“You’re free now to jump all over Luke Jones,” he goes on, “I think he’s more your type than Porter is.”
Porter Knight is gorgeous, but he’s too arrogant to be my type.
Luke, on the other hand…
“I saw what was popping between you and Luke last night.” Joel winks. “He likes you, Afton.”
“As a friend,” I clarify. “He likes me as a friend.”
“A friend he wants to fuck.”
“Joel,” I bite his name out like a warning as I glance to the left and then the right. “Someone might have heard that.”
He sits up straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Newsflash, Miss Innocent. All of these people fuck.”
I hold in a laugh. “I’d rather not think about that.”
Nodding, he shrugs. “That’s probably a good idea.”
I lean back on my chair and take another sip of the strong coffee. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you nail your audition tonight.”
Crossing the index and middle finger of his left hand, he smiles. “Thanks. I’ll keep mine crossed that you nail Luke tonight.”
***
If there’s one positive thing I can say about Porter Knight, it’s that his kitchen is to-die-for. The countertops are imported granite, the cabinets crafted of the finest Brazilian rosewood, and the lighting fixtures were all handmade in Italy.
I know all of this because Chef Knight pointed it out the last time I was here. My job that day was taking photos for Porter’s website. Joel was by my side for the entire twelve hours of that. He acted as a much-needed buffer between Porter and me.
The in-demand private chef is a world-class flirt.
He’s a fixture on every gossip site because he’s known for mixing business with pleasure, which explains why he’s often hired by the wealthiest, single women in New York City to cater parties or private events.
I’m here because Porter is about to launch an ‘ immersive culinary experience,’ as he calls it.
Essentially it’s the release of his first cookbook and the opening of a surprise pop-up restaurant all in the same day.
His publisher hired me to take preliminary shots of some of the dishes Porter wants to include in both the cookbook and on his menu.
Those shots will act as teasers that Porter will post on social media in anticipation of his big announcement later this year.
“This place is wild,” Luke says as he runs a fingertip over the countertop. “Everything is perfect. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
No, he’s gorgeous.
He’s wearing jeans and a gray V-neck T-shirt that showcases his muscular arms. When we met up in the lobby of Porter’s building, I tried not to stare at the tattoos that wrap around Luke’s biceps, but that was an epic fail.
“Where’s your engagement ring?” Porter asks from the entrance to the hallway that leads away from the main living area and kitchen.
He snuck up on me. His assistant, Tasia, let Luke and me in. She was in a rush to run an errand for Porter, so I didn’t have a chance to ask where the broody chef was.
I glance down at my bare left hand. “In my ex-fiancé’s pocket?”
During our last shoot, Joel piped up and mentioned I was engaged when Porter asked me out for dinner. When Porter ignored that and continued to hit on me, Joel flashed him a picture on his phone of Warren and me. I didn’t ask my best friend to step in and play the role of my protector, but I didn’t mind it.
Porter’s gaze volleys between Luke and me. I step forward to make the introductions, but before I can do that, Porter starts toward us.
Raking a hand through his black hair, he flashes one of his signature-dimpled smiles. “So you’re single, Afton? Have dinner with me.”
I glance at Luke. He tosses me a ‘ what the fuck’ look.
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he leans a hip against the countertop. “That’s a pretty large assumption to make. By the way, I’m Luke Jones, and you are…”
I hold in a laugh because the stunned expression on Porter’s face is worth its weight in gold. Everyone knows who he is, or at the very least, he chooses to believe that he’s a household name.
Porter doesn’t offer a hand as he closes the distance between him and Luke. “Porter Knight.”
“Good to meet you.” Luke’s hand darts out.
Porter reluctantly takes it. “You’re not the same assistant as last time.”
Luke chuckles. “I’m not the assistant.”
“You’re what then?” Porter tosses that question at me. “Boyfriend? Lover? Platonic buddy? Are you single or not, Afton?”
“Not,” Luke answers before I can get a word in.
My gaze flashes to him, but his eyes are pinned to the chef.
Porter takes a step back. “Really?”
I don’t flinch when I feel Luke wrap his hand around mine before he parrots Porter with his one word reply. “Really.”
Porter rubs a hand over his jaw. “I guess I didn’t make a move fast enough.”