The Hotshot Chef: A Billionaire Holiday Romance (International Bad Boys Set Book 3)

by JA Low

  “Maybe you’re the one who’s jealous as you’re calling her,” I tell him.

  “As if.” Chad chuckles. “I could get Quinn back anytime I want.”

  I look up and see Quinn pretending to put her finger down her throat and vomit.

  “You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night. Because if it were me, I’d be feeling extremely guilty about fucking over the woman I supposedly loved. That kind of shit must weigh heavy on your conscience.”

  “Not my fault she was too stupid to read the paperwork.”

  Quinn’s face pales at his comment.

  “Stupid to think someone she loved would hurt her like that?”

  “Whatever! I don’t have time to speak to you. I’ll try her again later, then.” And with those last words, Chad hangs up the call.

  “Quinn, I’m so sorry you had to hear all that.” Placing the phone down on the kitchen counter, tears are welling in her eyes, her hands are shaking, and I can physically see anger bubbling to the surface as a red mark forms across her chest.

  Walking around the island counter, I reach out and pull her into my arms, which she takes gladly, and I hold her tightly. “I know this all sucks at the moment, but in all honesty, Quinn, I think you dodged a bullet with that guy.”

  “I think I did, too,” she mumbles into my chest as she slowly breaks down.

  29

  Quinn

  That was incredibly hard to hear.

  I knew Chad was a dick, but I never knew to what extent. That person on the other end of that phone call, I don’t know who he is anymore. I never thought he could be like that and treat someone who he supposedly loved with that much disrespect.

  Maybe Sebastien is right, I dodged a bullet there, and for the first time in months, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my burdened shoulders. Like I needed to hear Chad at his worst to realize it’s not about me. That I’m not the one to blame for all this, and there isn’t anything wrong with me. I’m the sane one in this breakup. Well, maybe not that sane, but you get my drift.

  The fog from my brain begins to clear, and I realize I’m wrapped around Sebastien again.

  Is there a full moon or something?

  Because tonight has been crazy. No, the entire day has been crazy.

  First Paris.

  Then Sebastien kissing me.

  Then Chad calling and abusing me.

  Now, I’m back in Sebastien’s arms.

  Will he kiss me again?

  Do I want him to kiss me again?

  Like duh, what a stupid question. The man’s a great kisser and an excellent chef, and to top it off, he’s hot, and his accent really gets me going.

  What is happening? No. You can’t think like that, Quinn. You are about to embark on three months’ worth of intense work in front of a heap of cameras that will catch every little thing, and the last thing I need is this turning into a romance storyline.

  But then again, the man is hot. No.

  But it feels nice being in his arms. No, just no.

  He’s all warm and hard. Nope.

  He smells so good. Stop it!

  No, no, no, I try and remind myself.

  You’re a good girl.

  Or are you a bad girl disguised as a good girl? No.

  I think I’m going mad with the way I am talking to myself. Reluctantly, I pull myself out of Sebastien’s arms.

  “Thanks for that.” I let out a long sigh.

  “Anytime,” he tells me.

  “Think I might go to bed. Today’s been quite eventful.” As I step out of Sebastien’s space, I smile back at him.

  “Yeah, I guess it has,” he agrees.

  “See you in the morning.” I give him a small wave and head to my room.

  Hours later, I still haven’t fallen asleep. As I roll over and punch my pillow for the hundredth time trying to get comfortable, my brain doesn’t seem to want to shut off.

  Feeling now like I might as well do some prep work for next week, I get up and grab my computer and cell and head out into the darkness. I creep along the hallway, through the living room, and slide open the glass door leading to the outside terrace. There is a slight chill to the air because of the time, so I head back inside and grab a throw from the living room and wrap it around me, then I set myself up on the daybed and begin to work.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  I scream at Sebastien’s voice, and it echoes through the neighborhood setting off the neighbors’ dogs. “You scared the hell out of me.” Pressing my hand to my chest, trying to still my heart which is traveling a million miles a minute, I ask, “What are you doing up?”

  “I’m getting a drink of water. But you look like you’re working.” He points to the technology that surrounds me.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I confess. Sebastien takes a seat beside me. “My mind just doesn’t seem to want to shut off.” He nods his head in understanding. “So, I thought I would catch up on some work.”

  “I’ll keep you company.” He smiles at me, then lays back against the daybed and closes his eyes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh… I’m sleeping,” he tells me.

  “Sebastien… come on! This is ridiculous. You can’t sleep out here because of me.” Looking over at him, I can tell he’s pretending to sleep.

  “I can sleep anywhere. It’s all good. Promise.” He cracks an eye at me.

  “Sebastien.” I shake his arm. “Please…” I plead with him. “It doesn’t make me feel right you being out here when I’m the one with insomnia, not you.”

  “I told you, I’m fine. I don’t like you being out here alone,” he tells me. I guess we are at a stalemate. “Unless…”

  “Unless what?” I repeat.

  “What I’m about to say might sound weird, but I promise you I’m not being weird.” Sebastien swings his legs over the daybed and sits up to face me. “Come sleep in my bed.” I choke on my surprise at his words. “In a platonic kind of way.”

