CHAPTER ONE
Priya tried to braid her hair again for the fourth time, but she still couldn’t get the frizz fest to behave itself.
“It’s no use. I’m going to have to jump in the shower and drench it.”
It was the first day of her new life, and everything had to be perfect since she’d be working with “the” Braden Boss, a highly successful chef with his own TV show on The Food Channel.
She wasn’t horribly keen on having had to use her womanly wiles on the man to get the job, but her daddy always said, ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it.
’ And her triple D cup size surely became a definitive flaunting mechanism with this man.
Three years ago, she wouldn’t have had to stoop so low to allow her physical features to speak for her successes.
Her money and fame in the business world made her a respected woman back then.
But now, after everything she’d suffered, including her own dignity ripped from her, she found herself starting over.
Sadly, she had less than when she was fresh out of college, which proved to be the worst low of her life.
Because now? Now she needed to be content with playing second fiddle as a sous-chef to one of the most famous culinary brilliants in the business today.
Not that she couldn’t share the spotlight.
She was good at that, but given what she knew about Boss, he wouldn’t share it—he’d hog it.
The braid finally took shape after she drenched her hair, and she secured it with a hair tie before she let out a tremendous sigh.
“Please, my dear Lord, let me get through today with little to no problems. It will be bad enough to swallow my pride for the next 10 hours because the last thing I need is an ogling boss or a botched dinner.”
She put on a little foundation, blush, and mascara—not wanting to look as if she just came off the runway since what she had on was distracting enough.
The man—at least during the interview proved incorrigible, only hiring her for her perky assets, so she didn’t need to prove him right by gussying herself up to the nines.
He never looked north of her chest during the hour-long interview.
That alone convinced her the tabloids had been right.
He was a billionaire bad-boy who only had a serious relationship with his coffee maker.
Of course, she had something in common with his Keurig. The man knew how to push her buttons.
She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the door.
The drive to The Odd Duck wasn’t far from her apartment via the highway.
But come winter, she’d have to leave her house two hours early during a snow “storm” to use the back roads if she had any hopes of getting there on time.
Southerners weren’t exactly known for being able to drive in inclement weather.
Two inches of snow here would compare to a blizzard up in New England—at least according to her cousins from New York City.
Texas though? They shut everything down because they can’t treat the highways with massive car pileups.
And she was not looking forward to January and February, which were only a few short weeks away.
It was almost unheard of to land a job in the restaurant field so close to the holidays.
Sure, waitstaff positions were always open, but typically not management.
Not that Priya needed the money for Christmas gifts, most of her family was long since buried.
Still, since her divorce, she made it a point to look forward to treating herself with a lavish Christmas gift.
She felt she deserved it after the hell her ex put her through, and she wasn’t going to back down on such a thing this year.
It was the first year she could use money from a paycheck instead of her bank account, and she would take pride in herself for accomplishing so much in such little time.
She knew no one else at her age that had to start over.
Sure, some people go back to school and change careers after retirement, but she was far from her golden years, and she wasn’t about to live off her dividends alone.
No. She wanted a sense of accomplishment just like anyone else did in their barely thirties did.
She found a parking space a lengthy distance away from the restaurant under a streetlight and pulled in.
Once she turned the car off, she let out a long breath to steady her nerves before opening the door.
This was like her first job-first day jitters all over again.
She slowly placed both feet on the ground and locked her car, trying to stamp out some of her nerves before proceeding toward the entrance.
Her stomach did a few backflips as she tried to put one foot in front of the other to make it to the door.
Once through the threshold, a hostess greeted her.
Her eyes were half-mast and sunken in, and the hap-hazard eyeliner she applied appeared as if it was from the night before.
The bags under her eyes were the most prominent feature of her pale face.
She looked overworked and overloaded. Priya scanned the restaurant to see if the rest of the staff was just as tired and most likely hungover, and to her astonishment, it appeared they all were.
This was clearly something she needed to change if the place was ever going to appear upscale and professional.
The Odd Duck wasn’t a chain restaurant with a revolving door of employees.
It was established with the intent of being a leading dining experience from ingredients provided by local farmers.
The minute she knew she was interviewing with Boss, Priya began dreaming about Michelin Stars—not that The Odd Duck was even thinking about upscale.
They started out humbly like any other restaurant with an unusual yet awesome goal.
They only used ingredients from local farmers so they could provide a local unique experience, something Priya could get behind.
Now that he had hired her, she wanted the best recognition she could get for the restaurant and for Brayden.
Priya cleared her throat, plastered her biggest Southern smile, and asked where the boss was. The hostess’s eyes widened.
“We don’t call Mr. Boss ‘the boss.’” She said with air quotes. “He absolutely hates that. Just a fair warning since this is your first day, Ms.?”
“Priya Pant, but please, call me Priya! I’m not one for such formalities among adults I work with.
” She bounced out the words as she extended her hand to the hostess, whose lips seemed to thin to nonexistence by the minute.
The woman, who wasn’t much older than Priya, flicked her eyes to the extended hand and then back to Priya’s gaze.
“Um, you might want to rethink what you’ve got going on as a first impression. Because the formality of your name is about the only thing respected around here. Again—fair warning. Come on. I’ll show you to the kitchen.” She said as she turned on her heel and motioned for Priya to follow.
Priya lowered her hand and frowned. She was barely in the door and was already having one of the worst days of her life.
Who doesn’t shake hands? Clearly, none of them here! That needs to change.
Priya sucked in a breath as the hostess opened the door to the kitchen. She then motioned for Priya to walk in. Priya’s brow furrowed as the hostess turned to walk away.
“Aren’t you going to take me to Mr. Boss?”
“Hell no! I stay as far away from the kitchen as I can. No offense, lady? But good luck to you! Maybe I’ll see you outside for a smoke break. We like to have bitch sessions out there. Of course, that’s if you survive that long.”
Priya narrowed her eyes. “I don’t smoke.”
The hostess laughed loud and long. It almost sounded like a cackle.
“Well, you may not be a smoker now, but I predict you probably will start up soon! Mr. Boss isn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with. I figured I’d give you a fair warning since you didn’t figure that out from my candor at the door.”
Priya shook her head at the clearly deranged woman. There was little she could do to fix the girl’s attitude this early in her sous-chef career at The Odd Duck, but she vowed she’d try. She sucked in a long breath and headed into the kitchen.
A loud clanging filled the air, followed by a mouth so foul she wondered if the vegetables were still fresh.
“Son of a bitch! This sauce tastes like absolute ass! A five-year-old can do better! Make it again, God damn it! And this time—season it before you put that shit in the pan! You graduated from Cornell, for Christ’s sake! I expect the best from you, for fuck’s sake!”
Priya palmed her reddening cheeks. In all her years of growing up as a minister’s daughter, no more than two swear words passed her daddy’s lips. And now, her new employer, Braden Boss, said more explicit remarks in two minutes than she had ever heard in her entire lifetime.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What have I gotten myself into?
Braden looked up from the now crying young prep woman and locked his eyes on Priya.
“Thank God you are here! At least someone with an ounce of talent can help me with this fucking train wreck!” He said as he tossed his hands in the air.
“Come with me to my office, and we’ll go over some itineraries for today’s specials.
After that, I will have you work with Ms. Fucking Prima Donna right here, so my recipes come out the way I intended them to and not with an added flavor spin that sucks monkey balls.
The only way for this restaurant to succeed is for everyone to fucking execute the dishes properly!
” He said this in a low growl through gritted teeth before motioning Priya to another area of the kitchen with a door.