I stood up so quickly, I probably would have tipped my chair over had there been room. “Are you drunk?”
He shook his head. “Did you hate it last night?”
No. Yes. No. I crossed my arms, hugging my body against the wave of embarrassment that washed over me. “It was a mistake,” I told my shoes.
I didn’t have to see his face to know that he was smirking. “Hmm, you liked it then.”
My head popped back up. “It doesn’t matter what I like, Wyatt. You’re my boss! We work together. This is insane. And also, there are other reasons.” I couldn’t remember them off the top of my head, but I was certain they existed. Especially not with him looking at me the way he was, his eyes practically liquid chocolate as they sparkled and darkened, brightening all at once.
“We should try it again though.”
“Is that a suggestion?”
“A counterargument.” He stood up and leaned over, his hands planted on his desk—the desk that remained between us.
“It’s crazy. That’s what it is.” Crazy because I was thinking about it, because that wicked expression on his face had me considering it, had me thinking that maybe we should try it again.
“It’s not that crazy, considering.”
I raised one eyebrow at him, calling out his sweet-talking tactics. “Considering what?”
“Considering you’re the most beautiful, fiery, fierce woman I have ever met. Considering I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you. Considering the things I want to do to you have only gotten decidedly more depraved over the years.”
This was the part where I flailed around for a few seconds trying to catch my breath after I mis-swallowed, the spit dangerously going down the wrong tube. Obviously, I was a sex goddess and why wouldn’t he want to do all manner of wicked things to me? I bent over at the waist and desperately tried to wheeze in enough air to prevent myself from dying on the spot.
“Have some of my water.” Wyatt tried to pass me his glass, but I waved him off.
I didn’t need saving. I needed for him to stop ripping the rug out from underneath me with crazy talk.
“You’re telling me you’ve liked me since the day we met?” My voice was hoarse, still shaky from the ominous threat of more coughing.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think like is the right word to use. You can be difficult. And a little self-righteous. And from day one you’ve made it clear that we are in some kind of competition with each other and you’re willing to spill blood to win. But…”
My nervous energy flatlined. And so did my patience. “You don’t like me, but you want to have sex with me?”
“Geez, no!” He ran a hand over his jaw and wrapped it around his neck, hiding his tattoos from me. His lips twitched, and I knew he wanted to smile. “God, Kaya, it’s not like that at all. You can be those things. But you can also be unreasonably kind and patient. You’re competitive with me, but your challenge has made me a better chef. I don’t know what I would have done without you during this transition, during the kitchen takeover. You’ve done all that I’ve asked of you and more. And I’ve demanded an insane amount from you. I like you a lot. As a person, as a friend, as a chef. But there are times I also want to strangle you. And if I had to guess, I think you feel the same way about me.”
He hit the nail on the head. I did like him sometimes. And I respected him as a human and a chef, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a friend. But I also wanted to strangle him a lot.
Like more than was probably healthy.
“You like me and also hate me, and now you want to make out with me?” Was it possible to get this conversation with subtitles? I felt like I was completely missing something.
His smile was shy, self-deprecating, and irresistible all at once. I wanted to strangle him right now. Because how was it fair that he could look like that and make me feel like this by smiling?
“What I’m trying to tell you is that yes, we disagree, and sometimes yes, you’re downright scary, but I have always had a crush on you, Swift. From day one. But you had a boyfriend and then I had a girlfriend. Our timing has always been off. We’re finally both single. And now we’ve broken the seal. We kissed. It happened. And it was fucking amazing.” He dipped his head and looked at me from beneath lush lashes. My uterus jumped up and down in my body like it was trapped in a CrossFit session against its will. “Let’s do it again.”
I sucked my lip ring between my teeth and demanded my feet stay put. I wouldn’t run away from this. I couldn’t let him see me panic. He had all these inflated ideas of me, that were, fine, kind to my ego, but maybe not entirely true.
Like the scary part. I wasn’t scary. I was sometimes tenacious because I got tired of being walked on by bullish men. But that didn’t turn me into a villain.
It just made me… assertive.
Except at this moment, I was anything but. I wasn’t assertive. I wasn’t tenacious. I wanted to put my hands over my radish-red cheeks and flee from the building.
Flee from Wyatt.
I didn’t trust myself around him. I was already too enamored with him from kissing him. What happened if we kissed more? Or tried out other fun activities that didn’t include clothing?
I would become a full-on fan-club stalker and he’d have to get a restraining order taken out against me to get through dinner service.
Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. But Wyatt Shaw was trouble. Until now he’d been this alluring mystery, a perplexing enigma that piqued my interest and tempted me in the worst way. But now I knew him and what he wanted, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop this snowballing attraction we had for each other if I gave it even an inch of room. There would be no walking back from this, from him. There would be no coming out the other side unscathed.
If he continued to look at me like this and smile at me like this I was going to spontaneously combust. Or worse, let him get away with his flirting.
And when Ezra found out—and he would find out—without a doubt, Wyatt would keep his job, but my fate was questionable. It’s possible I would keep my job. Or get fired. Or get moved to another restaurant in the harem. I sure as hell would never get the head chef position at Sarita.