  Yeah, right, isn’t that what all men say?

  “Maya said that some nights she suffered insomnia, but when she had someone else in her bed, she was able to relax and fall asleep.”

  My eyes narrow on him. This is not cool if he’s using his cousin’s misfortune to get laid.

  “She said it was like when your partner would go away, and you don’t seem to have the best night's sleep because they’re no longer there,” he explains.

  Well, that does sound plausible.

  “I think so much has happened today my brain can’t process it,” I explain.

  “Well, the offer is there. No strings attached. No funny business. Nothing.” He lays back on the daybed and closes his eyes as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  “Urgh. You’re so annoying.” I hastily pack up all my stuff. “Fine! Take me to bed, Sebastien.”

  His eyes fly open at my comment.

  It’s late.

  I’m tired.

  I didn’t mean for it to sound so flirtatious so, I reiterate, “As friends.” He grins. “And no friend kissing, either.” While pointing at him, he laughs out loud.

  “Understood, Quinn.”

  As we make our way back inside, I drop my stuff onto the sofa and tentatively follow him. He opens the door to his inner sanctum, and I’m surprised at how clean his room is. There’s no crusty underwear on the floor, which is a bonus. It’s decorated in various shades of gray—simple masculinity. The bed is huge and comfortable. I slide into the opposite side to where the sheets are pulled back as I assume that’s his side of the bed, and he follows after me.

  “Night, Quinn.”

  “Night, Sebastien.”

  And moments later, I’m passed out like a light.

  That was the best night’s sleep I have had since arriving in Spain. I feel rested, relaxed, and refreshed. I try to roll onto my back, but something’s in my way. That’s when I feel the warm breath against my skin.

  Oh crap! My
body tenses.

  What the hell is going on?

  My mind races trying to calculate how the hell I got myself into this weird situation, then yesterday floods back.

  “Would you stop freaking out,” Sebastien groans beside me.

  “I would if something wasn’t poking me in the back.”

  Yep, that’s exactly what you think it is.

  “I can’t control that,” he grumbles.

  “Um… yeah, you can,” I tell him, which makes him chuckle.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks.

  Taking in a deep breath, I turn over and face Sebastien directly. He looks all soft and messy in the mornings. His dark brown hair has fallen haphazardly over his face. His five o’clock shadow on his jaw is in full effect. I probably look a mess, like someone has dragged me through a bush backward.

  “Well, thank you.” He gives me a knowing smirk. “Your crazy theory, it seemed to work.”

  “I’ve been known to be right a couple of times,” he jokes.

  “Thanks for dealing with the hot mess my life seems to be lately. Not exactly what you signed up for when you signed on to do the show.”

  “Pretty sure you didn’t think you would be here in bed with a handsome chef in Spain, either,” he adds playfully. “Yet, here we are.”

  “Your ego knows no bounds.”

  “It’s nice lying here with you,” he muses. “Surprisingly.”

  “What does that mean?” I glare at him.

  “I meant to say… surprisingly normal. Not weird,” he adds.

  I kind of agree with him. I should be freaking out more, but I’m not.

  “After my initial freak-out brought on by your hard-on in my back, which, let’s be honest, most women would freak out over, it feels relatively normal lying in here with you,” I agree with him. “But don’t get used to it,” I warn, which makes him laugh out loud.

  “I promise I won’t.” He grins. “I was thinking of traveling up to the site today to do a walkthrough if you’re up for it,” he tells me.

  “Oh my God, yes.” Sitting up on the bed, I say, “Give me twenty. I’ll be ready to go.” Excitement courses through my veins at the prospect of seeing the site again.

  “Okay. I didn’t realize you would be that excited. Right, let’s get freshened up and get on the road.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I jump out of bed and rush back to my room.

  30

  Sebastien

  I should be stressing out.

  I’ve crossed the line now a couple of times with Quinn, and each time it seems natural, which isn’t good. I mean the woman’s insanely hot, funny, smart, and optimistic. Who wouldn’t want to blur the lines with a woman like that?

  But I like this easy friendship we’ve developed out of nowhere. The way we can be honest with each other. The way we can just sit in silence and not have to fill it with awkward conversation.

  I don’t mind having her in my space, either.

  My cousin and sister think she’s great. My friends love her. My brother wants to bang her. And I wouldn’t mind kissing her again.

  I know I shouldn’t be thinking these things—I’m screwed.

  We’re supposed to have a working relationship and nothing more, especially as both of us are working together for the first time. Maybe whatever chemistry we do have will translate well on screen. There would be nothing worse if we had no chemistry. The three months would drag, and the viewers would notice, which means the show would bomb, and as much as I don’t want to do this show, I also don’t want to do a shit job of it, either.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” Quinn asks.

  We’ve been traveling for a little while and hadn’t realized I’d zoned out in my own thoughts.

  “I was just wondering how we’re going to work on screen together,” I tell her.

  “Are you worried we might not have chemistry?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I mean between the two of us, we get on well, but add in a crew, deadlines, renovations… is it going to be as natural as we feel when it’s just us?” I confess my concerns.

