Monster Chef

by Margaret McHeyzer

  When Pierre and Eric leave, it’s pretty easy to interpret the look Angus is giving me, a deadly, pissed off scowl.

  He walks out shortly after Pierre, which leaves me and the rest of the staff in the room.

  “Jesus, I think I need to go home and change my panties,” Catherine blurts, cutting the tension in the room. “What is going on with you two?” she asks.

  “Freaking hell, that was the hottest thing I’ve seen. That was my own personal channel of porn. Who knew Pierre could be so sexy? And what was with him feeding you? I swear, Holly, I had to clench my thighs together when he shooed your hands away and he fed you. I even heard Andrew groan,” Maddie says.

  “I did not,” Andrew retorts, though the tips of his ears turn red.

  “We all did, except for Angus. He looked pissed off. But damn girl, I’m going to go home and get myself off now with that image fresh in my mind. What’s going on between you two?” Maddie asks as she fans herself pretending she’s panting and hot.

  “Nothing,” I answer truthfully…sort of.

  “I’d be tapping that as often as I possibly could. Did you see the way he fed you? My God, I can just imagine how he’d savour your body in bed,” Catherine says.

  I can’t help but chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint you all, but there’s nothing going on between Pierre and me.” I stand and run my hands over my thighs to straighten my skirt. “If you’ll all get to your stations, we’re about to open and it’s going to be a busy night.”

  They all groan, as they stand. I’ve given them nothing and I’m making them go to work.

  As I follow them out of the staff room, I walk past the kitchen and catch a sight of Pierre making something in a large stock pot. Beside him is a store-bought stock liquid. I stop walking when he lifts it and pours into the pot.

  Turning, I go into the kitchen and watch as Pierre keeps cooking. He lifts his head to see me, and he smiles at me, then winks.

  “Pierre, may I ask you a question?”

  “Oui,” he says as he looks down at the stock pot.

  “Is that store-bought stock liquid?”

  “Oui,” he answers.

  I don’t say anything, but I can feel my lips twisting and my eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

  Pierre looks up, then down, then immediately back to me again. “Why?” he asks me as he stops stirring.

  “Because you’re a chef, once a Michelin star chef, and now you’re using a pre-bought stock.”

  “Oui!” he half yells, reverting back to Mr. Arrogant-arse.

  “You’re telling me you don’t know how to make your own stock?” I push him.

  “Non! I simply do not have the time to make it.”

  “Hmmm,” I say as I shrug and turn to leave.

  “Holly, where are you going?”

  “To do the job I was hired to do. It’ll be good if you do yours too.” I hope he picks up the double entendre.

  “Are you challenging me?” he shouts after me as I leave the kitchen.

  “It appears I may be the only one doing so,” I say as I step past the pass-through to go toward the bar.

  “You are intolerable,” he huffs, angrily.

  “Oui, chef. I am,” I say as I wink and smile at him.

  FOURTEEN

  Holly

  Tonight is as busy as normal. However, we’ve still had a few quiet moments and breaks in service. Catherine has tried to weasel information out of me a few times as the night progressed, but I keep telling her the same thing –it’s none of her concern – and by about ten she’s given up and not said anything to me.

  “Holly, can I have you for a moment, please?” Angus asks as he steps behind the bar.

  “Sure, I’ll just get Andrew to cover. Give me a minute.”

  Angus leaves and I go to find Andrew.

  “Hey, can you cover the bar for a few moments? Angus wants to talk to me.”

  “No worries,” he says with a gentle smile.

  When I get to Angus’s office, I knock and wait for him to acknowledge me.

  “Come in,” he yells through the closed door.

  I walk in and Angus is sitting in his chair, perusing a stack of papers on his desk. “What’s up, Angus? Everything alright?”

  “How was your first night back?”

  “Great. I had no issues.”

  “Good, good, good.” He averts his eyes and looks like he wants to say more.