I did what any sane, rational thinking person would do. Even if I didn’t feel sane or rational. I doused the flames between us with ice cold water. “You’re sweet, Wyatt… but…”
He looked down at his hands and grumbled. “Fuck.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea. You’re my boss. Also, I fight with you more than I’ve ever fought with anybody in my life. We’re explosive together. Maybe that’s fun sometimes, but most of the time we just blow shit up. On a regular basis, we’d be a disaster of epic proportions.” I exhaled a shaky breath and jumped off the cliff of finality. “And I’m not willing to give up my career for a fun fling that will eventually end in a flaming ball of fire.”
I took a step toward the door, but he stopped me with a sound in the back of his throat. It was both angry and desperate at once. The employee inside me picked up on his disappointed fury and instantly cringed, awaiting his wrath.
“You’re looking around then?”
Another question that left me spinning. “What?”
“I’ve had the feeling you’re exploring other options since I took over. I’m not stupid. I know you think executive should have gone to you. I know it’s hard for you to work with me.”
There were so many things wrong with what he’d said. But there was also a lot right with it. I didn’t even know how to begin to tell him the truth. I could barely admit to Vera and Dillon what I was trying to do. There was no way I could share it with Wyatt.
Besides, I got the feeling that the last thing he wanted was for me to leave Lilou. How many times had he already said that he couldn’t run the kitchen without me? Maybe it wasn’t in that one online review, but it was everywhere else. The way he talked to me here. How he relied on me, leaned on me, shared with me. Despi
te our weird and warring feelings for each other, we had somehow developed the dependent, symbiotic relationship every great chef had with his sous.
A thought occurred to me. It was absolutely batshit, but so was Wyatt wanting to make out with me. I narrowed my eyes at him as the suspicion started to take root and turn into an idea, and just like that, it grew roots and branches and leaves and became a verbal, anger-driven accusation. “Are you trying to seduce me to stay at Lilou?”
His head snapped back, and his eyebrows drew down immediately. “What? No.”
“Tell the truth, Wyatt. I will not be toyed with in your pursuit of greatness.”
“That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. You know me better than that. I wouldn’t treat anybody like that, least of all you.”
“Good,” I said quickly. “Because it wouldn’t work. I’m a much stronger woman than that.”
Half his smile returned, softer than before, but no less dangerous. “Kaya, if all it took to get you to change your mind was dry humping in the cooler, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now because I wouldn’t be interested.”
My heart kicked with embarrassment. “You wouldn’t like me if I wanted to make out with you?”
“I wouldn’t like you if your mind changed that quickly and purposelessly because you were into me. I like you because of your strong opinions. I like you because you’re feisty and sharp and unwilling to change for anyone. Not even me and I’m your boss.”
His words hit me in the chest like a shove or a slap across the face. I stood there, totally and completely upended, trying to absorb them, understand them. He was the first person that had ever complimented my stubborn will and opinionated personality. The very first.
My friends felt that way. I knew they did. And I felt the same way about them. But most everyone else shied away from people with strong opinions and relentless drive. We were intimidating or weird. Or maybe our ambitions made us too self-centered to relate to. We were always so focused on our career and the path to get us where we wanted to go that we hardly ever picked our heads up and looked around at the needs of the rest of the world. I wasn’t proud of that, and I made a concerted effort with my friends, but there had been plenty of people that hated me because they felt trampled beneath my hunger to reach my goals.
My parents were forever annoyed by my sense of self, my need to make my place in the world. They wanted a sweet, docile daughter that was willing to live close to them for the joy of a quiet, uninterrupted life.
Nolan had only pretended to support my ideas and big plans, my drive and overwhelming need to do something with my life. Once I’d left Hamilton and it became clear that he wouldn’t join me, we’d had countless arguments. His abandoned promise was one of the reasons I knew I’d done the right thing when I broke up with him. He wanted a compliant wife, a woman to dutifully stand by his side and shut up until asked to speak. He wanted someone content with mediocrity.
Nolan had never been cruel or unkind about what he expected from me, but the belief system was as ingrained in him as it was that entire town. It was a small town that expected small things from its inhabitants. And while that was fine for other people, I could not get on board. Bending to that will wasn’t me.
I would never be content with small. Hell, I was desperate to get away from medium. I was a go big or go home girl all the way.
“You mean that?” I asked him, my voice barely above a whisper.
He held my gaze, his brown eyes darkening. “Yes. Nice bores me. I like you scary.”
We both laughed, his dry sense of humor felt out of place considering the heart palpitations in my chest. But it worked. He lightened the mood and I was finally able to suck in a deep breath.
“That said”—his expression grew serious again—“I can’t let you leave. I need you too much. Whatever they’re offering you, I’ll pay you more. I’ll double it if I have to.”
My heart quit palpitating. Only because it stopped beating altogether. “You’ll double my salary?”
He nodded. “If I have to.”
“Now you do.”
A deep chuckle tumbled out of him, zinging straight to my core and curling around my heart, coaxing it to beat again. “Who are they? I need to know who’s poaching my kitchen.”
