Page 54 of Bite Me

“If you walk out of here right now, I will not let you forget it. You think it’s bad now, but I will pester you every single day for the rest of the semester because you are better than this. Leaving means you are failing your teammates and you’re failing yourself.”

I swallow. His face is inches away, chest pressed against mine. I’m not sure whose heart is beating faster. But I feel it hammering against my breasts.

“Yes, Chef.”

His jaw hardens as he steps back. “Good. Get to work.”

There’s warmth in my cheeks that spreads down my legs in beat with my heart. My core is tight as I reenter the kitchen.

Everyone at my station is in a state of panic. I start by cleaning the counter while I gather the rest of my ingredients.

Taking a deep breath, I tighten my apron.

“I’m sorry, team. I’m here. Let’s do it.”

Chapter Eighteen

Dacre

I should have let her fail. If I’d just let her walk out that door a few days ago, my plan would be well underway. I just couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t I fucking do it?

I do want her to quit. But not like that. Giving up and dipping out is . . . beneath her.

Emma is not a coward with no talent. I couldn’t let her be shunned as one, but I should have because now nothing is working. I thought, surely, after the four week mark and then again at the fifth, that she would start to shed that hopeful, glittery persona, but Emma doesn’t quit. She just keeps her head down and does what I tell her to do, with fleeting pushback and pointed glares.

I’ve tried everything. Making her stay late to clean the entire kitchen, being overly picky and critical of her work, and even making sure every lesson we do strays away from pastry or baking so she has nothing to look forward to.

It was me who picked the hardest recipes for her, filled with complicated potion measuring because it’s her sore spot, and now it’s backfired because she spent the entire week working on it after hours. She picks up on things quickly.

The list of things I know about Emma keeps growing. Cooking is vital to her. She uses it to self-soothe, and I think she enjoys her late nights in the kitchen. Maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time. It’s nearly impossible to get her frustrated unless she’s doubting herself, and that doesn’t work for me.

It’s only now, as I stare at her from across the room, that I see a slight tremble in her hands for the first time and worry lines in her forehead. This isn’t doubt in herself; it’s just fear. Exactly what I need.

I knew this would get her.

It’s lobster day, and she’s got a live, crawling crustacean in one hand and a knife in the other, but her fingers slip every few seconds. She readjusts her position, failing to summon the courage every time.

Maybe this is finally the moment she gives in and decides she’s done with this place. Everything is going according to plan.

Emma sniffs, dropping her knife before wiping her eyes with her jacket sleeve.

Oh no. Dacre, dammit, don’t do it, you bastard. This is what you needed, the moment you’ve been waiting for.

I press my fingers into my eyes. Maybe if I don’t watch, I won’t get that urge to protect her. But I hear her, still struggling and sniffling.

This is biological. Nothing more. I can ride out the guilt.

Every second she struggles with the lobster, her face grows red with frustration. I can almost feel her anxiety leaking into the air.

It’s time to crush her. I dig my fingers into my palm as I walk over with my fists at my sides.

“Problem, thief?”

She shakes her head, refusing to look at me.

Crying wasn’t part of this. I never agreed to watching her cry.

“Move. Let me demonstrate.”