BURN (The HEAT Series Book 1) (3 page)

"Do you go to Club Aeon often?" Tyler asks as he stands in the doorway.

I can't exactly ignore him. I'm the only one in Nova's kitchen right now. Everyone else is in the dining room enjoying the early dinner we all prepared together. I opted not to eat, instead focusing the time I would have given to that to prepping the salmon that is our feature menu item for dinner service.

"It was my first time." I look across the room at him. "I take it you were there on Saturday night?"

I don't take it. I know it. I saw him out of the corner of my eye when Sophia and I were leaving. We had danced for more than an hour, pushing away the earnest hands of a half dozen guys who didn't ignite anything in either of us.

When I noticed Sophia yawning for the fifth time in the span of ten minutes, I grabbed hold of her elbow and hauled her out the exit. We were on the street, waiting for an Uber, when she leaned into my chest and almost fell asleep standing up.

I used the time to catch my breath after seeing Tyler staring at me inside the club. His eyes were dark, his clothing a perfect match. While he watched me walk out, I wondered if the woman hanging on his shoulder would have a taste of him at the end of the night.

"Briefly." He walks across the kitchen toward a tablet sitting on the counter near a set of knives that belong to one of the senior chefs. I know better than to invade that area. It's strictly off limits until you've earned a place there. "Who was the woman with you?"

It's not the first time a man has asked me that after seeing me with Sophia. She's exquisite, her facial features as delicate as the rest of her. I have a good six inches on her when we're both barefoot.

"Sophia, "I answer evenly. "Her name is Sophia. She's my roommate. We're close friends."

"She reminds me of my sister." He picks up the tablet and heads toward me. "They have a similar look."

"Sophia's beautiful." I set the filleting knife I'm holding down before I wipe my hands on the white side towel I keep tucked in my half apron.

His eyes graze over my face, slowly, meticulously as if he's studying me for the first time. "Sophia is almost as beautiful as my sister. A lot of women in this city have the same look as the two of them. There's a pretty, blue-eyed, brunette around every corner."

I don't see it that way but I'm not a visual connoisseur of women the way he is. "There are a lot of beautiful women in New York."

"I agree," he says huskily. "There are a lot of beautiful women, but few are beautiful and talented. That's a rare breed."

"A rare breed?" I question warily. "There are at least four beautiful and talented women working for you right now. It's actually more if you count the women outside the kitchen."

He steps closer. When he's this close, there's no longer any wonder about why Pamela, the television host, was aroused. I can sense the energy that flows from him. It's intense. He's a force of nature in the kitchen. I can't imagine what he'd be like stripped naked in a bed.

"There are several talented women who work for me, Cadence." His dark eyes wander over my face. "Some are beautiful, but only one is captivating."

I don't break his gaze, not when my co-workers rush through the door, not when one stops to ask him a question and not even when he tells me that he needs me, and only me, to stay after the restaurant closes tonight.

***

"You're likely wondering why I asked you to stay." He walks toward me after saying goodnight to the rest of the staff.

"Naturally." I stand from where I've been sitting on a chair next to the chef's table. Tonight's guest was Asher Foster and his fiancée. He's an award winning musician who, apparently, tipped generously. I heard the servers whispering their excitement as soon as the table was cleared.

Chef Monroe had handled their entrees himself, taking time to prepare each with care and precision. He also spent the bulk of the time they were here, standing next to the table, explaining his unique creations in detail. It was a chef's special in every sense.

The smiles on their faces suggested they were both satisfied when they left. The smile on Tyler's face was less noticeable. I listened as he took their compliments with grace and gratitude.

"You're interesting, Cadence."

"Interesting?" I adjust the leg of my black dress pants. It's part of our required uniform even though temperatures in the kitchen soar when dinner service is at its peak. I've learned to adjust. I pull my hair up into a tight bun, I moisture everywhere every time I step out of the shower. I drink bottle after bottle of water and when my shift is done, I lock myself in my room and slip out of my clothes.

The window of my bedroom is almost always ajar. I love the fresh air even if it's soiled with exhaust and the aroma of the less-than-stellar restaurant down the block from my apartment. The cool breeze of the winter, the warm air of the fall and spring and even the suffocating humidity of the summer help to rid me of the heat that permeates me when I'm working in a professional kitchen next to a hot stove and a dozen warm bodies.

