by Kelly Cain
He arches his eyebrow.
“I wished him luck.”
“So…dinner on your own, huh?”
Clearly, he’s trying to get an invite. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Some habits die hard. “Yup.”
He sighs. “Since your family left you, do you want to ride back to the hotel with us? Weston’s already in the car downstairs.”
“That’s very nice of you. Love to.”
When he drags into the elevator, I have mercy on him. “Fine, do you want to do dinner?”
“Maybe.”
I just roll my eyes because what else can I do with a pouting Knox. This is definitely new territory. “Okay, how about room service?”
He pulls his sumptuous bottom lip into his mouth and sinks his teeth into the pillowed remains. His eyes darken and his voice deepens. “Maybe.”
I’m transfixed, but the elevator door opens and releases me from my lusty thoughts.
He opens the door to the car and Weston waves frantically. “Hi, Rowan. Are you going with us out to dinner?”
“I hadn’t been invited.” I step into the car and settle next to Weston.
“Well, I’m inviting you?” I think that was a statement of invitation although he looks at Knox. Maybe he doesn’t know we’re not enemies anymore.
Knox smiles, grabs my hand, and kisses it. “She’s always invited.”
Weston…squeals. I really can’t describe it any other way. This six-foot-four man just let out a squeal at his little brother’s pronouncement.
I pat his knee. “It’s just dinner, Weston.” I can’t help but grin at him though. “Where’s Declan?”
Knox looks out through the glass. “Good question.” He pulls his phone out and texts.
A ping comes a moment later and he reads the text, blowing out an exasperated sigh. “He already left. He’s with Dad.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out chips, suspiciously the same as the ones we had earlier. Then he turns to the driver. “Sorry for the wait. My brother’s already gone.”
We drive off, headed to the hotel, and other than rhythmic crunching, Knox is quiet the whole way.
*
Plates of half-eaten food litter every flat surface of Knox’s hotel room. We’re sitting on the floor, reclining our heads against the sofa, thighs touching, completely stuffed, having decided to order room service after all. With Declan’s announcement that he was dining with their father, we decided we’d rather stay in. Mostly because Knox didn’t want to run into Flynn.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
I don’t want to talk about his father. “Only a penny? Is that all my thoughts are worth to you?”
He glides his hand across my belly and I groan from the weight on my full stomach. “Name your price, darling. I’ll pay anything.”
“Today’s malloreddus recipe was…surprising.” I snuggle into his side, suddenly too shy to let him see my face.
“Was it? You ‘found’ my notes.”
The quotes around found are explicitly apparent. No, he didn’t. I sit up and turn to him, and growl at his smiling face. “You tricked me into finding them.”
Thankfully the sofa is there to catch him because he falls back laughing, wheezing really.
I fold my arms over my chest and watch the show. I am not amused.
When he finally catches a breath, even though he’s leaning on the floor with one arm, holding his stomach with the other, he responds. “Oh, Amber. You’re blaming me for your thievery?” He falls back into fits of laughter.
I patiently wait on him to finish all this nonsense. “Are you done?”
“Oh my God. Whew.”
“You are not nearly as clever as you think you are.”
He pulls me into his lap and tugs on my pouting bottom lip. “We both know that’s not true.”
I spin around and straddle him, and whisper against his ear, pressing my breasts into his unforgiving chest. “What do you know?”
He chuckles, his breath catching. “I don’t even know my name anymore.”
Mission accomplished. I push back but don’t leave his lap. “Why did you set me up? Especially since it was real.”
“I wanted you to know how I felt. How I feel. How I’ve always felt.” He cups my cheek and strokes my chin with his thumb, moving to my lips.
I bend forward, placing my forehead on his. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“You hated me.”
I shake my head, but he stops me. “You did. But we’re here now so that doesn’t matter anymore.”
He’s right of course. And the fact that he created that recipe over two months ago before we even started the competition means that I’m the late one to this little two-person party of ours. Looks like I need to make up for lost time.
I’m close enough to feel his heart pounding and mine breaks just a little for being so stubborn. For not seeing through the bluster. For not having confidence enough in myself and blaming him for all my shortcomings. For not being his friend when he asked.
He still has his hands on the sides of my head, so I place my hands over his and stare into his smoldering baby-blue eyes, scooting forward again on his lap. I guide his hands down my neck, pushing them farther down until they’re resting on top of my breasts.
When he rubs my nipples through the thin cotton T-shirt I’m wearing, the sensation sends a zing through my stomach, and I grind against his hardening erection, placing my hands on his shoulders for traction.
With one hand massaging my breast and the other guiding my hips, he reaches for my lips. I bend and make the connection. He whispers against my mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” His voice is deep and gravelly, his breath short.
I smile against his lips as his hard cock grinds into the seam of my yoga pants. “I think I’m beginning to catch a clue.”
He grabs both hips, tilting my pelvis up a bit to have better access, and rubs my clit through the fabric. His intent is clear—he means to make me come tonight, and I’m not mad about it. Knox is talented. This is not new information. He works my nub just as he flicked the malloreddus off the board, and now I finally realized why that always turned me on so much.
