by Cassia Leo
But I’d recognize that low moan that ends with a squeaky whine anywhere. And I’d shagged enough girls before her to know it’s not a common sound.
She moans again, this time calling out Garrett’s name in a breathy tone that is unmistakable.
I shove open the door and find Priya bouncing up and down on Garrett’s lap. It takes my instructor a moment to realize I’m standing there, seeing as his face is buried in my girl’s chest.
For a moment, I can’t see or hear anything. Everything goes black. But I blink a few times and find them both racing to put their clothes on. Garrett is speechless as Priya issues one apology after another.
I feel as if I should be doing something, but all I can do is watch, almost as if I’m a passive observer. Am I having an out-of-body experience? I should be beating Garrett to a bloody pulp or demanding Priya explain herself.
But I’m numb. I feel nothing. I say nothing. Because I know that, after today, I’ll have nothing.
I turn around and walk out of the office before Priya is finished getting dressed. Then, I walk out of the academy, and Priya’s life, forever.
As I plop down into the desk chair, I accidentally miscalculate my trajectory and the chair slides out from underneath me, causing me to fall flat on my arse. Shaking my head, I pick myself up and carefully sit down, using the lever to adjust the height of the seat. Sharing an office with my sexy new executive chef definitely has its perks. But the downfalls are me literally falling down at least once a week.
Alice often acts offended when I tease her about how short she is, but I know how much she likes to pretend-fight with me. Because it inevitably leads to a pretend-reconciliation, which always leads to sex. Since I convinced her to stay in New York, and came clean to her about Priya, we haven’t had much to fight about.
Yes, the conversation about Priya was a painful one. But, thankfully, it was nowhere near as painful as the actual experience.
Fortunately and unfortunately, I expect my pretend-fights with Alice over the discomfort of sharing an office will come to an end soon. Though I’ve yet to tell Alice, I’ve begun looking for restaurant space to expand my Empire State restaurant empire. I’ve found an American barrister—rather, a corporate lawyer, as the Yanks call them—who has advised me not use a venture capital firm to whom I’m directly related.
I’ll probably never agree with the old adage that one shouldn’t mix business with pleasure. Alice has proved this wrong repeatedly. However, in this case, my lawyer is probably right. Luckily, Cristian doesn’t seem to mind my decision to go with a different firm for this new venture.
As I begin responding to an email from my meat vendor, my mobile vibrates on the desk. Picking it up, I discover I have a new text from Edward.
Edward: The tire man will be visiting you this evening. Be on your guard.
The tire man.
I know what that means.
In the early 1900s, the Michelin tire manufacturing company began publishing a restaurant guide, in an effort to get people to take more road trips. Thus, creating a demand for more tires. Over the years, the guide turned into something of a bible for foodies. And that is how a starred-review in the Michelin Guide became one of the most coveted awards in the culinary world.
It seems Edward still has some sort of illicit connection within the Michelin Guide who has tipped him off about an anonymous reviewer dining at Forked tonight.
Me: I don’t want to know anything else.
I shoot off my response quickly, then I temporarily block his number, so he can’t send me anymore texts with a physical description of the anonymous reviewer. The purpose of the anonymity is to make sure the reviewer gets the full and true dining experience of dining, without additional effort or showmanship. At Forked, we put in the same effort every day, whether we know we’re being reviewed or not.
But my desire to ring Alice and ask her to come in to work on her day off is overwhelming.
Despite the fact that Edward and I have made small efforts toward reconciliation, Alice hasn’t shown any interest in forgiving him yet. And I don’t blame her. But I won’t deny that her grudge presents complications.
Christmas is right around the corner, and I still haven’t decided if I should tell Alice we’ve been invited to spend an entire week with Edward and his new fiancée at my parents’ flat in Battersea. I don’t want to make Alice feel guilty if she doesn’t think she’s ready to subject herself to that kind of torture. It’s only been six months since I showed up at the airport in time to rescue her from the Paris internship.
Though Alice and I have already begun discussing the possibility of moving in together, we’ve decided that we should take it slow. The last time I lived with a woman was more than a decade ago, and that ended quite poorly. And Alice has never lived with a significant other. We’re both pretty green at the whole healthy relationship thing. It’s best we allow our love a bit more time to ripen before we throw it on the coals.
Unable to contain my excitement over Edward’s message, I shoot off a quick text to Alice.
Me: The tire man will be here tonight.
Alice: Are you forked-up on the good whiskey again? What the hell are you talking about?
I laugh as I realize the history of a tire company may not be something Alice would willingly research. I consider telling her not to worry about it, to enjoy her day off. But I know she would kill me if I didn’t at least give her the opportunity to decide if she wants to earn her stars this way.
Me: Got a tip Michelin will be here tonight.
Alice: Is Edward trying to get on your good side by tipping you off?
Me: Can’t put anything past you. You coming in?
