Feeling the Heat Read online

  Feeling The Heat

  Career Men: Book 1

  Jill Haven

  Austin Bates

  Contents

  1. August

  2. Ewin

  3. August

  4. Ewin

  5. August

  6. Ewin

  7. August

  8. Ewin

  9. August

  10. Ewin

  11. August

  12. Ewin

  13. August

  14. Ewin

  15. August

  16. Ewin

  17. August

  18. Ewin

  19. August

  20. Ewin

  Puppy Love

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  Feeling The Heat

  1

  August

  November 7th

  I glanced around the room, sizing up my classmates—my competition when we got out into the world, really—and smiled. Last class of the day. My favorite one. The time when I really got to show what I could do. And today, the sun shone, and all was right with the world. My world.

  A world of heated orange flames, molten sugar being spun into foot-high creations, flambés, rissoles, glazes, bakes, crackles… vegetables, herbs, gleaming colors and scents from around the globe. My list and mind went on. Hundreds of choices and thousands of sights and sensations. I’d never tire of it, and I was eager to start.

  Just the rest of the semester to complete. Mere weeks, then freedom. And I was ready.

  Hungry, even.

  I drew in a deep breath. The small of fresh-baked goods lingered in the air, accompanied with the sharper scents of cut citrus and fresh-washed greens. My happy place. For a moment, I closed my eyes and imagined myself in my own commercial kitchen, surrounded by chefs cooking my dishes and doing my bidding, before taking the creations of August Lennox out to customers from around the world. I cracked open one eye then closed it again to amend one part of my thought. My very expensive creations.

  Someone dropped a dish behind me, and I snapped my attention to my own bench before I began arranging my equipment and fetching my ingredients out of the large shared pantry at the back of the room, pausing to crunch on the end of one of the vibrant orange carrots. The sound echoed around the room and I chewed it noisily as I carried my basket of food back to my workstation. I didn’t even need a carrot. I’d grabbed it because it looked tasty. Some of the others watched me, and I winked. As long as Chef Roberts didn’t see me doing it in her class, all was good, and it didn’t take genius to eat and walk.

  No, genius came from my cooking, and the knowledge of a letter of acceptance sitting on my dresser at home set a flame of passion burning in my gut. I hadn’t imagined I’d actually get in to La Bonne Cuisine in Paris when I applied, but the reply I received exceeded all of my expectations. I’d get my own commercial kitchen one day—and now I had even more options open to me for getting there.

  I grabbed a knife then shoved the drawer shut with a clang. For all the great advantages of continuing my education in Paris, home of cordon bleu cooking, it meant leaving Dawson. Well, the memory of Dawson, anyway. The Dawson I had before he abandoned me. Dawson: hardly the poster boy of brothers, that was for sure.

  How long had it been now? He’d half brought me up through a mixture of tough love, inexperience, and brotherly yelling. A flutter of guilt threatened to extinguish my enthusiasm.

  In very real terms, Dawson was all I had, no matter where he was or how angry he made me. And that meant I’d have to come back to Cedar Falls regardless of whether I took the opportunity in France. Only how would that even work? Who wanted to eat international standard cooking in the range of diners and fast food joints we had in town?

  Maybe I could open my own…but the thought flittered away as Chef Roberts clapped for our attention at the front of the room. I ignored her. Truth be told, I ignored her quite a lot when I was chopping vegetables—no one I knew wanted me missing a finger…or, depending on the size of my knife, another important appendage.

  The door at the front of the classroom swung open, but I kept my head down. I was in my zone, my mind already three steps ahead in my list of things to do, mentally mixing ingredients and warming the oven. An excited whisper rippled around the room, and Jared cursed before someone shushed him.

