Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  My lip curled over my teeth for a nanosecond before I was able to smooth out my reaction. “How nice for you.”

  He made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a laugh. Only I knew it couldn’t be a laugh because Wyatt didn’t laugh. “I think I have you to thank for it.”

  Nope.

  Nope.

  Nope.

  We weren’t doing this. Not now. Not here. Not ever.

  The thing was, I was great at denial. The best if truth be known. But if he opened the conversation I thought he was leading to, especially right before dinner service, I was going to melt into a humiliated pile of goo. As a result, dinner service was going to be a disaster and then Ezra was going to fly home from vacation to fire me. I was never going to get Sarita and I’d have to move back home with my parents. And, oh my god, I’d have to marry Nolan.

  Hell, no.

  Instead of letting Wyatt watch me freak out, I swallowed my laundry list of fears, neutralized my expression and asked, “Did you say you wanted to go over tonight’s service?”

  “There are important reservations tonight that I wanted to make you aware of.”

  I pulled a notebook from my apron and got ready to take notes. We were back in familiar territory and it felt good. All I needed now was for him to yell at me later tonight and reduce me to near tears—we would be one hundred percent back to normal.

  Wyatt rattled off the VIPs coming in tonight—mostly people with money or local politicians or both. There were also people that were vaguely friends with Ezra and he had promised them a tour. Unfortunately, we would have to dance around that during service and whichever careless waiter was put in charge of the behind the scenes look. Never a super enjoyable experience because it was obnoxious to have people in your kitchen that had little regard for health and safety, and food inspectors, but it was something we accepted. We went over a few more notes about staff and topics he wanted to talk about in our meeting. We wrapped it up with a brief discussion of a new dish he wanted to introduce on the summer menu.

  “Fish and chips is hardly groundbreaking,” I told him, frowning over his latest nouvelle idea.

  “Yeah, but we would put our spin on it. Make it amazing.”

  “I don’t see how battered fish fits Lilou’s menu. Ezra likes things old school. Besides, it’s not exactly up to par with the other protein dishes we offer.”

  “That’s the point. Lilou isn’t accessible. It’s outdated and stuffy. I want to make the menu more inclusive, add a few more classic options that feel brand new.”

  “Isn’t that what Vera and Killian are doing with Salt?”

  He snapped his fingers excitedly. “Yes! But also no. Vera and Killian are extending her philosophy from Foodie. They’re doing all new Americana with a twist. They’re taking already trendy food and putting their spin on it. I don’t want to do exactly what they’re doing. However, from when Vera had her food truck parked across the street, I know there is an outcry in this city, particularly this area, for that kind of familiar food. People want to eat here, but they also want to have a handle on what they’re eating. Everybody is a food critic these days. Everybody thinks they’re a foodie. Thanks to Netflix and Top Chef, our customers come into this restaurant with an expectation that they can pick apart our dishes with earned expertise. And then they have our food, don’t understand what the fuck they’re eating and rip us apart afterward.”

  “You mean in Yelp reviews?”

  He leaned forward, his eyebrows drawing together. “Yeah, in Yelp reviews, on Google and Instagram accounts that somehow have garnered thousands of followers. Our social media presence is tanking.”

  “I thought you said our waitlist was six months long?”

  “For now,” he growled. “But it’s not a sustainable expectation if we keep churning out the same old shit day after day.” He slid forward in his chair, growing animated with his argument. “Vera and Killian are going to blow up as soon as Salt opens. That’s a given. Those two are powerhouses on their own, imagine them together.” He had a point. “If Lilou wants a chance in hell at surviving that kind of competition, we’re going to have to mix things up. We’re going to have to take risks and try new things. We’re going to have to up our game.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “A deconstructed hamburger, for instance. It will still have the Lilou flare. Wagyu of course, with heirloom tomatoes and artisanal gruyere cheese. I’m thinking a champagne glaze and maybe some kind of caviar garnish. Expensive, interesting, but comforting.”

  I leaned toward him, eating up every word, totally enraptured by his vision. It was genius and ballsy and impossible all at once. “What else do you want to add?”

  He smiled and pulled out a notebook from the side drawer of his desk. “A modernized Croque Monsieur, with an American twist. It would convey easy, nostalgic, but also elegant and sophisticated; a fancy grilled cheese and tomato soup option. I’d use pork belly instead of the traditional ham; finishing it with whipped brie. We could call La Parisienne to find out what loaves they have available for our kitchen, maybe something with olives and rosemary—the entire city knows their baker is extreme. I’ve been playing around with these tomato soup bites. Warm soup injected into a hollowed out cold cherry tomato. I want it to be this surprise bite of comfort food that just bursts to life in your mouth. I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but I think I’m headed in the right direction.”

  I stared at him. Who was this man? I had expected a Killian clone. Not a man willing to go head to head with Killian to hold his place at the top of this city’s fine dining experience. At the very least, I expected a man that towed Ezra’s line because he was more afraid of losing Lilou than his identity. “Have you talked to Ezra about this?”