"You're interesting in a good way." He shrugs off his chef's jacket exposing a plain white t-shirt that is stretched across his broad chest. "Are you seeing anyone?"

I contemplate the question before I answer. This wasn't what I was expecting when he insisted I stay. He may have called me captivating but I've heard the whispered rumors of how he never gets involved with women who work for him. I thought he was going to touch on our dual television appearance. I opt for honesty as I look beyond him to the empty kitchen. "I'm not, Chef."

"Call me Tyler when we're alone."

"Tyler," I repeat back.

He steps closer. "I'm hosting a VIP event here on Friday night. We're closing early. I've invited a few friends, but it's mainly industry people. I'd like you to be here."

"To cook?" My fingers curl around the edge of the table.

"No." He holds my gaze. "I want you to come as a guest."

"Oh," I say without thinking, my mind moving at breakneck speed. "Is that why you asked if I'm seeing anyone?"

He drapes his jacket over the back of the chair next to me. When he looks at me again, his face is impassive. "No. I asked because I heard that you're the drop dead gorgeous blonde fucking Brendon Trevino."

I was the blonde fucking Brendon Trevino. The drop dead gorgeous part is debatable but I'm flattered in a strange and uncomfortable way.

I expect Chef Monroe to drop the steely stare when I don't respond right away. I'm no judge of time when it feels like it's standing still, but I'm going to bet that at least thirty seconds have passed. I need to say something. "I was involved with Brendon for almost a year."

"You're her?" His eyes roam over my body. "You're the woman Brendon can't get enough of?"

That's accurate, I guess. Brendon Trevino's appetite for all things sexual is as insatiable as his hunger for fame. The man is a talented chef. He's actually the new executive chef at Axel NY, a restaurant owned by Hunter Reynolds. Hunter also holds a stake in Nova. It's a twisted web of familiarity that feels almost too intimate when I give it any thought. So I don't. I left my job at Axel shortly before I graduated from culinary school. When I interviewed here, the kitchen manager offered me a position on the spot.

"Brendon and I aren't together anymore," I say softly. "We broke up months ago. I don't even speak to him at this point."

"What happened between you two?"

It's not a question I'm prepared to answer. "It's complicated. I don't like talking about it."

I don't like talking to anyone about it, even Sophia. When I was with Brendon, I stayed at his place at least a few nights a week. He never slept at mine.

He'd often forget Sophia's name and when he was at our apartment, he was always uncomfortable around her. She once told me it was because she knew he wasn't the right guy for me.

I sensed the same thing which is why I never truly invested myself fully in the relationship. We had fun while it lasted. Brendon taught me a lot about food and about life.

"Cadence." Tyler's eyes volley from my face to the table and then back. "There's a lot of sensitive information in the kitchen. I don't want that shared with anyone, especially a competing chef."

Seriously? He thinks I'm a culinary spy?

It's hard not to take offense at Chef Monroe's comments. He doesn't know me though. It's natural that he'd wonder if I'm still involved with Brendon. "I understand your concern but I can assure you that I haven't spoken to Brendon in months. I don't think he's even aware that I'm working here."

"I see." He runs his finger across his chin. "I expect loyalty, Cadence. If your situation with Trevino changes, I need you to tell me."

"I will," I offer even though I'm not sure if I actually will. I can't imagine anything between the two of us changing. I sacrificed my relationship with him for my career. Brendon doesn't like taking a backseat to anyone.

"I'll expect you at the VIP event." He pushes his palms against the table as he stands. "Space is limited so don't bring your roommate with you."

I hadn't planned on it. I know Sophia has a sewing class every second Friday after work. I doubt like hell she'd give that up to tagalong to a work party with me. "I'll come alone."

His lips curve into a wry smile. "As I said, you're interesting, Cadence. I'm looking forward to spending time with you on Friday night."

***

"He knows you slept with Brendon?" Sophia holds a measuring tape against my left arm. "Who would tell him that?"

I drop my left arm and raise the right when she taps my shoulder. "It was probably Brendon. He couldn't keep his mouth shut about the stuff we did."

"What kind of stuff did you do?"

I don't answer. None of it fell into the realm of kinky. We had sex, sometimes in places we shouldn't have. Brendon's desire to take me in spots where we risked getting caught only amplified his need to tell his friends about it. He's a twenty-seven-year-old man who lives his life like he's a freshman in college. 

