8. Surprise
Chapter 8
Surprise
CALLIE
I spun to see Nico, the saucier chef, step inside and close the door behind him.
Gesturing around me, I forced a laugh. “It’s a busy night. I got hot.”
“I’m sure you did.” He strolled forward, his muscular body staying in the center of the path.
Blocking me in.
“I better get back out there.” I waited for him to move, but he didn’t. “My tables?—”
“Are good. I looked on my way in. You’re welcome.”
“I should still do my rounds.”
“It can wait a few minutes.” His hooded gaze dropped to my mouth. “I bet it won’t even take that long if those dick-sucking lips are as good as I think they’ll be.”
Eww .
I’d had a handful of brief interactions with Nico, but they’d been casual. Just some how’s it going or crazy weather, huh quick conversations. Nothing that would lead him to think I was into him. Or make me suspect that he was into me, for that matter.
I expected—but never welcomed—flirting from Alex, but even he wouldn’t be that crassly blunt. It coming from Nico was a curveball.
“Move out of my way,” I ordered. My voice didn’t shake or wobble. It wasn’t my first rodeo. If I’d survived the previous four years, a pushy chef in a crowded restaurant was nothing.
His brows raised and his lips curved as he tilted his head. “Feistier than I thought. What is your deal?”
“My deal is I want you to move out of my damn way.”
“No, like your story. Your history. Tess said you came from Utah. You one of those good girls looking to get bad in Vegas?” He pushed in closer until his body was almost touching mine. “Because, baby, I can help.”
“You can help by moving !” My voice raised to a shout in the hopes someone outside would hear. Not just because he was starting to creep me out—though he very much was—but also because I’d been in the fridge too long. If my tables complained, I didn’t want Manny to blame me for the delay I wasn’t welcoming.
“You’re smoking hot with your whole prim and proper thing,” he continued, like I hadn’t just shouted in his face. “We’ve been trying to figure out if you ever let that braid loose and get wild. I bet you do. The innocence mixed with this feistiness proves it. It’s a nice surprise.” He tilted his head like he was thinking. “Tell you what… If you give me a little taste now, and it’s good enough, I’ll take you to dinner before I take you to bed.”
“Dream on,” I bit out. It wasn’t the most mature or venomous response, but it was all I had as panic began to surge.
My tables are probably so pissed.
And Juliet is one of them.
This can’t get any worse.
But I was wrong. It could and it did.
Nico’s hand spanned my hip as he closed the last bit of distance between us. I was pretty sure his erection was pushed against me, but I wasn’t certain. It could’ve just been a pen or some thin cooking utensil. It was still enough to make my stomach churn as he gripped my chin in his other hand.
“If you try to kiss me, I’m biting your lip off,” I snarled, trying to dislodge my face.
“Kinky.”
I reached behind me, feeling around for anything I could get my hands on. After scrambling for a few seconds, my trembling fingers wrapped around something, and I whipped it in front of me.
Rather than being a menacing weapon I could wield, I was gripping a cucumber. And not even a particularly big one.
He chuckled. “ Extra kinky.”
I was still about to threaten to beat him with it when the door was flung open.
“What the fuck ?”
Both of our heads snapped to the side to see Chef Frédéric fill the open doorway. His dark blue eyes darted between Nico and me, growing more murderous the longer he looked.
Nico, ever the gentleman, left me out to dry. “I’m on break.”
Chef didn’t point out that I wasn’t. Or yell at me for ditching my tables. Or just outright fire me for abandoning his wife.
“Are you okay?” His strained, soft tone was a stark difference from the tightness in his expression as he stared at Nico.
Something that made Nico confused yet clearly uncomfortable. He glanced at me before looking back at Chef. “Uh, y-yes?”
“I’m not talking to you,” Chef snapped.
It was an understandable mistake. I also thought his question was aimed at Nico since he was still staring at the man.
“Callie, are you okay?”
I nodded at Chef Frédéric’s question, but since he wasn’t looking at me, I followed up verbally. “I’m fine. I just needed a second to cool off.”
“And I came to check on her,” Nico said, playing gallant.
“By keeping her in the fridge when she’s shaking like a damn leaf?”
“No, I?—”
“And her holding that cucumber like she’s trying to defend herself?”
“That’s a joke?—”
“And you touching her?”
At the low, rough tone of Chef’s last question, a tremble ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
If Nico was smart, he would’ve kept his mouth shut.
But apparently, he was a moron.
“We’re talking,” Nico said. “Like, talking . Seeing each other. There’s no problem.”
Chef Frédéric tore his focus from Nico to finally look at me. He arched a brow.
