Chapter 5
RHETT
Not my kitchen.
That woman is not working in my kitchen.
No way.
Desman’s daughter moved through the dining room with an easy grace that caught my attention despite myself. I found my eyes drawn to her. She had emerged from the kitchen and was making her way back to Desman’s table.
A girl like that was nothing but a beautiful distraction. I didn’t need one of those in my kitchen. Or my life.
My life was complicated enough without adding romantic entanglements to the mix.
But she was nice to look at, I had to admit, stealing another glance as she took a drink from her glass.
I watched her lips. Watched her tongue dart out and lick them and immediately thought of that tongue on the head of my cock.
I fucking groaned.
“You’re drooling on the floor,” Simone muttered, leaning in close enough that only I could hear her sharp observation. “Close your mouth.”
I shot her a look. “I’m eating. How else do you propose I put food in my mouth?”
Simone’s eyebrow arched in that way that said she saw right through my bullshit. She had worked for me long enough to read my tells.
“I can’t help it,” I said, my voice low and slightly defensive. “This is what happens when I see a whole damn meal like that.”
The comment earned me another look from Simone, this one accompanied by a slight shake of her head. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Don’t act like you don’t think she’s pretty,” I said.
She glanced toward Clem, who was now explaining the preparation of the duck confit to an elderly woman dripping in diamonds. “Keep it in your pants, Rhett. She’s Desman’s daughter.”
As if I needed the reminder. As if I hadn’t already cataloged all the reasons why noticing Clem was a terrible idea. She was young, probably mid-twenties at most. She was the daughter of a chef I respected. And she had to be at least ten years younger than me. She almost called me her elder.
What the fuck was that about? It has to be the damn suit.
I forced myself to look away. The dinner was exceeding expectations. Wealthy donors were writing checks with the kind of casual generosity that only came after excellent food, flowing wine, and the warm glow of feeling blessed.
And a little peer pressure.
No one wanted to be the asshole that donated the least amount of money.
I finished the second course and could admit I was impressed. The food was damn good.
Desman was practically floating through the room, stopping at each table to chat with guests.
He knew how to work a room. He had worked his ass off to make Salt & Mercy a success.
I appreciated a man that gave back. Even if I suspected his philanthropic gestures had to have some ulterior motive. In my world, there was always a motive.
But everyone always said Desman was a genuinely good guy. Maybe he was.
“What do you think is in this sauce?” Conroy asked. He used his fingertip to dip his finger in the sauce drizzled across the plate.
“We’re not stealing recipes,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “As If I would need to.”
I took a bite and let the food roll across my tongue. And then I smiled. It was just too fucking funny. I knew what the ingredient was. “Clementine,” I said.
“Stop it,” Simone scolded. “She’s too young and way too innocent for you. You would chew her up and spit her out. You would destroy that poor thing.”
“Not her,” I sighed. “Clementine zest. That’s the ingredient. I would guess it was used in the curing recipe.”
Conroy grinned and nodded. “That’s it. It adds a pop of brightness.”
Every course was as good or better than the last. Dessert was decadent. A chocolate soufflé that melted on the tongue, paired with vanilla bean ice cream that had been infused with bourbon. I had to give credit where credit was due—Desman knew how to put together a menu.
I was ready to get the hell out of there, strip off the suffocating suit, and return to my penthouse. Maybe I would call Jen. No, Cara. I was in the mood for sex. Wild sex. And Cara was always enthusiastic.
“We should probably make our rounds,” Simone said like she knew I was plotting my escape.
I groaned. “Do we have to?”
“Yes.”
The prospect of more small talk made my jaw clench. We rose from the table, Conroy stretching like he had been sitting in church for hours.
The live band began to play and people were in full party mode.
As we moved through the crowd, I found myself scanning for her. Clementine. She was nowhere near her family’s table. I caught myself looking for that pixie-cut brown hair, those bright green eyes that had gone wide when her father introduced us.
The way she’d stammered when she called me “sir” had been oddly endearing. Most women threw themselves at me knowing exactly what they wanted and how to get it. But she looked at me like I might bite her.
Smart girl.
I was dangerous for someone like her.
I shook hands. Complimented other chefs on recent reviews and restaurant openings. I knew the dance. I didn’t like the dance, but I knew how to do it.
My phone buzzed against my chest. I pulled it from my jacket pocket and glanced at the screen. Mom.
“Don’t you dare run off for a booty call,” Simone warned.
I scowled at her. “It’s my mother.”
I looked around the bustling dining room, then made my way toward the back exit where I could take her call without competing with the music and conversation.
