Page 5 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“I’m dying,” someone wrote.

“This is culinary porn,” another said.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

Because yeah, this was my dream. To be this good. To have this kind of control, this rhythm, this speed. To move through a kitchen like it was an extension of my body. I’d been chasing it for years but moments like this reminded me it was possible.

After the meal was made, I ended the livestream. My mother, Rosita, had already set the long walnut dining table in the formal dining room. She lit the tall taper candles and opened a bottle of wine. Eating was an experience in our house. My dad loved to cook and my mother loved to entertain.

Henry, my younger brother, strolled into the dining room wearing workout clothes.

“I see your timing is impeccable as always,” I quipped.

He winked at me. I was average height and build. My little brother was tall and very muscular. The hours he spent at the gym made sure he stayed ripped. He was a lady-killer with his short, dark hair, square jaw, and those stupid long black eyelashes that definitely made me jealous. It wasn’t fair.

But he was my little brother and I loved him.

Most days.

He could be a pain in the ass. He was seventeen and easily the most popular kid in school, but he was also very humble. And if he got too cocky, I had no problem humbling him. I kind of made it my mission to remind him he was still a normal human even if he thought of himself as the next Peyton Manning.

We all sat down. It was the formal dining room in my parents’ very lavish home, but we were all dressed very casually. Henry was all sweaty and stinky from his hours at the gym. I was in jeans and a hoodie. My parents were definitely in the upper-class realm of things, but I never thought of us like that. We were just regular people.

“I’m looking forward to tomorrow night,” Hwan said between bites, leaning back in his chair.

Mom smiled warmly. “You’re not the only one. A lot of people are excited to see you, Chef.”

“It’s all for the cause,” Hwan said, raising his glass. “We feed. We inspire. We raise some money. And we party. Not bad for a Thursday.”

I clinked glasses with him. “So who’s actually coming to this thing?”

Hwan gave me a mischievous grin. “The whole tour crew. A few local reporters. A couple influencers I don’t hate. Oh, and—” He turned to my dad. “Have you told her about Rhett Voss yet?”

I nearly choked on my wine. Rhett freaking Voss?

That man had been the star of so many of my wet dreams. I had his picture as the wallpaper on my phone a few years ago. That was the level of obsession I had with the man. I had caught a wild crush on him after attending one of his culinary courses for up-and-coming chefs. He never noticed me, of course, but I certainly noticed him.

Damn.

I still remembered his forearms, the way the tendons in his hands flexed when he cut an onion. The tattoos. Oof. There was nothing about that man that wasn’t sexy. He was a walking advertisement for condoms. Because any woman that saw him wanted to take him to bed.

My mom snapped her fingers in my face. “Clem. Earth to Clementine. You listening?”

I blinked and sat up straighter. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

I could feel my cheeks burning. Good god. If they knew what I was thinking.

My father set his fork down. “Your mom and I wanted to wait until tonight to tell you. But I pulled a few strings.”

“A few strings? For what?”

“You’ve been busting your ass,” Dad said. “And I see you. You’re ready. So… if you want it, I’ve cleared your schedule for the next month. I’d like you to join us on tour.”

I stopped breathing for a second. “What?”

“Come with us. We want you on the team. In the kitchen.”

“You’re serious?” I said, voice barely above a whisper.