  He nodded. “A bit. He hasn’t, uh, exactly approved my direction. But I think he’s open to change. I think losing Killian has been an eye-opening experience for him. And it would kill him to lose to Killian at anything, but especially in this.”

  “The reservation list is still months out though. Ezra doesn’t have a whole lot of incentive for change.”

  He shrugged, hiding his notebook away again. A pang of something bloomed across my chest. His notebook was like his diary, the place where all his most secret and intimate thoughts flowed. It was instinct to hide it away, to protect it. Not only would it expose his still formulating ideas if someone found it, but it would also give them away.

  It was like the holy grail. In his hands, his potential for success was unlimited. But if it fell into the wrong hands, his work would be for nothing. They would take his thoughts, his ideas, his innovative risks, and make them their own, claiming their origins.

  There probably wasn’t anybody in this kitchen with the balls to do that, but this was a cutthroat industry where creativity was questioned every day. It was unfairly easy to accidentally mimic someone’s brilliant dish or abuse inspiration based on someone else’s hard work. Integrity was preached, but rarely practiced. We were all paranoid at best, raving conspiracy theorists in our worst moments of insecurity.

  “I’m not worried about months down the road,” Wyatt admitted. “We have this brilliant, complicated menu that makes no sense to seventy-five percent of our patrons. I’m not saying I want Lilou to be known as the best snobby burger joint in the country, or that I want any old Joe to wander in off the streets to order something to go. But I do want to meld together old world culinary with new world innovation. I want to update our painfully outdated menu and give our diners something they recognize, but also something that will change their entire definition of what good food is and how it can change their life. I want to welcome Killian and Vera to the neighborhood and then fucking annihilate them on every level.” He grinned, showing his teeth and sending sizzling heat spiraling through me.

  My chest squeezed again and this time I recognized the feeling as jealousy. This was brilliant. Incredible. Fucking genius. If he got his way, he was going t
o be the guy responsible for evolving Lilou into her best version yet. It wasn’t a totally original idea, but it was in this caliber of fine dining.

  And he was right about Salt. It would kill us the second it opened unless we did something innovative, something that could truly compete with it.

  Most chefs, for that matter, aspired to mimic Lilou’s style, not skydive off the precipice to become more relatable to the common man. Wyatt not only saw the need to up our game before Salt became real competition, but he also recognized the necessity of keeping our social media game on point. I was blown away by his foresight and insight into the industry. He saw years down the road and knew what he had to do today to keep us at the top.

  “I’m impressed, chef. This is a good idea.”

  His eyes sparked with the compliment, but his words surprised me. “You shouldn’t say that.”

  That look was back, the one that had gotten me into so much trouble last night. One part confident, sexy man, two parts vulnerable and open.

  “Say what?” I whispered.

  “Chef.”

  “But you are a chef.”

  His jaw ticked. Anger, I thought immediately. But it wasn’t. It was something else. And now it had me questioning every single time I’d seen it before. “And I like it far too much when you remind me.”

  I laughed a breathy, girly sound. I couldn’t help it. Now he was flirting with me? Opening up to me? Sharing his plans for the future with me?

  “Wyatt, what are you doing?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he struggled to swallow. My eyes tracked every second of it.

  “I’m trying not to kiss you, Kaya. I thought that was obvious.”

  Now it was my turn to nearly choke on my tongue. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I stood up so quickly, I probably would have tipped my chair over had there been room. “Are you drunk?”

  He shook his head. “Did you hate it last night?”

  No. Yes. No. I crossed my arms, hugging my body against the wave of embarrassment that washed over me. “It was a mistake,” I told my shoes.

  I didn’t have to see his face to know that he was smirking. “Hmm, you liked it then.”

  My head popped back up. “It doesn’t matter what I like, Wyatt. You’re my boss! We work together. This is insane. And also, there are other reasons.” I couldn’t remember them off the top of my head, but I was certain they existed. Especially not with him looking at me the way he was, his eyes practically liquid chocolate as they sparkled and darkened, brightening all at once.

  “We should try it again though.”

  “Is that a suggestion?”

  “A counterargument.” He stood up and leaned over, his hands planted on his desk—the desk that remained between us.

  “It’s crazy. That’s what it is.” Crazy because I was thinking about it, because that wicked expression on his face had me considering it, had me thinking that maybe we should try it again.

  “It’s not that crazy, considering.”

  I raised one eyebrow at him, calling out his sweet-talking tactics. “Considering what?”

  “Considering you’re the most beautiful, fiery, fierce woman I have ever met. Considering I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you. Considering the things I want to do to you have only gotten decidedly more depraved over the years.”

  This was the part where I flailed around for a few seconds trying to catch my breath after I mis-swallowed, the spit dangerously going down the wrong tube. Obviously, I was a sex goddess and why wouldn’t he want to do all manner of wicked things to me? I bent over at the waist and desperately tried to wheeze in enough air to prevent myself from dying on the spot.

  “Have some of my water.” Wyatt tried to pass me his glass, but I waved him off.

  I didn’t need saving. I needed for him to stop ripping the rug out from underneath me with crazy talk.

