Veronica
The night went well.
In fact, it was excellent.
We had compliments flooding into the kitchen. We had come up with a petite menu—everything was in miniature tonight, in part because we were able to stretch our limited stock to accommodate the change. The price of wine was cut down for the evening as well, since that was one area that we were still well-stocked and the customers seemed happier when the wine was flowing.
Demands on Ethan’s attention were high until, in a stroke of generosity or sadism, he decided to tell the patrons that it was my idea and my recipes they were savoring, not his. I was happy to be among them, but I was worried I would say or do something wrong. I thought carefully before answering each of their questions, and kept my answers concise and bland.
I glared daggers at Ethan through the circular windows into the kitchen, but he only gave me a shit-eating grin and the thumbs up. Bastard. He’ll pay for this later.
We were nearing the end of Le Poisson d’Azur’s open hours when I turned and saw the last person I could have expected standing just inside the kitchen’s door.
“Jason?” I said, a plate of Foie Gras mousse and shaved Coq Au Vin over lemongrass perched in each hand. “What are you doing here?”
I saw Ethan turn from where he was overlooking the pastry station, but beyond that I didn’t pay much attention. Jason—perfectly coiffed, the blond-haired, blue-eyed poster boy for women everywhere to swoon over Jason was standing there, staring at me.
“Veronica,” he said. I shuddered, not from the lust I had felt years ago, but from revulsion. I heard that voice enough on the radio. I hated that voice. “It’s good to see you.”
I moved toward him, setting the plates down on the heating area beside the door where the servers would grab them once they came back through. “What are you doing here, Jason? I’m working.”
“I know,” he said, taking a step toward me, hand raised as though he was going to touch me. I stepped back and his hand dropped, a hurt look on his face. “Jesus, Delly, I’m not going to bite.”
Delly. I hated that nickname. Who made a nickname out of someone’s last name? I crossed my arms over my stomach and stood, feet apart, and glared at him. “Look, Jason, this is a place of business. You’re not even supposed to be back here. What do you want?”
“I just want to talk to you,” he said. “I don’t have your phone number anymore and there was some kind of fire at your apartment. Shit, are you okay? You weren’t in it when it went up, were you?”
Ethan came into view. His six-foot-four towered over Jason’s smaller five-foot-ten. I looked between the two of them and, seeing Ethan, I wondered what the hell I had ever desired in Jason. He looked washed-out compared to the wide, muscled, angry god-like figure that Chef Craymore cut, even if Ethan did have that ridiculous red bandana tied around his neck.
Ethan held out a hand to Jason, “Sir,” he said, his tone mild. “Welcome back to Le Poisson d’Azur. Ms. Delaware is busy at the moment, but I can answer any questions you might have about our new menu.”
Jason shook hands with him, his smile turning professional, charming. Just two good-ol’-boys. Then he winced and withdrew his hand. I covered my mouth to hide my smile. I was sure Ethan had just shown off just how strong the hands of a cook were. Cutting through bones and shucking oysters by hand is no job for a sissy.
“I know Veronica from way back,” Jason said, rubbing his hand. “I just wanted to catch up.”
“I’m busy, Jason. Go away.”
Ethan glanced at me, his eyes concerned even though his face was rigid, almost angry. I shook my head minutely and he turned his attention back on my ex. It was becoming like that with us—that with just a glance, no words spoken, we could read the intent in the other.
“I apologize for Ms. Delaware’s harsh words, but she is right. We are rather busy at the moment.”
We weren’t busy, not by kitchen standards, and Ethan could have spared me if I needed to take a minute, but we both know I would rather chew off my own arm. I turned on a heel and chose a station at random, chopping through thin lemongrass with single-minded determination. I saw Ethan exchange a few more words with Jason and offer to shake hands again, but Jason just laughed and backed out of the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.
Fiona came out of the freezer and spotted me. Her brow furrowed and she glanced at Ethan. He had turned his attention on Julio, who was manning the soup, his voice gearing up for a full-blown Chef Craymore tirade. She came over to me, “Did he say something to you?” She hissed.
