Chapter 2
CLAUDIA
Well, so much for keeping things positive and friendly on my first day.
Not like it was my fault. The arrogant, sanctimonious prick had the nerve to disparage me within the first five minutes of our acquaintance. What! Was I supposed to sit there and let him insult me? What was that crack about the television cameras supposed to be about?
He even managed to look surprised as he blinked hard, a small smile tipping the corners of his mouth like he was trying to decide if this was a joke.
No, the joke was this tiny little office and the ragtag crew of jokers out there who didn’t bother hiding their laughter when I came in.
Was I supposed to get the warm fuzzies after going through that?
Was I supposed to feel welcome in my new place of business?
“You know how these types of guys are.” Sienna Black had done her best to warn me, hadn’t she?
“Decent people, nice in general, but they tend to think the moon and stars were hung for them, according to their specifications. Sometimes, it’s a matter of letting them think they’re getting their way.
You’ll be able to handle him with no problem. ”
In other words, smile and go along with it. Not exactly something I had ever been good at.
Which led to this situation—sitting in a tiny little room with a very tall, muscular man who stared at me like I was some species he hadn’t yet become familiar with.
His steely gray eyes narrowed as they moved over me while his sharp jaw ticked.
He wasn’t bad to look at, but that was about the only good thing I could come up with as I waited for him to form a response.
Finally, he did, tipping his head back and looking at me over the bridge of his nose.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to hold you up, being as important as you are.
I’m sure you have all kinds of ideas about how you want to change things up around here since you’re already so well-versed in the needs of my brand.
Please, tell me everything. What did you have in mind? ”
The tiniest part of me, so small it wouldn’t have shown up under a microscope, wished I hadn’t started this.
I shouldn’t have said it, but he had dropped the first blow.
Not that it mattered, not that it would do me any favors if I accused him of that.
I would only come off hopelessly childish if I started pointing fingers at the age of twenty-eight.
Instead, I decided to take his question at face value and offer an honest answer, though I was careful to choose one that wouldn’t immediately antagonize him.
“You’ve had some trouble,” I offered, and even my voice was different—a little softer, more understanding.
No matter how good I knew I was, I needed this job.
I needed to prove to the culinary world I was more than a one-trick pony, and working with Sebastian Kennedy was a great place to start.
In other words, I needed to play nice. “You had those weird allegations of food poisoning a couple of months back. People started talking about whether you had run your course. Unfortunately, by then, you had already sunk a ton of time and money into a second location on the opposite end of the Strip. It was already too late to back out, not that you would back out if you could,” I added, sprinkling a little editorializing on top of the facts.
Naturally, he picked up on it right away, like a shark smelling blood in the water. It was surprising his eyes didn’t roll back to reveal the whites. “What makes you say that?” he asked.
“Because I wouldn’t, either,” I admitted.
“Listen, you don’t get as far as you have in this business or in any business if you’re the type of person who rolls over and plays dead at the first sign of adversity.
Besides, by then, it was no secret you were expanding.
If you gave up, it would mean having to explain to people why you had given up, and you wouldn’t want to do that any more than I would. ”
He didn’t like being so easily read. Shifting his weight in his chair, he tightened his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and basically played the part of the intimidating boss.
“I’m glad you think we have so much in common, and I appreciate your attempt at understanding.
” He barely stopped short of rolling his eyes, and I instantly regretted trying to relate to him.
Some people weren’t worth the trouble, and he was proving himself to be one of them.
Rather than give me a chance to retort, he kept rolling, again shifting his weight and making the chair squeak as a result. I really had expected him to sit in a much nicer office. Couldn’t he afford a better chair?
“You were right on several counts, but then you know that.” God, he was resentful, almost biting off his words.
His mouth hardly moved when he spoke, and the effect was unnerving.
“Yes, we’ve had some trouble. There was a time I was convinced someone was deliberately sabotaging me, though I was never able to find any evidence to support that theory.
” His gaze went unfocused for a moment as he stared over my shoulder, looking back at the recent past and sounding murderous. I probably would too.
He snapped back to the present, flexing his long fingers and running one hand through dark brown waves just disheveled enough to be alluring.
It was the sort of hair a girl wondered about—would it be as soft and thick as it looked?
Not that I wanted to run my fingers through it unless the goal was to rip it out of his head for snarking at me.
“It seemed that overnight, I went from enjoying a sterling reputation to asking myself what the hell could possibly happen next,” he continued, unaware of how I imagined a big bald spot on his head.
“Constant issues with the plumbing, rumors of unsanitary conditions, and a surprise health inspection which we nearly failed for some unknown reason. It was never made clear what the problem was,” he grunted.
“We were given a warning. That was the first time in my career such a thing had happened. It all started with the torrent of shit reviews stating our food gave customers food poisoning.”
He offered a dry, humorous chuckle. “Like I said, I was convinced we were being sabotaged, but whoever was behind it was clever enough to hide their involvement.”
“Do you have enemies around here?” His eyebrows nearly left his forehead when they shot up all at once, and this time, I felt the need to apologize. “Sometimes I say the first thing that comes to my head without thinking about it.”