  “Is there a problem I should know about?” I ask as I step further into his office and close the door behind me.

  “Um…, not exactly.” He runs a hand through his hair. A nervous trait I easily recognise.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Um…I’m not sure I really know how to approach this subject.”

  “Is it work-related?” I have a feeling after he saw what Pierre did in the staff room, he’s going to question me about Pierre.

  “Yeah – well no, not really.”

  “Has it got to do with what happened that night?” I lower my tone and emphasise the word ‘that’, meaning the night I was assaulted.

  “Well, kinda.”

  He’s so wishy washy. “You have to tell me what you’re concerned about so I know what’s going on?”

  “It’s about you and Pierre.”

  Oh well, this’ll be interesting.

  “And what do you want to know?” I ask as I straighten my back.

  “Is there something going on between the two of you?”

  “Whether something is or isn’t, it really is of no concern to you. What I do outside of work is irrelevant. As long as I conduct myself in a professional manner while I’m here, and I don’t tarnish this restaurant’s reputation in any way, then what I do really isn’t your business.” I say this in a calm, even voice, although I’m angry Angus thought he could bring this up.

  “That’s not what I mean, Holly. The way he was looking at you. Everyone in the room could see how he was acting. It was like you belong to him and he was telling us all to back away.”

  “Just to get this right, your issue is with the way Pierre was acting?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then you’d best take it up with him, and leave me out of it. I have no control over how he was acting, or what you think about it. If I’m doing something impacting negatively on my job, then we can revisit.” I stop and look at Angus. He doesn’t look impressed with me, but it’s of no concern to me what he thinks. “Is that all, Angus?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “You can go back to work.”

  I walk out, passing the kitchen, and catch a glimpse of Pierre as he lifts his head to watch me walk by.

  “Thanks, Andrew,” I say as I step behind the bar and start pouring the two drink orders Andrew’s yet to do.

  When they’re done and gone, I wipe down the counter, and do a quick inventory of what’s needed before I see Pierre approaching me from the kitchen.

  “Not you too,” I mumble to myself.

  “Excusez-moi?”

  “Nothing, Pierre. Just talking to myself. How can I help you?”

  He leans an elbow on the bar as he leans in and his fingers go to his chin to lightly touch the skin. “Did you get the flowers I sent you to your hospital room?” he coyly asks. Suddenly he’s gone from food porn to shy. It’s actually quite endearing that he’s stumbling all over himself.

  “I did, thank you. I was going to come and talk to you tonight after we closed so I could thank you, not only for the flowers, but for what you did with…” I pause because I’m not sure what to say about the drunk guy.

  “It is alright.” He looks away, but he looks like he wants to say more.

  “No it’s not alright, I need to thank you, Pierre. I’m not sure exactly what would’ve happened if you weren’t there. I hate to think how bad it could’ve gotten.”

  I catch myself reliving that one moment, that terrifying second when I smelled his alcohol-laden breath, his hands digging into my hair and smashing m
y head against the car.

  “I’m glad I was there,” Pierre says snapping me out of my heavy memories.

  “Can I take you out to dinner to thank you?” Where the hell did that come from? I had no intention of offering anything like that at all. It literally just blurted out.

  “Oui, I would very much enjoy that,” he says, still standing in front of the bar. His floppy brown hair is carefully pulled back in a small ponytail, and his stormy grey eyes are very much locked onto mine.

  A drink order comes though and Pierre hovers close by, not wanting to leave, keeping an intent eye on me.

  “Is everything okay, Pierre?” I ask as I pour the spirit into the tumbler.

  “I… I…. well, I am just making sure you are okay.” He always speaks so formally and properly, pronouncing every word.

  I smile as I turn and put the scotch back on the shelf.

  “I’m okay,” I say, trying my hardest not to let the heat rolling off him to interfere with the stupid butterflies dancing around in my stomach.

  “I’m glad you liked the flowers,” he stumbles.