  Chef Roberts clapped again. Unusual. I glanced up, taking in Chef Roberts’ flushed face. Holy shit. I’d never contemplated my death from second-hand embarrassment on behalf of a woman approaching middle age before, but I’d also never seen my teacher so flustered and ready to explode from whatever she wanted to share.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special visitor today.” Chef Roberts beamed, the wide grin across her face nearly touching her ears, and she brushed her hand lightly across her graying blonde hair as if she actually cared how it looked. Then she turned her attention to the figure approaching her and practically simpered.

  I scoffed and returned my attention to my chopping board. It wasn’t as if we hadn’t been visited by renowned chefs, restaurant critics, or even TV program makers in the past. One more pair of eyes on my cooking wouldn’t get my boxer-briefs in a bunch.

  Then he spoke. I’d have known that voice anywhere, even while part drowned out by Andrea squealing in back.

  Ewin Storm. Holy, holy shit indeed. My inspiration and biggest role model. In fact, my idol, plain and simple. It took more strength than I’d be comfortable admitting not to throw myself to my knees and offer the man worshipful prayers at his feet. The knife in my hand slipped against my suddenly sweat-slicked palm and I faltered in my chopping.

  Instead, I watched. My face heated…maybe it flushed…but I simply watched his masterful stride toward Chef Roberts, where he stopped and clasped her hand in his in greeting. And, oh dear Lord, my womb might actually have contracted.

  Oh my God. I dug my nails into my palm until I winced. Nope, not dreaming. I shook my head again, almost unable to believe he was here. Ewin Storm was standing at the front of my classroom. In Cedar Falls. But what was he doing back? Sure, he was our favorite culinary son, but he’d left, escaped to the bright lights of some big city somewhere.

  But then he began to speak again, and my questions no longer mattered. I ceased to have thoughts of my own and only heard his gorgeous voice, warm like freshly heated caramel syrup, as he addressed the room.

  I tuned back in to listen. I mean, my focus rested entirely on the man at the front of my class. And the knife in my hand? Well, what knife? My classmates still giggled and whispered. God knows where the respect was. I shot them as many irritated and dirty looks as I could muster. I even considered clapping my hands like Chef Roberts. It seemed to mostly work out for her, but I refrained.

  I wanted to play this chilled. Cool as a cucumber. Not all hot and bothered because Ewin Storm—be still my wildly beating heart—had walked all six-foot of himself into my college classroom.

  And thank God I was in the vicinity when he arrived. I was down to studying four classes each week in my last semester—I could have been watching daytime movies at home and missed this great moment. I promised the big guy a quick Hail Mary or something before bed to show my gratitude for his services to my culinary appetites.

  Ewin cleared his throat. I sighed a little then switched my serious face back on. Watching and listening. Learning, hopefully.

  Why had he come?

  “Now, some of you might be wondering why I’m here.”

  Why yes, yes, we were. I soaked in his glorious voice and reveled in the fact he seemed to be able to read my mind. Maybe we were kindred spirits. Sounded better than crushee and crushing, anyway.

  Besides, he was kind of old…but no older
than Chef Roberts, probably. Certainly not ready for a cane or walker. I squashed the ‘old’ thought. Apparently, my heart didn’t recognize what my eyes could see, anyway, and it raced at Ewin’s simple proximity.

  He stood so smartly and his suit… it reeked of expensive, and some lucky tailor had fit it very close to his body. If I squinted, I could probably make out the hard planes of muscle just below the surface of his white cotton shirt and gray pants leg. I hardly dared drag my gaze up his chest to his face, but somehow, I managed to anyway, and I drank in his gorgeous deep brown eyes, alight with the flame of passion as he stood before us. As I looked at him properly, I fought a sudden urge to tangle my fingers in his softly waved brown hair and nuzzle against his close-cropped beard.

  But enough. I needed to focus on his words. Not the promise of that very fine body or face. I clasped my hands behind my back to keep them out of trouble.

  Someone behind me whooped, and I bit back my irritation. They were in the presence of greatness and didn’t have the maturity to know it.