Alice: I don’t know if this is how I want to get my stars.
Me: You’re not going to do anything different tonight. Your conscience won’t allow it.
Alice: Are you saying I’m incapable of cheating?
Me: I bloody hope so.
Alice: You’re right. I’m not coming in. I’ll earn my stars another time.
Me: Are you sure? I really don’t think you’ll perform differently than any other night.
She doesn’t respond for a few minutes, and I’m tempted to ring her. But as soon as I put the phone down to get back to my email inbox, another text comes through.
Alice: Do you need me there so you can try for your third star?
Me: I always need you, love. And I’d rather share the third star with you. But I understand if you’d rather sit this one out.
Alice: Thank you for understanding. I’ll think about it.
I put my mobile away, but I can’t put away my anxiety over tonight. I really wish Edward had not texted me.
It’s not that I care about whether I get that third star. I have no doubt my talented kitchen staff will rise to the challenge without being told about the anonymous reviewer. And I’m fairly confident in my ability to reign in my showmanship, so I can eke out a legitimate win for the team.
What I’m afraid of is stagnation. What if the review is only two stars again?
I feel I’ve grown so much since I’ve started working with Alice, but maybe it’s not professional growth. Maybe it’s merely emotional. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but it would be something of a wake-up call.
Also, I’m not sure how Alice will feel if I earn a three-star review for Forked without her. Will it affect our relationship? I really don’t want to believe we’d let something like that cause tension between us. But it’s a huge accomplishment, so it’s not impossible.
I decide to forget responding to email for now. Maybe if I focus on cooking, I can force these worried thoughts out of my mind.
The time passes with the swiftness of cold treacle. By the time lunch service is over and the tasting menus start getting passed out to customers, I’m properly knackered and craving a large swig of whiskey. I resist the impulse to retreat to my office for a breather.
I also manage to resist the urge to leave the k
itchen to see if I can recognize any of the patrons arriving for the dinner service. But I can’t resist checking my phone every few minutes.
I forgot to ask Alice to text me her decision. Now I’m left wondering if she’s already decided not to come. Maybe she doesn’t want to disturb my flow by messaging me. The suspense is killing me.
Finally, as the first order for a tasting menu arrives in the kitchen, I can’t take it any longer. I slide my mobile out of my pocket and send Alice a text.
Me: You coming in, love?
I stare at my screen for a moment, waiting for a response. But after a minute with no reply, I put my phone away. I have to focus on service.
“Is that the first tasting menu order?”
I spin around at the sound of Alice’s voice. “Bloody hell, woman.”
She smiles as she ties her apron around her waist. “You think I’d leave you high and dry?”
A grin spreads across my face, and I lean over to plant a quick kiss on her temple. “I told you.”
“Told me what?” she asks, sliding the ticket in front of her workstation.
“Everything. Everywhere,” I say, my way of reminding her that I need her everywhere and more than everything.
Her face lights up with a gorgeous smile. “My answer is yes.”
I call out an order for a Kingfish, then turn back to Alice. “Yes to what?”
“The holidays. We can go to your parents.” She chuckles at the confused look on my face. “Your mom called me.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, accepting the Kingfish from Warner and placing it on my workstation.
She stops working on the red wine reduction to look me in the eye. “Everything. Everywhere.”
I take her face in my hands and kiss her in front of the entire staff. It’s the first time I’ve ever done this in the kitchen, but if Alice keeps making me so bleeding happy, it probably won’t be the last.
The sound of the staff singing stops us. Alice and I immediately start laughing as we realize they’re singing the song “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross. It’s almost as if they’ve been waiting for the day we forked-up and did something like this in front of them.
I wave my hands in the air. “All right, all right. Back to work, everyone.”
Alice’s face is bright-crimson as she returns to her red wine reduction. “Did someone raise the heat in here?” she says, fanning her face.
As I prepare the Kingfish for the fourth course, I have no idea whether today’s menu and service will be good enough to earn us a three-star review. And I realize now that I don’t care.
The only thing that matters to me is keeping a smile on the face of the gorgeous woman standing next to me. My partner in crime. My love. My everything, everywhere.
Epilogue
ALICE
The breathtaking city views from the rooftop terrace of our loft in the East Village are nothing short of stunning. I expected to haul my belongings to Ethan’s modest studio in Chelsea when Ethan and I moved in together a year ago. Imagine my surprise when he told me we would be shopping for something more permanent.
I was downright shocked when he told me the price range. The shock quickly turned to gratitude when I realized spending that kind of money not only affords us an amazing view. It also means I can walk to work when the trains are delayed.
I sigh as I lean back in my lounge chair, a cold bottle of beer clutched in one hand. You can take the girl out of Brooklyn, and all that. Ethan has yet to find a varietal of wine consistent enough for my palate.
The softly lit Washington Square Arch stands solemnly on my right. The city lights shimmer against a backdrop of dark sky, wrapping around me like a cozy duvet. My Manhattan security blanket.