“Tell him.” Nico’s words might’ve been barely audible, but there was no mistaking the order in it.
I almost confirmed it was all innocent. If I told the truth that he’d cornered me and hadn’t listened when I’d told him to leave, he could get in trouble. Sent home or maybe even fired—something that would screw over the rest of the kitchen.
And possibly put a target on my back.
Or they could do nothing. Shrug it off as typical guy behavior.
I was used to that.
Lying was the easier option as long as I didn’t throw myself under the bus for abandoning my tables.
I scrambled to think of how to lie while still protecting myself when Nico added a whispered, “Or else.”
Nope. Not happening.
I’d spent way too long in environments where men could bully and throw around their power to get away with anything. I wasn’t going to be intimidated into putting the job I desperately needed at risk because a jerk didn’t listen when I’d said to back away.
I opened my mouth to contradict his claim, but I didn’t get the chance.
Chef scanned my expression before his angry blue eyes cut to Nico. “Get the fuck out, Benson.”
He glanced at his watch. “Yes, Chef. My break is about done anyw?—”
“No, out . Gone. You’re fired. Clear your locker.”
Oh shit.
The target on my back is about to be bigger than me.
And neon.
And flashing.
“Whoa, bruh, that’s not—” Nico cried.
At the same time, I rushed out, “It’s fi?—”
Both our sentences were cut off by Chef’s pissed-off words. “I’m not your bruh . And word of advice, if the woman you think you’re talking to has a terrified expression and a makeshift weapon, you’re doing something wrong. Now get the hell out of my restaurant.”
Nico turned and glared at me, even as he mouthed, “ Fix this or else .”
“Now,” Chef Frédéric barked.
I jolted to move, too, but froze again when the security guards from earlier approached to escort Nico. As he grudgingly left, muttering curses and excuses, there were some shouts from the kitchen that I couldn’t make out.
Oh shit. They’re totally going to hate me.
The yelling was cut off when Chef stepped in, and the door closed behind him. Unlike Nico earlier, he kept his distance and didn’t block the entire path.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Really. It was just a misunderstanding.”
“That why you looked torn between crying and beating him with that?” His gaze moved from my eyes to the cucumber I still clutched.
I set the vegetable back on the metal shelf. “It was nothing.”
“It was something. Take the rest of the shift off. You usually take the bus?”
“No, I drive. But I’m fine.” I moved for the exit at the same time he moved for me, and we met in the middle. I was left craning my neck to look at him.
“Callie…” His words trailed as he studied me like he wasn’t sure what to say.
The concern on his handsome face.
The protectiveness—professional or not.
His nearness.
It was more than I could take.
“I’m turning into an ice cube,” I whispered.
“ Merde . My bad, I’m a dumbass. I’ll walk you to your car?—”
“I just want to get back to work. Honestly.”
“You need a break.” He took another step closer as he reached out to fix a lock of my hair that’d come loose with Nico’s rough touch. I was sure my braid was a mess of errant curls and frizz, and for a moment, I almost let him fix it.
Almost.
I dodged to the side away from him and strengthened my resolve. “Chef Frédéric?—”
“Freddy,” he corrected.
My response was firm with emphasis. “ Chef Frédéric , your wife is waiting.”
He reared back like I’d slapped him.
Good. I should hit him for trying to touch me while Juliet is right in the dining room.
But it wasn’t guilt that coated his face. It was lowered-brow confusion. “What?”
“Your wife . We should both get out to her. I’m sure she’s ready for cake.”
“Only one problem with that, chéri.”
Oh no, did she already leave?
I could’ve really used that tip.
I didn’t get the chance to ask when he continued. “I don’t have a wife.”
It was my turn to be confused. “What?”
“I’m not married. Not to Juliet or anyone else.”
“But Tess called her the big boss’ wife. And she always said there were other managers and supervisors, but you’re the actual boss here.”
He gave an arrogant smirk. “And she was right. I only answer to Maximo, the owner of Black Resorts. Juliet is his wife.”
My thoughts raced before landing on a very important one.
If she called someone Daddy, it was likely her husband.
Which meant the big, big, biiiiig boss was out there while I completely dropped the ball in the walk-in.
I let out a panicked squeak and pushed by Chef to hurry from the fridge. My legs and hands were numb from the cold, but I ignored the tingling pain as the warm air prickled. Alex was hovering nearby, but I didn’t dare look at him. I zoomed right out to my tables before stopping short.
Everything was fine.
Juliet was still picking at her gnocchi, her smile aimed at the other man I vaguely remembered walking by. He’d taken Cole’s spot across from his wife.
