by Beth Bolden
“Why can’t we do both? It’s not that great of a restriction, showcasing one technique each episode. And it’s not like you didn’t have restrictions at Terroir.”
“Yeah, well there’s a reason I’m not working there anymore,” Miles mumbled.
“So, if I asked you what you wanted, you’d tell me you want to make videos that don’t do anything except look pretty and impressive. Bolster your ego, so to speak.”
Miles had never thought of it that way before, but put the way Evan did, he certainly sounded like a petty egomaniac. It wasn’t an attractive look, and they both knew it.
They both knew Evan was going to win this round.
And really, Miles justified to himself, Evan was sort of right. There was a small restriction on each episode, but there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t go a little wild and crazy. And maybe the wilder and the crazier he went, he might pay back Evan for painting him into this corner.
“No,” Miles said. “That’s not really me.” He could tell from Evan’s face that he was definitely not convinced of that. “We’ll try it your way.”
It didn’t sting as much he’d expected, saying those words, but Evan’s smug face still needed something—a punch maybe? But that wasn’t right either, Miles thought as Evan started taking notes. No, something else, something to surprise him.
It shouldn’t have surprised him when the thought of kissing Evan popped into his head. Evan already had an ass he admired—which unfortunately they were both aware of now—but nothing would probably drive Mr. Bow Ties up the creek more than something messy and complicated, which was what all sexual relationships were, as far as Miles was concerned.
Definitely worth considering, Miles thought.
* * *
Miles landed on the couch with a heavy oof. It had been an extremely long day and he was exhausted but he still dragged out his phone from his back pocket. He felt a pulse of shame when he noticed that he hadn’t texted Gina since telling her with many emojis and exclamations that he was moving to LA. Of course, she hadn’t texted or called him either, but she was in college. He’d never been but he had a feeling you were so tired when you finally hit your bed, regular correspondence was basically impossible.
His fingers hesitated over the keys. Finally, he typed out a quick, you free to talk? and sent it.
He was so tired, it was a genuine worry that he might fall asleep before she replied, but instead, the phone rang almost immediately, jerking him awake.
“Big brother,” Gina crowed on the other end of the phone. Miles switched it over to speaker and laid the phone on his chest. “Long time no talk.”
“How is your philosophy class? Did it improve at all?”
She laughed, and he couldn’t believe how much better he felt, just hearing her voice and her high-pitched giggle. Something tight in his chest loosened.
“No, not really.” She paused. “What’s up?”
Miles felt a little bad about not talking to her for three weeks and then dumping his horrible situation on her, asking for her advice, but he couldn’t go to Xander or Wyatt. Kian would look at him uncomprehendingly. There was only one person he always felt he could go to, and she was listening right now.
“I think I fucked up, Gee.”
“Do you think it was a mistake to move to LA?” she asked quietly.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. That’s not exactly it. LA was the right choice, I don’t think I shouldn’t have come. But everything after I showed up. That’s the problem.”
She sighed, sounding like she’d been around the block a hundred times and knew the score. “Who is he?”
“How do you know it’s a he?” Miles squawked. “It could be the job. It could be my boss.”
“No. Definitely not. Because one, you’re ridiculously good at your job—crazy intimidating good, if I’m being honest—so there’s no way it’s the job. Two, you already told me your boss was Reed Ryan, and he didn’t ever strike me as an asshole you couldn’t get along with. I mean, you get along with Xander.”
Miles regretted introducing his sister to Xander for so many reasons.
“Did Xander tell you about his crush on Reed? Is that how you know about him?”
Miles could feel her disapproval radiating through the phone line. Even her silences could say a hundred words. He’d always envied that about her. He knew he tended to be both too open and not open enough; charming but opaque.
“Don’t you remember when he was on Kitchen Wars?” Gina asked, referring to a reality TV show that Miles vaguely remembered and definitely hadn’t watched. The name probably only sounded familiar because Xander had likely DVRed it and then had refused to delete it. Especially if Reed had starred in it.
“No?”
“Right,” Gina said with amusement, “I always forget that it’s Xander who has a crush on Reed, not you.”
“Thankfully not. Considering he’s now my boss,” Miles retorted. He really hoped he had distracted her from the topic at hand—the mysterious he she had already correctly identified—by the topic change. He’d initially wanted to ask her advice, but now that he was talking to her, he realized he didn’t know what he would even ask her. Besides, talking to her had already made him feel better, like none of this was truly permanently fucked, and he could still salvage it.
He loved his little sister a whole damn lot.
“So, who is he?” she persisted, and Miles groaned out loud.
“You’re not very good at subtle,” Gina pointed out with a laugh. “I can always see you changing the subject from a mile away. So who is he?”
“He’s my producer,” Miles reluctantly admitted.
“And?”
“And I was stupid.” Miles didn’t really want to detail every way he’d messed up with Evan, but knowing Gina, she’d drag it out of him.
“Big bro,” Gina said patiently, “you’re stupid about a hundred times a day. Did you hit on him? You hit on him, didn’t you. Like five seconds after meeting him.”