I shook my head and set down the knife before I cut myself. My arms were shaking so horribly bad that I was afraid I would do some damage. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When I opened them she was still looking at me, concern etched into her features. “It was Jason. He was just here.”
Her mouth fell open. “Wait—what? Jason-Jason? Evil ex Jason?”
I nodded and pursed my lips, “Ethan got rid of him. He said he wanted to talk.”
She scoffed, loud enough that a few nearby people turned their heads to see if there was anything the matter. They turned away once it was evident no one was bleeding or burned. “Is he still here? Do you want me to kick his ass?”
I laughed, “I’m not sure and, no, I don’t need you to kick his ass. If anyone’s boot goes up that derriere, it’ll be mine.”
“You go, girl,” she said and winked. “But kudos to Chef Craymore for stepping in when he did.” She leaned forward over my station, lowering her voice, “And be careful. That’s the third time I’ve heard you call him ‘Ethan’ instead of ‘Chef Craymore.’ People will catch on.”
I glared at her and refused to answer. She went back to her station and I attended to my duties, rotating through the kitchen and helping things along, only pausing when the maître de came through to announce that the last of the patrons had left.
Ethan caught me as I was checking the inventory in the cold storage. We were low on everything, having scraped the back of shelves to find enough supplies for the evening. I was so distracted by counting and checking the list that I didn’t even hear the door or know he was there until he touched my arm. I jumped, almost dropped the clipboard, and gasped as his mouth came down on mine in a fierce, crushing kiss.
I stumbled back, breaking our contact, and narrowed my eyes at him. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” He asked.
“Switching from Evil Ethan to Good Ethan in the blink of an eye. It’s freaking me out.”
He laughed and kissed me again, and, this time, I didn’t try to pull away. I melted into it. I needed this, his lips and his tongue stroking mine, ever since I had first seen Jason inside the kitchen. I needed to feel safe, and nowhere else did I feel it as much as I did when Ethan’s arms were around me, the scent of him filling my nostrils and the feel of his hard, warm body beneath my hands. The thought should have terrified me, but I was too caught up to care.
When the kiss finished, I leaned my forehead against his chest and felt his hand stroke my hair. “So,” he murmured. “You dated that prick?”
I choked a laugh against his shirt. It smelled of sweat and all the sauces and meals we had cooked that evening.
“Yeah,” I said. “And don’t I know it?” I pulled back and looked up at him, into his hazel eyes with the little flecks of orange and gold floating around the pupil. I couldn’t get enough of them. “Thank you for helping get rid of him.”
“He doesn’t seem to want to listen when a lady is talking.”
I shook my head. “I’m not a lady.”
His fingers stroked along my jaw and stopped at my chin, lifting it so that I was looking at him. “You are a lady. You’re my lady. I don’t take kindly to someone disrespecting you like that.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
He hugged me to him and I relaxed into his arms, inhaling the pine and salt smell of him. He smelled like clean oce
an water and deep woods rolled into one.
It was like the time I had gone to Muir Woods on a day shrouded in ocean fog and a cold February drizzle. Almost no one else had been there. I had stood on the pathway surrounded by redwoods hundreds of feet tall and raised my head to the misting skies, closed my eyes, and just breathed. I stayed there like that until I was shivering down to my bones, and had used the walk back to Fiona’s car to warm myself back up.
He smelled like that day, like that moment. It had been that very day in which I had decided I had spent enough time mourning the end of my relationship with Jason.
I wasn’t a believer in signs like Fiona was, but if I were that would be one. He smelled like that day, he smelled like the peace I had felt in that perfect moment.
“We should get back out there,” he said, and his voice was filled with regret. “But if we were alone, I would show you just how I will treat you every day, so long as you’re mine.”
I shivered, only in part because of the frigid air blasting in from the vents, and pulled out of his arms. “Later?”