  Ewin laughed. “Excellent. I love a little enthusiasm.”

  Shit. I wished I’d whooped or hollered if enthusiasm was his thing. “Woo! Yeah!” Before I could stop myself, I fist pumped as well.

  But his gaze strayed to me and his face turned serious. I lowered my fist as my cheeks heated. Enthusiasm didn’t come as naturally to me as hard work, apparently.

  “While I do love to see a group of people pleased to see me…” He cleared his throat. “I’m here for quite a serious reason. Let’s call it an opportunity, perhaps.”

  I shoved my embarrassment aside. Fuck enthusiasm. I was all about opportunities.

  He looked at Chef Roberts before continuing. “I’m back in Cedar Falls to open a new business. I want my flagship signature restaurant to be here, in my hometown. And I want to open shortly after your graduation.”

  That almost called for a fresh round of whooping. But I held it in. Just in case.

  “I’ll only employ the very best staff, and that’s where you all come in. Chef Roberts has very kindly allowed me to observe your class today to make a shortlist of young people I believe might be a good fit to work in my restaurant. I need a full lineup—every department working competently and capably. So, line chefs, sous chefs, pastry chefs. Forget the land of opportunity. Cedar Falls is about to become the town of opportunity for one, two, ten of you…if you have the talent to make it.”

  Dear God, definitely time to dial up the enthusiasm. Working for Ewin Storm? And what was my earlier thought about diners and fast food restaurants? It didn’t matter anymore. Quality was coming to Cedar Falls, and suddenly it seemed as if good old Paris—spoken in the very best French accent, taught to me by every French person I’d ever seen on TV—wasn’t the only way to the top of the food chain.

  I leaned over my counter slightly as I tried to take in more of Ewin’s words.

  “I can see some worry on a few faces. And that’s good. You should be worried. If you want to make it in the world of food and restaurants and critics, you always need to be on your game. Take that worry and let it drive you to be your best.”

  I pressed my fingertips against my forehead as though I’d actually be able to feel any worry present and smooth it away. Nope. No worry. Just a hefty dose of ohmygod followed by a couple of wrinkles of ithinkimightfaint.

  “But any of you who get chosen will have the full attention of a personal mentor for your first month of training to smooth your journey into working in the catering world.” He paused and smiled his thousand-watt smile again.

  I could almost smell the toothpaste.

  “It’s tough, but Chef Roberts speaks very highly of her class, and I trust her opinion entirely. She assures me at least one of you has it in you.”

  Time slowed as it felt as though his gaze rested on me as he spoke those words. Then it shifted and the room buzzed with the excited hum of my classmates whispering back and forth. Everyone… Well, anyone serious about their cooking and career would want this opportunity. I shot a quick glance at my fourteen classmates-turned-rivals and saved a special narrow-eyed glare for the guy who attempted to make my every day miserable. Jared.

  Ewin raised his hand, capturing my attention. All of our attentions, really, but it seemed like he especially got mine. I rested my chin on my hand and sighed as he started to speak.

  “I think Chef Roberts already set today as an opportunity for you to make your favorite dish. Well, that was no happy accident. It gives me an opportunity to see you at your best, hopefully enjoying what you’re making and cooking to the best of your ability. If you’ve followed instructions and chosen well, this dish is the one you think best brings together all of your skills. Your signature dish, if you will. I’ll judge on your cooking techniques and, of course, the taste of the finished product.”

  I swallowed as nausea suddenly roiled in my stomach. I glanced at my chopping board. I was preparing one of my favorites, but was it good enough? I looked at Ewin as he spoke to Chef Roberts, their faces earnest. Was I in the middle of preparing something I could serve to Ewin Storm or had I let complacency get the better of me when I selected the familiar ingredients for a nostalgic taste of times gone by?

  Shit… The second-guessing was strong with this one.

