“What? Did you just try to hit me? That’s assault, Eden. I could report you to Sebastian and have you fired.”
“Wha—”
“Or maybe I’ll tell him that you’re a filthy fucking liar.”
Eden freezes. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t figure it out? I’ve been doing some digging around. Nobody seems to know who you are. I waited for years for the chance to work at La Rouge.I studied under countless chefs to earn my place here. But you? Who have you trained with, hm?”
“I, uh—”
“Nobody, that’s who. Because you’re an untrained fuckingfry cookwho scammed her way intomyjob. You’re an imposter who doesn’t deserve to be here.”
“Let go of me. Let go of me right now!”
Hector’s grip tightens that much more. Eden tries to jerk away, but his hold is absolute. “The fancy job, the new knives, the private rides home... You’ve got Chen wrapped around your pretty little finger, don’t you? Let’s be honest. The only reason you’re the sous chef is because you let him do whatever he wants to you.”
“I don’t—”
“Does he take you back to his place after work? Do you get on all fours and spread your legs for him like the slut you are?”
“Take that back.”
“Or what? Say one goddamn thing and I’ll expose you to Sebastian. And then not even Chen can do anything to protect his favorite little plaything.”
Eden can’t breathe. All she wants to do is strike Hector across the face. She wants to knee him in the groin, and hard.
But she can’t. Violence, as much as she wants to claw Hector’s eyes out, isn’t the answer.
In fact, it could make things so much worse. Not just for her, but for Alexander. The last thing she wants is to cause more trouble for him. He’s already dealing with so much. She can’t afford to lose her temper and become a burden to him.
She takes a deep breath and stares Hector straight in the eye. This simply won’t stand.
“You are a sad, pathetic little man,” she says, the epitome of calm. “You can say whatever you want about me, but none of it’s true. You just can’t stand the fact that your career is stagnant and you don’t have enough talent to climb your way up on your own. If calling me names and threatening me makes you feel like more of a man, fine. Knock yourself out.”
Eden yanks her hand away and jabs her forefinger against his chest hard enough that it makes him wince. “You have a problem with me? You tell me. I’ll cook circles around you, you snake. You think you can get away with it because I look like an easy target? I’ve got news for you, asshole, I’ve got a lot more fight in me than you think. But don’t for a second think you can get away with dragging Alexander’s name through the mud. He’s twice the man you will ever hope to be. You’re nothing but a little boy throwing a tantrum. So go ahead, do your fucking worst. Just don’t be surprised when karma comes around to bite you in the ass.”
“You little bi—”
The door to the walk-in swings open rapidly, sucking out all of the cool fridge air in one gust.
“Hector,” Alexander barks, irritated. “Where is the—Monroe? What’s going on here?”
Eden swallows, willing her racing heart to calm down. “Nothing.”
Alexander doesn’t believe it for a second. “Eden.”
“Don’t use the cilantro,” she warns him before walking past him.
She’s a damn fine chef and she knows it, fancy culinary school or no. When they get through service without a hitch, Eden knows it’s because she’s just that good.
If Eden’s distressed, she does a very good job of putting on a brave face.
Alexander isn’t sure what happened, but he is sure that he wants to beat Hector’s sniveling face into a pulp for whatever he did to her.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance because the redhead storms out of the kitchen before Alexander can figure out what’s going on. To make matters that much more complicated, he still has Palton to attend to. He can’t afford to let Hector split his focus, no matter how much he’s worried about Eden.
Alexander plates dessert, the final dish of the evening. He honestly can’t remember the last time he’s worked with this level of sweat-inducing attention to detail. He prepares the floating island, freshly whipped meringue floating in a crème anglaise topped with a dome casing of caramel he made from scratch. It might seem like a simple dish, but any number of things can go wrong.
