This was worse.
Sean and I were together so much at work and I was so in love with him, it was like trying to hold the lid down on an exploding pressure cooker. I wanted to just be honest and not have to deny that I had fallen in love with my boss. I felt like it was written all over my face every time I glanced his way or we spoke to each other.
At least now I thought it had been obvious. We’d gone from sex, to sex with dating, to sex with love. Someone had to know, right? I felt like it was radiating out of me like the neon lights in Vegas.
Middle school had been less awkward than I felt at the restaurant since Sean and I had started dating. If I suddenly sprouted acne I was really going to get pissed.
“Will you relax?” Sean said, bending down to try to kiss me.
I pulled away. “We’re surrounded by people in the food industry!”
“Being a dirty little secret is more fun in theory than actuality,” he said. “This really isn’t enjoyable. I want a kiss.”
That made me roll my eyes. “No pouting.”
“I don’t pout. I’m not seven.”
“You act like it sometimes.”
“And you’re stubborn.” Sean nudged my shoulder. “And very sexy, beautiful, and intelligent.”
“Go on,” I said, because I was willing to be appeased with compliments.
Glancing around, I tried to get the lay of the land. There were fifteen restaurants in the competition and it was bustling. The weather had cooperated and the sun was shining, the temperature a pleasant sixty-five degrees, no rain in the forecast. Perfect for working outside overnight.
I was on edge though. I wanted to win. I wanted to prove myself, that I deserved not just to be sous chef, but to eventually be an executive chef.
Yet my emotions were all muddled because of my relationship with Sean.
“I’ll write you a list of compliments later. Can we just come clean with everyone?” he asked for about the fifth time. “Let’s just tell Sid and Nico and get it over with. Then we don’t have to pretend like we’re not together and I can inappropriately touch you at work without anyone thinking it’s harassment.”
I adjusted my shoulder bag. “That must have sounded better in your head than it did out loud because that was not romantic. Just an FYI. And no, you know we can’t tell anyone. One, or both of us, will get fired.”
The refrain felt tired and Sean clearly thought so do. “What are we supposed to do? Pretend for the rest of our lives?”
Did it make me feel giddy and squealy inside to hear him imply we were in this for the long haul? Yes. Did that make me want to confess to everyone? No.
“We have to keep our mouths shut until you’re ready to leave and open Sadie’s.” That was our best option, in my opinion, but Sean wasn’t on board with it.
He shook his head. “That’s going to be in two years, Isla. Two years. That’s insane.”
“I know, but neither one of us wants to be out of a job.” The thought of having everyone know I was dating Sean gave me a pit in my stomach. Not only did I not want to be fired, I didn’t want to be the woman who dated her boss. I had worked too hard to be labeled as Chef’s girlfriend.
Besides, if we told everyone we were dating and then it didn’t work out, what would they think of me? I hated that my thoughts went there, but they did.
“Are you one hundred percent certain they would even care?” Sean asked, sounding frustrated. “They might not.”
I was pretty damn certain they would. “When Courtney the bartender started making googly eyes at the former executive chef, I believe Nico’s exact words were ‘get naked with him and you’re fired.’”
Sean’s hand was on the small of my back as I walked in front of him. I walked faster, stressed about everything and baffled that he wasn’t even close to being as stressed about it as I was.
Of course, that was totally selfish. I mentally shook my head at myself. It was a good thing we weren’t both freaking out. That would be a disaster.
“Maybe that was because Courtney is married,” he said.
“She wasn’t at the time.” I glanced back at Sean. “By the way, before we run into anyone, I met with Martin. You were right. It was pointless. He was a douche-face and accused me of sleeping with you.”
“You are sleeping with me,” Sean said, giving me a casual smile.
Why did it feel like he was deliberately misunderstanding me today? Or maybe it was me. I felt on edge about the competition, I felt on edge about someone finding out about us. I felt on edge about what it felt to love someone and be this vulnerable. Afraid to lose it all.
My job, my future. Him.
“Well, yes, I am. But not to get ahead, like he suggested,” I said. “I’m sleeping with you because you give excellent oral sex and I happen to be in love with you. But seriously, why does Martin hate you so much?” I slowed my steps. I could see some of the stations set up ahead.
“I have no idea.”
“Nothing at all? You don’t remember offending him in some way? Getting him in trouble?”
“Maybe he’s secretly in love with me.” Sean gave me a grin. “No. I have no clue. Maybe he has stuff going on in his personal life. Maybe this has nothing to do with you or me. Now let’s forget about Martin. Let’s have fun and kick some ass.”
Sean did a little Rocky maneuver, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and pretending to punch me. Trying to figure out where the hell all my stress was coming from, I rolled my neck and then my shoulders back.
“We’ve got this,” I said, trying to convince myself it was true.
We gave each other a high five, which was not what I wanted to be doing with Sean.
I wasn’t sure what was going on with me. Well. I did have an inkling. I just didn’t want to admit it. I had fallen in love with Sean and I had told him so. This was all brand new to me and it was terrifying.