I spend a few minutes on the rooftop every night, taking in the views to remind myself how lucky I am; how thankful I am to be home. How grateful I am that Ethan rescued me from the internship in Paris.
But the view is bittersweet today. Why? Because it’s nearly ten p.m., and Ethan seems to have forgotten the two-year anniversary of the day he saved me from the miserable life of a low-paid intern. Or, as he lovingly refers to it, the day he spared the citizens of France from my underdeveloped wine palate.
I wonder sometimes if we’re just in a rut. We’ve been together two years. The sex is still phenomenal, but we’ve started frequenting the same restaurants instead of venturing out of our comfort zone. And we’re spending less time together. This is mostly because Ethan has been spending so much time helping my dad open a new family restaurant.
This time, Ethan is the one funding the project. The experience has been humbling for my father, but it’s brought the two most important men in my life to become more than just business partners. In fact, I’ve concluded recently that Ethan and my dad are becoming BFFs.
“Getting an early start,” Ethan says as he watches me place my empty beer bottle on the table next to my lounge chair.
I shrug, not really in the mood to joke about my drinking habits.
“I brought you something,” he says, placing a plate on the table next to my empty bottle.
I smile when I see the layers of flaky puff pastry stacked between layers of whipped cream and fresh raspberries. “Did Judy make that?”
He takes a seat on the lounge chair on the other side of the table. “I made the raspberries.”
I shake my head. “You grew them on your nonexistent farm or you made them in your pretend lab?”
“I made them magically appear using my powers of seduction.”
I chuckle as I sit up to get a better look at my Napoleon framboise. “What’s that for?” I ask, pointing at the tiny porcelain cup full of silky, dark chocolate sauce.
“I thought you might want to try something different.”
I look at him like he’s crazy. “Why would I want to do that? Napoleon framboise is perfect exactly the way it is. It’s the perfect dessert. We’ve had this discussion many times before.”
He laughs at my passionate frustration. “Well, sometimes it’s good to go outside your comfort zone. You don’t want to get in a rut.”
I sigh as I realize I can’t keep quiet any longer. “Are you forgetting something?”
His eyebrows shoot up questioningly. “Am I?”
I stare at him for a moment, searching for a sign that he’s really forgotten our anniversary and isn’t just torturing me. But the clueless expression on his gorgeous face looks genuine.
I shake my head as I dip my index finger into the whipped cream. “Never mind.”
He watches me as my lips close around my fingertip. “I can’t believe I forgot,” he says, and my ears prick up as he reaches into his pocket. “Your dad asked me to ask you if you can help him with the Mise en Place app tomorrow. He’s having a problem syncing it with the inventory.”
My stomach drops as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and I realize I got my hopes up for nothing. “Tomorrow’s Friday. I can’t be in two places at once. I have to be at Forked for family meal.”
He taps a few times and swipes his finger across the screen. “You can skip that. Your dad needs you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Send Mike to help him,” I say, referring to the IT guy we use at Forked. “Why does it have to be me? I have a life, you know. My life doesn’t revolve around you and my dad. You know what? I just came up with the perfect name for his restaurant: Bromance. I hope you two live happily ever after.”
He chuckles, completely nonplussed by my annoyance. “That would be a strange name for your restaurant.”
As I reach for the cup of chocolate sauce, his words click into place in my mind. “What did you say?”
He smiles as he turns his screen toward me. “Happy anniversary, love.”
I lean forward to read the words on the document displayed on his phone. Squinting at the bright screen, my eyes instantly well up as I read the key phrases: Commercial Real Estate Purchase Agreement… Ethan Thorne (Seller)… Alice Lopez (Buyer)… Purchase Pr
ice: $1.00.
“What the… I thought…”
Ethan places his phone down on the table and takes my hand in his. “This was the only way your father would work with me. He refused to let me buy the restaurant unless it was for you.”
I wince as I remember how just a moment ago I was resenting Ethan for forgetting our anniversary. How could I ever resent this beautiful man who has brought nothing but joy and love into my life?
“I thought you forgot our anniversary,” I say, clutching my chest at the thought.
He shakes his head. “As if I could forget the day I almost bowled over three pedestrians in the valet zone at JFK.”
“The day you saved the beautiful people of France from my bad taste in wine?”
“The day you made me the luckiest man alive.”
I close my eyes and sigh. “This is what fainting couches were made for.” I open my eyes and find him digging in his pocket again. “I know what I want to do with this chocolate sauce.”
He laughs as I grab the tiny cup and kneel in front of him.
EPILOGUE
ETHAN
As Alice kneels before me, I slide my hand out of my pocket, so I can focus my attention on her. She places the dip bowl on the seat of the outdoor chaise and reaches for the button of my jeans. My cock struggles against the inside of my pants, twitching excitedly as she takes her time unzipping me.