Chapter 9
Harper
What? Why? That’s a full hour earlier than usual. I stare at my phone in horror.
Chef bosshole: Morning deliveries. You’ll inspect the vegetables before the rest of the team arrives. Consider it part of your training.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. Nope not gonna lose my temper yet. This is another test, and I’m determined to pass it.
Still, I can’t resist replying:
Me: Anything else, Chef?
He must have gotten the sarcasm in my text, for I get a flurry of messages.
Chef bosshole: Don’t forget to check all pantry proteins. Label. Rotate. No shortcuts.
Chef bosshole: Also, you’re running the family meal from now on.
He’s referring to the meal the team has before we start dinner service. He’s adding to my list of responsibilities like I’m sitting around doing nothing all day. I set my jaw.
Chef bosshole: I’ll be grading every plate.
Like you don’t already do that, arsehole. I groan.
Chef bosshole: Bring your A-game or don’t bother showing up.
Me: I can't wait
Argh. His messages verge on obnoxious. But I know by now, that’s just James’ style. He’s so focused on everything being perfect for those who dine at his restaurant, he doesn’t care if he’s pissing off people on his team to get there.
I’d be more upset if his high expectations were only for me and that they didn’t apply to everyone else in the kitchen.
Leo was in charge of the deliveries before me. He was also the last person hired before me.
I’m seeing a pattern here.
He puts the newest recruit through his version of a bootcamp, where you take on the tasks that everyone hates.
Like take responsibility for deliveries, pantry rotation, or running the family meal. It’s just part of his style. He’s not targeting me personally. He’s not.
I know that but I admit, I’m struggling not to take affront.
At the same time, my agency is clear on these tasks. I’m going to take them on because I’m capable and determined to impress him.
I’m going to stay present, keep my sense of humor, and deal with his overbearing presence with charm, grace, and the occasional sarcastic reactions.
Yes, we have chemistry, but I’m going to balance it with professionalism. There. That was a good talk with myself.
I do feel calmer now. On the bright side, it’s my day off, so I don’t have to see James today.
Doesn’t stop me from letting off steam.
I toss my phone aside. Then throw myself on my bed, pick up my favorite pink cushion and scream into it.
"I hate him. I really do hate him. I hate that arsehole. Mofo. Bolland. Pillock. Plonker. Muppet. Prat. Numbskull, Bo—"
"Umm, what are you doing?"
My sister’s voice cuts through my stream of consciousness outpouring.
I lower the cushion from my head and scowl at her. "I’m venting my frustration at having to work with the most infuriating man I’ve ever met."
She walks into my room and sits on the bed next to me. "Fess up everything."
My sister is my closest confidante.
Our parents died in an accident when I was eighteen. I’d just won a scholarship to culinary school. Briar was twenty-one and living with Freya’s father. Freya was two.
Three years later, I graduated, got a job and moved into my own apartment. I had it for a year, before Freya's father left.
That’s when I moved in with Briar. I insisted on helping support her and Freya.
It was difficult, but we managed.
Now that Freya is ten, our two-bedroom flat is starting to feel small. But I love this place.
It’s in a block of flats on a quiet, tree-lined street in London, and the rent is reasonable.
Once I started working full time, I insisted on paying the rent.
I know how much that helps Briar. Which is why, at twenty-six, I’m still living with my sister and my niece.
Over the years, I’ve slowly put together my bedroom with pieces that I’ve found.
A bookshelf covers one wall, crammed with my favorite books. Next to it is the dresser I found on the street. The lamp I discovered beside the recycling bin is on top of the dresser.
It’s a little eclectic. And feels very me.
I sigh. "My boss is driving me crazy with his micromanaging."
“What’s he done now?”
She stretches out next to me and props her chin on her hand.
With her dark hair, green eyes, and slim figure, she’s striking.
We are opposites. I look like our mother, and she takes after our father. I’m impulsive and she… She used to be more spontaneous, until Freya came along.
But our eyes mark us out as sisters.
In the four weeks since I joined The Edge, I’ve complained about him almost daily to Briar.
That is, on the few occasions I've seen her. I normally leave home when she and Freya are still sleeping and make it back home after they're in bed.
Having Tuesday off means I get to spend some time with them in the mornings.
"He keeps testing me. It’s almost like he’s waiting for me to give up and leave the job."
"Why don’t you?"
“Umm, because it pays twice my previous role?”
She frowns. “Money isn’t everything.”
