Chapter Ten #2
“I know . . . I know it looks like that,” Bastian allowed.
He looked reluctant to continue, but he did anyway, like this was worth enduring the discomfort of the remaining confession.
“I have a bad habit of reacting poorly when I lose control. I lost control in San Francisco. I never meant for . . . that to happen. Not with you. I’d told you we couldn’t, and I had fully intended to keep that promise, but you get under my skin, past my defenses, and what you said that night—it struck something inside me.
I knew what Luc’s presence made you feel, and I didn’t want you to feel that anymore.
But that didn’t change anything about our situation.
I still believed it shouldn’t happen, but how could I tell you with words when words were clearly meaningless?
Promoting Xander was a reminder to you, but mostly to myself, that even if I favored you, the hierarchy of the kitchen was still important.
There were still vital reasons not to cross the line again.
Yes, you have less experience than Xander did, but we work better together than he and I did, and that’s essential in a sous.
Which is why I told you that it should have been you instead, not him. ”
It wasn’t an explanation that Kian had ever expected to hear.
It didn’t take the sting entirely away from that day—it had happened and nothing could change that, or the way he’d felt at the time—but hearing Bastian’s reasons helped.
He hadn’t done it to be an asshole. He’d done it, like he’d done so much, because he had been trying to do what he believed was the right thing.
Kian nodded. “And today?”
“If I explain everything, am I going to lose my essential mystery?” Bastian wondered archly.
“If you explain everything, I might actually want to take this job, and then we can celebrate later. Properly.” Kian grinned.
Bastian returned the smile, definitely lighter at the edges, and it was a forcible reminder that while Bastian’s hair might be threaded with gray, he wasn’t really old. He’d just shouldered an incalculable burden with an incredible amount of accompanying pressure at a too-young age.
“I’d hate to take away the possibility of a celebration,” he said gravely.
“Fine. I offered you the job today, not because of what happened last night, but because I realized I was holding you back. I was holding you with me. Not because I didn’t think you were ready, but because I didn’t want to let you go.
That wasn’t right. When our relationship changed, I realized that was what kept stopping me from giving you this job you deserved.
And if you deserve sous, then there’s no reason you can’t be chef de cuisine.
I’m not disappearing. I’m not going to turn into Emeril or Mario and be unavailable.
But I do want to take this opportunity with Nathan Hess, and I need you to take charge of things if I do. ”
“Okay,” Kian said, feeling unsteady and unmoored. Chef de cuisine at a Michelin-starred restaurant at twenty-three years of age. It was practically unheard of.
“I became sous when I was twenty-three,” Bastian said. “And I know it was the making of me as a chef. I believe you can do this.”
The steady look of unflinching belief in Bastian’s eyes helped to steady Kian. He did believe in him; he wouldn’t have given Kian this promotion otherwise. Not with his life’s work, Terroir, hanging in the balance.
“Thank you, Chef,” Kian said. “I intend to make you proud.” He rose to his feet. “I need to check on the prep for the evening’s service.”
“Of course.” Bastian stood too, and hesitated. It was so different from this morning when Kian had left Bastian’s doorstep, and they’d kissed goodbye, their embrace turning heated as soon as their lips met. It was the only time they’d ever done that, but strangely, it felt odd not to repeat it now.
And from the way Bastian paused, the sudden nervous energy in his hands, Kian knew he felt the exact same way.
“I’ll make the announcement at family dinner,” Bastian said. Kian ducked his head in agreement, and then walked out the door before he did something monumentally stupid like try to kiss him.
After promoting Kian, it was readily apparent to Bastian that there was nobody even remotely suited in the kitchen to promote as sous—and Bastian wasn’t cruel enough to expect him to succeed without the proper tools he’d need, and that included a trusted and competent second-in-command.
Two days after the promotion, a resume crossed his desk that caught his attention.
A fellow student with Kian at the Academy.
He’d worked at Michael Mina since graduation but was looking to move back to the Valley.
Bastian checked the references, even spoke to Michael himself, and decided this was the best congratulations, you’re promoted present he could find.
Other than giving Kian a truly spectacular blowjob the night before.