He couldn’t exactly blame Gina for coming to that conclusion, because if he hadn’t been so on edge when arriving at Five Points, he probably would have taken one look at Evan and done exactly that. But he’d been scared and worried and apprehensive, and so afraid those would show, he’d done the exact opposite.
“Not exactly,” Miles hedged. “I sort of insulted him. And then kept insulting him.”
He could tell Gina was speechless because there was a long, loaded silence.
“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Gina finally asked.
“He was afraid he was out of his depth and acted like an idiot,” Miles said.
“Then he should apologize,” Gina reprimanded, sounding so much like their mom, Miles had to do a double take.
“Yeah, he didn’t do that,” Miles said.
“So, he should start there,” Gina said. “And then he should definitely stop referring to himself in the third person, because that makes him sound even weirder than he already is.”
“Noted,” Miles said with a laugh. He definitely felt lighter. He wasn’t sure how he could even begin to apologize to Evan for what he’d said, but he knew Gina’s advice was sound. It was Gina. It couldn’t be anything else.
“Good,” Gina said.
“How is that guy in your philosophy class?” Miles asked.
Gina groaned. Miles couldn’t help but think that the sound they had both made when confronted with their nemeses—Miles with Evan, and Gina with Philosophy Class Guy—were eerily similar.
That could be because they were related, or it could be for an entirely different reason.
“Believe me, I feel you,” Miles said.
“How can you want to kiss someone and kill them all in the same breath?” Gina demanded to know.
“I really don’t know. When I figure it out, I’ll get back to you.” He paused. “And no kissing! I like to think of you as one of those nuns in the Sound of Music.”
He could he
ar the force of Gina’s eye roll over the phone. “You’re an idiot,” she said. But there was so much love in her voice, he squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden wave of emotion.
“I miss you, Gee,” he said. “We need to figure out a way to hang out. Soon.”
“Soon,” she promised. “But I’ve got a midterm to study for, so I’d better go.”
“Good luck on your test,” he said.
“Thank you.” She hesitated. “And, Miles?”
“Yeah?”
“Just fucking apologize.”
Miles knew it would be so much smarter to just listen to his sister, but he already knew he wouldn’t. The only way he intended to apologize, after the way Evan had manipulated and blackmailed him today, would be if he could leverage it as a way to control the producer.
After all, he’d never admitted to being a smart man, only a driven, determined one.
Chapter Six
As far as Evan was concerned, Miles’ agreement to do things his way was just a little too easy.
Sure, he’d strong-armed him, half-drunk and one hundred percent nasty-smelling, like an orchard gone bad, into Colin O’Connor’s jet, then dragged him to the marketing meeting that Reed regularly said was the worst day of his week, all while walking a delicate line between outright and only inferred blackmail.
And sure, he’d had to wake up at six this morning after a mostly sleepless night, tossing and turning and agonizing over what Miles had meant by kissing him. And then he’d had to read the email Miles had clearly gotten wasted and then written, probably because he’d kissed him and didn’t know what to do about it. But in between the not-very-imaginative and poorly written insults had been some insights into both Miles-the-Chef and Miles-the-Man.
After all, was something really insulting when it started with the playground taunt of “I really hate your face”?
Evan didn’t really think so.
Even if Evan had actually been offended by the email, he still would have used the material the same way. The sick look on Miles’ face this morning hadn’t just been the bad liquor talking; he’d clearly been overwrought with guilt and confused as hell.
Guilt, Evan thought with satisfaction as he swept into the Five Points kitchens the next morning, was the best fucking motivator in the whole world. Better than love or revenge or whatever petty shit those comic book villains were always preaching about.
They could keep their world domination via childhood insecurity. Evan was going to take guilt and shame right to the bank.
Lucy, the kitchen manager, called out good morning from her spot on the other side of the gigantic space, where she was probably writing up next week’s kitchen schedule. Even if she hadn’t been, Evan still would have smiled big and waved. As it was, he smiled extra big because it was a fucking fantastic morning.
His espresso had been the perfect blend of hot milk and bitter, rich coffee and he’d slept like a baby the night before. But most importantly, he’d finally fixed his problem.
“Hey.”
Evan looked up to see his fixed problem staring at him inscrutably.
“You look better,” Evan said judiciously. Now that Miles was no longer a thorn in his side, Evan was fine with being civil. Besides, Miles could hardly look worse than he’d looked yesterday. So his statement also had the bonus ring of truth.
“Actual sleep and no booze works wonders,” Miles pointed out.
There had been a tiny worried part of Evan that had been concerned that after a good night’s sleep, Miles might recant his agreement of the day before. Or even worse, decide he wanted to talk about the two major events of the last forty-eight hours. But when Miles stayed silent, Evan forged on with his plan.
“I’m going to suggest,” Evan said, “that we use the peanut butter dark chocolate cookie recipe as our first episode of the series. It’s a strong introduction to your point of view as a chef—your sort of high-end, low-end combo that you used with the strawberry raspberry tarts that went viral—and it’s a great introduction to basic concepts of baking, like creaming together butter and sugar and sifting dry ingredients.”