  I can’t help it, his voice is all strangled and he’s barely able to say anything.

  “Pierre, if you have something to say, then say it. If not, we’ll talk later and can decide what night I can take you out for dinner. But we’re busy here, and Angus will come out and have a go at us.”

  “Angus will not say a word, he is imbecile,” Pierre says and flicks his hand in a dismissive manner.

  “Whatever he is, he’s still my boss. I have a job to do, as do you. So I suggest you go back to your kitchen and cook whatever it is you’re cooking.”

  I give myself an internal high five, because I know Pierre is speechless. Just when I think he’s about to leave, he rounds the bar, steps into it and right into my personal space.

  Instinctively I back into the counter, and he steps right up to me. My fingers painfully grip the counter and my heart jumps into my throat.

  His chest is touching mine, I’m having trouble trying to pull air into my lungs as I turn my head to avoid his tempting lips. He has a delicious, thick aroma that makes my mouth yearn for a taste, a bite, or even a lick.

  I can feel the heat coming off him in waves. His dominating presence is totally turning me on.

  “I do not like being told what to do, Holly,” he says, his voice low and gruff. Sexy and desirable. He skims his nose across the column of my throat and inhales deeply through his nose. I close my eyes and feel my back arching, pushing into his chest. “But I certainly enjoy watching you.”

  Holy shit! This can’t be happening.

  “Pierre,” I whisper, barely audible.

  “Holly,” he returns as his warm hand brushes past my hip.

  My legs turn to jelly, and I feel unsteady on my feet.

  “Until later,” he murmurs lowly. I feel something soft and wet trace the shell of my ear, and while I’m desperately craving more, his warmth disappears.

  When I open my eyes, he’s gone.

  And now I’m damned well horny.

  It takes me a few moments to compose myself. I keep checking to make sure no one saw, and of course, no one did. But damn, I can feel the pink in my cheeks and my body is buzzing from the fierce heat Pierre brought out in me.

  I keep my eyes down, but sneak looks up. Holy crap, that was just…just…whoa!

  A spark’s been ignited, a deep yearning for something I never thought I’d crave again. Even if this thing I have with Pierre is only sexual, it’s something I’m becoming comfortable with…I think.

  When the doors close for the night, the clean-up is mostly done. I close the till out and take the receipts into Angus’s office to deposit into the safe. “I’m going now. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say to Angus who’s still doing paperwork at his desk.

  “See you tomorrow,” he says without lifting his head.

  I go to just outside the kitchen, “Good night everyone, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I yell for whoever’s listening.

  “Wait,” Pierre calls from the kitchen. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he says then swings around to give Eric some menial jobs to do while he walks me out.

  “It’s okay, Pierre. If you’re busy, we can talk later.”

  “Non! You are not to walk to your car alone.” His French is thick when he’s passionate about something. Christ, I wonder what he’s like when he’s in bed.

  Snap out of it, Holly!

  “I’ll be fine. Angus is letting me park out the back.”

  “Oui, that is better. But I’m still walking you out. That is final.”

  “Pierre,” I start saying in protest. He lifts his hand to halt me talking, and it throws me for a second. “Pierre,” I say again, but he’s shaking his head at me.

  “Non, I will not listen to you. I am walking you out, that is final, oui,” he says so adamantly.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Fine, although my car is right outside.”

  “Good, it means I can get back to making my stock for tomorrow.”

  I stop walking toward the back door, and look at Pierre. “You’re making stock from scratch?”

  “Oui,” he says, nonchalantly. “Why does this surprise you?”

  I smile and keep walking, entering my code for the back door.

  “I’d like to take you out next Tuesday for dinner, to thank you for what you did for me.”

  “Oui, next Tuesday is acceptable, but it is me who will take you out.” He’s gone all chivalrous and alpha on me.

  “I thought we agreed this is my way of thanking you.”

