Feeling the Heat Read online

  I still watched, though. As he bent forward to taste the dish we’d created, I drew in a slow breath and held it in my chest. August flicked out the tip of his tongue, and I tensed. Then he bit down, before chewing. He moaned, and I released my breath slowly, trying to control my reaction.

  Fuck me…that little moan. And his tongue. I wanted that tongue in my mouth, on my…I turned to put the spice jar back on the shelf. Then, when my breathing had evened out, I attracted the attention of everyone else.

  I still had to quash the desire to clap my hands, and I smothered a laugh. Gaby really was ridiculous, but she’d done fantastic work with August.

  “Can I gather everyone by August’s workstation?” I tried to wipe any hint of pride from my voice when I said his name. “We’ve tried something a little different today, and it’s put me in mind of a contest.”

  I liked springing things on my staff – new recruits or old. Kept things interesting in the kitchen. “A challenge, if you will.”

  I caught August’s gaze at the exact moment the mention of a challenge lit a spark in his eyes. Shit… I was a glutton for punishment.

  “Or maybe not a challenge.” I hesitated, searching for a more neutral term. “A learning opportunity?”

  But it didn’t matter. August’s eyes still gleamed. And I knew why. I knew because I’d been him, hungry to succeed in an industry driven by passion. I couldn’t look at him anymore, and I turned my attention to the dish he’d just created, instead.

  “I hope this will become one of the most popular dishes across my restaurants. I’ve tweaked it for years to come up with this final version. One of the ingredients is a bespoke blend of herbs and spices—even August doesn’t know what he’s just added. What I want you to do”—I handed out a small piece of paper to each person as I spoke—“is taste this dish and write down as many of those herbs and spices as you can identify.”

  “What’s the prize?” A yawn followed the words, as if I’d somehow bored the speaker with the idea of a contest.

  I practiced a neutral response in my head before speaking. Although he was technically perfect, he seemed opposite to August in all the important ways. “I was just coming to that, Jared.” But what was the prize? Aside from me keeping my tenuous grip on my sanity while focusing my attention away from August, I didn’t have a lot to offer. “Um. Time. An extra hour of one-to-one training time with me. Paid, of course.”

  I waited for the murmurs of approval to die down. “Okay. Clock’s ticking. You have three minutes, and maybe we’ll see who has the best tongue in the room?” Shit. “That is, the best taste buds,” I amended.

  I stood back and watched as they scrambled forward, forks ready, but I deliberately didn’t watch August. Much. But I definitely didn’t watch August after his tongue flicked out. I shivered as desire, unbidden and inappropriate, slid through me. I had to get a grip—and not the same grip I found myself with the other night. I swallowed a groan at the memory.

  I held my hand out as the clock ticked the final second of the third minute, and soon had a small pile of papers. I spread them in front of me and nodded. “Good. Great job, in fact. You’ve all managed to guess most of the components of my blend.”

  I looked closer and pride warred with disappointment and regret inside me.

  August had guessed the most correct answers. Of course he had. Surely, I hadn’t expected any other outcome? Except now I’d committed to spending an extra hour of training overtime with him, when I was hardly making it through the scheduled days as it was.

  I looked up into the silence of the room. They were all waiting on me. “Sorry, guys. Just counting and adding over here.”

  A couple of them chuckled.

  “And the winner is…” I looked right over his head, unable to meet his eyes. “August Lennox, with twelve out of the fourteen herbs and spices.”

  “Well, let me alert the media that we have a teacher’s pet. Of course it was August,” Jared sneered. Jared, who only got eight correct.

  Then he looked around as if seeking admiration for his comment. When none came, his cheeks flushed bright red, but I assumed through anger rather than the good grace to be embarrassed at his attitude.

  I took another look at his face, at the stupid shit-eating grin that tilted his mouth once more.

