Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.
The first tear slips down my cheek anyway.
Then another.
I let them fall.
In here, surrounded by vacuum-sealed lamb racks and tubs of demi-glace, no one can see me break.
I pull my knees up to my chest, cross my arms over them, and rest my head on my folded arms.
At least, I stood up to him. If only I hadn’t spoiled my grand exit by going through the wrong door. Argh.
A few more minutes pass. The overhead lights switch off, leaving me in complete darkness. I’m not scared though.
It’s comforting to be able to take the weight off my feet and sit here, surrounded by boxes of food and meat and vegetables, and that curious scent which is a mishmash of many things and smells like nothing.
My heartbeat slowly settles. The adrenaline fades. I yawn and close my eyes.
14
James
"You posted it.” My voice is a low, dangerous rasp that cuts through the hum of the cooling fans.
Ross, the junior chef who shot the entire exchange with Harper, swallows. He is also the The Edge’s Social Media Manager. He has half a million followers on his Chef-Life vlog.
He also added an additional million followers on The Edge’s official accounts. He’s young, hungry, and is not bad at cooking.
Even though he sometimes mistakes online engagement with excellence.
I have made it clear to him that he cannot shoot during the service. But I've allowed him to post snippets at other times. His content has often gone viral and brought us new customers.
"James, look at the metrics!" he chirps, though his hand is shaking. "The clip of you and Harper at the pass…the way you're leaning over her, the tension. It’s already hit ten thousand views. People are calling it #TheKitchenColdWar. It’s the best publicity we’ve had since the third star."
I step around the counter. The movement is slow, winding, like the tattoo on my forearm.
"You recorded a private moment in my kitchen." I step into his space. "You prioritized a viral moment over the sanctity of my service. You brought the noise of the outside world into my sanctuary."
"Think of the publicity. The wave of new bookings. This has the potential to be big, really big.” He waves his hand in the air.
Fuck. That’s what I’m afraid of.
I glower at him.
He deflates.
I hold out my hand. "The phone. It belongs to the restaurant.”
He hands it over.
I glance at the video. It’s high-definition, perfectly framed. It captures the exact moment Harper stabs her finger into my chest. She’s flushed, breathing heavily, scowling up at me. I’m so much taller than her. And broader. I dwarf her. My features are controlled. But the look in my eyes. Fuck.
There’s excitement, tenderness, and a touch of lust I haven’t been able to hide. The camera captures just how taken I am with her.
I look like a man who’s on the verge of losing control. A few more moments, and I’d have thrown her over my shoulder and walked out of there… Or so, the camera implies.
And it might well have happened. If I’d let things take their course. Which I hadn’t. Or rather, she hadn’t.