  Perhaps I’d wandered onto the set of Master Chef by mistake. Lord knew I’d had that dream often enough. But no, I’d be naked and have completely forgotten my recipe if that was the case. But the sense of sudden panic was the exact same—as if I hadn’t prepared for the most important exam of my life. But the aroma of Olivia sautéing onion in the back corner grounded me back in the room and I bit back a small groan. Just once, once I’d have liked to go home without stinking of someone else’s onions or garlic.

  I tied my apron and retied my apron again then glanced down. Tired, old, stained…definitely not Ewin Storm apprentice material.

  Ewin Storm. His name sounded great in my head. And he was definitely one of those people who needed to have both his first name and last name at all times. It leant him…gravitas.

  As I grabbed a clean apron, I glanced his way. Before I even had time to collect my thoughts, his intense, deep-brown eyes met mine, and heat rushed to my cheeks. I forced myself to look away. My hands shook and flutters of anticipation worked inside my chest as I reached for my mixing bowl, but only because this was such a big moment. I hadn’t walked into class expecting an afternoon that could decide my future.

  “Hey, August.” Jared, a guy whose mouth far outsized his brain, nudged me forward.

  “Watch it,” I hissed before I amended my tone. “I mean, be careful.” I nodded toward my bench. “Eggs and stuff. Try not to break anything.”

  “What, like your sense of hope?” He guffawed, the usually irritating sound made even more grating by the way Ewin Storm glanced in our direction, a delicate crease marring his perfect brow.

  “Is everything okay, gentlemen?” Chef Roberts literally trilled her words in a very unfamiliar tone, and her hands flapped nervously at her throat.

  I forced a grin, hoping I seemed more natural than she did. “Just fine, Chef Roberts.”

  “Yeah,” Jared agreed. “I needed to borrow an egg so I can kick August’s butt this afternoon.”

  Chef Roberts drew her eyebrows together and her nose crinkled slightly. “But there are plenty of eggs in the pantry, as always,” she murmured.

  “Of course there are.” I grabbed an egg from my basket anyway and shoved it into Jared’s hand, closing his fingers around it a little too firmly. “There you go, Jared. I can get some more. Don’t want to keep our best chef from his workstation.”

  “You know it.” He nodded in my direction and sauntered back to his space.

  That guy boiled my blood and cooked my patience on a good day, never mind today, when we were being judged by one of the top chefs in the country. I glanced again at Ewin. Probably one of the best on an international level, actually. And he’d returned to Cedar F
alls just as I faced a decision over whether to move away. Signs of fate intervening probably didn’t get much better than this.

  As I lined up my ingredients, I thought again of Dawson. If I could work things so I didn’t need to leave, maybe he’d have reason to come home. Although he didn’t deserve my hopes to see him again, it didn’t stop me from having them.

  I slammed a knife onto the wooden surface and the room grew quiet around me. I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to meet Ewin’s dark gaze again.

  “Oops,” I mumbled. “Sorry about that.”

  Even though I’d just made the resolution not to think too much about Dawson, who probably wouldn’t even notice my success—in Paris or in Cedar Falls, apparently, I couldn’t keep him far from my mind. Without even really thinking about it, I’d laid out the ingredients for his favorite dessert—my take on the classic pavlova.

  I twisted my mouth as I considered the ingredients. I hadn’t intended to make something sweet. My gaze strayed back to my basket and the nibbled carrot half sticking out of it.

  “What’s up with the cat butt mouth, August?” Jared taunted. “This afternoon too tricky for ya?”

  I lowered my head, pretending to study the line of ingredients more familiar to me than my own face. I learned to cook and bake as a distraction. It took me away from the bad situations and gave me something else to think about and focus on. I’d made this dessert for Dawson at every event, every celebration, every commiseration I thought the two of us should acknowledge as a family. It was our dish. One even a kid could make. If Ewin Storm liked me today, it would be because of my life with my brother and maybe all of our hardship and trouble over the years would have been worth it.