Scorched at the Bosi Compound

Chapter One

As always, the main kitchen of Beau Bosi’s Hawaiian compound had an aroma in the air that drew everyone there.

Coffee cups littered the long island in the center of Fabrice’s domain.

The morning’s freshly made pastries had been gone thirty seconds after Fabrice arranged them perfectly on tiered racks.

Being the head chef could easily have been a thankless job, but it wasn’t.

Not really. Fabrice loved watching people savor his food.

Every day was an ego boost. For most chefs, his position was a dream come true. For Fabrice, this was home.

Fabrice sat on a stool and drank his coffee.

He watched his sous chef, Jackie, chopping vegetables and fruit for snack packs.

Now, she had a thankless job. As Fabrice brought his cup to his lips, he froze when Kirkland made his appearance.

Fabrice hid a smile. Now he gave Fabrice’s eyes the nourishment they needed. Fabrice could watch him all day.

Kirkland O’Brien moved with the elegance of a proper gentleman.

He held his posture straight, his shoulders squared, and never smiled.

Kirkland also acted as if he worked for the Bosi household.

He did not. After years of serving as Atticus' butler, Kirkland had retired with Atticus to Hawaii when Atticus married Foster. Rather than enjoy an easy life, Kirkland kept showing up to a job he didn’t have.

Fabrice watched Kirkland converse with Jackie.

She smiled and nodded. Nothing about her demeanor screamed that she was bothered by Kirkland’s hovering.

Still, Fabrice whistled to get Kirkland’s attention.

When Kirkland looked his way, he was visibly annoyed.

Fabrice waved over. “Come. Have coffee with me.”

Kirkland’s features smoothed. He headed Fabrice’s way.

Fabrice loved to watch him walk. Every step he took was deliberate and graceful. He moved as if ensuring he didn’t make a sound. There was no hiding that he had worked for the highest caliber of homes. One who believed servants were neither seen nor heard.

Kirkland didn’t sit when he reached the island. The piece stood between them, and Fabrice hated that. They enjoyed this same song and dance every day and had for months.

“Sitting down on the job again, I see.”

His haughty tone made Fabrice smile even harder. “Oui. This is not only my kitchen, but it’s also my home. Yours too, I might add.” Fabrice motioned toward a nearby stool. “Join me.”

Kirkland hesitated, but he finally sat, as if he didn’t give in every morning and sit with Fabrice.

He didn’t look directly at Fabrice. Even as Fabrice poured Kirkland a cup, his light blue gaze stayed locked just beyond Fabrice’s shoulder.

His refusal to look at Fabrice gave Fabrice the freedom to check him out.

His hair had quite a bit of gray. There were the slightest lines at the corners of his eyes.

Fabrice wondered if his lack of wrinkles was from being younger than he presented or simply from always being expressionless.

“May I ask you a personal question?”

At Fabrice’s question, Kirkland’s gaze finally focused on him. He didn’t respond. His eyes made Fabrice forget what he had planned to ask for a second. Kirkland’s expression might lack emotion, but those eyes didn’t. They pled for Fabrice to take mercy on him.

Fabrice couldn’t do that. “How old are you?”

“That’s not the first time you’ve asked that. My answer is the same. I’m much too old for this nonsense.”

Kirkland confused the hell out of him. “What nonsense? Trying to get to know you? We live under the same roof. We sit here every morning.”

Kirkland dipped his chin. “Please ask me something else.”

He always stirred Fabrice’s curiosity with his non-answers. “Okay. Why do you always act as if you work here?”

For a moment, Kirkland simply stared at him, as if trying to come up with a lie. When he finally responded, he sounded unsure. “It’s difficult to go from running a household every day to having nothing to do. Retirement doesn’t suit me, I suppose.”

Fabrice got it. “I can imagine. Without a kitchen to run, I have no clue what I’d do with my time. I’m not very exciting, I guess.”

Kirkland’s shoulders relaxed a hair. “You have many friends here. I doubt you’re as boring as you claim.”

Fabrice chuckled. “Yeah, well. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, they say. I feed everyone here. How did you end up with Atticus?”

A slight smile touched Kirkland’s lips at the mention of the owner of the household he had served. “I worked for his father as a live-in nanny for Atticus.”

“How old was Atticus at the time?”

Each time Fabrice said Atticus, Kirkland softened a little more.

