Chapter 3
SEBASTIAN
“So then, I asked the pink elephant if he wanted a ride in my car, but he said there was no room. I guess I should upgrade to a pickup or something like that.”
I nodded slowly in response to Aiden’s story, only a few words of which had filtered into my consciousness so far.
Something about wanting to buy a new car?
It didn’t matter. My gaze remained trained where it had been since sitting at one of the tables in my dining room—on the large window in the door leading back to the kitchen, where I could occasionally find a golden head bobbing as its owner moved back and forth. What the hell was she doing?
“So instead, he offered me a ride on his back.” Finally, a slap against my arm stirred my attention.
I scowled at my friend, Aiden McConnell, before the stupidity of what he had just said sank in.
Vaughn Eastman and Grayson Daniels chuckled while I looked around the table.
“What the hell are you all talking about?” I asked, resulting in more laughter.
“I’m glad you finally started listening because I’m not sure how much longer I could have gone on with that story. Where the hell is your mind?” Aiden asked, tapping a finger against the side of his head and laughing as he sat back with his drink.
“Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.” Jackson Bennett joined us, dropping into the fifth chair around the table and brushing his overgrown blond hair away from his forehead.
Now that he was in town on a long-term contract with a few of the casinos, we made it a point to invite him to join us when he had the chance.
“What did I miss?” he asked after flirting his way through a drink order.
“Not much,” Vaughn told him, snorting. “Aiden was telling a story to see whether Sebastian over here was ever going to pay attention.”
“So far…” Aiden concluded, “… he’s too busy obsessing over his new pastry chef.”
“Watch it,” I warned, painfully aware of the number of guests who’d shown up tonight to see her like they had the past two evenings. Word sure got around quickly. “That’s not funny.”
“What are you so touchy about tonight?” Grayson asked without the laughter edging Aiden’s voice. “Are things not working out? She’s only been here, what, a few days?”
“The longest days of my career,” I confirmed. There wasn’t an antacid strong enough to calm the burning discomfort whenever I thought of her. The mere thought of her name left me rubbing my chest.
“You okay?” Vaughn wasn’t joking, setting his glass down and giving me a look of concern.
“We shouldn’t have done this here tonight.
This is supposed to be when we get together and unwind.
All you can do is worry over what’s happening in the kitchen.
” Now that he and his accidental wife, Nova, had ironed things out and were blissfully happy, he saw himself in a position to offer advice to the rest of us.
“How’s the new show shaping up?” Aiden asked Jackson, trying to be helpful and change the subject. For once, I could appreciate him being able to bounce from one topic to the next like an overstimulated toddler.
“One of my principal dancers dropped out today because she fell in love and is moving to Wichita. I wish I were joking.” He unceremoniously dumped a glass of whiskey down his throat, tapping it, and handed it back to the server for a refill.
“Sorry to send you right back, but I’m thirsty tonight.
” Rubbing his temples, he squeezed his amber eyes shut.
“Imagine. She would rather move to Kansas than work with you,” Aiden quipped, and even I could laugh.
“Don’t get me wrong, she tried getting in my pants…” he informed us once the laughter died down, “… when she was first cast. Like that would get her somewhere. I’m sick of women who think they can throw themselves at you to get ahead.”
That was one thing I could say Claudia had not so much as approached—quite the opposite. Whenever we ran into each other in the kitchen, she made it a point to look at me like a rodent had run across her foot. Granted, I felt pretty much the same toward her, so there were no hurt feelings.
Vaughn caught me looking through the window again and chuckled. “Why don’t you just go back there and get it over with? It’s where you would rather be.”
“Yeah, we won’t take it personally,” Grayson assured me.
“Speak for yourself. My friend invites me to his restaurant for dinner and drinks, and I expect a little hospitality.” Aiden nudged my ankle under the table. “So? Be hospitable.”
“I would, but I’m a hundred miles away,” I grumbled. “Honestly, she is much more trouble than she’s worth.”
“Oh, the new girl? The one who was on TV?” When I nodded, Jackson whistled softly. “She’s hot, at least. It can’t be bad to have her to look at in the kitchen.”
