Page 4 of Burning Rivalry

Don’t ask about it.

Do. Not.

The hand resting on my binder clenched, my nails digging into my palm. What little there was of them sank into my flesh, flesh that had long since become accustomed to pain—searing ovens, hot pans, spills, accidents. My hands were a roadmap detailing every step of my journey over the years.

It was only recently that my internal pain began.

Do not ask.

Do. Not.

I wasn’t sure what I would do if he dug around for more information. I waited for a snarky comeback, a seemingly innocent question with invisible barbs.

When he only grunted softly, my hand relaxed a little. With the raw and unfiltered mood I was in, I might have done something unforgivable, like describe the humiliation of discovering my fiancé fucking my would-be employer in my bed. That was the worst part—deeper than the humiliation, sharper than the betrayal. They did it in my bed, a bed I had purchased and shared with him after he moved in.

I was supposed to be planning a wedding and beginning a new career in Manhattan. Instead, I was in Las Vegas, of all places, in the middle of the desert. I already missed autumn in New York, where there actually felt like a change in seasons. I missed my life.

There might have been seasons in New York, but there was also Brandon and all the promises he’d made and broken. The twenty-five hundred miles between us hardly seemed like enough when I reflected on his wandering dick.

“What are your goals?” Sebastian asked, forcing me to tamp down my murderous thoughts in the interest of keeping a job I hadn’t asked for but felt forced to take.

It came out before common sense could stop me. “I want to work at a Michelin Star restaurant.”

He might have tried not to laugh, looking almost constipated at first, but lost the battle. “Well, put that on your list to Santa Claus this year, and we’ll see what he can do for you.” He chortled, the asshole. He actually chortled.

“Is that funny somehow?” I asked, my head tipping to the side. “Because I fail to see the humor.”

“No? Let me explain.” He folded his hands over his flat stomach, drawing my attention to his lips when he pursed them. Nice lips, a little pouty. What a shame they belonged to this absolute asshole. “Chasing a star is like chasing a tiger. You manage to grab its tail, then you ask yourself what the hell you’re going to do with it.”

What, did somebody tell you that? Because he certainly had never earned one of his own. I wasn’t suicidal—the words never left my mouth. No matter how I felt about his posturing, I needed the work. And despite his attitude and recent downturn, he had a solid reputation out here.

“I’ll take my chances.” I decided with a grin.

A grin he did not return. “Not here, you won’t.”

Somewhere in my head, a needle scratched a record. Loudly. “Pardon?”

“My kitchen isn’t where you’ll experiment and stretch your limits in pursuit of an empty award, which I promise will not make you as happy as you think it will.” My mouth fell open in disbelief, but he decided to keep going. “The recipes used in this restaurant and the new location once it opens, draw from generations of tradition in my family. I refuse to sign a paycheck for someone who views this position as a training ground for what they ultimately want.”

“So you expect someone to recreate the same recipes week in and week out?” I asked, still finding it difficult to believe. When he nodded, I asked, “Why not hire a trained monkey if that’s all you’re looking for?”

“Did the trained monkey win a cooking competition?”

A sharp pain lodged itself in my stomach. That was a low blow. Nothing about him changed to reveal regret over taking such a cheap shot. “We need each other,” he concluded, his cheek twitching beneath a thin layer of dark scruff. “Let’s keep that in mind as you learn the ropes around here. I’d advise you to familiarize yourself with the current seasonal dessert rotation and the typical bread service in the restaurant. Lucas can give you a hand with that.”

Which one is Lucas? He didn’t bother explaining further. I didn’t ask. I would have rather chewed glass than ask. “Sounds good.” I slid my binder into the backpack at my feet without saying another word about it, but that in no way meant he’d won. Not even close.

I’d bide my time for now, learn the ropes, and earn the respect of the crew now working happily and efficiently in the kitchen.

Then, I’d make Sebastian Kennedy look like the talentless hack he was by showing his loyal customers what they’d been missing out on all along.

3

SEBASTIAN

“So then, I asked the pink elephant if he wanted a ride in my car, but he said there was no room. I guess I should upgrade to a pickup or something like that.”

I nodded slowly in response to Aiden’s story, only a few words of which had filtered into my consciousness so far. Something about wanting to buy a new car? It didn’t matter. My gaze remained trained where it had been since sitting at one of the tables in my dining room—on the large window in the door leading back to the kitchen, where I could occasionally find a golden head bobbing as its owner moved back and forth. What the hell was she doing?