BURN (The HEAT Series Book 1) (7 page)

"I'm happy to announce that we're going to cook that salmon dish that Maribel created for the morning show next week."

That stings. I was hoping we'd cook a dish I introduced at our staff meeting two days ago. Tyler didn't comment at all when I handed out the sample plates to him and the executive staff. Everyone else complimented me on the depth of flavor and the subtle hints of heat in the dish. Tyler held up his hand to pass when it came time for him to share his thoughts. I based that solely on the fact that mine was the only one he didn't sample.

It wasn't that way when Maribel introduced her dish. He raved about the salmon, telling her that he'd never had a piece that succulent and flavorful. He actually said it was divine. I was happy for her when the head chef and two of the senior chefs had only positive things to share about it too, even if none of them were quite as enthusiastic as Chef Monroe.

Being asked to submit a dish for consideration for the tasting menu, and for preparation on the morning show, was a huge deal. Darrell only asked four of us to participate.

"You're not serious, Tyler?" Maribel claps her hands together. "Will anyone know it's my dish?"

"You better fucking believe they will." He laughs. "You're going to prepare it with me on the show."

My heart drops. I feel some of the eyes of the other staff darting to my face. I didn't sit down at this table in the middle of the dining room with any warning about what was taking place at this meeting. I thought it was another boring Tuesday morning staff gathering where Darrell talks about what he cooked his wife for dinner on the weekend and we all tell him how sweet he is.

"Isn't that Cadence's gig?" Drea pipes up. "She kills it on there. Is it a threesome now?"

There are muffled laughs in the dining room as Tyler turns to look at her. "It's my gig. I represent Nova. Maribel prepared this dish so it's Maribel who will be cooking it on television."

He doesn't even glance in my direction. I feel like I'm being punished for choosing halibut as a protein instead of salmon. I also feel like I'm being overlooked because I'm the one he's fucking.

No one in this restaurant can accuse Chef Monroe of giving special perks to his lover. I'll be the first to testify to that.

"I expect you all to get up to speed on the preparation of Maribel's dish." Tyler turns in a circle as he addresses everyone. His chef's jacket pressed to perfection, his dark slacks just as pristine. His hair is trimmed again, and the stubble that was present the last time he ate me to orgasm has been wiped away with the edge of a blade. "The dish debuts on the menu tomorrow."

Tomorrow? That means that I'll spend the rest of today cleaning whole salmons, before I filet them for the real chefs to cook for lunch.

***

I close the cooler for the last time, grateful that my shift has finished for the day. My hands are dry and swollen from working near water the entire day. I thought I'd be put on the fish station since Darrell has told me repeatedly how amazed he is with my knife skills.

That never happened. He gave the job of working with the salmon to Drea and another junior chef who had to show her step-by-step what to do. I picked up the slack left by them which meant peeling potatoes and carrots for hours straight.

Once I was done with that, I helped with dinner service doing garnishes. I'm exhausted and as soon as I'm home, I'm going to bed.

I'm about to leave the kitchen to head to the area where the lockers are. It's a small room, tucked in the corner of the kitchen. Each employee is given a narrow metal locker to store their belongings during their shift. Although each locker comes equipped with a padlock, I'm one of the few who actually make use of it. I lock my purse in it before I start every shift.

I take a step and then I see Tyler round the corner from the dining room. He's rushed, a scowl on his face, perspiration dotting his forehead. Chef Monroe entertained the mayor and his wife tonight at the chef's table.

Unfortunately, all didn't go as planned. There were small mistakes made by the head chef that resulted in the mayor's wife refusing to eat her lamb because it was undercooked.

I didn't take any enjoyment in that. If someone fucks up, it's a reflection of all of us. Tyler is the one who takes it the hardest though.

"Cadence," he calls my name from across the kitchen. "I want to talk to you."

I want to go home and make a tent out of my bedsheets so I can camp out there for the night, or maybe a few nights.

"Not tonight," I say curtly. "I'm going home. I'll be back before noon tomorrow. You can talk to me then."

"The attitude," he begins as he crosses the space separating us. "What's that about?"

How rich that he's questioning me on my attitude. I did the job I was required to do. I'm off the clock. I don't owe him a thing, but I will offer a simple explanation. "I don't have an attitude, Chef. I'm tired. I'd like to go home now."