  “No more of that attitude in this kitchen. The next person who behaves dissatisfied about someone else’s success is off this program. No fucking second chances.” I slammed my closed fist on the counter as every one of my protective instincts rose within me in defense of August. “I don’t tolerate bullying of any sort here.” I made sure to include everyone as I spoke. “Bullying of any staff member will result in instant termination.” I’d probably never delivered the message as forcefully before.

  Absolute silence descended over the kitchen, everyone watching me as if waiting for a second outburst. Instead, I turned and approached the whiteboard in the corner of the room, unwilling to give them any reason to relax.

  The marker squeaked across the board’s surface as I listed all of the herbs and spices. Rage simmered, barely restrained, under my skin, but I slowed my writing down in an effort to regain control. Eventually, I faced my new staff again.

  “Right. Take a look at this list and have a think about which spices you didn’t detect. What did you expect to get right, and what did you get just plain wrong? Did you think there were any spices in there that I haven’t listed? Developing your palate is vital for a chef. The wrong note or accent can make or break a dish, and we don’t want to give our customers any reason not to come back.”

  Everyone watched me, their faces neutral.

  I smiled. “But I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir. Anyway, in the time we have left today, I want you all to work through the dish you’ve just tasted. Your mentors are very familiar with it and they will guide you if you need any help. Afterwards, I’ll ask you to critique each other, because we’re a team and we all have something of value to share.” I turned to August. “Sorry. I have admin to do, so you’re on clean-up duty.”

  I’d raced through the day’s training, but August had made it easy. He was attentive, focused, and quick to learn. I couldn’t have asked for better. But I couldn’t spend any more time with him today. Being so close to him tested my control.

  Once in my office, I checked the roster. Thank God for that. Tomorrow was his day off. But my hands still trembled slightly as I sank into my chair, as if simply being in the same building was almost too much, too close.

  The hours passed quickly, and I’d barely done any paperwork, although Valerie had sent plenty of questioning glances my way. I sighed as I stacked another invoice on my steadily growing pile. Between counting the days for this place to turn a profit and ignoring my desire for August, I’d develop a full head of gray hair and a face of lines and wrinkles before I knew it.

  “We’re ready for you, Chef.” Jared didn’t knock before he entered my office and spoke, and I clamped down on a spike of irritation at his familiarity.

  I stood and followed him to the kitchen where the dishes were laid on the serving counter. “Start tasting, people. Be sure to let your teammates know what you think of their dish and why. Strengths and things to improve. Keep it constructive and professional. The success of this business depends on all of us.” I didn’t look for August. I could almost sense his exact position. The knowledge of his presence wouldn’t leave me—it beat through me like an extra pulse.

  “You can’t be serious!” The furious voice cut through the quiet chatter of the tasting session, and I glanced up. Shit. Jared, again.

  I approached him. “What’s the problem?”

  August stood in front of Jared’s dish, fork in hand. “Sorry, Chef.”

  “He’s spouting crap about my food, Chef.”

  I turned to August and raised my eyebrow. Clearly, these two didn’t like each other a whole lot. “What did he say?” I continued to watch August as I addressed my question to Jared
. August didn’t move or react, just remained motionless and calm. Whatever he’d said, it didn’t seem motivated by anger or dislike.

  “He said the meat needs a shorter time in the skillet and the sauce is too sweet.”

  “Actually,” August cut in. “I said I really liked it, but I suggested you check the heat of your skillet and vary your cooking times accordingly and that you add a touch less honey.”

  “I followed that recipe exactly. You’re talking crap because I did it completely right, and you can’t stand to think you might not be the best at everything.” Jared’s face reddened.

  “May I?” I gestured my fork toward the plate. “Because it sounds like August stayed professional in his crit.” I bristled at the way Jared spoke about August, but if I spoke up in defense, the alpha in me might take over and I’d give myself away.

  “Of course, Chef.” Jared folded his arms, standing slightly farther back, his smug smile back in place. “I understand not everyone’s taste buds are as developed as yours.”

  He watched me as I chewed the meat and swallowed. “I think August nailed it, Jared.”

  “But I followed the recipe. It can’t be wrong.”