Maybe he was right. Maybe, even though it was really awkward and uncomfortable, I wanted our relationship to stay a secret because I was afraid. I didn’t know how to be with someone, let alone a co-worker. My boss. Whatever the hell he was.
It made me angry with myself that I could handle just about whatever came my way except for love.
We had sixteen hours to complete our menu for the judges. Our ingredients and supplies had been delivered to our station an hour earlier and we had our sous chef, Jeff, joining us. It was all open air, with tents over the prep areas, and there would be thousands of people milling around in the morning when the gate opened at ten. Our support staff was creating the menu for the masses to serve to represent Bone.
We were doing two proteins, two sides, and a dessert for the judges but only one protein and a side to sell to attendees. It didn’t sound like much but serving brisket sandwiches and pork belly mac and cheese to five hundred people was no joke. A brisket needed to be smoked low and slow and the fire had to be tended to all night.
I had forced myself to take an afternoon nap and at eight o’clock I was ready and raring to go.
“You were right to go with a totally different menu,” Sean said, as we flashed our badges and entered our station. “This isn’t about Martin. It’s about putting forward our best food.”
“I agree.” I surveyed the scene, nodding to our support staff and checking out the equipment. “This is a better smoker than last year. I’m impressed.”
Then I realized that Woodstock’s station was directly across from ours. I had to stare at pasty Martin all night. But all the better for seeing his expression when Bone won.
Sean and I had talked a lot about our strategy for the next few hours and it was my job to get the wood burning while he made the rub and prepped the meat. We had to get our brisket in as soon as possible for a slow burn cook.
“Where’s the wood?” I asked, poking around all tables, opening rubber bins. “I ordered all that hickory and now I can’t find it. It was packed in a bin last night and put on the truck.” I started yanking lids off with in
creased speed. This was not cool.
“It’s here somewhere,” Sean said. “Relax, babe.”
I glared at him. “Don’t call me babe.”
Sean’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay. Isla.” Then he turned his back, not so much on me, but because he needed to get pantry items for the rub, yet it still made me feel dismissed.
Damn it, I was a mess. This was why I couldn’t handle dating my boss in secret. I didn’t know how to act. The pressure had been building up for a month and this competition was important, Sean was important, my job was important. I was juggling balls in the air that were all enormous. I didn’t want to drop any of them, and yet, I just didn’t know how to manage it all.
Then the thought of Sean as an enormous ball made me realize I had totally lost my mind. I was in love and acting crazy. So freaking typical.
After ten minutes, during which I started sweating, and stubbed my toe on the corner of the grill, I finally found the hickory and started hauling it out to get the smoker fired up. The key to the perfect brisket was a steady temperature and an even smoke. Sean and I had debated using applewood but then decided it was too sweet for the flavor we were going for with our meat.
I dumped wood chips, wishing every single thought I had didn’t take me back to Sean. It was distracting. After a decade of living in New York I was used to people being around me all the time. Pressing in, brushing against me on the subway, rushing past, earbuds in talking loudly on their phone. Not to mention the hiss of the sidewalk grates, the honk of cars and cabs, and the regular sound of sirens wailing through the air.
Other competitors, the judges, my co-workers didn’t distract me. Just Sean and the sight of his muscular arms beneath his rolled-up chef coat sleeves, and the occasional grin or wink he shot my way.
It was a problem.
Fortunately, tending the fire was a solitary and steady job and between working on prep for side dishes to be made in the morning, I was hovering, fussing over the smoking chips like they were a newborn baby. If the wood was oxygenated enough it would cause thick, dirty smoke on the brisket.
“Those announcers or judges or whatever the hell they are are driving me crazy,” Jeff said, coming up beside me and reaching for a bottle of water from the cooler.
“What announcers?” I asked, glancing at him.
Jeff looked at me like I was insane. “You don’t hear that yapping? Oh my God, it’s incessant, like my ex-wife.”
Given that it might have been the most words I had ever heard Jeff string together at once, I paused in what I was doing to stop and listen. All I heard was standard noise. Chefs calling out orders, grill lids slamming shut, and the traffic from the nearby expressway. “What are they even saying?”
“They’re discussing techniques but mostly they’re gossiping. They’ve been standing outside our station for at least five minutes. They interviewed a couple people at Woodstock first but now they’re just standing there filming for a stream, I guess.”
“Gossiping?” Now I really stopped to listen. “Why would announcers be gossiping?”
“I have no idea. But they’re talking about you and Chef.”
I slammed the door to the smoker shut so hard I nearly knocked the whole damn thing over. “What? What do you mean? They’re introducing the competitors?” My heart rate jumped and my throat felt tight. Then I immediately shushed him before he could talk so I could try and listen to the announcers.
Jeff was right, they were standing directly in front of our station, filming with a hand-held camera under one of the lights that had been set up to illuminate the event. It was a man and a woman and since they were only a few feet away, it was easy to hear what they were saying.
“Rumor has it they’re a real-life couple,” the woman was saying.
What the actual hell. “Why would they be talking about that?” I was totally outraged. “Who cares?”
“Maybe that’s why she’s letting him treat her like a pit bitch.” A man chuckled.
Chuckled.
