Chapter 3
“Look sharp!” Chef yelled.
Looking up, Les saw the man stride into the kitchen, followed by a complete entourage of people. It was easy to spot the hierarchy of the group by dress and demeanor. The other cooks scrambled to straighten their stations and stand at attention as if this were some kind of military operation.
Les smiled and continued stirring. His crème pat waited for no one. It was as demanding as meringue when it came to needy attention.
“Hernandez.” Stevens coughed like he was in middle school trying to direct attention to Les.
Responding to his juvenile behavior only encouraged him. Les lifted his brows, smiled, and gave a generic nod to the group before returning to his stirring. When Chef needed his full attention, he would be ready, but the custard took precedence. Especially if these éclairs were going to be on the menu.
The muscle men of the group stayed by the doors to the front of the house, as the all-business woman with a tablet in her hands and the expensive fashion model followed Chef through the kitchen.
Les twitched his nose. The smells were all off. The big guys, they didn’t exactly stink, but they had a scent that wasn’t human. He knew what they were, and that meant the woman with the trench coat that cost more than his bike draped over her shoulders was someone he really did not want to mess with. Reputations were a beautiful thing. And hers preceded her with a motorcade.
“This is our dessert chef, Les Hernandez,” Chef said as they approached.
“Excuse me, Chef,” Les said as he lifted the boiled custard. “I just need to transfer this into a cooling pan.”
“It looks like you’re making custard?” the woman with the tablet asked.
“Crème patisserie. I’m making éclairs. Excuse me for not pausing.”
“I think we’ve all watched enough baking shows to know the importance of timing on a crème pat,” the fashion model intoned. Her voice lilted with a distinct accent.
“Les, this is Cyan del Fuego, head of Cyan Corporation the new owners of the Vista Antigua.”
Cyan leaned in close. He could hear a low purr deep in her throat. “I believe we have friends in common.”
Muscles in his core tightened involuntarily. Having one of her kind so close was unexpected. He wasn’t afraid or nervous. It was just… different.
“Morgan Palatine is my cousin.” Les typically didn’t play the ‘I know the alpha’ card. Somehow it seemed very prudent to let this woman know who his friends and family were.
“You’re a Hernandez? But you are Palatine. Then we shall be good friends. Your cousin Julia is a favorite of mine. Do you know Dr. Melinda Franks?”
A smile crossed Les’s lips. “Mel’s great, yeah, I know her.”
“She is practically family. My brother is in love with her. And you’re Palatine, that makes us practically family.” Her smile should have had more teeth, but she was still very much a daywalker.
Les pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth as his brain shifted gears, and he realized the connection. Mel was dating a musician who was also a vampire. It was positively scandalous, a shifter and a vamp. But not just any vamp, the chosen son of the Del Fuego empire.
“Yeah, I know who your brother is. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him.”
“I don’t know if I would call meeting Fernando a pleasure.” Cyan smiled and chuckled at her own humor. “Never underestimate family connections. We have a connection now.”
Les laughed. She was far more intimidating than he would ever let on, but he liked her.
“Kiss up.” It sounded like another barely suppressed cough.
Les rolled his eyes.
Chef audibly inhaled a deep breath through his nose. It was a precursor to a bellow.
Cyan rocked back, and with lightning speed, yet appearing to have made no effort at moving, she was suddenly standing in front of Steven’s station. A long thin finger tipped with a pointed claw like fingernail painted cherry red flicked out and stopped mere inches from his nose.
“You are neither witty nor amusing, and you are infinitely replaceable.”
Les pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth again, it was one of the more useful things he had learned as a kid who had next to zero filter when it came to blurting out the first thing that jumped into his brain. He successfully suppressed the urge to whoop, and yell, “burn” in a highly juvenile fashion. But Stevens had just gotten seriously owned by Cyan. It was stupid to pull such stunts in front of the owner. Most people had grown out of such childish behavior and did not put up with it in a professional setting. Les knew better, Stevens did not.
The freezer door banged shut. “Oh, sorry,” O’Connell said. All eyes turned to her as she stood awkwardly in the middle of the action.
“No, pardon me,” Cyan said. “We have come in here and interrupted your preparations. I am looking forward to tasting everything.” She trailed her sharp nail down the edge of a stainless table, careful not to touch any food or utensils.
Was that a scratch she left behind?
“Mr. Hernandez, I may have a special request of your skills,” she said as she stopped before stepping into the front of the house.
“I specialize in cheesecake, if you’re wondering.”
“I will take that under advisement.” She pushed past her guards, the woman with the tablet followed on her heels.
Les watched the door swing shut. Holy shit, the head of the Del Fuego coven was now essentially his boss. This seemed like the kind of information he needed to share with Morgan.
“What the fuck was that?” Stevens asked.
“That was the new owner putting you in your place. Pay heed Mr. Stevens, next time you piss off the owner you might not walk away with your job intact,” Chef said.
It was likely that Stevens wouldn’t walk away with his balls intact. Les couldn’t wait to watch that smack down. Cyan del Fuego was not just a pretty face, she was powerful and dangerous.
“And she wants to taste Hernandez’s goods,” Stevens quipped.
Hadn’t he just learned anything? Mocking Cyan del Fuego was a stupid game.
“Shut up, asshole,” Les growled.
“Gentlemen, if you want to remain employed, I suggest you both shut it and get back to work.”
“Yes Chef!”
“Hey Chef, is Ms. Del Fuego staying on premises, or was this just a drive by, so to speak?” Les asked.
“Ms. Del Fuego has taken the entire eighth floor for a prolonged period of time,” Chef said. He twisted his face and lifted his brows.
Great, they would all be under her intense scrutiny the entire duration of her visit, especially him. Les groaned. If he told Morgan she was here, he just knew he would be expected to make reports. Act as a go between. He couldn’t play dumb, as much as he wanted to. She already knew who and what he was. There was a very good chance Morgan already knew her whereabouts.
Damn it, Les was going to have to ride out to Mission Run and let Morgan know what was going on. Cyan del Fuego had the entire top floor for an undisclosed amount of time.