  We’re both outside and only a few steps from my car. Pierre turns to look at me, his hands go to his hips and his eyes do that dangerous, intense staring thing. They travel the length of my body as a fire smoulders deep inside me.

  I try and swallow the lump that has appeared in my throat.

  His grey eyes grow hungry while I watch his lips part slightly, and his left eyebrow arches in the sexiest way.

  That lump in my throat grows bigger.

  Pierre takes a step closer to me, and my gaze falls down his body.

  Every native sound vanishes, the air thickens, and there’s a heated pull between us.

  “Holly,” he says, his voice hard with want. My body seems desperately greedy. “I want to kiss you.” He steps up to me.

  “I want you to kiss me,” I say, surprising myself with my straightforwardness.

  “As much as I find myself unable to stay away from you, I don’t want our first kiss to be here in a dirty alleyway.”

  “Our first kiss?” Christ, he’s going to be the end of me.

  His body pushes into mine, his hands go to my lower back as he pulls me into his taut form. I can feel his arousal, smell the mint on his breath, almost taste the sweetness of his skin.

  “Yes, because what happened in the office was not the way I should’ve kissed you. And I plan on kissing you all the time.” Trying to get that lump down. “And in a lot of places.” Holy shit. His hot breath touches the sensitive skin on my neck, “All.” Sniff. “Over.” Small lick. “Your.” He opens his fingers and splays his hand across the top of my bottom, pulling me so close we’re touching. “Body.”

  “Pierre,” I moan as I close my eyes and lean my entire body weight into him. I drag my lips across the stubble on his chin. The roughness of his skin sends shock waves right down to the pit of my stomach. This moment is intimate and sensual, and nothing can snap me out of it. “Kiss me.”

  His wet, warm lips skim the delicate skin of my throat, another thunderous jolt of joy surges forward.

  “I won’t kiss you here, but I will leave you with this…,” he pauses, and then I feel it. His raspy tongue circles my earlobe then his hot, wet mouth is sucking it in.

  Good Lord, if he keeps going I may just come.

  “Next Tuesday, Holly,” he says as he removes his mouth. “Next Tuesday, you’ll come to my home and I will cook for you.”

  “I will?”
I ask, all breathy and turned on.

  “You will.” He presses a kiss to my cheek. It lingers longer than it should, but not as long as I want him to.

  His hands move to my arms, as he gently trails them up and down causing a sprinkle of goose bumps to form.

  “Okay,” I say, my head still cocooned in a cloud of lust.

  I finally open my eyes to find his intense grey eyes boring into mine. He lifts one hand and pushes his fingers into my hair. The elastic holding my ponytail easily slides out.

  “I like your hair down around your shoulders.” His voice is intoxicating, his eyes are captivating and his actions are arresting. It’s difficult not to be swept away by the Pierre’s intensity.

  With great difficulty, I manage to peel myself off him and dig my keys out of my bag.

  We don’t say anything else; I just get in my car and leave.

  I’m afraid if I look in my rear-view mirror I may just stop and go back to him and demand he take me right now.

  Dear Lord, if you can hear me, give me the strength not to fall for him.

  FIFTEEN

  Holly

  “Bronwyn,” I start as I set the table for dinner.

  “Yes,” she says. She brings the salad to the dinner table and turns to fetch the lasagne I made.

  “Um,” there’s a little croak in my voice. Nerves overtake me and I find my hands all sweaty.

  “What is it? Are you okay?” she asks, concerned, as she sits at the table with me.

  “Um yeah, it’s just…” Spit it out, Holly. “Would you be able to look after Emma on Tuesday night?”

  “Do you have to work, dear?” I detect mirth in her voice. I think she knows and she’s enjoying making me squirm.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Oh, is it a work-related event?” she pushes, making me tell her.

  “Ahhh, um, well it’s not like that.” Grow a pair. “Um, well Pierre sort of asked me out, sort of.” I feel my face change colours, from pink to scarlet. Why is this so embarrassing?