“What about when he’s wrong?”
She held my gaze, leaning forward so I could see the honesty in her expression. “Then we know you have our backs. And he knows it too. That’s why you’re sous and Benny’s not. He respects you, Kaya. Give him a break.”
I took a bite of my now cold oats. “Fine, he respects me. He knows I’m not going to take his shit. That’s as far as it goes with us. The rest was … sleep deprivation.”
“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She laughed, but finally dug into her cold breakfast too.
“Don’t tell Ezra,” I whispered, nervous that mentioning her brother’s name would put the idea in her head.
“What?”
I lifted my eyes and met hers, more afraid of this request than of accidentally making out with Wyatt again. “You can’t tell Ezra that I made out with his executive chef. First, it’s complicated because Wyatt is my boss. I don’t know the exact protocol for intra-kitchen relationships, but I’m positive they’re frowned upon. And second, when I apply for Sarita for real, I don’t want Ezra to think Wyatt’s good opinion of me is skewed. If he even has a good opinion of me. I… I would like to get Wyatt’s recommendation without it feeling like a sexual favor.”
“Wyatt would never—”
“Yeah, maybe Wyatt wouldn’t. But I don’t want the perception to be there. I don’t want Ezra to think that…”
“Ezra wouldn’t,” she promised. “I know my brother and I know how much he respects Wyatt. He would never assume that about either of you.” I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up her finger and added, “Besides, other people’s opinions matter very little to Ezra. He’ll only hire a person one hundred percent qualified for that job. He would never take someone else’s word for it.”
“I don’t know if that makes me more nervous or less so.”
She laughed at me again. “Seriously? Chill, Kaya. You’re so worked up about a few kisses with one of the hottest men on the planet. You said it yourself, it’s not going to happen again. Relax and take what happened as the compliment it is. Wyatt Shaw thinks you’re a sexy beast. Own it, friend. And stop worrying about all the rest.”
I sucked in a steadying breath and let the truth in her words ground me. She was right. I didn’t know what Wyatt was thinking, but I knew myself. I was strong-willed. Independent. Tougher than fucking nails. I had self-control for days and days.
Even though Wyatt and I had made out once, that didn’t mean it was going to happen again. I had that power. I would just avoid him altogether and try not to find myself alone with him ever again. And also, maybe I wouldn’t look at him for a while either, because Dillon was so right about him being one of the sexiest men on the planet. I had acknowledged that long ago.
The point was, I wasn’t going to accidentally fall into his arms again and let my mouth land on his. Consequently, there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
Besides, kissing him had been a fluke.
A weird, crazy, unbearably hot… fluke.
Tonight, we would be able to work together without any of the tension that had plagued us recently and we’d get back to our normally scheduled hate-fest. I would spend tomorrow night working with Vera at Sarita and I would be one step closer to the dream.
My dream. The one that took me away from Lilou and into my very own, five-star kitchen.
No man was worth losing sight of that dream.
Not even Wyatt fucking Shaw.
Another text blinked across the screen of my phone. Get here already, woman. I want to see you.
The butterfly riot that marched across my belly was enough to call me a liar, but I mentally held my ground. Goals, Kaya. Dreams. A lifelong legacy that did not include my boss. I just needed to focus and stop daydreaming about that kiss and those deep brown eyes and all those secret smiles that I was too quickly growing addicted to.
Chapter Eleven
Four hours later, I had to chant the promises to make my dreams come true like an incantation. I thought if I believed in them strongly enough, they would come to fruition. That was difficult when a certain someone apparently had other ideas in his big, stupid head.
The trouble had started when Dillon and I walked in the door to Lilou, ready to start prep for tonight’s service. Wyatt had caught sight of us almost instantaneously. He’d popped out of his office and held up his hand in the smallest of waves. His other hand had offered a creamy iced coffee that I hadn’t been able to turn down. Despite Dillon’s raised eyebrows and giddy smile.
I’d tried to remain neutral and returned a simple thank you. That was when he pulled out the big guns. His eyelids had lowered to that dreamy, bedroom look that gave me goose bumps all over my body and his lips had curled into a soft smile when he mouthed, “Hey.”
A mouthed hey shouldn’t have sent me into a tailspin of frantic emotions and even more panicked thoughts, but it had. Why? Because this was Wyatt and up until yesterday, he preferred growling and snarling over actual words!
Things had only gotten worse from there. He’d stopped by an hour ago to help me mince onions and chop herbs. And then ten minutes ago, he’d brought me a cold bottle of water and set it down next to me without saying a word or asking if I even wanted the damn thing. Apparently, he was very concerned with my hydration.
I did want the water. I was always hot in the kitchen and subsequently always thirsty. Maybe I was thirstier than usual today. Fine. I could admit that. Anyone would be thirsty with Wyatt walking around, being nice, not yelling…
Also, the kitchen was very hot today. Did I already say that? The point was, he should have at least asked if I wanted water.
I let out a slow breath and decided banging my head against the wall wasn’t going to solve any of my problems.
