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Harper
“Stop. Right now.”
The command is not aimed at me, but the authority in the voice freezes me mid-step.
It’s been five years since I heard that voice, but it makes my stomach twist. My palms begin to sweat.
James Hamilton.
Former Royal Marine. My best friend’s brother. Now Head Chef of The Edge, one of London’s most celebrated restaurants.
I’m here to interview with him for a chef de partie role.
I stand in the hallway outside the entrance to the kitchen, hair wet, coat drenched. I forgot my umbrella and got caught in the rain.
But that’s the least of my problems.
I haven’t even seen his face, but hearing his growly, velvety voice is like being dropped in a vat of hot chocolate and melted from the inside out. I feel warm and gooey and…weightless.
All the memories from that one evening we spent together five years ago come rushing back.
The way he held my hand and looked into my eyes made me feel like the only woman in the world.
Conversation flowed between us. We laughed easily. He understood me without my having to explain myself.
For those few hours, I felt completely seen.
When he kissed me, it felt like I’d found my soulmate.
So, when he walked away without giving us a chance, it made me angry.
Had I read too much into every look, every charged moment, between us?
I told myself I shouldn’t be upset. He was upfront that he didn’t want a relationship.
But knowing that didn’t stop the heartbreak.
It felt like I had lost something meaningful before it ever had the chance to exist.
I curl my fingers around my handbag and force myself to swallow past the tight knot rising in my throat.
My blood thumps at my temples. My chest hurts.
I convinced myself that I never wanted to see him again.
So, when The Edge called to invite me to interview with him, my first instinct was to refuse. Even though, in a moment of desperation, I sent my resume to them.
The restaurant where I worked closed down. I’ve been out of work for months. My savings are almost gone.
I needed a job, like, yesterday to pay the bills and help support my sister and my niece.
I wrote to hundreds of restaurants, asking for an interview. Only The Edge called back.
Then there’s the small matter of James being the rock star of the London culinary scene.