Not Chef Frédéric’s.
In a dark suit and blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar, one of his arms was stretched across the back of the booth. I wasn’t sure how a plush bench could suddenly look like a throne, but somehow, he made it happen. Casual yet authoritative, all in one. Especially when he stabbed a finger at the salad, earning an eye roll from Juliet. His expression tightened even as he raised his hand to swipe his thumb across his bottom lip.
Whoa.
I mean, he’s not as hot as Chef.
Or Marco.
Or Cole.
But there is no denying that they make a gorgeous couple.
I was about to move again when Marco did. Pulling his cell from his pocket, his perma-pissed expression turned thunderous. I was surprised the other guests didn’t hide under their tables from that look alone, but no one else seemed to notice it.
No one but Cole.
Marco tilted his phone so Cole could see it. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t good. The reserved man took off out the door. Marco paused to say something to the big boss before following after.
No wonder Juliet has bodyguards with her all the time. Her husband owns the whole freaking place.
I went to their table first, hoping I didn’t have to clear any dishes since my fingers now trembled with adrenaline, iciness, and nerves.
“Hi, I’m?—”
Mr. Black’s dark eyes skewered me. That look alone would’ve been enough to cut off my introduction even without him asking, “You good, Callie?”
I do not like that he knows my name.
I wasn’t sure if he asked because he’d seen me rush off, because I’d flaked on the tables, or because he somehow knew what’d happened. I didn’t ask for clarification.
“Yes, thank you,” I said through the lump in my throat.
He lifted his chin.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
“I’m set.”
I looked at Juliet. “Are you ready for your cake?”
“My favorite sentence,” she said despite her lost expression as she glanced between us.
“She’ll take it to go,” Mr. Black said.
“But—”
“To go, dove.”
“I’ll be right back.” I paused at my other tables long enough to see that someone else had stepped in to help in just the short time I’d been at Juliet’s table.
Huh.
When I went to get the dessert, Aubrey was waiting. “Table C-twelve needs another bourbon.”
In everyone I would’ve guessed had helped, Aubrey would be at the bottom of the list. She was a great trainer but only did it because she was paid extra. She’d nicely but firmly made it clear that once her trainees were finished, they weren’t her problem. She had her own work to handle.
“Thanks,” I told her.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it. “Nico’s a dickhead who thought he was invincible since he was always careful to confirm there weren’t witnesses. His word against ours. Plus, he loved to remind us that servers are easier to replace than a classically trained saucier.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I admitted, my gaze sliding to the kitchen. I almost expected them to start lobbing insults and rotten tomatoes at any moment.
“Don’t be. Alex is pissed, but only because he’d already told Nico he was into you and waiting for you to show interest before he went for it. The others back there are irritated because it’ll mean shuffling some shit around, but that’s not aimed at you. They heard Chef Frédéric tell Manny how terrified you looked and think it’s fucked that Nico did that.” She exhaled. “I’m glad he messed up and got caught. But I’m also sorry you had to be the one to deal with it.”
“He didn’t do—” I tried, not wanting it to be a bigger thing than it was.
“It doesn’t matter if he didn’t do anything yet . The nasty shit he says is a violation alone, and people dismissing it because he didn’t physically do anything is what emboldens douchebags to be bold.” Then, like she hadn’t flashed that hint of vulnerability, she pushed her shoulders back. “I did warn you to stay away from the kitchen staff.”
She didn’t say anything else as she returned to work, and I did the same. I grabbed the bourbon refill from the bar and dropped the boxed cake off to Juliet before collecting dishes. When I went to sort them into the wash bins, I saw the kitchen was running like usual. Just without Chef. And with a different chef in Nico’s spot. She glanced up from the saucepan she was stirring with a tiny whisk to meet my eyes. She held the contact for a long moment before returning her focus to the sauce.
I stepped out to my area as someone called, “Callie.”
I spun to see Alex standing at a distance, still technically in the kitchen.
“I saw Nico go in,” he shared, “but I didn’t know you were in there. Swear it. I thought he went in to sneak a vape rip. He does that. If I knew you’d gone in first, I wouldn’t have helped him by running interference. I’m sorry.”
“It’s on him, not you.”
“I still feel like shit. For that and what I’ve said. I was trying to …” He shook his head. “It won’t happen again.”
I didn’t say that it was okay because it wasn’t. I just nodded in acknowledgment.
He smiled—though it wasn’t his usual cocky or flirty—before returning to work.
I did the same, grateful that no one was mad.
Grateful I’d finally landed someplace where there was consideration for people’s safety and well-being.
And grateful I finally had feeling back in my hands.