Chapter Ten
After his shower, Kian had tried various methods to hide the blooming bruises on his neck, but he finally gave up because the neck kerchief looked incredibly contrived, borrowing one of Xander’s chili pepper bandanas didn’t seem right, and the makeup called more attention to them than it hid.
He was just going to have to go in and hope everyone was too busy working to examine Kian’s neck—and if they did, they wouldn’t connect it to Chef’s unexpectedly good mood.
Because that was exactly what Kian expected to walk into when he finally arrived at Terroir: Bastian not yelling and quite possibly spreading encouragement and good cheer wherever he went.
Of course when he walked in, what he heard was Bastian verbally destroying the hopes of the new young kitchen assistant.
“This is fucking garbage,” Bastian yelled, the gravelly edge of it echoing in Kian’s memories from the night before. “You want to just take the trash and dump it on a plate and serve it to our guests?”
“No, Chef. I’ll fix it.” Derek sounded a tiny bit teary, but also resolute, which was a fucking relief. Kian wasn’t going to have to coax him out of the bathroom for service—at least not this time.
Kian forced himself to take his time putting his stuff in his locker, making sure his coat was fully buttoned, not that it would do much to hide the bruises on his neck, before walking out into the prep stations.
The last thing Kian had expected to be greeted with after the night before was a glare, but Bastian definitely glared. It was almost certainly residual from Bastian’s encounter with Derek, but no matter what little white lie he told himself, it still stung.
“You’d better fix it,” Bastian growled, and then turned towards Kian. “I’ve started the soup, but you need to finish it, and you need to monitor the hell out of Derek’s prep. He’s a fucking mess.”
Bastian was all business as they walked towards the massive bank of burners, where the gigantic pot of soup was bubbling away in the corner. “It’s a take on a posole,” he said. “You know how I like that to be finished.”
“Yes, Chef,” Kian said, and ignored the thrum of arousal he felt when he said the words.
He remembered this morning, crawling down Bastian’s body and sliding his cock into his mouth.
Bastian’s hot gaze on his face, on his mouth, as he’d sucked him off.
It was hard to even believe that man even existed in the brisk, tough, blank-faced Bastian in front of him now.
Kian wouldn’t have believed it, but he’d experienced it.
Kian had been the one to say he wanted things to stay the same at Terroir, and there was definitely a part of him that was undeniably glad they had.
Terroir was like a support system, always there, always morphing but still strong and stable underneath the culinary experimentation, and Bastian was absolutely an extension of his own restaurant.
But another part of him wanted to see just a sign, even the faintest hint of a smile, some sort of reassurance that everything that had happened wasn’t just in Kian’s head.
Maybe he’d dreamt the whole thing after all.
He’d believe it, except for the chain of bruises currently dotting his neck.
“When you’re done with the soup, I’d like to see you in my office,” Bastian said, surprising the hell out of Kian. “If you’re not too busy managing Derek.”
Kian didn’t think he’d imagined the sudden thaw in Bastian’s dark eyes. “I shouldn’t be.”
“Then, I’ll see you in a bit,” Bastian said, and walked back to his office.
Sighing, Kian went to check the soup and then to go find Derek, who had better not have retreated to the bathroom again.
The blinds were up on Bastian’s glass walls when Kian approached his office, so he didn’t think Bastian had asked to see him for anything non-Terroir related.
Last night had been a revelation, a reveal of all the soft, sexy inner parts of Bastian, but Kian knew, as surely as the sun setting and rising, that he wouldn’t reveal any of that in the heart of his empire.
Kian didn’t even want him to. Those parts were for Kian and Kian alone to enjoy.
He knocked on the glass and Bastian glanced up from his computer monitor.
“Oh, that was quick,” Bastian said.
Kian fought back against the urge to apologize and explain that he had done everything to a quality level Bastian would approve of. He didn’t need to apologize or explain. Bastian trusted him, he believed that, so instead of answering, he merely took the seat.