“Later,” he promised and smiled. “By the way, I wanted to let you know that this evening was an unmitigated success. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
I raised an eyebrow, “Chef Craymore, did you just apologize to me, a lowly Sous chef?”
He laughed, “Lowly? Darling, I’ve never seen you brought low,” he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Even when you’re at my mercy.”
I flushed and his laugh deepened. He gave me a brief, hard kiss and backed away. “Meeting with the boss in five minutes.” He winked and left, the door closing with a soft chink behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ethan
The meeting was over and we were leaving the restaurant with Esteban and Mr. Simmons when I caught sight of Veronica’s ex in the yellow glow of one of Poisson’s parking lights. I touched her elbow and she followed my nod. I saw her frown, her eyes narrow, and couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of my mouth. He was a fool if he thought he was going to get back into her bed, or into her good graces.
“I’ll be just a second, guys,” Veronica said. “I have to take care of something.”
Mr. Simmons and Esteban hovered near me and we formed an inverted V.
“Who’s that?” Esteban asked.
“Ms. Delaware’s ex-boyfriend. You’ve heard of Jason Sanger, the musician?”
“Si, everyone knows him. He’s been number one for five months.”
“He was part of the wedding party from, what was it? Three weeks ago,” Mr. Simmons supplies. “Wasn’t he the groom?”
I nodded, “Yes he is.”
“What’s he doing talking to Veronica, then?” Esteban asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Mr. Simmons, you should go on home. Esteban, we have her back, don’t we?”
“Always,” he said and fished a cigarette out of his pocket.
Mr. Simmons looked between us and began to walk toward his car, his movements slow. “Just—just remember we are trying to avoid negative publicity.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Mr. Simmons stopped, glancing between Veronica, who was gesturing animatedly, and me, my gaze fixed on the scene. His voice lowered and I almost could not believe the next words that came out of his mouth. “But if you must, gentleman, make sure he remembers he was in a fight come tomorrow.”
Esteban and I started, but Mr. Simmons had turned his back on us and was walking toward his Maserati. Esteban looked at me and blinked in the dim light. He gestured toward the arguing couple. “Shall we?”
I nodded. We weren’t going in for the attack, both of us knew it, but we wanted to be close enough to intercede if things got heavy. Jason was yelling, and Veronica shouting back. She looked perfect, her hair flying around her face to catch the light like a halo, her cheeks a vibrant red, her eyes shining. He looked like a fool, one-half of his dress shirt untucked and his hair in disarray. His eyes shined as well, but there was a wildness in them, something almost feral.
“I just want to know if you’ve said anything!” He shrieked. “You could ruin me.”
Veronica took a step back, her hand raised to point an accusatory finger at him, “You don’t have any right to tell me what I can say and who I can say it to. And there is nothing wrong with feeling the way I feel and wanting what I want. I know that now.”
Jason took a deep breath and a step forward. Esteban and I moved in tandem, coming to stand at Veronica’s back, just a little behind her shoulders. Jason caught the movement and stilled, his gaze flickering between the three of us. She did not look around, but I knew that she knew we were there.
He took a step back and tried to smooth his hair. It didn’t work. “Look, Delly, I just want to make sure that you’re—that we’re okay. Where are you even staying? Don’t tell me you’re in some crap motel while they work out the fire damage.”
“It’s none of your business where I’m staying,” she spat. “You made that clear when you cheated on me with several women. How’s your fiancé, by the way, or is it wife now? Does Fanny even know that you’re here?”
That sound of his fiancé’s name was almost like a physical blow to the man. He staggered back and his eyes flicked around the parking lot, as though expecting her to pop out from behind a parked car and yell ‘boo.’ “Who told you about Fanny? Have you talked to her?” He yelled forgetting, I think, that Veronica had two men standing at her back more than willing to engage him in defending her.
“You were cheating on me with Fanny,” Veronica said through clenched teeth. “I think I’d remember her name, don’t you?”
