“You don’t need to look me in the eye. Just watch my hands. You’re with me tonight.” I peek around the edge of my locker door before slamming it shut. Oh hell. Ryder is standing with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye. He heard us. I’m mortified. He’s not supposed to be here tonight.
He strides out of the locker room with such confidence I can’t help but watch. When I’m sure he’s gone, I slap Rick’s shoulder. “He heard you. What do I do now? I’m so embarrassed.”
“Own it, girl. That man’s eyes were trained on you.”
“Seriously. Stop.”
“Fine.”
“I’ve got to go and get to work.”
“Drinks this weekend?”
“Let me check my shifts.”
“Too good for the waitstaff now?” he jokes.
“I chop onions. It’s not exactly glamorous.”
“Girl, this is the beginning of your dream. One step at a time, right?” I smile so brightly at his words.
“Yep. I’m going to make it happen.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Go get it, tiger.”
I give myself a once-over in the mirror before heading to the kitchen. How am I going to face Ryder after that visual from Rick? I’m not going to lie, I may have dreamed something similar in recent weeks, and the Ryder in my dream was very skilled with his tongue.
Oh my God. Stop making it weird.
When I step into the kitchen, a thrill courses through me. Ryder is already getting his ingredients prepped for the night, but the second I walk in, his eyes find mine, as if he can sense my presence.
“You’re shadowing me tonight, Aspen. Get over here and watch how it’s done.” A wry smile creeps at the corner of his lips. He’s cocky but has the goods to back it up. I can only imagine how confident he is in the bedroom.
Inappropriate!
I really need to get my head in the game. I’ve got the opportunity of a lifetime, and if I don’t shape up, I’m going to ruin it, too busy thinking about the size of my boss’s cock. God, I bet he’s packing.
“Aspen. If you’re just going to stand there daydreaming, feel free to leave. If you want to learn, get over here, now.” He speaks with such authority in the kitchen. It’s sexy as—stop!
“Sorry, Chef.” I quickly wash my hands and take my place at his side. There’s a different buzz in here when Chef Stevens is at the helm. Everyone knows they are in the presence of greatness.
The aroma of his cologne invades my senses, making my insides somersault.
“What’s the special tonight, Chef?” I need to focus on the food. That’s what I’m here for. It’s my singular goal.
“Icelandic cod. There’s a very specific timing for this dish. Thirty seconds too much can make or break it. The seasoning is delicate, so watch me closely. You’re going to be prepping the specials for me.”
“Yes, sir.” His jaw clenches at my words, and I wonder if he regrets his decision to hire me in the kitchen. He seems pissed at me most days I’m here, but I’m determined to show him he didn’t make a mistake.
“Chef is fine.”
“Sorry, Chef.”
“Do exactly as I do.” He fillets the fish with expert ease, not even looking at it, his eyes trained on me. I’m adept when it comes to technique, but I’m nervous with his gaze fixed on my hands. “You’re being too heavy-handed.” He sets down his knife and wraps his hand over mine.
I gasp at his touch, knowing my cheeks are beginning to flush.
“Feel that?” His hand guides mine. “It requires a gentle touch. It’ll come away easier that way. You don’t want to hack the fish. I can’t serve that to our customers.”