Kian had claimed breathlessly that he’d never come so hard in his life, but then Bastian had bent him over the counter and fucked him like he’d wanted to do so long ago, the first time they’d ever met, and he’d come again, even harder the second time.
Bastian hadn’t lied when he’d told Kian that he’d believed he could succeed.
He could—he had all the tools, most of the skill, and definitely the drive required.
Watching him as he directed the line during service, Bastian was struck again by how much Kian reminded him of himself at that age.
Ferocious and determined to achieve that success only because he’d truly earned it.
But Terroir was a large establishment, with the capacity for large crowds, and Kian was going to need a sous chef he trusted. That wasn’t an easy thing to find, but someone he already knew? Someone he’d gone to school with? That was a very good start.
The first sign of a problem came when the new hire walked in, and instead of looking pleased, Kian frowned.
“Mark?” he questioned. “What are you doing here?”
Bastian did not frequently rethink his decisions, but he couldn’t help but feel, looking at Kian’s displeased expression, that maybe he should have included Kian on the hiring process to find Kian’s sous chef. Which felt appallingly obvious, once Bastian thought it.
Merde.
“I’ve been hired here,” Mark said smoothly, looking over at Bastian. “I’m your new sous.”
Kian’s eyebrows slammed together and the gaze he directed Bastian’s direction was decidedly frosty. “I see,” was all he said. “Welcome to Terroir.”
Between getting Mark’s orientation done, and getting him up to speed prior to service, there was no time for Bastian to pull Kian aside to try to explain.
The additional time was also helpful, because after watching him during the service, Bastian felt like Mark could actually be a decent addition to the team.
He wasn’t quite quick enough yet, but he was careful, and had clearly learned some good habits at Michael Mina.
Maybe Kian would come around once he saw Mark’s possibilities.
No, Bastian reminded himself resolutely, he would come around.
Because Bastian had no intention of getting rid of Mark just because of a small personality conflict.
He’d endured Xander’s sneers for years, and even that godawful ridiculous nickname, and he’d done it because Xander was a fantastic chef, and he’d wanted him in his kitchen.
It was too suspicious to be continually taking the same car to and from the restaurant, so Kian and he had driven separately this time. This is good, Bastian thought as he drove home after service, an extra ten minutes to get my head on straight.
Bastian knew Kian had every intention of cornering him to discuss Mark. He’d been terse and brief all service, and he’d barely looked in Bastian’s direction. None of those little quick glances that felt like a caress—something to connect them when they couldn’t touch.
He pulled into the driveway, saw that Kian’s little hatchback was already parked, and braced himself for the forthcoming and unavoidable argument.
It had been almost a week since Kian had shown up, determined not to be turned down, and it had been one of the best weeks of Bastian’s life.
Still, in the back of his mind, he’d been bracing for the moment when something happened to mar all that uninterrupted perfection.
He’d known it was inevitable because they were both two very opinionated, driven individuals and Kian’s new promotion, while not giving him equal footing with Bastian, gave him a decided step up from where he’d been before.
From the way Kian had taken over in the kitchen, he knew it too, and no doubt he had every intention of exercising that newfound power now.
“What the hell, Bastian,” Kian spit out from almost the second Bastian opened the car door and stepped out. He’d given Kian the keycode to the house a few days ago, but he’d chosen not to use it tonight, and instead had lain in wait for Bastian outside.
“I take it you don’t approve of Mark as a choice of sous,” Bastian said, and hated how tired he sounded. He knew everyone believed he enjoyed a fight, but he actually dreaded them. He dreaded their prelude, he dreaded the actual yelling, and he absolutely dreaded the aftermath.
He knew they would get through this, because Kian was a reasonable person who wanted the best for Terroir, just the same as Bastian did, but he was also unexpectedly stubborn, when allowed the freedom to be.
It was sexy as hell when they were flirting or during foreplay or even in the middle of sex. It was not sexy as hell now. Now, all it meant was a conversation that should have been easier, wasn’t. Bastian knew he shouldn’t, but he resented Kian for it.
“Of course I don’t fucking approve,” Kian spit out, words tumbling over themselves. “How could I possibly approve when you never asked me?”