Jason took another few steps forward and reached out. I wasn’t sure what he planned to do, but I stepped around her and grabbed him by the wrist. “You’re going to want to calm down now,” I murmured, trying to keep my tone even.
The man stared up at me, his eyes unfocused. His pupils were dilated until almost none of the blue showed around the edge. He seemed to have difficulty finding my face. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, man, I hear you.”
I let go and Jason took a step back, his voice rising with a laugh. “It’s all good, yeah man, don’t worry.”
“You’re going to want to go now,” I said, watching him. He seemed unstable. I think he’s taken something. Cocaine? Meth? What is he on? “And we won’t see you again, will we, Mr. Sanger?”
“I can go where I want!” He cried, his voice raised in a high, almost baby-like whine. “That bitch can’t claim a whole goddamned restaurant!”
I stepped forward and I felt Esteban fall in beside me. I didn’t glance back to look at Veronica. “You’re going to want to watch your tongue,” I said. “And I’m going to make sure Mr. Simmons knows to expunge your name from our reservation list. You’re going to have to find somewhere else to celebrate your big moments.”
“Fuck you!” Jason cried, sweat beading on his forehead. “You’re all sleeping with her, aren’t you? I just knew it, the little slut, she just can’t keep her legs sh—”
I didn’t wait to hear the rest of it. I don’t remember stepping forward, but next thing I knew I was picturing my fist going through the back of that blonde-haired pricks head. My fist slammed into his jaw and I heard a crack. I wasn’t sure if it was his jaw or my knuckles, but I knew we were both hurt. Jason fell to the ground like a ten-pound sack of potatoes, legs folding underneath him, and was still.
I stood over him, chest heaving. I wanted nothing more than to bring my boot down on his pathetic face and make sure that he wouldn’t bother her again. I wanted to kick him until he couldn’t fucking breathe without remembering why he wasn’t going to fuck with Veronica Delaware anymore.
“Oh my God,” Veronica said, coming up beside me. “Did you kill him?”
Esteban knelt and felt for a pulse in his throat. “Nah, man, he just knocked him out cold. Hey, chef, that was pretty dope.”
I bared my teeth in a smile, “Thank you, Esteban.”
I took some calming breaths, remembering what my senpai had taught me about centering oneself after battle. I never should have hit him first, according to my teachings, but I wasn’t perfect.
And the asshole deserved it.
“No problem, man and, hey, I was just about to do the same thing. No one talks about our girl that way.”
I saw Veronica flush at my side. She let out a very small, “Thank you.”
“What do we do with him, man?” He asked.
I looked around. While San Francisco was a busy city, Le Poisson d’Azur was on a wooded lot, its own little world among the bustle. We connected with the back to the more developed area, but here we were almost unseen by the street. I placed my foot on the man’s side and rolled him out of the light and into the bushes. “Let him sleep it off,” I said. “He’s on something. Maybe he’ll wake up and think he passed out.”
“Not with a broken jaw,” Veronica pointed out. “I’ll call Fanny.”
I glanced at her, “You have his fiancé’s number?”
“Yeah,” she said, as though that was a stupid question. “We talked. I imported my contacts from the cloud, so I still have her number, unless she changed it.”
“Yo, Veronica, I wasn’t here, right?” Esteban said.
Veronica smiled at him, “Of course not. Best get home, though.”
He saluted and we were left alone. I watched Veronica pull up the contact and put the phone to her ear. She didn’t step away. “Hello, Fanny, it’s Veronica.” She paused, “Yeah, that Veronica.”
She listened for a moment and continued, “That’s great, I’m glad you two are happy. Listen, Jason came by Le Poisson tonight.” Another pause, “Yes, I work here. I’m the Sous Chef.” She rolled her eyes at me and made a chomping motion with her free hand. I grinned at her. “Okay, that’s great. So, Jason came in and got a bit drunk, I think. We found him out in the parking lot. It looks like someone punched him hard. I see a red mark on his face. Do you think you could come and pick him up? I wouldn’t want him getting sprayed by a skunk or mugged.”
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