“I’m not trying to take it away from you. I don’t even want a piece of it.” I tilted my head to the side, knowing there was a gentleness to this beautiful man, and I was determined to find it. “I just want to know what it feels like to have someone like her love your food. Describe it to me.”
He rubbed his lips together and then wiped them with his thumb. “If you want to know the truth, it pissed me off.”
I felt my eyes bug out. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“But why?”
“I don’t work in this restaurant to cook for her—or for anyone. I’m here to make sure things run the way they need to. Charred LA is the busiest out of all the Charreds we own. We do triple than any other location. For that reason, I’m in the kitchen.”
Maybe he didn’t understand my question.
So, I said, “Then what is it like when you’re not in the restaurant? Say … you’re at home, having your family over for dinner, and they’re raving about what you cooked. What does that feel like?”
“I don’t cook for my family anymore.” His tone was sharp.
“Why not?”
He sucked his lips inward, the muscles in his jaw flexing, his stare staying on me until he said, “Because I can’t fucking stand being in the kitchen,” and then his attention moved to the ground.
What?
How could he say that?
It couldn’t be true.
Walker was one of the most respected chefs in the world. I’d now done my research, and I knew a lot more details about his history and accomplishments than when I had first started here.
The kitchen was his place.
His home.
Where his creativity thrived.
And he …couldn’t stand it?
“Walker, I’m?—”
“You’re leaving,” he barked. “I’m going into my office. When I come out, you’d better be gone.”
FIFTEEN
Walker
Istood at the prep station, glancing around the kitchen as the staff geared up for tonight’s reservations. The two chefs behind me were in the middle of making sauces, marinating the fish, getting the potatoes groomed for the different ways we served them.
But something felt off—more off than normal.
Although I was looking at the faces of my employees, their tasks, the interior of this space that I was as familiar with as the back of my hand, it no longer felt like I was here.
That I was even inside my body.
Everything was moving.
Spinning.
Shifting.
