Page 85 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

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CLEMENTINE

Icouldn’t believe how pretty the venue was. It was stunning. The live choir just made the dining experience so much better. No one seemed all that eager to leave. I didn’t blame them. It was warm and inviting inside and outside sounded horrible.

Guests were lingering over wine and taking advantage of the extra desserts being delivered by the kitchen staff. Our table had all moved along to mingle with others. It was just me and Rhett at our table. We had been lost in conversation for a good thirty minutes.

I had never seen him like this before. He was relaxed. And he seemed very willing to share pieces of himself that went beyond the professional mask he usually wore. Maybe it was the wine, or the atmosphere of dining in a cathedral, or simply the knowledge that our time together was running out. But he was definitely different. Whatever the reason, I liked it. I was eating it up and I was perfectly fine sitting at the table for the next six hours if he kept talking.

“Vegas was brutal,” he said, swirling the last of the wine in his glass. “Four years of my life, working sixteen-hour days at some of the most prestigious restaurants in the city. I created dishes that are still on those menus today—signature items that bring in thousands of dollars in revenue every month.”

“But no credit?” I asked, though I already knew the answer from the bitter edge in his voice.

“None. That’s how it works when you’re coming up. You’re a ghost in someone else’s kitchen, pouring your creativity into their reputation. I developed a duck confit technique that’s still the signature at Le Bernardin Vegas. I created a chocolate dessert that won three different culinary awards, perfected a sauce that food critics called ‘transcendent.’ But you would never know that. No one will except the people that were in the kitchen with me.”

He paused, his jaw tightening with old frustration. “But when the interviews came out, when the awards were announced, it was always the executive chef’s vision, the executive chef’s innovation. I was just another pair of hands in the kitchen.”

I reached across the table without thinking, my fingers covering his. “That must have been so hard. To know you were creating something beautiful and not be able to own it.”

“It was,” he admitted, his eyes finding mine. “But it taught me something important—this industry can be thankless. People will take credit for your work, steal your ideas, minimize your contributions. You have to love it enough to keep going anyway, because the passion has to be bigger than the recognition.”

I knew why he was telling me his story. He wanted me to understand he was only doing what had been done to him.

“I get it,” I said. “That doesn’t really make it right, though.”

He shrugged. “No, but can you imagine serving a food critic or any guest for that matter and then announcing they just paid five-hundred bucks for a meal the chef didn’t prepare? Or the fact the head chef is the draw and created ninety percent of the meal and now someone else is hoping to jump on their coattails.”

I frowned. “That’s not what I was trying to do.”

“I know. I’m just trying to help you understand that you’re not the only one that has been slighted. Still, it wasn’t right and I am going to do my best to never do it again.”

I smiled because it was progress. It was a small bit of vindication.

“You have that passion,” he continued, his thumb tracing across my knuckles where our hands were joined. “I see it every time you cook. The way you taste a sauce and adjust the seasoning, the care you put into plating, the way you light up when a dish comes together perfectly. You have what it takes, Clem.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Running a kitchen? That’s different. That requires leadership, authority, the ability to make tough decisions and have people follow them without question. I don’t know if I want to be cutthroat. That doesn’t bring me any joy.”

“You could run your own kitchen, no problem,” he said with such certainty that I almost believed him. “I’ve watched you work. You have instincts, creativity, technical skill—all the tools you need.”

“But I’m not…” I gestured vaguely, trying to articulate my doubts. “I’ve always been better at loving on people than giving them orders. I don’t have your commanding presence or natural authority.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “The last thing the culinary world needs is another version of me. You have to lean into your style, not try to adopt mine or someone else’s. The way you connect with people and the way you make everyone around you feel valued and appreciated is your style. That’s not a weakness, Clem. That’s your superpower.”

For weeks, I had been trying to figure out how to fit into the existing structure of professional kitchens. I had tried to make myself harder or more like the chefs I admired. But maybe the answer wasn’t about changing who I was. Maybe it was about finding a way to be authentically myself while still commanding respect.

“You really think so?” I asked.

“I know so.” The conviction in his voice made my heart skip. “You’re going to be extraordinary. And I can’t wait to see what you do with all that talent.”

The way he was looking at me in the candlelight with such genuine admiration and belief made me feel like I could conquer the world. Or at least conquer a kitchen. The urge to kiss him was overwhelming, right here in front of all these people, in this sacred space where we’d shared something beautiful.

His gaze dropped to my lips, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. The air between us felt charged with possibility.

It was impossible to ignore the connection between us.

“Do we keep this a secret forever?” I whispered, the question slipping out before I could stop it. “Whatever this is?”

His expression grew serious. I could practically see him weighing his words. “It would be complicated,” he said finally. “Messy. People will be critical—of both of us, but especially me. Articles will be written, and assumptions will be made. The attention will bleed into your life in ways you can’t imagine. It might be best for you to dodge all that.”