This time I close in on his mouth and suck his tongue but it doesn’t break his concentration. Not that I wanted it broken. His tongue is soft and rough and tastes like root beer from our feast earlier. I mimic the sucking with the grinding going on below. When the buildup begins, I fist his hair and hold on for dear life. It starts slow in the pit of my stomach and explodes out of nowhere, catching my breath in my throat, suppressing the scream I want to release.
When I come down, Knox is kissing me everywhere, nipping my jaw, my neck. Biting my chin, my lips. Then he pulls me into his chest, and I collapse against him. We’re both breathing so heavily that it’s the only sound filling the room for minutes.
“That was…”
“Yeah, it was.”
I move from his lap because I don’t want our wet spots to meet. We really didn’t do a great job preparing, but I don’t think either of us expected to take it this far.
He palms my face again, and the pure contentment in his crinkled eyes matches my feelings exactly.
I trace his bottom lip with my thumb and he nips it, making me grin. For the four years of culinary school, we could’ve have been doing this instead of pranking each other.
I blow out a shallow huff and shake my head. “I’m still mad about my baked Alaska though.”
*
The knock on the door is urgent, not soft like last time. I don’t care how bad he wants it (I want it too), we’re not sexing until after the competition. There’s only four more days for goodness’ sake. I throw the covers off and look at the bedside clock for the time. It feels like I just got to sleep. Four o’clock in the morning. I did just get to sleep having left Knox’s room at two. Thankfully we have a noon call time.
A knock comes again before I can throw something on so I look through the pe
ephole because this is unlike Knox. It’s him though, and I’m not sure if it’s the distortion of the glass I’m looking through, but he seems haggard. “Give me a second, okay?”
He grumbles something I can’t hear through the door so I rush to the dresser and pull open drawers looking for something, anything, to cover myself and let him in. My pulse is racing causing me to get too flustered. Finally, I swing the closet door open and grab a sundress. It’s too cold here to wear it out anyway.
When he comes through the door, he grabs me up in his arms and buries his face in my wild hair, released from its silk bonnet the short time I slept. He’s vibrating, and this time wetness skims my neck.
I don’t offer him comfort because I don’t have any to give. I’ve joined in with his shaking. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.”
He whimpers into my hair, then releases me to go into the bathroom where he uses a tissue to blow his nose. “God, I’m sorry. Everything’s okay.”
“Clearly not, Knox.”
“I mean, nobody’s injured or dying or anything. Don’t be scared. I’m just really upset.”
I breathe deeply a couple of times to get my nerves together, then lead him to the bed where we can sit comfortably. “Tell me what happened.” I hold his hands, rub his arms, kiss his cheek—anything to calm him.
“My room joins Dad’s.”
“Okay.”
“Dean Ellerson was there after you left.”
Is he crying over his father getting some? I know he doesn’t like the woman, but his mother died over fifteen years ago. Be sympathetic for fuck’s sake. “Okay. You’re upset because they’re still carrying on the affair.”
He looks at me with watery eyes. “No, why would I care? My father can do whatever he wants, and does. It’s the conversation they were having.” He gets up to go to the bathroom again and I stay put, giving him time to get himself together. Clearly, I’m not helping and can’t until he gets it out.
When he falls onto the bed and lies back, there’s a strip of skin visible showcasing his toned abs and I have to forcibly pull my gaze back to his face. You’re the worst, Rowan.
Thankfully his eyes are closed. “They were arguing about me. Apparently, Dad gave the school an endowment at Dean Ellerson’s request.”
I remain quiet because I’m still not tracking. Rich people give their alma mater money all the time. And considering his father actually bribed someone to let him in school, this seems mild.
He sits back up, resigned. “Don’t you see? It was less than a year before I graduated from high school. I got into school based on his donation. He’s been pulling the strings all along.” He must register my bewildered look because that’s not how he got into school. “What?”
“I guess I’m confused. My mom said you got in because your dad bribed someone in the school.”
His eyes widen and he shifts away from me. “You knew this entire time?”
“Of course.”
“You didn’t say a word?”
“Knox, I didn’t even know you. I blamed you for my being waitlisted. Your father bought your way in, and I felt like you took my spot. I figured you knew. That’s why—”
He shakes his head and stands, then runs his fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands. “No, you’re wrong.”
His face reddens and for the first time, I realize he’s not just upset. He’s beyond that. “Hey, you know how talented you are, right? Does it matter now? You’re the most intelligent and gifted person I know.”
“It’s all been a lie. Even you. I can’t believe I—” He strides to the door, practically ripping the heavy door from its hinges.
“Knox, don’t go.” When I get to the door, he’s disappearing into the stairwell. I don’t even have shoes on and there’s no way I’ll catch him anyway. He’s a runner and I’m so not.
I sit on the sofa until light streams through the closed drapes, calling his phone every couple of minutes until it starts going directly to voicemail. Knox wouldn’t miss competition no matter what so I hold on to that. He may not speak to me, but when noon comes, at least I’ll know he’s okay.