“Three. I worked as a waiter at a restaurant. Rush, Atticus’ father, ate there quite often.

He always brought Atticus with him. Not that he paid any attention to his son.

He was there for business meetings. I suppose having a child made him look legitimate.

He was never an actual father. When they came, they always sat in my section.

Atticus would stand on his chair and talk to me a hundred miles an hour.

” Kirkland softened even more. “I looked forward to those visits. Rush would pay me a couple of hundred bucks to keep Atticus occupied so he could do his business in peace. After a few months of this, Rush offered me a job I couldn’t resist. I became Atticus’ live-in nanny.

When he got old enough to need tutors, I used the free time to make myself as invaluable to the household as possible.

When Atticus left, he took me with him. Now I’m here. ”

Fabrice was blown away by how much Kirkland had told him.

He had never spoken to Fabrice so much. Kirkland usually sat with him, looking ready to run the entire time.

He had said he had worked for over thirty years for Atticus, since Atticus had been three.

Atticus was thirty-five. So Kirkland was likely somewhere in his early fifties.

Maybe. If he knew how old Kirkland had been at the restaurant, Fabrice could get a bigger picture.

Still, fifty was cool with him. He just had to keep Kirkland talking.

“I’ve been with Beau since I was four. My uncle is his head chef in California.

I went to live with him when my parents passed away. ”

A bright smile lit Kirkland’s face. “So you’ve been with him for what, fifteen years?”

The smile held Fabrice captivated. This was the first time he had gotten a genuine smile from Kirkland. He had to do whatever it took to keep Kirkland there for a little longer. Fabrice loved his company. He snorted. “Try more like twenty-five, almost twenty-six years.”

Kirkland’s smile dimmed but didn’t disappear. “You look sixteen.”

A loud bark of laughter burst from Fabrice. He covered his mouth.

Kirkland’s eyes swam with good humor. Fabrice dropped his hands. “I really enjoy your company. We should have coffee more often, with you willing, that is.” His gaze dropped to Kirkland’s cup. “Not that you touched yours.”

“I don’t like coffee.”

Fabrice's mouth fell open before he rallied. “Putain! How do you survive life? I want to say you’ve never tried mine, but Mon Dieu. I’m speechless. Why didn’t you say something before now? I could have been making you tea or whatnot.”

Kirkland chuckled. It was such a sexy sound. His laughter died as his gaze moved over Fabrice’s shoulder. His expression snapped closed. He stood. “I’ll leave you to your friend.”

Confusion slowed Fabrice’s mind. He didn’t get a chance to ask what happened.

Tidy slid into Kirkland’s place. He lifted Kirkland’s coffee. “This looks untouched.”

Fabrice made a dismissive gesture. “It’s yours.” He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He loved Tidy, but he had been making progress today.

Tidy didn’t seem to notice anything awry. “Nice.” He took a sip. “Delicious. I see Kirkland ran from you again.”

While chewing his bottom lip, Fabrice stared at the door Kirkland had disappeared through.

He tore his eyes away and focused on Tidy.

“Oui.” For some reason, Fabrice couldn’t bring himself to pass along the things he had learned.

Tidy also flirted with Kirkland quite a bit.

While he knew Tidy did it to tease him, there was still a part of Fabrice that wanted Kirkland to himself.

He knew that was childish. Fabrice’s heart didn’t care. “How are you this morning?”

Tidy chuckled. “Exhausted.”

He knew that tone. “Whose bed were you in?”

A laugh burst from Tidy. “Wow. Automatically went straight to calling me a slut.”

Fabrice blushed. “Sorry. I just—.”

“You’re completely right, of course,” Tidy said, cutting him off. “While the options are plenty with the number of guards here, I always seem to end my night with Jett.”

“Oh no. Not the house gossip.”

Tidy’s bright smile never dimmed. “That’s one of his many traits that makes him the most fun. Two in one special. Tea and a fuck.”

Tidy always made him laugh. Fabrice realized he smiled like an idiot. “You’re so bad.”

Tidy’s eyes flashed with something Fabrice couldn’t decipher. He spoke over the rim of his coffee cup. “You don’t know the half of it.” Tidy took a drink and went back to looking carefree.

Fabrice shook his head. Tidy was such a strange one. He was one of Fabrice’s closest friends, and Fabrice wasn’t sure he knew anything about Tidy at all.