“There you are.” Wyatt rounded the corner, another one of those secret smiles appearing as soon as our eyes met. “Can I go over a few things with you about tonight?”
My breath caught in my throat, but I wrestled it into a shaky exhale. “About the kitchen?”
One half of his mouth kicked up in a smirk. “Yes. About the kitchen.” He tilted his head toward his office. “Come on.”
“In there? Are you sure?” I spoke softly as to not alert the few people in the kitchen.
But he’d already walked ahead of me and didn’t hear my pathetic reservations.
“Strong, independent woman,” I whispered to myself. “Tough as nails. Remember that.”
I reluctantly followed Wyatt into the office and immediately felt an embarrassing blush creep up my neck and tiptoe across my cheeks. The corner of his desk was a particular place I needed to ignore if I wanted to avoid spontaneously combusting in a ball of nerves.
Taking a seat in the chair across from his desk that was squished between a bookshelf neatly organized with trophies, awards, notebooks, business manuals, and a filing cabinet, I intentionally left the door wide open. Hopefully Wyatt would take that as a sign I had moved on. And also, that I didn’t trust him.
Even though I hadn’t moved on and I did trust him.
He read the truth all over my face as he sat down in his chair, his smirk becoming more and more wicked with every passing second. “You look a little tired today, Kaya. Did you sleep okay last night?”
“I didn’t if you must know,” I told him in clipped tones. “I barely slept at all.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
There was something hidden in his voice, some kind of clue that he wanted me to catch and I was curious enough to take the bait. His body seemed relaxed, and I couldn’t help but notice that the black bags beneath his eyes were slightly less pronounced. The redness to his pupils had all but disappeared. “You look better rested though.”
His grin came out in full force, stopping my heart and tap dancing all over my fresh resolutions to stay away from him. “I slept better than I have in
months last night. Like a baby. I woke up this morning and I have to tell you, I felt great.”
My lip curled over my teeth for a nanosecond before I was able to smooth out my reaction. “How nice for you.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a laugh. Only I knew it couldn’t be a laugh because Wyatt didn’t laugh. “I think I have you to thank for it.”
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
We weren’t doing this. Not now. Not here. Not ever.
The thing was, I was great at denial. The best if truth be known. But if he opened the conversation I thought he was leading to, especially right before dinner service, I was going to melt into a humiliated pile of goo. As a result, dinner service was going to be a disaster and then Ezra was going to fly home from vacation to fire me. I was never going to get Sarita and I’d have to move back home with my parents. And, oh my god, I’d have to marry Nolan.
Hell, no.
Instead of letting Wyatt watch me freak out, I swallowed my laundry list of fears, neutralized my expression and asked, “Did you say you wanted to go over tonight’s service?”
“There are important reservations tonight that I wanted to make you aware of.”
I pulled a notebook from my apron and got ready to take notes. We were back in familiar territory and it felt good. All I needed now was for him to yell at me later tonight and reduce me to near tears—we would be one hundred percent back to normal.
Wyatt rattled off the VIPs coming in tonight—mostly people with money or local politicians or both. There were also people that were vaguely friends with Ezra and he had promised them a tour. Unfortunately, we would have to dance around that during service and whichever careless waiter was put in charge of the behind the scenes look. Never a super enjoyable experience because it was obnoxious to have people in your kitchen that had little regard for health and safety, and food inspectors, but it was something we accepted. We went over a few more notes about staff and topics he wanted to talk about in our meeting. We wrapped it up with a brief discussion of a new dish he wanted to introduce on the summer menu.
“Fish and chips is hardly groundbreaking,” I told him, frowning over his latest nouvelle idea.
“Yeah, but we would put our spin on it. Make it amazing.”
“I don’t see how battered fish fits Lilou’s menu. Ezra likes things old school. Besides, it’s not exactly up to par with the other protein dishes we offer.”
“That’s the point. Lilou isn’t accessible. It’s outdated and stuffy. I want to make the menu more inclusive, add a few more classic options that feel brand new.”
“Isn’t that what Vera and Killian are doing with Salt?”
He snapped his fingers excitedly. “Yes! But also no. Vera and Killian are extending her philosophy from Foodie. They’re doing all new Americana with a twist. They’re taking already trendy food and putting their spin on it. I don’t want to do exactly what they’re doing. However, from when Vera had her food truck parked across the street, I know there is an outcry in this city, particularly this area, for that kind of familiar food. People want to eat here, but they also want to have a handle on what they’re eating. Everybody is a food critic these days. Everybody thinks they’re a foodie. Thanks to Netflix and Top Chef, our customers come into this restaurant with an expectation that they can pick apart our dishes with earned expertise. And then they have our food, don’t understand what the fuck they’re eating and rip us apart afterward.”
“You mean in Yelp reviews?”
He leaned forward, his eyebrows drawing together. “Yeah, in Yelp reviews, on Google and Instagram accounts that somehow have garnered thousands of followers. Our social media presence is tanking.”
“I thought you said our waitlist was six months long?”
