’ll be on the tour?” he asked. His voice was husky. Heavy. Sinful.
I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
He arched a brow. “Sir?”
“I just—I mean—I was trying to be polite and respect my—” I stammered, eyes darting to my dad like, save me.
My father chortled.
We all knew I was going to say elder. I was about to call the hottest man that graced this big earth an elder.
“How old do you think I am?” Rhett asked.
“I didn’t—I wasn’t—” I wanted to die. “Not old. I mean. I, uh, sorry.”
He didn’t look like he accepted my apology.
“I should go help Hwan in the kitchen,” I blurted out.
I turned and practically ran. I didn’t stop until I hit the corridor near the service entrance, hands braced on my knees, breath coming in short, humiliated bursts.
Behind me, I could hear my dad laughing as he explained. “She’s got a clever head on her shoulders, that girl. Heart made for the kitchen, just like her old man.”
Great first impression, Clem. Just spectacular.