I grinned at him, all teeth. Showing him my fangs. “Let’s get this test underway, shall we?”
Rafael
Drake Warwick was gorgeous.
I’d noticed it out in the parking lot, but that was back before I knew who he was. I hadn’t spared him a second glance because today was not a day I could afford to be distracted.
Ironically enough, that wasbecause ofthe man who now stood in front of me, trying to disarm everyone with a shit-eating smile that did absolutely nothing for me.
Sure, he had beautiful honey-brown eyes that seemed to glow with confidence and charm. Sure, he had the bone structure of at least a lesser god. And sure, I had always been attracted to talent, which he apparently had in spades, judging by what Grey had said about him and his career to date.
But none of that mattered in the slightest, because I was the Head Chef of The Crow, and Drake Warwick was not going to get in my way.
“Let me show you around,” I told him. “Since you’re not familiar with the menu and our processes yet, you can shadow me tonight.” I kept my tone light but pointed.This is my domain. I wanted him to know that.
He wasn’t going to get a chance to do more than shadow me.
“Sure,” he said easily. “I’m interested to see how you do things. We were all about innovation in my last kitchen, so I’m sure we’ll find a lot of new opportunities.”
I glared at him. He wasn’t going to mess up my system. “Of course, it’s easy to bring in a lot of improvements when you start from a low standard,” I replied, keeping my tone honey-sweet and bright. I had no idea about what it was like in the restaurant he’d come from before this, but if he had something he could brag about, he was free to respond. “When you come into an established and professional kitchen like this one, it’s a little different.”
Drake barked a laugh and then closed his mouth abruptly like he hadn’t meant to let on that he found my words funny. “Lead on, master chef,” he said, gesturing for me to go ahead.
I led him through a brief introduction to all of our stations, along with the systems we had for making sure that equipment stayed where it was supposed to and everyone took care of their own areas. When I glanced up and saw him looking pointedly bored, I gritted my teeth and rattled through an explanation of tonight’s menu so fast I hoped he was feeling whiplash.
“Any questions?” I finished. I ignored the fact that Beau and Ainslie were staring at me open-mouthed from the other side of the prep counter. They had to be thinking the same thing: that there was no way anyone could get a grasp on the menu that fast.
“Who’s cooking family dinner today?” he asked, glancing around the room instead of actually directing the question at me. We weren’t far off from the time we’d need to start eating; I had planned to throw something together myself.
But before I could answer as such, Grey – who had been watching us from the door with his arms folded across his chest – spoke up.
“Both of you,” he said. There was a glint in his eye that I didn’t like. “How about you both prepare the same dish? Two versions. Let the family get an idea of your cooking styles.”
I grunted in annoyance. The family – everyone who worked in the restaurant – already knew what my style was like. I cooked family dinner most nights, and I’d been taking on more responsibility in leading the menu for a few months before Jesse left, too.
“That sounds fun,” Drake said. He turned to me with a broad grin that showed most of his teeth. I looked at him and all I could see was a shark. “A bit of friendly competition. What do you say, Raf? Are you up for it?”
Raf?
We weren’t on first-name terms, let alonenicknames.
“It’s Rafael,” I said. “Don’t get comfortable here, Warwick. You won’t be staying long.”
At my flat-out challenge, Drake’s expression didn’t falter. Instead, it only deepened – like he was taking pleasure in the tension. “We’ll see about that after I kick your ass at this family meal. Do you have dried pasta in the storeroom?”
I nodded. “Somewhere in the back. We don’t use it for customers.”
“There’s no time to prepare it from scratch today, so let’s make it all about the accompaniments,” he said. “Chargrilled vegetable pasta – what do you say?”
I nodded with a shrug of my shoulders.
Anything he could do, I could do better. Let him choose the meal. It made no difference to me.
I was still going to – as he put it – kick his ass.
“Good luck, Chef,” he said with a wink. “You’ll need it.”
I snarled at his back as he turned away from me – and then rushed to the walk-in fridge, wanting to beat him to the best of the fresh veggies we had in stock.