“No kidding. I had no idea.” He rolled his eyes, and I did the same.
“But I think I deserve to know if the man whose restaurant I’m baking for has people out there wanting to cut his throat,” I added.
Scoffing, he replied, “I wouldn’t use the word enemies.”
So, the answer is yes.
“Competitors, certainly,” he continued. “Only the guy with nothing going for him can walk through without detractors. The guy who’s not a threat to anyone. That has never been me,” he insisted with pride in his voice. Was I supposed to congratulate him?
“There’s something we have in common,” I offered instead. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
The flash of his smile was like light gleaming off a sharpened knife. “Is that why you couldn’t get a job in New York?”
This motherfucker. To think, there I was, trying to smooth things over. All I had done was respond to his hostility. I tried to make up for that, and what happened? He had to take another fucking dig. How was I supposed to work with a person like this?
The worst part? He didn’t look remotely sorry. Not so much as an attempt at an apology. Because he knew me so well, right? He thought he caught me in a ‘gotcha’ moment, the prick. Maybe he expected me to run away in tears. I’d already done more than enough of that lately.
“As a matter of fact, I recently accepted an offer in New York.” Pausing to take a breath, I added, “However, we had a falling out. After that, I was free to accept this position.”
Don’t ask about it.
Do. Not.
The hand resting on my binder clenched, my nails digging into my palm. What little there was of them sank into my flesh, flesh that had long since become accustomed to pain—searing ovens, hot pans, spills, accidents. My hands were a roadmap detailing every step of my journey over the years.
It was only recently that my internal pain began.
Do not ask.
Do. Not.
I wasn’t sure what I would do if he dug around for more information. I waited for a snarky comeback, a seemingly innocent question with invisible barbs.
When he only grunted softly, my hand relaxed a little.
With the raw and unfiltered mood I was in, I might have done something unforgivable, like describe the humiliation of discovering my fiancé fucking my would-be employer in my bed.
That was the worst part—deeper than the humiliation, sharper than the betrayal.
They did it in my bed, a bed I had purchased and shared with him after he moved in.
I was supposed to be planning a wedding and beginning a new career in Manhattan. Instead, I was in Las Vegas, of all places, in the middle of the desert. I already missed autumn in New York, where there actually felt like a change in seasons. I missed my life.
There might have been seasons in New York, but there was also Brandon and all the promises he’d made and broken. The twenty-five hundred miles between us hardly seemed like enough when I reflected on his wandering dick.
“What are your goals?” Sebastian asked, forcing me to tamp down my murderous thoughts in the interest of keeping a job I hadn’t asked for but felt forced to take.
It came out before common sense could stop me. “I want to work at a Michelin Star restaurant.”
He might have tried not to laugh, looking almost constipated at first, but lost the battle. “Well, put that on your list to Santa Claus this year, and we’ll see what he can do for you.” He chortled, the asshole. He actually chortled.
“Is that funny somehow?” I asked, my head tipping to the side. “Because I fail to see the humor.”
“No? Let me explain.” He folded his hands over his flat stomach, drawing my attention to his lips when he pursed them.
Nice lips, a little pouty. What a shame they belonged to this absolute asshole.
“Chasing a star is like chasing a tiger. You manage to grab its tail, then you ask yourself what the hell you’re going to do with it. ”
What, did somebody tell you that? Because he certainly had never earned one of his own. I wasn’t suicidal—the words never left my mouth. No matter how I felt about his posturing, I needed the work. And despite his attitude and recent downturn, he had a solid reputation out here.
“I’ll take my chances.” I decided with a grin.
A grin he did not return. “Not here, you won’t.”
Somewhere in my head, a needle scratched a record. Loudly. “Pardon?”
“My kitchen isn’t where you’ll experiment and stretch your limits in pursuit of an empty award, which I promise will not make you as happy as you think it will.
” My mouth fell open in disbelief, but he decided to keep going.
“The recipes used in this restaurant and the new location once it opens, draw from generations of tradition in my family. I refuse to sign a paycheck for someone who views this position as a training ground for what they ultimately want.”
“So you expect someone to recreate the same recipes week in and week out?” I asked, still finding it difficult to believe. When he nodded, I asked, “Why not hire a trained monkey if that’s all you’re looking for?”
“Did the trained monkey win a cooking competition?”
A sharp pain lodged itself in my stomach.
That was a low blow. Nothing about him changed to reveal regret over taking such a cheap shot.
“We need each other,” he concluded, his cheek twitching beneath a thin layer of dark scruff.
“Let’s keep that in mind as you learn the ropes around here.
I’d advise you to familiarize yourself with the current seasonal dessert rotation and the typical bread service in the restaurant. Lucas can give you a hand with that.”
Which one is Lucas? He didn’t bother explaining further. I didn’t ask. I would have rather chewed glass than ask. “Sounds good.” I slid my binder into the backpack at my feet without saying another word about it, but that in no way meant he’d won. Not even close.
I’d bide my time for now, learn the ropes, and earn the respect of the crew now working happily and efficiently in the kitchen.
Then, I’d make Sebastian Kennedy look like the talentless hack he was by showing his loyal customers what they’d been missing out on all along.