“Says the man who routinely complains about the dancers he watches all day long,” Grayson reminded him.
“When they’re fucking around with your career in their hands, they’re not so hot anymore, are they?” I asked.
Jackson nodded while accepting his second drink, which he sipped this time. “That’s true.”
“Are things that serious?” Grayson looked concerned.
“If she keeps trying to go behind my back to, you know, realize her vision?” I formed air quotes around the word and did my best not to gag. “Yeah, it’s serious.”
“Exactly what has she done?” Vaughn asked.
I almost wished he wouldn’t. His curiosity came from a good place, as the others did, but knowing that did nothing to ease the tightness in my chest and the buzzing in my head.
“It’s not so much what she’s done as what she’s talked about,” I explained.
“She has this enormous binder full of recipes she wanted to show me. She wants to develop new recipes to make her mark on my restaurant. She thinks that’s going to earn her a Michelin Star,” I concluded with a laugh. “She doesn’t have the first idea.”
“You’ve gotta be pretty innovative to get one of those, don’t you?” Jackson mused. “Like, really out-there and experimental. That’s not what you do here.”
“Thank you!” Maybe I said it a little too loudly—the bartender and a handful of well-dressed patrons sitting at the bar looked my way. I lowered the hands I’d thrown into the air and released a deep breath.
“Thank you,” I murmured once I’d calmed myself. “Maybe you should go back there and explain that to her because while I tried to explain it myself, I kept overhearing her talking about things she wants to try. I am not interested in her trying anything. She is here for her name, and that is all.”
“You sure as hell seem pretty busy around here,” Grayson observed, eyeing the busy room with its crisscrossing servers.
He wasn’t wrong. We were booked solid again, and a cursory glance around the packed dining room revealed more than a few guests craning their necks, trying to get a glimpse of what went on in the kitchen—in other words, trying to get a glimpse of her, hoping to get a selfie.
“Fucking sideshow,” I muttered, shaking my head bitterly. “That’s all it is.”
“Isn’t that the whole gimmick here in Vegas?” Jackson pointed out with a good-natured grin. “Get them through the door using a name, make them stay, and give you their money once you offer value.”
“He’s right,” Aiden agreed. “She’s the draw. She’s bringing people in for you and creating a buzz about the new restaurant in advance of its opening. That can only be a good thing.”
None of them got it. The more I pushed, the less they would understand. “I’m sure you’re right,” I muttered, biting back my bitterness for the sake of changing the topic.
Unfortunately, no such thing was possible since the kitchen door swung open, and the woman of the hour stepped out.
I was going to be sick.
Instantly, a barrage of cell phones emerged, all held up so their owners could capture footage of Claudia offering a brief wave to the people who had clearly assembled in hopes of meeting her.
The woman framed in the doorway was miles from the woman who had first entered my kitchen—polished, smiling, her glasses ditched in favor of contacts, her face made up.
It was a shame she looked so damn good.
“She’s smaller in real life than she was on TV,” Aiden mused. When I arched an eyebrow, he shrugged. “What? I saw her on a show last time I was at the doctor’s office. They had it playing in the waiting room.”
“Please.” Grayson chuckled. “I bet you were on the message boards, rooting for her to win the competition.”
“Cute,” Jackson murmured with obvious approval in his voice. “Very.”
“Don’t be fooled,” I warned through my teeth. For the sake of show, I maintained a pleasant expression, especially when Claudia passed our table.
“Sebastian,” she murmured, smiling warmly as she took in the faces of the men assembled around me. “Are these the friends I heard were visiting you tonight?”
What the fuck did she know about it? One thing about working in the kitchen—word intended to spread quickly. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with her knowing my friends would visit, but the idea of there being chatter surrounding my life didn’t sit well with me.
“Yes, these are my special guests tonight.” I made the introductions and watched her shake their hands while a few giggling young women seated nearby took photos and videos.
My skin prickled, and my collar felt too tight like it was strangling me.
What else could I do but sit back and play the part of the affable restaurateur?
