I sigh. I’ll work on that after I relaunch this restaurant, make sure the new nanny is as good as she seems so far, and find a hot, sexy, age-appropriate boy toy to keep my mind off how much I want to wrestle my sous chef naked in a vat of warm maple syrup.
This time Henri chooses a wide-eyed, shocked emoji. You have the strangest sexual fantasies, honey. Really. I know a lot of straight people and none of them are nearly as weird.
Thanks, I type with a grin.
You’re welcome, he replies. Now get in that kitchen and kick ass and take names. I’m headed into a casting session at the new job, but I’ll be around at lunch if you need to vent. We’ll get through this transition together and claim our rightful places as East Coast powerhouses. No doubt in my mind.
I say goodbye, wish him the best of luck at the casting session—Henri is a model scout and fashion show organizer and already killing it in his new job with a major, NYC-based brand—and head to the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, tie my hair back in a low bun, and pull on my lucky black chef’s cap before heading into the kitchen armed with my tablet and a no-nonsense vibe.
The trial brunch service goes smoothly, Cam is on point playing head chef for the day, and the team adjusts quickly to my off-the-cuff suggestions for rearranging their stations and workflow.
Over our late brunch feast—I can’t bear to have food go to waste and it’s good for my staff to taste what they’re cooking on a regular basis—we have an incredible conversation and land on several new recipes the staff seems jazzed to try. I get to know a few of the station chefs better and am blown away by their sweetness, professionalism, and eagerness to please.
Pierre the prick may have been a nightmare in negotiations to purchase Crave, but his asshole-ishness seems to have made the staff grateful for someone who listens to their thoughts and ideas, even if she also happens to be a total hard-ass.
All in all, it’s a dynamite first day. If it weren’t for the fact that my gaze keeps straying to Cam’s muscled forearms bulging deliciously beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he cuts vegetables, I would consider it a complete success.
But my gaze did stray.
And so did my thoughts…
They’re still straying when Cam heads out the employee entrance at ten minutes ’til five, dressed in jeans and a thick gray sweater that makes his shoulders look even more deliciously broad. And his ass in those jeans?
Damn. Just…damn.
His backside is so gorgeous, I almost don’t feel bad about getting caught staring when he glances over his shoulder, sees my gaze fixed on his bottom, and grins. “See you tomorrow, Chef Natalie.”
“Tomorrow,” I murmur, my cheeks heating as I wave and retreat to my office to change for happy hour.
But I already know I’m going to need more than a martini to keep my thoughts from straying back to Cameron Brennan.
Maybe I can arrange for a head injury and a subsequent case of kiss-memory-banishing amnesia.
“Good idea,” I mutter as I lock up the office and start back down the spiral stairs.
I pause halfway down, surveying the quiet dining room, filled with gold booths and gleaming redwood fixtures, surrounded by dynamite, lemur-printed wallpaper, and windows that overlook a charming, Union Square–adjacent street.
This beautiful space is my kingdom, and I refuse to let it down.
I will rise above temptation and be the leader it needs.
Even if it wrecks my romance-tempted heart.
Chapter Four
Cameron
After work, I head home with a head full of plans and a bag full of groceries from the organic co-op around the corner from our West Village apartment.
The moment I’m through the door, my roommate, Jess, is on top of me, clinging to my sweater with her hot little hands.
“Please tell me that’s food you intend to share,” she says, her brown eyes wide behind her glasses. “I’m starving to death. Like, literally almost to death.” She presses two fingers to her neck before snatching my free hand and bringing it to the skin just below the curve of her jaw. “Feel that? How thready my pulse is? Do you think I have a heart murmur? Irregular heartbeat? Or maybe this is the early stages of diabetes or kidney disease or something? Also, my hands are very, very cold, even though I’ve been working by the space heater and wearing my fingerless gloves all day.”
I gently detangle my fingers from hers and rest a hand on her head. “When was the last time you ate?”
She blinks several times, her mouth opening and closing without any words coming out.
Behind her, my other roommate, Evie, calls out from deeper in the apartment, “She had an oat milk latte and a cider donut this morning, but only because I went and killed breakfast and brought it home for her before I left for class.” Evie pops her head out of the entrance to the kitchen, her blond curls in a wild halo around her face. “I’m guessing that’s all she’s had, though she wouldn’t answer me when I asked. I was about to start water for ramen so I could get something in her poor, neglected belly, but if you have real food, I’ll stop and get out of your way.”