He shrugged. “Okay, then. I want sixteen lessons.”
I chewed the inside of my lip. “Private lessons with a chef don’t come cheap.”
He stuck out his bottom lip and leaned back against the sink. How did he look so comfortable taking up space like that? He didn’t have a care in the world. Didn’t even think twice about it. To be a man.
An unoppressed, dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty of a man. My gaze tracked from the bottom of his chef’s coat up to the column of his throat. There was a little patch where he’d missed shaving, but his mustache was immaculately maintained. Not overly thick or bushy, just something to complement those smirks. My ears felt hot just thinking about it.
“How’s twenty-five?” he asked.
“Twenty-five what? Hundred?”
Harlan’s eyes cast down, foolishly thick, long lashes fanning before flashing back up to my eyes. “You’re worth more than that, Chef,” he chuckled. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“You mean $25,000?”
He was non-plussed, while I remained flabbergasted. “Why not? Thirty? More?”
I shook my head. “Why do I feel like you’re kissing my ass?”
His eyes were earnest meeting mine. “You’re an incredible chef. Full stop. No other reason needed.”
“You always criticize me,” I fired back.
He nodded. “I shouldn’t. You’re the talent. I’m jealous, I guess.” His jaw set. “I’m sorry. For being like that to you.”
I didn’t really believe him. I knew I was a talented chef, and most of his teammates made sure I felt appreciated. Royce never had. Was he now making up for lost time?
None of that mattered. He had money. He was offering me money to do something I’m good at. I could take said money and worry less about my son’s future. I stuck out my hand. “Chef Royce, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
A bright smile lit his face and I hated that his acknowledgement felt that special. His hand met mine in a firm handshake.
“Call me Harlan, Chef.”
With a curt nod and a tap on his table, I turned toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. I have to lock up after you.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He scrambled to grab a leather jacket and the motorcycle helmet off his stool. “Don’t you have a jacket?”
“In the staff lounge.” I held the door open to let him through. “I’m not the one riding a motorcycle when it’s forty degrees out.”
He snorted and a bashful grin hit his lips. “Used to being cold, I guess.”
God, he was pretty. It was stupid. Unfair. To be a young man, nothing but life ahead of you. I wasn’t normally a mustachegirl, but his worked for him. I wondered if all that stuff about mustache rides was true.
That shy smile peered over at me. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll give you a ride sometime.”
My throat constricted. Could he read my mind about the mustache ride thing? My cheeks were on fire and I had to force air into my nose. “A ride? On what?”
He quirked a brow and chuckled. “My bike? What else would I give you a ride on?”
My pervy brain could answer that ten different ways, and apparently so could his, because the tips of his ears turned pink.
Oh god.
And my stomach fluttered, because this handsome guy ten plus years my junior offered me a ride on his motorcycle. Which was really cute and sweet. Was he flirting with me?
While offering me a lot of money? While being on the team I worked for? Was I out of my mind?
But his money was green, and green money spends.