Fried Spaghetti
(because everyone knows that’s the only pasta Rowan can make)
3 cups leftover spaghetti with sauce
1/4 cup bacon grease
Heat a cast iron skillet over medium-high heat with bacon grease. Add spaghetti with sauce and stir around until steaming.
Yield: 2 servings
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That’s a wrap.
Noon comes and seated at the Everheart table are Weston, Declan, and…Flynn? Knox isn’t anywhere to be seen.
Wyatt moves his chair closer to mine and leans in. “Are you okay? You look a hot mess.”
I can’t even get upset because I own a mirror. I’m operating on the two hours of sleep I got before Knox pounded on my door. When I finally went into the bathroom to get ready, the person staring back at me in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. My curly hair was pointing everywhere imaginable and even matted on the side where Knox cried into it. My eyes were bloodshot like I pulled a kegger all night. All the water in the world couldn’t fix my hair or my eyes.
“I’m worried about Knox.”
He nods, lifting his brows. “It’s a huge shambles, isn’t it?”
“What do you know?”
Hannah tuts, narrowing her eyes at Wyatt.
He moves his chair back a bit. “It’s none of my business.”
“Don’t make me hurt you, little boy. What. Do. You. Know?”
He looks at Hannah, biting the corner of his lip.
“Don’t look at her. Look at me. Seriously, I will hurt you. I’m worried sick about Knox.”
“Declan said he dropped out of the competition.”
I slap a hand over my mouth. “Oh no.” I can’t believe this is happening. Even if being a chef was more his father’s dream than his, this was the only way of possibly breaking free. “Why?”
“Apparently there was some big dust-up between father and son. But I heard he was planning on dropping out anyway. He wanted you to win.”
“Declan told you that?” Wyatt must be mistaken. Knox wouldn’t just give it to me. Especially after our fight and what he sees as a betrayal.
“No, Weston told me that bit. He said Knox’s feelings for you—”
I put up a stilling hand. I don’t want third-hand information on the feelings Knox has for me. Had for me. “Don’t.” I glance at their table again and frown, realizing for the first time what this all means. “How could they allow Flynn to sub in? We’re in the middle of the competition.”
“How could they not? Hannah’s here instead of Mama.”
That’s a valid point. “Do you know where Knox is?”
“No clue. He’s still in San Francisco though. Weston says his stuff is in his room. He’s connected to him on the other side.”
How am I going to make it through this competition? I worry the inside of my cheek until it’s raw. Where would he be?
I lean in on the table and wave Hannah and Wyatt to do the same. “How are we going to beat a Michelin-star chef?”
Hannah slaps the surface, gaining unwanted attention from everyone milling around. She smiles and speaks to the room. “Sorry, just swatting a gnat.” When everyone moves along with what they were doing, she stage-whispers. “Don’t you dare. We’ll beat him the same way we were going to beat Knox. We need this for Lillie. Now get yourself together.”
I widen my eyes and open my mouth to tell her about herself, but I realize she’s right. Maybe I can’t beat a Michelin chef cooking one-on-one, and luckily that part’s over, but I can beat him in putting together the perfect restaurant and providing a service at the end. The best part of Everheart Bar and Fine Dining is the wood hearth, and that was Knox’s idea. Everything else in the restaurant may scream money, but it doesn’t reflect any sort of originality. “You’re right. We got this.”
; Dean Ellerson and Chef Buccola enter the room and my eyes shift their way as does Flynn’s. Dean Ellerson is all smiles and camera-ready, but I see past the facade now. I’d always liked her and actually felt sorry for her having to deal with my rivalry with Knox, but I see her in a whole new light now.
When the set turns hot, the presenters speak to the cameras, explaining the events today. The director already explained our cues to us beforehand, and the producer filled us in when we first arrived as well. Plus, I’ve seen every season and this part doesn’t veer from the script. I’d be willing to bet Flynn has never seen a single episode. He probably didn’t know what it was before Knox got in.
Since we left last night, they’ve transformed the set. The kitchens are completely devoid of appliances and cookware. They’re still sitting far away from each other but now there’s a temporary wall completely between them, splitting the room nearly in half. They’ve moved our family tables nearer to the audience and closer to each other. We won’t work here though. No, all the work will be done in the kitchen, separated from each other. The judges will split up, then switch, morning and afternoon until it’s done. They will advise lightly but the design—from the menu to the dining room to the kitchen to the servers to the bar—will be all us. Everything will be captured by the camera, but it will be severely edited to fit the three and a half days into a single hour-long episode.
Thankfully we get Chef Buccola this afternoon, because honestly, I’m wired so tight right now with the whole Knox thing, I’m not certain I wouldn’t go off on Dean Ellerson. As it is, I’m wary of the judge we did get, because he and Knox had something going and I never did find out what it was.
The presenters announce for us to go to our respective kitchens where our judge will be waiting. When we enter, the counters are still present, plus they’ve put a conference table in the middle with four chairs and four laptops. In the middle of the table, there are swatches, both cloth and paint, wood and tile samples, and a variety of tools that will help us decide how our restaurant will present.