"I'm just glad that part of my life is over."

"Do you think Tyler believes that it is?"

I turn so I can look at her. "I think so. He sees how hard I work. He must know that I take my career seriously. I have nothing to do with Brendon anymore. That's my past."

She nods as she tucks the measuring tape into the pocket of her jeans. "I have all your measurements, Den. I'll finish up your dress so when you walk into Nova on Friday night, Tyler Monroe won't remember his own name, let alone Brendon's."

Sophia wasn't kidding about the dress. When she showed it to me last night, I literally had to sit down. It's black, short with a skirt that stops three inches above my knees. The top has a draped neckline and the back is virtually non-existent. The only thing holding the halter type top in place is a length of silver chain Sophia attached near the top of the back of the dress. It's sexy, disarming and when she watched me pin up my hair and apply make-up for a practice run-through, she squealed in delight. I almost did the same tonight when I got ready.

I'm in front of the restaurant now, teetering precariously in four inch heels. I'm not the dress up type, unless I'm headed to a club with Sophia, or going on a date. I haven't done the latter since I broke up with Brendon. I also haven't worn this high of heels in forever so I'm hoping that I don't accidentally fall into the lap of one of the food critics Tyler invited to the party.

I open the door and I'm instantly greeted with the meshed sounds of soft jazz and muted voices. The restaurant is swarming with people, all dressed sharply for the occasion. Some of the servers are in their uniforms, carrying trays filled with the recently introduced one bite appetizers. Virtually every person has a drink in their hand.

It's the same space where we serve hundreds of people dinner each night, but tonight it's different. The lighting is even more relaxed, the mood casual. It's transformed. The ambiance is inviting and intimate.

I spot another junior chef across the room. It's Maribel. She started working for Tyler when the restaurant first opened last year. She raises her hand as a beacon for me. I can sense by the expression on her face that she feels just as misplaced as I do. I'm grateful she's here, even if I hadn't realized how much I would need a friendly shoulder to lean on.

"Holy fuck, Cadence." She reaches her hands forward to grab my shoulders. "You look amazing. I feel underdressed."

She shouldn't. She's striking in a deep purple dress, accented with a strand of single pearls around her neck. Her long black hair flows in soft waves over her shoulders. I've never seen her like this. "Me? You look like a completely different person with your hair down."

She laughs, and I grab onto that delight, hoping it will chase away the lingering anxiety I'm feeling. I want to help present Nova in the best light possible. This is the place where I plan to gather not only knowledge, but accomplishments, so I can one day open my own restaurant.

"I feel out of place," she confesses as she loops her arm through mine. "Why don't we mingle as a duo? You can lean on me and I'll lean on you."

"It's a deal." I look out into the crowd, trying to find Tyler's tall frame. I don't see him. He's either sitting at one of the many tables where people have gathered or he's tucked into a corner with someone.

The thought that it could be a woman forms an instant knot in my stomach. I try to shake it away with a remark about the weather to Maribel, but it's stuck. I don’t want it there. I can't feel that way. Tyler is my boss. He may think I'm captivating, but I'm his employee and he doesn't mix business with pleasure, as interesting as he may think I am.

"Chef Sutton." I feel a light tap on my shoulder, accompanied by a female voice. "I was hoping you'd be there."

I turn my attention and body toward her. It's the producer from the morning show. Her name slips my mind.

"I'm Barbara." She reaches a hand to Maribel. "Cadence and I met when she did a cooking segment on our show."

"This is Maribel," I interject quickly. "She works with me in the kitchen here. She's a fantastic chef."

I feel Maribel's gaze on me. I highly doubt she ever gets the recognition she deserves. She's almost fifty-years-old. She's worked hard for much of her life to gain traction in an industry that, until recently, was dominated primarily by men. I could tell that it pained her when I was chosen for the cooking segment. It was written all over her face when she congratulated me in a weak tone.

She wanted that opportunity and when she didn't get it, she tightened the armor around her. She pasted on a smile that anyone could see was as fake as the producer's breasts; one of which keeps rubbing my arm as she leans in to talk to me.

"This is where the beautiful women have gathered." Tyler walks over, dressed in a navy suit, complete with light blue shirt and tie. "You all look ravishing tonight."

I meet his gaze as he tips the glass of champagne in his hand. "Thank you, Chef."

"Thank you, Cadence," he says smoothly. "Thank you for coming."