A year ago, he’d used the corporate credit card Bastian had given him to buy more comfortable chairs for the office, and Bastian had given him a look when he’d brought them in but he hadn’t said a word.
Kian figured that he was willing to sit here and take whatever shit came out of Bastian’s mouth, but he didn’t need to do that and be uncomfortable at the same damn time.
“Xander has been gone three months,” Bastian said. “I think it’s high time I promoted someone to sous chef, and I can’t think of anyone more qualified or that deserves it more than you do.”
Kian couldn’t help himself. He gaped.
Of course, the moment Kian decided he was perfectly fine not being promoted to sous, Bastian decided that the time was finally right.
But Bastian wasn’t even done. “But the more I thought about it,” he continued, “I realized that if I want to partner with Nathan Hess, I’ll be relying on you more and more. And that’s why I want to offer you the chef de cuisine position.”
Kian shot to his feet. “You want to do what?”
“Don’t tell me you’re surprised by this,” Bastian said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve wanted this.”
He wasn’t going to apologize for being ambitious. Yes, he’d wanted it. Specifically he’d wanted Xander’s job, the sous chef job, but only if he was qualified for it and Bastian believed that he’d earned it.
While he desperately wanted to find some sort of equal footing with Bastian, he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that extended to culinary knowledge, experience, or Terroir.
“Of course I want the job,” Kian said. “I’m just not sure I wanted it like this.”
“Like how?” Bastian challenged.
Kian rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to say it, but they were both thinking it. Last night had been momentous. He didn’t want Bastian to ruin it by making him think he’d gotten the job because he was good in bed, not good in the kitchen.
“I told you when Xander quit,” Bastian added, his voice softening, “I told you that I should have promoted you instead.”
He’d been so fed up—angry and frustrated—when Bastian had confessed that particular tidbit, but later he’d thought about it. And he wasn’t sure he really agreed with Bastian, which was blowing his mind.
“I knew this kitchen better than Xander did, but he had five more years of experience than I did—that means he had more than double the experience I do. That’s not insignificant,” Kian pointed out.
Bastian made a frustrated sound. “Would it be too much to ask for you to just say, thank you, Chef, and take the goddamned job?”
Yes, it probably would, and if Bastian had only wanted a sycophant in his kitchen and in his bed, Kian wouldn’t be here right now. He definitely wouldn’t have been curled up with Bastian the night before. Bastian wanted someone to challenge him. Someone to call him out on his bullshit.
But he also really wanted this job. He’d wanted it before he’d even known what it was, and long before Bastian had ever offered it to Xander. If Bastian thought he was ready, maybe Kian should defer to him. After all, he was always claiming to know everything.
“I’ll take it,” Kian said after a long moment. “But I think your timing continues to suck.”
First the Xander promotion right after they’d gotten back from San Francisco and now this.
It was only two instances, but it felt like a pattern of their personal lives influencing the decisions Bastian was making in the restaurant.
That didn’t only feel wrong, it felt completely unlike the Bastian that Kian believed he knew.
Bastian laughed, and it broke up the tension that had built up between them. “I’ll give you that,” he said, and even though he didn’t offer another apology in words, the tone was there, in his voice. “I’m not very good at this. I’m rather . . . inexperienced, if you’d believe it.”
Not sexually, clearly, but with being in a relationship with someone he cared about?
Kian could see that. “Just tell me this has nothing to do with last night.” Kian dropped his voice towards the end, as the door was still open.
He didn’t think anyone would eavesdrop, but this industry was also cutthroat and god knew what people would do to get ahead.
There were absolutely people in the world who might find out about last night and believe that Kian had only done it to get this promotion, and Bastian had let it happen because that was his right as Kian’s superior.
Those people were fucked up, but they existed, and while Kian might be na?ve, he wasn’t that na?ve.
“Of course it doesn’t,” Bastian said. “Do you really think I would promote you because of that?”
Kian shrugged, because the timing remained suspicious.