  I shrugged. “Cooking is as much an art as a science. In the future, keep an eye on your temperatures, not just your timings, and taste more often if you’re adding strong or sweet flavors.”

  He spluttered as if he might protest again, and I clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Look, accepting critique and cooking for professional critics is a big part of this job. There will always be some customers who find a reason to complain, no matter whether your recipe is perfect. Even if not one chef in this kitchen can suggest anything you could do to improve it. Listening to those people is just part of the job. And if you can’t do that—” I bent over slightly to meet his eyes. “If that level of criticism is something you can’t handle, maybe this isn’t the job for you.”

  For a moment, I didn’t know how he’d react, but he eventually sucked a deep breath in, then another. “You’re right. But I can handle it. Sorry for overreacting, August.”

  “Thank you, Jared.” August’s words sounded curt and uncertain and I glanced at his back as he walked away as if retreating to a safer distance.

  “Great, Jared. Thanks for that.” I clapped him on the shoulder again. “Being given suggestions or direction doesn’t always mean you’re being told you’re wrong.” Then I raised my voice. “That’s it for today, everyone. Once your workstations are clean, you can go home. August, we’ll do your extra hour of training on your next working day.”

  I glanced at August’s station. Pristine. He’d be heading home right away, then. I smothered my sigh of relief at gaining my personal space back. Then I smiled as I made my way back to my office. At least I’d made it through my first day as his mentor unscathed and mostly unaffected. But I didn’t dare count how many days were left.

  The phone on my desk rang as I walked through the door. “I’ve got this, Val. You can head home.”

  She nodded at me and started shutting down her computer. “Sure.”

  “Mr. Storm?”

  My thoughts had flicked back to August as I answered the phone, so it took me a moment to place the voice. “Yes?”

  “This is Molly Jacobs from The Cedar House.”

  I closed my eyes as panic flitted through me.

  “Is…is Mom…?” I started the question no one ever wanted to ask.

  “Oh, gosh, no! Oh, my. I didn’t…I’m so sorry,” the nurse interrupted. “Your mother’s health is absolutely fine. Please don’t worry. She’s just not having the best of days.” The nurse sighed then seemed to start her thought process all over again. “She’s just been very unsettled, and we didn’t know if seeing you might help.”

  I gathered the paperwork I’d need to work on later that night, stuffing it into my backpack to take home. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  7

  August

  June 6th

  An actual day off. After a week in Ewin’s kitchen, the laidback atmosphere of Ryker’s Draft House seemed slow. Almost lazy. I relaxed against the battered vinyl booth, the worn plastic creaking in protest as I shifted my butt, searching for the familiar dip in the seat years of use had created.

  “What you having, man?” Griff looked at me expectantly.

  I’d made him promise to buy the first round after he and Brody stopped by way too early to drag me out for the day. They definitely didn’t appreciate kitchen hours.

  I stifled a yawn. “Something with caffeine?” But the hope in my voice didn’t make it to Brody.

  “Nah, dude. It’s beer o’clock, for sure.” He grabbed a menu, examining the familiar food choices. “Burger?” He looked at me and quirked an eyebrow. “Or do you only eat haute cuisine now?”

  I laughed. “I’ve only worked there a week.”

  “And I bet he’d rather eat his boss.” Griff lifted a sly corner of his lips. “Almost wondered if we’d see him here, actually.”

  I shrugged, ignoring the heat flaming up my face at Griff’s comment about eating Ewin. I could think of a few places to put my mouth. “I’m sure he’s busy at the restaurant. Being the owner is a huge responsibility.”

  “You all right? You’ve gone a bit red in the face. Let me grab the beers so we can put that fire in your cheeks out.” Griff stood and headed to the bar, his boots thunking against the rough wood floor.

  Brody fanned his menu in my direction. “It’s okay. We know it’s only because you want your boss’s babies.”

  “Shut up, Bro,” I hissed. Then I glanced around the bar to see who might have overheard him. “I’m not crushing on my boss.”