“For now,” he growled. “But it’s not a sustainable expectation if we keep churning out the same old shit day after day.” He slid forward in his chair, growing animated with his argument. “Vera and Killian are going to blow up as soon as Salt opens. That’s a given. Those two are powerhouses on their own, imagine them together.” He had a point. “If Lilou wants a chance in hell at surviving that kind of competition, we’re going to have to mix things up. We’re going to have to take risks and try new things. We’re going to have to up our game.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“A deconstructed hamburger, for instance. It will still have the Lilou flare. Wagyu of course, with heirloom tomatoes and artisanal gruyere cheese. I’m thinking a champagne glaze and maybe some kind of caviar garnish. Expensive, interesting, but comforting.”
I leaned toward him, eating up every word, totally enraptured by his vision. It was genius and ballsy and impossible all at once. “What else do you want to add?”
He smiled and pulled out a notebook from the side drawer of his desk. “A modernized Croque Monsieur, with an American twist. It would convey easy, nostalgic, but also elegant and sophisticated; a fancy grilled cheese and tomato soup option. I’d use pork belly instead of the traditional ham; finishing it with whipped brie. We could call La Parisienne to find out what loaves they have available for our kitchen, maybe something with olives and rosemary—the entire city knows their baker is extreme. I’ve been playing around with these tomato soup bites. Warm soup injected into a hollowed out cold cherry tomato. I want it to be this surprise bite of comfort food that just bursts to life in your mouth. I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but I think I’m headed in the right direction.”
I stared at him. Who was this man? I had expected a Killian clone. Not a man willing to go head to head with Killian to hold his place at the top of this city’s fine dining experience. At the very least, I expected a man that towed Ezra’s line because he was more afraid of losing Lilou than his identity. “Have you talked to Ezra about this?”
He nodded. “A bit. He hasn’t, uh, exactly approved my direction. But I think he’s open to change. I think losing Killian has been an eye-opening experience for him. And it would kill him to lose to Killian at anything, but especially in this.”
“The reservation list is still months out though. Ezra doesn’t have a whole lot of incentive for change.”
He shrugged, hiding his notebook away again. A pang of something bloomed across my chest. His notebook was like his diary, the place where all his most secret and intimate thoughts flowed. It was instinct to hide it away, to protect it. Not only would it expose his still formulating ideas if someone found it, but it would also give them away.
It was like the holy grail. In his hands, his potential for success was unlimited. But if it fell into the wrong hands, his work would be for nothing. They would take his thoughts, his ideas, his innovative risks, and make them their own, claiming their origins.
There probably wasn’t anybody in this kitchen with the balls to do that, but this was a cutthroat industry where creativity was questioned every day. It was unfairly easy to accidentally mimic someone’s brilliant dish or abuse inspiration based on someone else’s hard work. Integrity was preached, but rarely practiced. We were all paranoid at best, raving conspiracy theorists in our worst moments of insecurity.
“I’m not worried about months down the road,” Wyatt admitted. “We have this brilliant, complicated menu that makes no sense to seventy-five percent of our patrons. I’m not saying I want Lilou to be known as the best snobby burger joint in the country, or that I want any old Joe to wander in off the streets to order something to go. But I do want to meld together old world culinary with new world innovation. I want to update our painfully outdated menu and give our diners something they recognize, but also something that will change their entire definition of what good food is and how it can change their life. I want to welcome Killian and Vera to the neighborhood and then fucking annihilate them on every level.” He grinned, showing his teeth and sending sizzling heat spiraling through me.
My chest squeezed again and this time I recognized the feeling
as jealousy. This was brilliant. Incredible. Fucking genius. If he got his way, he was going to be the guy responsible for evolving Lilou into her best version yet. It wasn’t a totally original idea, but it was in this caliber of fine dining.
And he was right about Salt. It would kill us the second it opened unless we did something innovative, something that could truly compete with it.
Most chefs, for that matter, aspired to mimic Lilou’s style, not skydive off the precipice to become more relatable to the common man. Wyatt not only saw the need to up our game before Salt became real competition, but he also recognized the necessity of keeping our social media game on point. I was blown away by his foresight and insight into the industry. He saw years down the road and knew what he had to do today to keep us at the top.
“I’m impressed, chef. This is a good idea.”
His eyes sparked with the compliment, but his words surprised me. “You shouldn’t say that.”
That look was back, the one that had gotten me into so much trouble last night. One part confident, sexy man, two parts vulnerable and open.
“Say what?” I whispered.
“Chef.”
“But you are a chef.”
His jaw ticked. Anger, I thought immediately. But it wasn’t. It was something else. And now it had me questioning every single time I’d seen it before. “And I like it far too much when you remind me.”
I laughed a breathy, girly sound. I couldn’t help it. Now he was flirting with me? Opening up to me? Sharing his plans for the future with me?
“Wyatt, what are you doing?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he struggled to swallow. My eyes tracked every second of it.
“I’m trying not to kiss you, Kaya. I thought that was obvious.”
Now it was my turn to nearly choke on my tongue. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re beautiful.”