“Nobody,” I assured him, anxious to keep him off the trail of Sarita. “I’ve been looking, but nobody has offered me anything. It’s wishful thinking at this point.”
He stared at me for a long minute, taking in my answer, weighing its truth, searching for the secrets I kept hidden away. Finally satisfied, he grunted a gruff, “Good.”
My stomach twisted with nerves and I felt inexplicably guilty. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should have told him what I’d been up to and hoped for. At the very least he deserved honesty. But Sarita seemed impossible at this point. Ezra was still on vacation. I’d had one lesson with Vera and I hadn’t even worked in the kitchen. There were too many unknowns still.
Better to keep it quiet until I knew if I could even apply for the position.
Wyatt shuffled to the door and grabbed the handle. “If you’re not going to make out with me, you should probably get back to it then.”
I turned toward him and couldn’t resist that wicked half smile of his and the words he’d said to me, the affirmations, the sweet confessions. Did Wyatt really like me? Not just as a sometimes friend or loyal employee, but like girlfriend potential?
It didn’t seem possible.
After all the grief we’d given each other through the years, he felt more apt to hate me than want to start a relationship with me. Except if I were honest with myself, fighting with him had never felt like fighting.
Our arguments had always shown how we challenged each other. It was like we were playing tag. Or chess in our more sophisticated moments. There had always been a heart-pounding competition to it.
That would have been enough for me. I enjoyed our headbutting bouts. I had fun with them. Fun with… him. Even if it felt like World War Three between us sometimes. But now he’d gone and said everything else. He’d admitted to liking me for me. Now I couldn’t unhear his life-giving affirmations no matter how badly I wanted to.
I paused by the door, knowing this would only complicate things between us even more. But my body was moving on instinct and my fingers were already pressed against his crisp black chef coat.
His body stilled beneath my touch. Enjoying his reaction more than I should have, I stepped forward and pressed my body against his. The kick of his heart beneath my palm was the final incentive I needed.
My left hand slid behind his neck, putting pressure on the warm column, bringing his face closer to mine. “Thank you for saying what you did, chef.” His eyes lit with anticipation. “They make me hate you a little bit less.”
I pressed my lips to his in a sweet, lingering kiss that only held the promise of something more. He wanted more, but I wanted to give him something more meaningful.
And so, we kissed in that slow, tantalizing way that made my toes curl from the frustration layered between the sweet tease of it. I nibbled his lower lip and ran my tongue across it, promising wickedness I wasn’t sure I could deliver. He made a sound in the back of his throat, half groan, half satisfied moan and I wanted to strip us both down and see exactly how far he was willing to take this.
But I didn’t.
I pulled back, taking a step away from him to catch my breath. Then I fled from his office and into the safety of the kitchen. I knew my cheeks were blazing red and I was visibly out of breath, but I needed the kitchen, the buzz of it. I needed the clanging of pots and the bustle of my coworkers. I wanted the sweet smells and the sizzle of the grill. I needed my equilibrium to return and for steadiness to settle in my soul.
Because Wyatt had taken them from me. He’d flipped me upside down and turned me inside out and then left me to piece myself back together.
I didn’t get giddy about men. I certainly wasn’t infa
tuated with them.
Not even when they said the sweetest things and turned out to be so much more than I ever gave them credit for. Not even when they looked like a demigod and tasted like sin.
Not even when they were Wyatt fucking Shaw.
From this moment on, I would get over him and this new and sudden attraction between us. I knew I kept saying that, but this time I was for real.
Wyatt was becoming a problem I couldn’t afford to ignore. A problem that felt too big and too complicated to solve. A problem that also felt like a solution. I shook my head and decided I needed to stop trying to figure it out, figure him out. Mostly, I needed to stop kissing him.
And I would. I would stop all this nonsense and put my career back on the pedestal where it belonged and forget about my crazy, stupid, hot boss.
Starting… now.
Chapter Twelve
“Son of a bitch!” I shouted at the full glass of Diet Coke that slipped from my hands and crashed to the ground. Miraculously, the glass didn’t break thanks to the rubber mats beneath my feet, but I did end up with sticky soda all over my shoes.
My shoes would never be the same. Damn it.
“How’s it going over there?” Vera called across the kitchen.
I bit my tongue to keep from telling her exactly how it was going. Because that explanation would have involved more expletives. An excessive number of expletives.
“Have you ever bussed tables before?” I called back, already knowing the answer. At least I thought I knew the answer.
“I ran a food truck, sweetheart,” she sassed back. “I worked the whole damn operation by myself.”
I rubbed the sole of my shoe on my pant leg, hoping to wipe off the remaining liquid, then I set my foot down and realized that my pants as well as my shoes were wet now. So there was that. “Yeah, yeah, you’re superwoman. But have you ever bussed tables at a real restaurant before?”
The entire kitchen burst to life with “oohs” and “burns” and someone even snuck an “oh, snap” in there. I blushed but held my ground.
Vera’s head tipped back, and she laughed at my dig. “Can’t say that I have.”