I laugh and set the coffee machine going. Stefan is a good looking and easy-going guy. He refuses to tell me exactly where he’s from, just vaguely saying Eastern Europe, so I guess he has a reason for keeping it a secret and I don’t pry. More importantly, we work well together. Within ten minutes the rest of the kitchen staff have arrived. Despite the early start, most people don’t mind doing the breakfast shift because Conal never does. Hesays it’s beneath him to do it. His choice is everyone’s gain, and we usually get through it with a few laughs and minimal stress. We get the bulk of the breakfasts out of the way—buffet-style bulk catering for the majority of guests and à la carte for those who have access to the exclusive restaurant. Such as those in the gilded suites, like Andrés. I refuse to let any thoughts of him distract me from my work as I call a few of the staff together and set them on prepping for the sauces, stocks, and soups we need for the rest of the day.
“What are these, chef?” One of the junior members of the team asks, holding up the box of carrots I’d hastily put in the fridge last night.
“I had a few extra minutes yesterday, so I thought I’d make a start. They’re for the stock later,” I say, as if it’s natural for me to do that. It’s not unheard of, but definitely not usual. Luckily the junior staff know not to answer back, so she accepts what I tell her. “Can you give them to Coll, so she can use them?” She nods, going off to carry out my instruction.
Kitchens are busy places, so time seems to pass quickly, and before long breakfasts are over and the prep for lunch begins. Some staff are on split shifts like me, and they leave, while others are staying on and will finish before the evening shift. Those staff who will now work for the rest of the day start arriving and pick up what we’ve started. I do the staff rota, another job Conal refuses to do, but I don’t mind. It’s a task I enjoy, though it can be a logistical headache sometimes. Conal is due to take over from me and I’m looking forward to laying my head down for a few hours and catching up on some sleep. Of course he’s late, though, so I’m irritable by the time he does show up. With him being late, I’ve already assigned the staff to jobs, so the kitchen is running smoothly. During our handover I go througheverything we’ve managed to complete or have started and what stage they’re in. He grunts and barely comments, and if he does, they’re usually snidey and I let them roll off me. I know he has nothing to complain about; we’re ahead of schedule. I made sure of it.
Eventually I escape, almost an hour late, and trudge back to my room, the effects of lack of sleep now weighing on me. I barely manage to undress and set my alarm before collapsing into bed.
Three hours later the alarm reminds me I still have another shift at work to do. I curse inwardly. Why did I sign up for this life? I didn’t really. By now I should be setting up my own restaurant, one that’s only open in the evening, where I can be creative with the dishes I make. I envisioned people coming to visit my restaurant to taste my food, not feeding the same food over and over to indifferent guests. I’ve only been here three weeks and it’s already starting to feel likeGroundhog Day. I have three weeks left to go. I can stick it out, and then I’ll fly back to England and figure out what’s next. I don’t know if I have the energy to start saving up again. The thought of spending all my life as a second-string chef serving up other people’s ideas doesn’t appeal, but it would be better than working for a chain restaurant where all the decisions are made by some head office in another country somewhere. I’ve done my time in those and that’s never going to happen again.
“What time did you get in last night? That’s if you got in at all.” I whirl round at the voice behind me, my skin going colder than the air outside. I relax slightly when I see it’s just Avery leaving his room, probably to start his shift in the bar.
“I don’t know what you mean. I was in my room all night,” I lie. I don’t know how he could know I got back late. I made sure no one was around when I quietly let myself into my room. Not thatit should matter, the staff do all sorts of strange shifts, so there’s usually someone coming and going at all hours of the day and night.
“A few of us were setting up a card game last night, and I came round to see if you were up for it. I knocked for ages and you didn’t answer. Did you have a good sleep?”
I can tell by the gleam in his eye that he knows there’s no way I’d sleep through his knocking. I usually join in the card games as well. We don’t get much down time, and unless you have transport there’s no way off the resort to go into the nearest town, so we often play cards or hang out. When I don’t answer he starts again.
“So, are you going to tell me what you were doing last night?” He gives a sly grin. “Orwhoyou were doing?”
Again I don’t answer and keep walking towards the hotel. He grabs my arm and makes me stop.
“Oh my god. You did get dicked last night. You lucky thing.” For someone who’s been sleeping his way through the male staff like a rabid rabbit, I find his comment amusing.
“It was nothing, just a hookup,” I mumble, hoping he’ll drop it. I don’t ask him about his sex life. I don’t expect him to ask about mine. Though more often than not he tells me his anyway.
“Was it Stefan? That guy is gorgeous and so mysterious,” he asks, fishing for information. I would never ever have a hookup or anything else with a member of the same team as me, that would be highly unprofessional. About as unprofessional as having one with a guest, but I’m not dwelling on that. “Or that server. You know, the one that looks like a Hemsworth. I’ve been trying to catch his eye all week.”
“It’s not him,” I grind out.
“Huh, shame, you could’ve told me if he was worth my time.”
“Fuck it, Avery.” I pull out of his grip and continue walking, and he runs a few steps to catch up with me. I’m not fucking someone and then sharing the information with him so he can too. That makes it all sound cheap and tawdry. Which I guess that’s what a hookup is, but it didn’t feel that way last night.
“One of the groundsmen, then. Some of them are really well hung.”
“Urgh, you’re not going to let up, are you?” I stop this time as we’re getting close to the building and I don’t want to be overheard.
“Nope.” He pops the p and stands, waiting expectantly.
“It was a guest,” I sigh.
“OMG!” We are definitely too close to the building for that outburst. Several people look around at us, and I almost scan the nearby mountains in case the pitch of his voice has started an avalanche.
“Shhh,” I hiss at him.
“Who was it? I won’t tell anyone?” He slaps a hand to his chest like a secret would actually be safe with him, but I know him better than that. “Was he any good? I could look him up too.”
“Never. Gonna. Tell,” I grind out and walk off again, heading towards the kitchen. I’m annoyed with myself that he managed to get that much out of me. His last comment made me feel sick. It might have been a hookup, and I have no claim on Andrés, I probably won’t even see him again, but the thought of him andAvery together makes me want to bring up my last meal. When I get to the kitchen I drink a glass of water to wash away the taste of bile and get busy with work, allowing Conal’s grumpiness and the bustle of the kitchen to drown out any other thoughts.
CHAPTER FOUR
ANDRÉS
I swing myself up onto Chispa’s back and settle into her saddle, a seat that feels as much like home to me as anywhere. We aren’t playing in the tournament today, but the horses still need exercise, so we’re heading out along one of the trails for a change of scenery. Some of the other teams will play today, and I’ll watch them later. We’ll compete in the heats again tomorrow, and if we get through we’ll be in the final on Saturday. On Sunday we fly out to the UK. Aspen is a halfway point on my way from Argentina to England.
Gabriel and Linden, with their horses, fall into step beside me as we head away from the resort. Both of them are blond with classic good looks and aristocratic pedigrees as long as their horses’. I think Gabriel said they’re distantly related going back several hundred years. All I know is that they’re friends, they went to the same school together, and they play polo.