  “I understand completely. Your worries are valid. I know neither one of us really wanted to do this show.” She turns and looks over at me, and I nod in agreement. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to succeed. Also, if we’re being really honest…” she grins, “… I want our show to kick Chad’s show in the ass.”

  Her words have me laughing out loud.

  “Agreed,” I tell her.

  “Did you know that Lettie told me the network suggested that we should play up a romance between us to achieve higher ratings?” She has my full attention now. “That the viewers will love it, especially after my heartbreak.” Quinn rolls her eyes. “I told her I wasn’t on a damn dating show.”

  “True, but it doesn’t mean we can’t flirt with each other.” As we drive along, I give her a side smirk.

  “If you’re wanting me to stroke your ego all season, the answer is a firm no.” Quinn folds her arms across her chest.

  “As if I would expect that from you. No, I’m just saying, you know… subtle things that might make the viewer think… are they or aren’t they?”

  “You’re serious?” She looks at me like I have lost my mind.

  “I mean the network is suggesting it, so they must see something between us,” I explain.

  Quinn mulls this over silently for a couple of moments. “So, it would be subtle?” she questions.

  “Yeah, like longing glances and touching, or praising, or…” I am trying to think of other ideas, but she gets my drift anyway.

  “Oh, Sebastien, look how strong you are cutting wood with that axe.” She puts on a mocking voice.

  “You know what I mean. Just us normally, but you know with a little bit more.” I turn and give her a look. “You want to crush Chad, don’t you?” Her eyes widen, and she nods her head enthusiastically. “You know that he’s going to be doing the same thing.”

  “Oooh… you’re right. He will. I feel sick thinking about the over-the-top show he’s going to be putting on for the cameras.” Her lip curls up into a sneer.

  “But no crossing the line or anything?” she adds.

  “No way,” I answer a little too quickly. “We are friends. Friends that want their show to be number one,” I tell her.

  “Hell, yeah.” She gives me a shout. “We are number one. We are number one,” she begins to chant, and I join in.

  I turn the car onto the dusty dirt road, which winds up the hill. On either side of the road are the vines, and you wind your way past them until you reach the top. We park on the gravel driveway at the first building, a gorgeous old wood and stone barn that has seen better days.

  Quinn gets out, and her mouth is already hanging wide open. She leaves me behind and rushes toward the barn. “I love it,” she squeals with delight. Her hands run over the old wooden barn doors, then over the stone walls. “This is…” She trails off, letting out a contented sigh.

  “Come on, let’s check out inside.” As I pull open the creaky barn doors, the smell of hay and farm hits you instantly, but that can be easily erased. “I was thinking this will be the cellar door and restaurant.” Looking into the vast space, my imagination runs wild.

  “I love it.” Quinn squeals again, giddy with excitement. “Oh, my goodness, looks at those beams.” She points to the thick wood beams above us. “They don’t make them like that anymore,” she muses.

  I walk her step by step through every bit of the barn and how I envision the restaurant. I know we have already done this with an architect and also with Quinn’s input, but it’s different once you’re physically in the space.

  “It’s so much bigger than I expected.” She scans the entire room. “It’s so tall.”

  I have to agree. I’d forgotten really how tall the barn is, it’s practically two stories. She has a frown on her face as she looks over the space—I can see the wheels ticking over.

  “Now tha
t I’m here…” she starts, then turns and looks over at me. “Do you think it’s too late to change things up?” she asks.

  “I did write into the contract that I have creative control over the project and that I can veto any plans the network may want if it does not fit in with my branding. So, if we need to change something because it might be a better fit for my business, then it’s fine.” She nods her head in understanding. “What are you thinking?”

  “With the height of this barn, you could build a mezzanine level. Maybe make it for private dining or an event space or something else.” She points out the area she means, which is above the current dining room. “By going up another level, you have increased the number of people you’re allowed to have in here.” That is an extremely good point. “We could even cut into the roof and replace a portion with glass above this section, and the guests could enjoy dinner under the stars.” She shrugs her shoulders as if her ideas are no big deal.

  “I love it,” I tell her, which makes her smile. “Let’s go outside and see if you have any other fresh ideas.”

  Excitement laces my veins as we head out the other end of the barn to the overgrown gardens that surround it. Once you step outside, as far as the eye can see, there are hills of old vines with the mountains showcased behind them.

  “Wow.” Quinn stands and stares at the majestic view. “This is spectacular.”

  We both stand in silence taking it all in. We then do a walkthrough of where we had decided on building the outdoor terrace area, so people could sit outside and look at the vineyard and over the mountains.

  “If we can add that upper level, you could build an upstairs terrace, too. I mean we would be building the patio area, so the square footage is already there. We would just need to change the strength of the beams for the patio, so it can hold up the terrace above,” she explains.

  I’ve taken out my cell, and I’m furiously typing in notes into it.

  “Imagine fairy lights with maybe grape vines entwined out here along the terrace. We could even make some outdoor tables out of old wine barrels. Upcycle them, the DIY crowd loves that.”