Across the Miles (The Not So Bad Boys of Rock #1) (3 page)

I was only scheduled to be in L.A. for two days, and I intended to make the most of it. I was going to check out as many restaurants as I possibly could, do a little shopping, and visit the beach. I had never seen the ocean; most of my beach hopping had been spent on Lake Michigan, which was by far and away the most beautiful body of water I had ever seen. I had seen photos of the ocean, and they paled in comparison to Lake Michigan’s deep blue waters. Even though I had my favorites, I still wanted to check it out, just to say I was there and had dipped my toes in the water. I didn’t plan on swimming though, I had watched enough shark movies to know that you couldn’t get eaten alive if you remained on the beach.

I slipped in my earbuds and fired up my music app, choosing a song by my favorite band, Paradox, then leaned back against the small pillow, closing my eyes, thankful that the Dramamine had already begun to take effect. I felt the plane begin to back up, a sensation I greatly detested, waiting another fifteen minutes before feeling the plane’s speed increase rapidly as we descended down the runway and lifted off the ground. I heard the
soft sounds of Sebastian Miles, his deep voice serenading me as sleep began to take over. I hadn’t slept well the night before so I welcomed the darkness as it overtook me.

A jerking motion awakened me from my slumber as the plane began to descend. I rubbed my eyes then looked at my phone to check the time, I had slept for over four and a half hours. As my mind continued to take in my surroundings, I realized that the same song was still playing, I must have had it on repeat, which meant that he had been singing to me for nearly five hours. I instantly felt sorry for my cabin neighbors, praying that the noise level had been low enough that they hadn’t had to listen to the same song over and over. That would have driven me nearly insane.

The plane touched down fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, and once again I was thankful for having chosen first class as I was among the first passengers to exit. I hadn’t checked a bag so I made a hasty retreat through the terminal and out to an awaiting taxi. I gave him my destination and soon we were on our way, speeding through the nightmarish traffic that makes up the Los Angeles freeway.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to The Westin Bonaventure Hotel. I stepped out, looking around in an attempt to take it all in. I turned toward the entrance and was promptly escorted to the lobby by an elderly bellhop with a friendly smile. I gave him a generous tip for his kindness and approached the front desk.

The elevator stopped on the eighteenth floor, and I made my way down the hall toward my room. Once inside, I dropped my bag onto one of the beds, walking over to the large windows showcasing a view of the surrounding city. I had arrived. I dashed off a quick text
to Donnie and Jade, letting them know I was safely in L.A., and took a quick shower before heading out for a bite to eat. I’d heard great things about the hotel’s signature restaurant, so I made my way to the thirty-fourth floor and stepped up to the reservations desk to inquire about a table for one at the exclusive L.A. Prime.

Seated on the far side of the restaurant, along the bank of windows that helped make this restaurant famous, I sipped my wine and stared at the Hollywood sign in the distance. The waiter came by with a fresh glass of wine before taking my order. The streets below bustled with traffic, both vehicle and pedestrian, and I was reminded of my most recent trip to New York City with Donnie. He had taken me there to attend a food and wine event, with the hopes of helping me mingle with the upper elite in the food industry. I loved the electric atmosphere, full of energy and excitement. That was exactly what I felt when gazing down at the street below. Electricity was everywhere, and I don’t mean just in the hundreds of thousands of lights that adorned the surrounding signs and buildings. This town was electric because it was alive.

The first course was placed before me and, as I gazed down at the gorgeous plate of food, I couldn’t help but smile. I had ordered one of the appetizer specials, braised double-cut pork belly with a pinot noir reduction and Fuji apple butter. The pork was so tender I didn’t need a knife. I took a small forkful, swiping it through the apple butter, and raised it to my lips. Small explosions of flavor burst forth on my tongue, bringing a smile to my appreciative lips. Oh, how I loved dining on pork. Soon after finishing, my plate was cleared, and a silver dish of sorbet was placed in front of me, just two small scoops was all that was required to cleanse my palate. In one swift motion, the silver dish was removed, and my entrée
was presented carefully before me.