"It is when I can use it to pay off my student loans, and I have enough for additional drawing classes for Freya.”
If I were making more, I would pay for her to attend the Royal Drawing School.
That’s my goal.
We’ve had this conversation before. Briar thinks I should use the money on myself or save it. I’ve been trying to convince her it gives me far greater pleasure to use it for my niece’s education.
I am not disappointed.
"I told you, I won’t hear of it. You’ve already done so much for the both of us.” Her gaze grows troubled.
"Don't be ridiculous. That kid is the love of my life. And she’s incredible. Her paintings, her imagination, all of it is exceptional. With her almost genius level IQ, you owe it to her to ensure she goes to a school where her talent is nurtured.”
She firms her lips. "That’s not fair. You’re using Freya to get your way with me."
"You know, I’m right. She should be in school today, instead of refusing to go for fear of getting bullied.”
She rubs at her temple. “I didn’t want to force her to go. She was on the verge of tears, and Freya never cries, so I knew it was serious. Thankfully, I can drop her off with Mrs. Fisher next door who’s agreed to babysit, so I don’t have to miss a day at work.”
She looks so exhausted that my heart melts.
“With the money I’m making, you don’t have to work two jobs,” I say lightly.
Her mouth tightens. “No, absolutely not. I won’t hear of it.”
“If you were less tired, you could spend more quality time with her, instead of falling asleep at the dinner table.”
She frowns. “Now you’re making me feel guilty.”
“That wasn’t my intention.” I sit up and lean against the headboard. “All I’m saying is, I have the means to help the both of you. And I want to do it.”
She throws up her hands. "Think about yourself for a moment, woman."
"I am." I take her hands in mine. "Let me do this, Briar. Let me give Freya the opportunities we never had. You get your life back, and I get a seat at the table of one of the leading chefs in the world. It’s a head start. The fastest way for me to earn my own kitchen someday. The way I see it, I’m getting a really good deal here. "
“Except you hate working with him.”
I release her hands and rise from the bed.
“He is James Hamilton. The star of the culinary world. The man who earned three Michelin stars in five years, which is practically unheard of. He’s the best there is."
She shrugs. "But if he makes you unhappy—"
"I’m learning loads from him." I begin to pace. "In the few weeks I’ve been there, I’ve learned more from him than I have in my career so far."
"Is he good-looking?"
I stop and turn to her. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"So, he is good-looking?" She waggles her eyebrows.
I rub at my temples. "He’s definitely better looking than I remember him to be.”
She studies me with her big eyes. "You know him?"
"I met him. Once. Years ago." I look away then back at her. "He’s Phe’s older brother."
"Phoenix Hamilton. Who you went to university with?" She slaps her forehead lightly. "Of course, I should have made the connection. And when did you meet him? And why didn’t you tell me, bish?"
There’s a hurt look in her eyes. Especially because I share everything with her.
“You were so busy with Freya; I didn’t want to bother you then.”
Meeting James, only to have him walk away the same night, had been disorienting.
It took me a while to unpack why I’d been so moved by the encounter. And Briar had her hands full with Freya. My own worries seemed insignificant then.
Now, though, seeing James every day feels even more overwhelming. I need to talk to someone. And I trust Briar.
We’ve never betrayed each other’s secrets.
"It was just one night.”
She begins to speak; I hold up my hand. "Nope, not a one-night stand. We just talked."
Her brows lift. “So, you didn’t have sex?’
“Nope.” I raise my shoulders. “We spoke all night. He met me and Phoenix at a nightclub. Then, instead of dropping me home as planned, we drove around London, spoke about stuff, and then he brought me home."
Her lips turn down. “Not even a kiss?"
I redden a little.
"There might have been one kiss. At the end. But he left. End of story."
"You’d have liked for there to have been more?"
I hesitate, not wanting to admit the complex feelings this man elicits in me. "We are different people now."
She looks at me speculatively.
"What?" I scowl.
“Just wondering if that’s why the two of you are always fighting. Maybe that’s your version of foreplay.”
I snort. Foreplay. With the Duke of Deep Freeze who has his emotions parked where the sun don’t shine? Please.
The ridiculous thing is…a tiny, traitorous part of me doesn’t hate the idea. I shove the thought away before it can take root.
“Nope. Trust me. When he’s hovering over my station, finding fault with every move I make… Foreplay, it is not. And besides, we barely talk.”
“Eh?”
“He expects me to obey his orders, no questions asked.”
“Hmm.” She purses her lips. “He is your boss.”