He kisses my forehead as I stand there seething with unbridled resentment and exhaustion. "I'll take you home, Cadence. We can leave right now."

"I meant I wanted to go to my home," I say as we enter his apartment. It's the second time I've been here and I don't feel any more comfortable than I did the first time.

It's a large space, although admittedly it's not as extravagant as it was in my imagination. I was basing my perception on the piece that was written about him in the New York Times last year. It was a feature article about the opening of Nova and although most of the pictures accompanying the two page spread were taken at the restaurant as it was being designed, there was one taken here, in his apartment.

I used the memory of that image, combined with the one on the cover of his cookbook to conjure up a bachelor pad for the ages. The reality is an understated one bedroom apartment, with a custom designed kitchen and an uninhibited view of Central Park.

He lives simply. His life dedicated to his craft. I've been witness to that for weeks now. His existence is centered on the restaurant. Nova's success is as critical to him as the blood in his veins. He carries the weight of the staff's failures on his shoulders, as he is tonight.

"Her dish was better than your dish, Cadence."

I knew we'd discuss this, hell I thought it would happen earlier today after that meeting, but it hadn't. Instead, he avoided me, or maybe I wanted to believe that's what he was doing.

"You never tried mine, Chef."

"Tyler."

"You never tried my dish, Chef," I repeat the salutation on purpose. We may be in his apartment but this is a business discussion. "You passed on it. How could you determine her dish was better if you hadn't tried mine?"

"You're not liberal in your use of seasonings." He slides out of his chef's jacket. "I watched you prepare it. I tasted the sauce when you ran to get the plates for presentation. It wasn't on par with what Maribel cooked."

I stand my ground, watching as he crosses the room to a wooden hutch that houses a makeshift bar. He pours two fingers of amber liquid into one tumbler, before he swallows it back. He refills it again and then pours the same into another tumbler.

I take it when he offers, sipping the liquid. It's whiskey. The strength of the alcohol burns a path down my throat.  "You sampled the other three dishes and passed on mine. Everyone noticed."

"I don't care if they noticed, you shouldn't either." He waves his hand toward the sofa, but I don't budge.

"People know we are hooking up." I take another drink, trying to find courage there. "You didn't try it because you wanted to seem impartial."

"Is that what I was doing?" He cocks a dark brow as he takes a seat. "You're a young chef, Cadence. Maribel has years on you. Her dish was better."

"I respect your opinion, Chef." I cradle the tumbler in my palms. "All I ask is that you respect my position as one of your employees."

He pats the cushion next to him. "Come sit with me. I can explain all of this to you."

I linger where I am. I don't want to fall into a kiss or more with him right now. We shouldn’t be having this discussion with a drink in our hands and his bed in the next room. "I had no warning about Maribel taking my place on the morning show. I would have appreciated a heads-up."

"The segments on the show are meant to highlight the best of what Nova has to offer." He empties his glass for a second time. "Maribel's dish is our newest menu addition so it seems fitting that she should be there to prepare it."

"I understand that." I look down at my drink, debating whether I should have more or not. I shakily place it down on the coffee table. "I was under the impression that I would appear with you again. I was surprised when you announced that she would be taking my place."

He places his empty glass across the table from mine. "It wasn't your place, Cadence. It's a spot reserved for me and whoever I feel will represent the restaurant best."

The show isn't really the issue. I enjoyed the times I was on it, but my passion is my food. I prepared an excellent dish that apparently didn't meet his standards, I can accept that. I need to. "Maribel will do that well. I'm sure she'll make a great impression."

"We'll talk about seasonings after work one day next week." He tilts his head as he studies me. "I can help you prepare the halibut the way it should be prepared. You have the basic foundation down. You need to work on finessing."

I hear the compassion in the words. He's offering to help. "I appreciate that, Chef."

"You're better than I was at your age." He's on his feet now. "Don’t be afraid of the food. Explore and experiment. If you don't, you'll never shine the way you're meant to."

My head cants to the side as I study his expression. He seems sincere. "Thank you."

"What happened today had nothing to do with the fact that we're involved." His hands reach for my shoulders, settling there, squeezing the stress away. "I made a decision based on what was best for my restaurant. That's all it was."

I nod, closing my eyes to relish in the feeling of the motion of his hands. "I'm going to go to my place tonight."

"I want you to stay."

