Okay,after everything I’d said about him, I knew that sounded crazy. But Wyatt wasone of those people that no matter how much you hated him, he was still veryattractive.
Sometimesyou got to know someone and if they had an awful personality they got uglierthe longer you were forced to interact with them. But Wyatt was pretty much theopposite. The more I got to know him, the more I couldn’t stand him. And yet,he was so unbelievably attractive that his looks never seemed to diminish.
Hewas tall, at least six-foot-four, and even though his frame was thin—probablybecause of the whole height thing, a concept I was totally unfamiliar with—he wastightly muscled. I mean, muscles were everywhere. Long, sharp, cut muscles thatwrapped around his body in sinewy bumps and bulges.
Hishair was artfully styled in a hipster swoop with the sides recently shaved, andthe longer top pushed to one side. His eyes were deep brow, like melted milkchocolate.
Andthen there were the tattoos. The ones that covered Wyatt from his wrists tobiceps and his entire torso, front and back. Images even snaked up his neck ina visible display of eclectic individualism. His entire body was a work of art.One I wanted to paint or photograph. Or trace with my tongue.
Hewas everything I shouldn’t want, like, or notice. Not because of the tattoos.Or even because of the piercings he’d removed once he’d been promoted. He wasthe kind of guy I should have been able to ignore entirely because of howopposite we were, because of how much we hated each other.
Thisrivalry had been simmering for years, and if I’d learned anything in that time,it was that he didn’t change his opinion. Not ever. Once he decided something,that was it. And he’d decided a long time ago that he didn’t like me.
Thatshould have been more than enough for me to keep my distance and my mouth shut.
ButWyatt had the kind of body and personality that demanded attention. And I wasas helpless as everyone else. He walked into the kitchen and immediately we allstood up straighter, straightened our coats, focused on our tasks. And when heleft, we exhaled gigantic breaths of relief.
Foras beautiful as he was to look at, the man was a dictator in the kitchen.Rationally, I knew that was his right. This was his domain. He was the captainof this ship. Lilou lived and died by his direction.
Therewas even a part of me that was jealous of how he commanded so seamlessly. Hisdecisions were calculated and well thought out. He’d stepped into Killian’sshoes and not once faltered. Even if he didn’t always make what I considered tobe the best decisions, he never revealed regret or insecurity. He was almostentirely emotionless.
Exceptfor anger and irritation. Usually directed at me.
Likeright now.
“Iremember, Kaya.” His voice had pitched low, causing goose bumps to scatter overmy arms and the back of my neck. “Do yourealizethat it’s no longer my job?”
Iswallowed a lump of resentment. He knew I had been gunning for his position.And if I’d had a little more time to prove myself, I could have made a good runfor it. But Killian had left so suddenly that I never had a chance to throw myhat in the ring. One night I was dreaming of the day that Lilou would be mine,the day that Ezra Baptiste, the city’s foremost restaurateur, finally hired awoman to fill one of his executive chef positions, and the very next night itwas gone. I was back at square one, looking at a position that would never openup again. At least not within an acceptable window of time.
Becauseof this man.
Becauseof this arrogant, obnoxious chef I was supposed to call boss.
HoldingWyatt’s sharp gaze, even though I desperately wanted to look away, I nodded.“It’s impossible to forget. You’re constantly reminding us.”
“Remindingyou,” he countered. “You’re the only one in this kitchen who manages to forgetI’m in charge.”
Thekitchen fell silent as my coworkers turned to watch the drama. They loved whenwe went after each other. They loved the intrigue and gossip that came with it.Mostly they loved that Wyatt’s rage was totally focused on me and not them.
Ishrugged, playing the indifferent, blasé part I knew drove him the craziest.Wyatt was all fire and brimstone. He had no patience for apathy. “Guess I’m aslow learner.”
Hisjaw ticked again, and my heart jumped with it. I could pretend I was unaffectedall I wanted, but the truth was so opposite. My insides were tingling withadrenaline, my blood rushing through my veins at warp speed.
“Let’shope you’re not as slow at cleaning.” He turned around, giving me his rigidback and stiff shoulders. “Get to work, Swift.”
Unableto stop myself, I threw up an exaggerated salute with my middle finger. “Aye,aye, captain.”
Chapter Two
Threehours later, my feet were begging me to take them home, and I was covered insweat and kitchen grease. I would probably have to burn my clothes. Therewasn’t any amount of laundry detergent that could cut through the grime thatcovered me.
I’dshed my coat as soon as we’d closed the kitchen. That wasn’t as easily replacedas a pair of black pants. Well, it could have been. But I liked this one. Callme superstitious, but it had weathered a lot of stressful nights with me. Itwas the old friend I could always count on.
Strippeddown to a tight black tank top and my loose black pants, I stumbled my way toWyatt’s office. I’d been as slow as he’d foreseen cleaning the two stations.But I had also been thorough and meticulous. Throughout the late hours, I’dwatched him berate my coworkers when their work had gotten sloppy. I’d gonewith the do-it-right-the-first-time method, hopefully saving me from a bitchfest.
Butknowing Wyatt, he was bound to find something to nag at me about.
Iknocked on the heavy door to his office and waited for his invitation to enter.I was the only one left in the kitchen. Benny and Endo were around somewhere. Ihad a suspicion they were in the dining room sleeping while they waited for meto finish. Unsurprisingly, nobody had offered to help me. Working in a kitchenwas like willingly spending your evenings in a shark tank. Without a protectivecage to save you from getting bitten.