Fucking chuckled.
“Did he just call me a pit bitch?” I said, my voice going up three octaves.
“I don’t think so.” Jeff watched me uneasily. “And keep your voice down. They’ll hear you.”
I grabbed a cheese grater, rage rising in my blood like red-hot molten lava.
“What are you going to do with that?” Jeff asked. “Give her a pedicure? Chef!” he called out. “We have a, uh, situation.”
Pit bitch. Pit. Bitch.
A decade of hard work and this little creep, whoever he was, had reduced me to a pit bitch, the person who tends the fire for the real chef.
My vision blurred. I could smell the hickory smoke and feel the cool stainless steel of the table beneath my hand as I used it to hold myself up. I thought, for a second, I might pass out.
Sean appeared while I was still trying to control my breathing and not murder the man talking shit about me right in front of our station.
I felt like Seinfeld when Newman pulled crap with him.
Martin.
This had to be Martin’s doing.
Though I realized that was insane. Martin didn’t know Sean and I were dating.
Had Sean told them?
He approached me and I turned, the grater still in my hand.
Fifteen
It was only a matter of time before I found myself with a woman waving a weapon in front of me. I had just never expected it to be a cheese grater.
I was confused as I approached Isla. She looked like she was on the verge of going full-on Samurai warrior. “What’s wrong?” I said.
Jeff had wisely run away, busying himself with slicing pork belly.
“Those people know we’re a couple,” she said, gesturing to the front of our area.
“What?” I looked to see a man and a woman standing there, filming themselves. “Who is that?”
“I have no idea. But they said we’re a couple and they called me your pit bitch.”
So that’s why she was so angry. “I’m sure they were joking. I don’t even know who they are so don’t let it get to you.”
“Easy for you to say. They’re not insulting you.”
I wasn’t trying to be insensitive but we didn’t have time to get worked up over this. “I wouldn’t care if they were. My food speaks for itself.” I reached out and rubbed her arms. Then I gently took the grater from her hand and set it down on the table.
Isla made a sound of impatience. “You don’t even get it. It’s your food. That’s the problem. I don’t want to be seen as your girlfriend that you allowed to help you.”
I wasn’t even sure where this was coming from. “What is it that you want me to do, Isla?”
She made a sound of exasperation but didn’t respond. She turned back to the fire.
“Do you want me to step down as executive chef?” I asked, not out of malice, but because I was genuinely curious. I didn’t know what she wanted. Other than to keep our relationship a secret.
“Of course not.”
My expertise was in the kitchen, not relationships. We all knew that. There was something she wanted and I had no damn clue what it was. I decided the best course of action was to walk away then. She had her back to me and I didn’t know what else to say. I decided to cruise past the people she had referred to and see what I could hear. Maybe that would make it more obvious why she was so upset. Maybe she wanted me to stand up for her, not let them belittle her.
It wasn’t my style nor did I have time to dick around given we were in the middle of a competition so I just went straight up to the pair and made no bones about listening. They were discussing secret sauces and making innuendos. I decided to just interrupt and introduce myself.
“OMG, hi!” the woman said. “I’m Gypsy and this is Mutt. We have our own cooking podcast.”
“That’s fantastic. Love to hear what fellow food enthusiasts have to say.”
“We were just discussing how Shelby Montrose on Shelby’s S
ecret Sauce Show and Liam Porter from Porterhouse Rocks are dating IRL.”
For a second I didn’t know what IRL meant then realized that it stood for ‘in real life.’ Which she could have just said.
“I did not realize that,” I said, which was the truth. I was less interested in celebrity chef’s dating than I was in hearing they weren’t discussing me and Isla at all. Yet Isla was so paranoid about discovery she had thought they were. “Will you be here tomorrow to taste all the food?”
“We’ll be here all night.” Mutt, who was about eighteen, pulled a badge forward. “Media passes.”
“Awesome. Be sure to stop by then and give us your opinion. You won’t be disappointed in Bone’s offerings.”
Gypsy laughed and gave me a wink. “Never.”
Yeah, that wink made me uncomfortable given I had a girlfriend and Gypsy was wearing very little clothing. Mission accomplished, time for me to get out of there.
I went back to our station and straight to Isla. “They weren’t talking about us.”
“They weren’t?” She looked ridiculously relieved.
“No. No one cares that we’re dating except for you.” They didn’t. The sooner she realized that, the better. I was not going to wait two years to tell the world about us. We were not star crossed lovers. Empires weren’t going to topple if we came clean. It was bullshit and I was over it.
“You two are dating?” Nick asked, coming up behind me.
Isla shot me a look. “Seriously? That’s just fantastic, Sean.”
“You know what? It is fantastic. Because I love you and I’m having an amazing time getting to know everything about you and I am starting to feel like us working together is an excuse.”
She bit her lip and wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t want to talk about this now. We’re in the middle of the competition.”
“You’re more important to me than any competition.” I reached out and took her hand and squeezed it. “I’ve been alone my whole adult life and now we have this connection and I don’t want to pretend that I don’t feel this. Don’t ask me to lie indefinitely.”
Who’s The Boss? Page 17