Miles looked grudgingly impressed. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Evan couldn’t quite help the chiding look he shot Miles’ direction. He had a problem being a little smug after he knew he’d won, and this morning was no exception. “If you’d give me half a chance, you’d learn that I have more than a few of those.”
“I told you yesterday I’d listen,” Miles said, a grumpy expression crossing his face. But unlike the inscrutable, lofty frowns of earlier this week, this one was almost adorable. Like a pissed-off cat.
“We talked yesterday about you coming up with a list of higher concepts you thought would come across good on video.”
Miles pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his jeans and slid it across the counter. It was a sunny morning and the tall windows in the kitchen were all open, lightening his eyes and making them tougher for Evan to read. But if he had a guess, Miles looked the way Evan felt: smug.
Scanning the list, Evan had to admit that Miles had done a really good job. Which didn’t surprise him all that much, because he’d personally selected Miles for a reason. They’d gotten off to a bit of a bumpy start, but there was no reason everything couldn’t go smoothly from now on.
“This is good,” Evan said.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
Evan glanced up, surprised at the hard, defensive edge to Miles’ voice.
“I know I haven’t shown it here, but I’m a professional,” Miles said and there it was again—the little thread of shame for the way he’d behaved earlier.
Evan couldn’t have planned it better if he’d orchestrated the whole damn thing. He wanted to break into a song and dance of victory.
“Of course you are.” Okay, if he sounded a little patronizing, then it was payback for, “I really hate your face.”
“Which of these would be good for the next episode in the series?” Evan continued.
“They’re actually in order—or the order I’d suggest they be in,” Miles said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Thoughtful,” Evan said approvingly. “Next up is chocolate croissants?”
Miles nodded. “And even better, last night I thought of an even better way we can learn to cooperate.”
Later, Evan would come to think of this moment as the one where he stumbled and fell over his own ego.
“You’re teaching me all about marketing,” Miles said, oh-so-innocently—so innocently that Evan should have realized what was coming, but he was too busy celebrating such an easy win. He should have known that anything too easy to believe was just that—too damn easy. “And so I thought I could teach you how to bake. Starting with these recipes. You want me to teach an average person. I figure,” Miles said, flashing another one of those charming smiles that made the housewives across America fall in love with him, “you’re about as average as it gets.”
* * *
Evan didn’t know whether to be pissed off or very reluctantly admiring over the way he’d just been out-maneuvered. It was almost a masterstroke of genius, and from the lack of smugness emanating from Mr. Ego, it was hard to tell if he even realized he’d struck gold.
As far as Evan was concerned, that was the worst part of all. If you were going to meet Evan on a field of victory and snatch it out from under him, then you’d better be damn aware you’d done it.
“Average?” Evan asked, definitely conscious of how his voice crept up at the end of the word.
“If you want me to teach anyone, then I sure as hell better be able to teach you,” Miles said. And suddenly, there was just a flash of the egotistical chef Evan had come to know.
Evan had never failed at anything in his life. He definitely wasn’t about to start now.
“Sure,” he said breezily. “I’m sure you can teach me.”
Evan had fully expected another kitchen session observing Miles and taking notes.
He hadn’t anticipated touching anything—unless it riled Miles up again—and so he’d worn one of his favorite bow ties, a beautiful summer-blue plaid.
The last thing he expected was Miles to take a few steps closer, and reach up, resting one of those slim, capable hands on his shoulder, then edge towards his throat. Evan might have worried Miles was finally going to strangle him, except those fingers were hesitant but sure of their destination, which was his bow tie.
“This needs to go,” Miles said, and Evan wasn’t sure he imagined it, but his voice seemed lower, almost gravelly. Earthy. Evan might have imagined it was sexual, but he couldn’t quite reconcile the Miles who wrote, “I really hate your face,” and had kissed him like he was attacking him, to someone who might be sexually interested in him. It didn’t compute.
And yet here Miles was, fingers capably and nimbly undoing his bow tie and gracefully tugging it out of his collar. He still couldn’t seem to form words—maybe that was the sheer shock of Miles choosing to touch him, maybe it was that his actions fulfilled so much of what Evan had daydreamed about before they’d ever met—and he stood in silence as Miles thumbed open one collar button and the next, with efficient movements.
If Evan hadn’t had sexual fantasies about Miles’ hands before now, he definitely was going to now.
Miles Costa was undressing him.
It seemed too unreal to be actually happening, but Evan could feel the floor under his feet, and the brush of Miles’ breath on the skin he’d exposed.
“There,” Miles said softly, and Evan swore his voice wobbled for a second. “Much better.”
“I thought it was the khakis you didn’t like.” Evan knew only the most shocking event would have forced him to refer to the email and the things Miles had said to him. He figured his slip was pretty justified, considering what had just happened.
“They’re distracting,” Miles said, but instead of continuing that line of thought, he turned away and headed towards the supply pantry, leaving Evan confused and sort of bereft. He wondered that if Miles kissed him again, if it would still be so angry.