Vaughn cleared his throat before sliding a guilty glance my way. “Would you mind taking a photo with me? My wife would love it. She’s watched the entire season of your show and is a big fan.”
“I’d be happy to.” She crouched beside him and smiled brightly while Vaughn took a selfie on his phone, then thanked her for her time.
“It’s my pleasure,” she assured him. Our eyes locked briefly before her gaze drifted away, but there was enough in that look to rouse my irritation.
She knew I hated this. She had to know I had made it clear.
None of this was my idea. “I’m sure if you gentlemen are hungry, they could rustle up something nice for you in the kitchen. ”
“I’m sure I can handle it, thank you,” I interjected.
“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.” She somehow managed to make it sound like an insult before moving on and greeting more of her fans.
Aiden blew out a soft whistle, settling back in his chair. “I don’t know how much work I’d get done with her around. Damn.”
“For once, could you not think with your dick?” I muttered, watching her, gauging her progress from the corner of my eye.
She played the part so well, carefully answering questions while accepting the adoration thrown so generously her way with an earnestness that made me want to jump to my feet and tell everyone within earshot range they needed to get their priorities straight.
She won a fucking cooking show. That didn’t mean she wasn’t about to walk on water anytime soon.
“You know what you need?” Vaughn decided.
“A visit to Dante’s club. Work out some of your stress.
” We had all invested in Dante West’s Vegas expansion and had visited more than once, indulging in the safety and anonymity the club provided.
It wouldn’t exactly be a good idea for any of us to openly show our faces there since we were all men with reputations in this town, but Dante believed in discretion above all things.
It was an appealing idea, but it didn’t excite me the way it normally would.
“I have too much to do,” I decided, getting up from the table when Claudia finished her tour of the dining room.
“Everyone ready to eat? I’ll send a server over here,” I told them, heading for the kitchen before anyone could respond.
It was time to talk about expectations, starting with this nightly sideshow.
The energy in the kitchen was hectic as ever, with voices overlapping and questions being called out.
“Surprise additions on table five! I just put in another two filets, medium-rare!” one of the servers called out as she finished assembling a bread basket, adding a trio of small ramekins to the tray.
“Hang on. What is this?” I picked one of the ramekins, holding them up for inspection. Seasoned olive oil. “Since when? This isn’t part of our bread service.”
“Claudia added it tonight.” The girl looked like she was ready to shit herself, trembling in the face of my anger. “I already had two tables rave about it.”
“Each version is meant to compliment the three types of bread sent to the table.” The sudden appearance of Claudia at my elbow was unwelcome, to say the least, even if she was the person who most deserved my aggravation.
Pointing to them one at a time, she explained, “Black olive focaccia, sundried tomato sourdough, rosemary sea salt.”
It was a small deviation. Some would say not worth getting pissed off about, but some people were not me, and I had every fucking reason to be exactly that.
“Maybe you didn’t get the memo,” I growled, keeping my voice low while the server scurried off with the tray.
“But you do not make changes like that without consulting me. Frankly, I don’t see how you have the time…
” I added with a smirk, “… with all the selfies you’ve been part of the past few days. ”
Most people would openly avoid openly rolling their eyes. She was not most people. “Oh, you mean when I was busy playing the part of the gracious celebrity chef?”
“Celebrity chef?” I almost choked on my tongue. “Do us both a favor and never call yourself that again. You sound ridiculous.”
A deep red, angry flush crept up her neck and spread across her face. “I forgot. You’ve already cornered the market on sounding ridiculous in this kitchen.”
Someone in the kitchen let out a long, high-pitched whistle in response to that.
The sound snapped me back to the reality of the situation, and the same seemed to be true for her.
Her eyelids fluttered, she lowered her head and trembled as she stared at my feet.
“I have guests to attend to,” I choked out, fighting for every breath before pushing the swinging door open.
They would see right away how flustered I’d become, no doubt, and would probably give me shit for it.
Instead, back at my table, Jackson held up a piece of focaccia glistening with olive oil. “This is the perfect pairing. I could make a meal out of this.”
Claudia hadn’t uttered another syllable, yet somehow, she’d gotten the last word.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.