  “You’re telling me you’ve liked me since the day we met?” My voice was hoarse, still shaky from the ominous threat of more coughing.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think like is the right word to use. You can be difficult. And a little self-righteous. And from day one you’ve made it clear that we are in some kind of competition with each other and you’re willing to spill blood to win. But…”

  My nervous energy flatlined. And so did my patience. “You don’t like me, but you want to have sex with me?”

  “Geez, no!” He ran a hand over his jaw and wrapped it around his neck, hiding his tattoos from me. His lips twitched, and I knew he wanted to smile. “God, Kaya, it’s not like that at all. You can be those things. But you can also be unreasonably kind and patient. You’re competitive with me, but your challenge has made me a better chef. I don’t know what I would have done without you during this transition, during the kitchen takeover. You’ve done all that I’ve asked of you and more. And I’ve demanded an insane amount from you. I like you a lot. As a person, as a friend, as a chef. But there are times I also want to strangle you. And if I had to guess, I think you feel the same way about me.”

  He hit the nail on the head. I did like him sometimes. And I respected him as a human and a chef, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a friend. But I also wanted to strangle him a lot.

  Like more than was probably healthy.

  “You like me and also hate me, and now you want to make out with me?” Was it possible to get this conversation with subtitles? I felt like I was completely missing something.

  His smile was shy, self-deprecating, and irresistible all at once. I wanted to strangle him right now. Because how was it fair that he could look like that and make me feel like this by smiling?

  “What I’m trying to tell you is that yes, we disagree, and sometimes yes, you’re downright scary, but I have always had a crush on you, Swift. From day one. But you had a boyfriend and then I had a girlfriend. Our timing has always been off. We’re finally both single. And now we’ve broken the seal. We kissed. It happened. And it was fucking amazing.” He dipped his head and looked at me from beneath lush lashes. My uterus jumped up and down in my body like it was trapped in a CrossFit session against its will. “Let’s do it again.”

  I sucked my lip ring between my teeth and demanded my feet stay put. I wouldn’t run away from this. I couldn’t let him see me panic. He had all these inflated ideas of me, that were, fine, kind to my ego, but maybe not entirely true.

  Like the scary part. I wasn’t scary. I was sometimes tenacious because I got tired of being walked on by bullish men. But that didn’t turn me into a villain.

  It just made me… assertive.

  Except at this moment, I was anything but. I wasn’t assertive. I wasn’t tenacious. I wanted to put my hands over my radish-red cheeks and flee from the building.

  Flee from Wyatt.

  I didn’t trust myself around him. I was already too enamored with him from kissing him. What happened if we kissed more? Or tried out other fun activities that didn’t include clothing?

  I would become a full-on fan-club stalker and he’d have to get a restraining order taken out against me to get through dinner service.

  Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. But Wyatt Shaw was trouble. Until now he’d been this alluring mystery, a perplexing enigma that piqued my interest and tempted me in the worst way. But now I knew him and what he wanted, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop this snowballing attraction we had for each other if I gave it even an inch of room. There would be no walking back from this, from him. There would be no coming out the other side unscathed.

  If he continued to look at me like this and smile at me like this I was going to spontaneously combust. Or worse, let him get away with his flirting.

  And when Ezra found out—and he would find out—without a doubt, Wyatt would keep his job, but my fate was questionable. It’s possible I would keep my job. Or get fired. Or get moved to another restaurant in the harem. I sure as hell wo
uld never get the head chef position at Sarita.

  I did what any sane, rational thinking person would do. Even if I didn’t feel sane or rational. I doused the flames between us with ice cold water. “You’re sweet, Wyatt… but…”

  He looked down at his hands and grumbled. “Fuck.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea. You’re my boss. Also, I fight with you more than I’ve ever fought with anybody in my life. We’re explosive together. Maybe that’s fun sometimes, but most of the time we just blow shit up. On a regular basis, we’d be a disaster of epic proportions.” I exhaled a shaky breath and jumped off the cliff of finality. “And I’m not willing to give up my career for a fun fling that will eventually end in a flaming ball of fire.”

  I took a step toward the door, but he stopped me with a sound in the back of his throat. It was both angry and desperate at once. The employee inside me picked up on his disappointed fury and instantly cringed, awaiting his wrath.

  “You’re looking around then?”

  Another question that left me spinning. “What?”

  “I’ve had the feeling you’re exploring other options since I took over. I’m not stupid. I know you think executive should have gone to you. I know it’s hard for you to work with me.”

  There were so many things wrong with what he’d said. But there was also a lot right with it. I didn’t even know how to begin to tell him the truth. I could barely admit to Vera and Dillon what I was trying to do. There was no way I could share it with Wyatt.

  Besides, I got the feeling that the last thing he wanted was for me to leave Lilou. How many times had he already said that he couldn’t run the kitchen without me? Maybe it wasn’t in that one online review, but it was everywhere else. The way he talked to me here. How he relied on me, leaned on me, shared with me. Despite our weird and warring feelings for each other, we had somehow developed the dependent, symbiotic relationship every great chef had with his sous.