I look at him under heavy lids. "You want to fuck me."

"Very much." He leans forward to kiss my cheek.

"Not tonight," I whisper as he embraces me. "I need time tonight. Time just for me."

I walk down Broadway in search of just the right spot to have lunch on my day off. It's Friday and although I could have easily called Sophia to meet her for a bite, I wanted this time all to myself.

Work has been busy, so busy that Tyler and I haven't had more than a minute alone. On Wednesday morning he reiterated what he'd said to me on Tuesday night. He choose Maribel's dish because it was the best. He wanted me to understand that our relationship won't impact my work at Nova. I believe him, especially now that he's promised to work with me tomorrow night to perfect the seasonings on the halibut dish I created.

I stop at a bistro to read the outdoor menu. It's simple, which is often a sign of food prepared with care and love. I motion to the hostess that I'm going to settle in next to one of the small circular tables outside. It's summer in New York which typically means full patios but today is chilly so most who are dining here have opted for a table inside.

I pull up the video of Tyler and Maribel on the morning show from earlier today on my smartphone. I'd slept right past my alarm, tucking my head under the covers when the sunlight started to invade the space through the curtains that cover my window.

I laugh as I watch Pamela greet Tyler with a full-on bear hug. To the casual observer, they'd see a seasoned co-host happy to see a returning guest. I know better and when he finally disengages from her, her tight nipples are visible through the thin material of her cream colored dress.

Maribel handles herself well, speaking clearly and succinctly about her dish. She panics briefly when Percy tells her that they only have thirty seconds left.

He tries the dish and raves about it. It's not insincere. I had a bite yesterday after lunch service was over. It's delicious and not only that, it's seasoned to utter perfection.

"Would you like a glass of wine to start?"

I smile up at the male server, shielding my eyes from the sun so I can make out his face. "What do you recommend?"

He asks what I'm in the mood to eat, and I ask for the specials. I settle on a braised leg of lamb and he insists on a glass of Cabernet.

My phone rings then and I glance down at the unfamiliar number. It's a 212 area code which means it's New York based. I swipe my finger over the screen, bring it to my ear and answer.

***

"It's like that in this city." Maribel laughs, but the sound isn't joyous. It's strained, or forced. "When you first graduate culinary school the offers fly at you. You have to pick the right one, or you'll end up stuck for the rest of your career."

I know she's not talking about my decision to turn down the job offer I received this afternoon when I was having lunch. She's speaking more from personal experience. Her passion is food, but her future isn't limitless anymore. She's told me that herself. She's going to work at Nova, in the junior chef position she has now, until she retires.

"I think Nova is the best choice for me." I look into the crowded restaurant through the glass windows. I do think it's the best choice for me. The offer I received earlier today is for a well-known restaurant that is a staple at one of the city's premier hotels. They have a sudden opening and as they ran through the resumes they have on file, mine jumped out at them. I politely turned their offer down on the spot. "At least it is for right now."

"Because of you and Chef?"

"What?" My gaze drifts back to her face. She's finished her cigarette now but she's still leaning against the window, taking her time before she steps back into the buzz of the kitchen.

"You're sleeping with the boss," she mutters. "Your friend told me."

"Sophia?" I ask even though there's no reason to. It's not as though Tyler and I are a secret. Everyone knows. Drea even made fun of it during the meeting the other day with her threesome remark.

She touches the top of my hand, softly. "He brought a woman with him when the restaurant opened. She's a brilliant chef. They were very close."

My gaze falls back through the window to a couple enjoying a glass of wine and the salmon dish that Maribel created. "I was involved with someone in the industry too before I worked here."

"It happens," she says quietly. "It's inevitable. The long hours are a big part of it. The shared dreams bind people together."

"My ex and I shared some of the same dreams." I look back at her face. "He was a nightmare though."

She laughs, her hand darting to her chin. "Tyler's ex, Neela, was a dream. She's a sweet girl. She took her career back to Boston right along with his heart."

I pause, wondering if that's something he confided in her or if it's her observation as an outsider looking in on a boss whose heart truly belongs to his restaurant.

"I need to get back in. Thanks for stopping by to congratulate me, Cadence."

"You did a fantastic job on the show, Maribel. Everyone at Nova is proud of you."

"Tyler told me the same thing earlier. I may be too old to own my own restaurant but I'm feeling more and more like this is my home."