“Enjoy your meal, Mademoiselle.” I picked up my knife and fork and, true to my culinary training, sliced precisely down the middle, revealing a perfect medium rare cut of beef. I had ordered one of my favorites; steak au poivré with assorted black and pink peppercorns and a brandy demi-glaze, which paired perfectly with the 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley that I was currently enjoying. I love food. Food doesn’t scare me, it doesn’t demand anything of me, it just sits there waiting for me to turn it into something amazing, and I do it gladly. I love being creative with food; I’m good at it. It’s what I know, and it makes me happy when nothing else does.

I woke to sunshine
and blue skies unlike any I had ever witnessed. I couldn’t wait to explore the city after my interview. I dressed in my navy blue pencil skirt and white blouse, throwing the matching short jacket over my right shoulder as I headed out the door, my chef’s coat packed neatly in my handbag. The drive to the restaurant didn’t take long, I paid the cab driver, stepped out onto the busy sidewalk that made up the heart of the downtown district, and immediately felt at home.

The interview process took over two hours. I met with two of the managers before they sent me into the kitchen for my food preparation test. I was supposed to cook one of the restaurants signature dishes. Having been sent the list of dishes ahead of time, I knew right away which I would choose to re-create. Lardon’s was known for their beef Wellington, a hard dish to perfect for the average chef, but I was no average chef, and I wanted this job. By the time I brought it out of the oven, the color on the puff pastry was a beautiful golden brown. I just prayed that my timing had been as perfect as the other fifteen
times I had prepared it before arriving in L.A. When I sliced into the elegant package, I knew instantly that I had hit it out of the park, the meat was a perfect medium-rare. I went about plating the dish, adorning it with glazed petite carrots, whipped potato mash, and a red wine demi-glaze. Satisfied with the finished product, I walked the plate over to the managers, placing it before them with a slight nod, before turning and moving off to the side to observe them as they tasted my creation.

After quite a bit of sampling and nodding, their heads pressed tightly together as they discussed their thoughts of me. I was anxious, not sure what to expect, but I was confident enough in my cooking to assume that they were impressed, if not surprised.

“Miss. Caldwell, that was a very impressive replication of Chef Wolf’s signature dish.” Kimberly Mathews, Lardon’s general manager, informed me. “A lot of chefs wouldn’t be able to nail that as well as you did, and at such a young age. It’s clear that you have what it takes. I think it is safe to say that Mr. Wolf would want to meet with you and sample your talents. As you may know, we are looking for an executive chef for a new venue that he is opening in nine months, right here in L.A.” My heart both sank and soared at the same time; I thought that I was competing for a position here at Lardon’s. “Mr. Wolf is out of the country at the moment; he is scheduled to return in six weeks. He’s in London preparing for the opening of a new restaurant, Lardon’s of London. I can have him call you when he is ready to move forward if that works for you.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you for the opportunity,” I smiled gratefully. “I look forward to hearing from him upon his return to the states.” I stepped forward and shook both of their hands. “It was an honor
to meet you both. Good day.” I breathed a sigh of relief as I exited the restaurant and stepped back onto the bustling sidewalk. I hailed a cab back to the hotel and sank into the seat as the driver lurched forward.

I quickly changed into
a pair of black yoga shorts and a pink tank top; exposed pale flesh stared back at me, begging to be sunburnt. It had been a long Michigan winter, and the West Coast climate was exactly what I needed to brighten my day. I slipped my small purse over my shoulder and headed out onto the busy street, making my way back to the heart of the downtown district. After browsing through a few small boutiques, I grabbed a coffee and flagged down a cab, asking him to take me to the beach. I wanted to go for a leisurely walk and enjoy the rest of my afternoon, before grabbing a plane back to Michigan tomorrow. The beach wasn’t far away, and I made my way to the pier and sat down on a bench to finish the last half of my coffee, completely lost in thought.

“Mind if I join you?” came a deep voice, sounding a little out of breath and dangerously close. I turned and gasped, immediately drawn to the sapphire blue eyes staring back at me. Butterflies instantly began fluttering around in my empty stomach. My gaze flitted over his face, and I couldn’t help but linger over the pair of perfectly shaped lips that turned up into a slight grin when I didn’t stop staring. Two small silver studs winked at me from the lower right side of his mouth. They were called viper bites. I only knew this because one of the young guys that worked kitchen prep at my restaurant had the same piercing. On him, it looked slightly weird. On this guy, it was unbelievably hot. He looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on where I had seen him. Perhaps he was one of the many famous
people that adorned this city, or maybe he just resembled one of them. Either way, he was breathtaking, and for a brief moment, I completely forgot what had led me to sit on this bench in the first place.

