Atleast that’s what I told myself. The sweet tasting lie would give me the courageto finish out the night at least.
Killianopened his mouth like he wanted to argue with me some more, but Wyatt appearedin the side door ofLilou. “We need you, Chef!”
Iseized the opportunity to get rid of him. “Your kitchen needs you,Chef. So get out of mine.”
Hegrinned at me, as if enjoying my hatred. “Enjoy the desserts, Vera. It wasworth the trade.”
Hetossed his half-eaten meal in the trash can and sauntered back to hisrestaurant. If I didn’t know any better, I would have even said there was a springin his step.
“God,what an asshole,” I growled once he was out of earshot.
WhenMolly didn’t immediately agree, I turned to look at her. She shruggedinnocently. “I think he’s used to getting his way.”
“It’sobnoxious.”
Shefanned herself with her notepad. “And so damn hot.”
Ishould have disagreed with her. But that would have been a filthy lie.
ChapterNine
I hoped Killian had gotten themessage that I didn’t want anything more to do with him. It was weird hating achef of Killian’s caliber, but the guy was intolerable. I couldn’t stand him.
He had to realize that by now.
I didn’t like to think of myself asan opportunist, but in culinary school I’d made it a point to get to know asmany notable chefs as possible. Whether they were teachers or guest speakers, Iwanted to glean as much technique and talent as I could from them.
It wasn’t anything more than adesire to get the most out of my expensive education. But in the end, it hadbackfired.
I’d gotten to know one guest cheftoo closely. And then I’d fallen in love with him.
Instead of getting a foot in thedoor of an ultra-competitive industry, I’d traded my goals and aspirations fora toxic relationship that inevitably ruined any chance I had at making a namefor myself.
But even if it weren’t for myfirsthand experience with self-absorbed, verbally abusive chefs, I still wouldwant nothing to do with Killian Quinn. He was rude, intrusive and insensitive.I didn’t ask him for his opinion.
And I certainly didn’t want it.
What I wanted was for him to leaveme alone.
Apparently, that was too much toask.
I’d seen him arrive atLilouan hour earlier. It was Saturday afternoon, and I wasdeep in prep work for this evening’s dinner service. The second I saw him pullup, I had ducked out of view, where I watched him like a weird stalker from theshadows.
He’d dismounted his motorcycle withthe same careless ease he always did and tugged the helmet from his head. Onlythis time instead of going straight inside his restaurant, he stared at thefood truck for a solid two minutes.
My heart pounded inside my chest,afraid he would walk over here. I scrunched back against the cooler, praying hecouldn’t see me as I hid like a coward. But his gaze stayed so intent that Istarted to wonder if he had super-vision.
Finally, he propped his helmet onhis bike and disappeared insideLilou. I took a deep,stabilizing breath and contemplated trying to convince Vann to move the bikeshop. Like across town. Or to a different city. Maybe, possibly, the moon.
I already knew my brother wouldnever do it.Selfish bastard.
The sauce in front of me simmered inthe pan, bubbles bursting every once in a while. Dipping a clean spoon in it, Ilifted it to my lips and tasted. Not salty enough.
Damn it.
I needed to get the meatballs in thesauce, but now I was afraid of ruining the flavor. The self-doubt wasn’tnatural for me, and I hated it even more because it was inspired by the idiotacross the street. It wrapped around me like cracked, too-tight skin I desperatelyneeded to shed.
A sharp knock on the doorinterrupted my internal freak out, and I spun around ready to face Vann orMolly and ask them to restore some of my confidence with flowery, over the topcompliments.