  Griff laughed as he clanked the beer classes to the table, ignoring the liquid slopping over the sides as he did so. “Yeah, right. But should that be babies or grandbabies? How old is he compared to you, again? But Brody’s right—he’s been your crush and your idol for as long as you’ve studied cooking. Since you were pretty much an embryo, Aug.”

  I shot him my dirtiest look. “Ageist. And he’s not my crush anymore.” I took a gulp of my drink, using the moment to hide behind the upturned glass. “It’s all very professional in the kitchen.”

  Brody scoffed. “And how long do you think that will last? Someone’s going to want him. We all saw him, Aug… He won’t hurt for lack of company. Wouldn’t you prefer that company to be you?”

  My face flamed again. “Give it a rest, guys.”

  “Aww… August wants Ewin Storm’s babies,” Griff sing-songed a little too loudly. “I wonder if older dude’s babies come out with gray hair? But do you even know if he’s gay?” he asked.

  It was my turn to scoff. “Of course he is—he’s an alpha.”

  “He tell you that?” Brody smiled at the waitress about to unload our burgers and fries, and I waited for her to leave before I answered his question.

  “Of course not. But I can tell. I mean… I’d know. Omegas know, right?”

  They both stared at me.

  “You mean I wouldn’t know? Shit. What if I’ve got this all wrong? Fuck me.” I grabbed a fry and pushed it into my mouth as I tried to remember if Ewin had ever even had any relationship scandals that made the news. “Either way, it doesn’t matter, though. I don’t care.”

  “He’s got it bad.” Griff spoke to Brody as if I wasn’t sitting right at the table with them.

  “Yeah…I wonder if he hasn’t tried to flirt? Maybe he’s a bit rusty in that department?” Brody answered, equally as deadpan.

  “Guys.” Exasperation mingled with my embarrassment. “He’s my boss. We work together. I need to keep it professional and not ruin this opportunity. We’re talking about my career here. It’s important shit, you know?”

  “Yeah.” Brody turned serious. “And we’re proud of you, man.” He clinked his glass against mine.

  “Still think you should find out for sure if Ewin is gay, though. Just so you know. Not that you’d want
to get too close to that wrinkly nutsack.” Griff’s eyes gleamed with amusement, but his words sent a shiver of excitement through me as I discarded his last comment and considered flirting with Ewin.

  My phone rang, breaking me free of my thoughts of Ewin, and I reached into my pocket to grab it. “Huh.” I stared at the familiar number lighting up the screen before sending the call straight to voicemail.

  Dawson needed a rethink if he assumed he could just call up out of the blue, over a week after I graduated.

  “Was it Ewwww-iiiin?” Griff exaggerated his name and made a kissy face.

  “Shut the fuck up, Griff.” I wasn’t in the mood to be teased anymore.

  “Who was it, dude?” Brody’s gaze turned gentle, concerned.

  “My shithead brother.” Some brother. He’d been gone too long to just drop me a call.

  Griff let loose a low whistle. “Sorry, man. That’s tough. How long since the two of you last spoke?”

  I shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but I couldn’t stop bitterness creeping into my tone. “Oh, you know. Only three years.” Oh, sure, he’d sent money for the institute tuition every month. That had come through, but my brother had pretty much disappeared. He was a stranger to me now, and that hurt.

  Sadness settled in the pit of my stomach, and I pushed my plate away.

  My phone rang again, but before I could reach out to silence it, Brody grabbed it, pressing the button and holding it to his ear before I could wrestle it from his grip.

  “Shit, Brody.” I narrowed my eyes at him and reached again for my phone.

  But he shushed me and angled his body away. “August’s phone, Brody here.” He waited a moment for Dawson to identify himself, as if he didn’t know who’d called. “Dawson, no can do, dude. August’s only speaking to people he can depend on. You know, family and friends who actually remembered his graduation. The one we’ve all known about for…oh, I don’t know…a year.” His voice hitched in accusation.

  Dawson replied, but I couldn’t hear his words.