CHAPTER TWO

“I don’t own the bench,” I shrugged, sliding over to leave plenty of distance between us, instantly regretting the separation.

“I just need to catch my breath.” He huffed a bit before resting his elbows on his knees, breathing slowly and deliberately.

“If jogging is this difficult why do you even bother?” I asked flippantly, then covered my mouth when I realized how nasty I’d sounded. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude, it’s been a busy two days.”

“That’s quite alright. I often ask myself the same question when I get dressed to come out here. But, after a while I get lost in the rhythm and remember how good it makes me feel,” his smile brightened as he spoke. “It’s just that my life got complicated, and I haven’t been out here for a little while.”

“Oh, sorry,” I offered, unsure of what to say next. He looked like he wanted to spend time chatting, but I just wanted some time to myself to reflect on how the interview had gone. Donnie had asked me to call him the
minute I was finished, but I couldn’t very well do that with a dark-haired stranger sitting next to me, listening to my personal business. No, I needed to excuse myself before I got sucked in.

“You look distressed, everything okay there honey?” I grimaced at the term of endearment.

“What did you just call me?” He looked as if he didn’t understand my question. “Why did you call me honey? You don’t even know me.”

“Because of your hair, it reminds me of the honey jar that sits on my mom’s kitchen counter,” he shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend you, you just appear to have a lot on your mind. I don’t mind listening if you want to share.”

“I don’t normally open up to people that I don’t know.” I replied, skeptically.

“Sometimes talking to a stranger can be better than someone you know, kind of like a judgment-free zone.”

“Maybe.” I shifted my feet nervously on the sandy surface beneath me. “I just feel a little unsettled, like I should be doing something exciting with my life. I came out to L.A. for a job interview. I’m a twenty-four-year-old chef, I graduated at the top of my class, and I have a successful job that I love back home. I think I aced my interview, but now I’m terrified that the owner won’t offer me the job. Other than my best friend back home, there isn’t a whole lot to keep me there. So far, I love this city, even though I’ve been here less than a day and haven’t seen much of it. On top of everything else, I’m surrounded by thousands of people, and I’ve never been so lonely in my life.”

He sat there staring, as if uncertain of what to say. I knew I had just laid a lot on him, but he offered to listen. The longer the silence drew on, the more exposed I felt.
Finally, he spoke up, choosing to ignore my comment about feeling lonely.

“If you aced the interview, why wouldn’t the guy call you back?” His dark brow furrowed in confusion.

“I didn’t meet with him today, he’s off in London, I met with his general managers. Honestly, I don’t know how it all works. When I graduated from culinary school, I was whisked right into a successful restaurant, and I haven’t had to do any of this before, my work has always spoken for me.”

“I’m sure you were awesome,” he smiled warmly; a small dimple formed to the left of his mouth. I couldn’t help but stare.

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me,” I said, rolling my eyes, yet unable to hide my smile.

“Well then, let’s change that shall we? I’m Sebastian.” He held out a large hand for me to shake; I accepted it tentatively. The electric charge I felt when our skin connected was enough to make me hold my breath. The butterflies bounced wickedly off the sides of my empty stomach. His hand engulfed mine; they were strong, and I felt the hint of small calluses at the tip of each finger as our hands reluctantly pulled apart.

“Brooke,” I offered shyly. Sebastian? Slowly, my mind began assembling the pieces together, eyes widening slightly as I finally realized just whom it was that I had been chatting with. Sebastian Miles, lead singer and songwriter of the rock band Paradox, my favorite band in the entire universe. No freaking way! I smiled carefully, trying my best not to give away the fact that I had recognized him. I didn’t want him to think that I was a crazed fan. Besides, he seemed to like the fact that I didn’t fawn all over him. Maybe he preferred the anonymity, I know I would. I could only assume how
difficult it was to be someone in his shoes, aside from the money and fame there had to be a huge downside to losing your freedom.