The cool night air hit my face as I stepped outside, a welcome relief after hours in the crowded restaurant.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Rhett, darling.” Her voice carried that familiar mix of affection and gentle criticism that only mothers could perfect. Even after all these years in the States, her Italian accent colored every word. It reminded me of my childhood. “I saw the pictures from tonight. The event looks beautiful.”
“It’s going well,” I agreed, leaning against the brick wall. “Desman is over the moon. People are writing big checks.”
“That’s wonderful. But would it kill you to smile in the occasional photo? You look like you’re attending a funeral instead of a celebration.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Funny you should say that. My staff always tell me the same thing. Guess that’s why they call me the Mortician.”
“Madonna mia, that’s bleak.” I could practically hear her shaking her head through the phone. “You’re a handsome man, Rhett. A little smile wouldn’t hurt.”
“I smile,” I protested, though even as I said it, I knew she was right. My default expression was indifference. Some people mistook it for irritation, although I usually was irritated.
“When?” she challenged. “When do you smile?”
“I’m smiling right now,” I said, and it was true. Talking to my mother always softened something in me. She was the only person who still saw me as her little boy instead of the successful businessman I had become—without the family name.
The sound of sniffling made me pause mid-conversation. Someone was crying, and they were close by. I straightened up and looked around.
“Mom, I need to call you back.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, just work stuff. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay, caro. Be safe.”
I slipped the phone back into my jacket pocket and followed the sound around the corner to where a small bench sat tucked against the building. It was clearly meant for employee breaks. There was a small ashtray bolted to the wall next to the bench.
Clementine sat on the bench, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
Fuck.
I didn’t like crying women. Technically, I didn’t like crying anyone. Other people’s emotions were a giant minefield. She hadn’t seen me. I could walk away and leave her to her tears.
But something about the young woman pulled at my heartstrings. That was a good sign. It meant I wasn’t completely dead inside.
So, I went for it.
She looked up when she heard my footsteps. I watched her try to compose herself, wiping at her eyes and straightening her spine. Even crying, she was beautiful. The thought irritated me. It was not the time or place for my inconvenient attraction.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice gentle, which wasn’t my natural tone. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, forcing a watery smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s nothing. It’s dumb.”
“Most things are.” I moved closer but didn’t sit down, not wanting to crowd her when she was already upset.
For a moment, I thought she was going to brush me off, give me some polite lie about being tired or overwhelmed. But then her composure cracked again, and the words came spilling out.
“I thought Hwan was taking an interest in me because he genuinely saw some talent,” she said. “I’ve been working so hard, trying to learn everything I can about this business. When he offered to give me some advice, I thought… God, I’m so naive.”
My jaw tightened. I had a feeling I knew where this was going, and I already didn’t like it.
“What happened?” I asked, though part of me didn’t want to hear the answer. I sat down on the bench, making sure I didn’t touch her.
“As soon as he got me alone, out of my dad’s sight, he put the moves on me.” The words came out bitter and hurt. “Told me I was sexy, gave me his hotel room key. Said if I wanted his advice about the industry, he would be happy to go over everything thoroughly in his room… alone.”
Adrenaline flooded my system like I had been physically threatened. Fight or flight, but flight had never been in my vocabulary. The anger was cold and calculating, the kind that made me dangerous when I needed to be.
And I could be a very dangerous man.
Hwan was supposed to be a professional. He was a respected chef with a reputation built over decades, and he was using that position to prey on a young woman who was just trying to learn the business.
The fact that she was Desman’s daughter made it worse.
I knew the guy was supposed to be a family friend. Hwan was someone who could be trusted.
“Did he touch you?” I asked, my voice carefully controlled.
“No,” she said quickly. “No, nothing like that. But the way he looked at me, the things he said. I felt so stupid. I actually thought he was interested in mentoring me.”
I wanted to put my hand on her shoulder, to offer some kind of physical comfort, but I kept my hands to myself. The last thing she needed right now was another man invading her personal space, even with good intentions.
And definitely not a man like me.
“You’re not stupid,” I said. “He’s a predator using his position to manipulate younger women. This isn’t your fault.”
Hwan was a powerful figure in the culinary world, with connections and influence that could make or break careers.
Going up against him would be risky, especially for someone just starting out like Clem.
But letting him get away with it meant he’d just do it to someone else.
And I had a feeling he was going to remind her tattling on him would destroy her.
She looked up at me with those teary eyes and it was more than I could handle. I was a world-class prick but making a woman cry was not okay.
“The motherfucker is an asshole,” I hissed.
I jumped to my feet. I was not going to sit out here and watch her cry.
That fucker needed to learn a lesson.
And lucky for him, I was a great teacher.