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“I—I—sir, he is a famous soccer player,” Katie stuttered nervously. “For…Ashburn DC?”
“FC.” Kieran patted the corners of his mouth with a napkin, a bored smirk mortared on his face. “I have the season off because of an injury.”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Normally they want players to stick around, attend home games while in physical therapy, but my contract bypassed all that red tape. I’m…well, kind of a big deal.” Kieran gave us a smile with so much cheese, I got fucking heartburn.
I kept my eyes on his date just to piss him off. “How can I help you?”
“Ohmigod, hi!” His date flashed me a megawatt beam, fanning herself with a menu. “Gosh, you’re so tall. I’ve seen you on TV but never realized you were this handsome up close!”
She had a soft Alabama drawl, and I was extremely close to laughing. Kieran was such a fucking cliché, going for the Southern-belle type.
“Thank you.” I bowed my head in faux humility. “How can I be of service?”
“No, really.” She squeezed her breasts together, leaning toward me. Subtle as a tank, this one. “We came here because I told Kieran—didn’t I tell you, Kiki?—I have to taste everything you make after seeing you on The Great Chef Down. And when you tossed pepperoni on that contestant and told him he was a prick pizza—priceless!” She clapped excitedly, laughing.
Was she going to get to the point sometime soon? Because I had a service in crisis and a leftover boner from pinning Cal to her floor this afternoon. My dick still twitched every time I thought about those blue hair tips.
“Annie wanted to let you know the food is delicious.” Kieran yawned into his fist, as though admitting I made good food pained him. I hoped it did.
“Already know that.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
Kieran glanced at his Rolex, taking a bite of his entrée. “You’re welcome for the validation, buddy.”
I wasn’t his buddy. But I was about to become his undoing if he didn’t evacuate himself from my premises. Averting my gaze his way, I said, “Get the fuck out.”
“Excuse me?” He tilted one brow, calm and collected. He had ridiculous, shiny, light-brown hair and wore a black turtleneck, the international prick uniform. I didn’t buy the whole tamed-down version he was selling me.
“I said: Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“We’re paying customers,” Kieran pointed out unflappably.
“No amount of money is worth you contaminating my restaurant. The lady is welcome to stay.” I clasped my hands behind my back, ignoring Rhyland, who shot daggers at me with his eyes. “Dateless.”
“She’s my cousin.”
“Personally, I’m not a fan of incest, but that explains your IQ.”
“Oh my goodness.” Blondie shielded her face with a manicured hand, ducking her head sideways. “Kiki, you never told me he hates your guts. We should leave.”
“I see at least your cousin’s parents aren’t related. Good idea. I’ll show you to the door.” I stepped back to give them space to stand up, knowing we were drawing the attention of other diners and still not giving much of a shit. I Loathed this man with a capital L. If I could serve him a piece of extra-cold revenge for everything he had put me through, I didn’t mind the Page Six headline. Nothing kissing a few babies and signing a nice check to an animal shelter couldn’t fix.
Kieran stood up unhurriedly, showing no sign of embarrassment, and his cousin followed suit. “Hadn’t realized I cut you so deep I carved you into an asshole.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I brushed off invisible lint from his designer turtleneck. “You’re no more than an anecdote. It just so happens I don’t feed bullies—they’re already full of shit. Now kindly fuck off.”
I ignored Rhyland’s stunned face, along with the dozen phones directed at me, agape mouths, and hushed whispers.
“Did you just throw out a customer?” Rhyland jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Diners were shifting uncomfortably in their seats. I wasn’t worried. Chefs were known to be douche rockets. Gordon Ramsay’s entire career was built upon the ruins of other people’s hopes and dreams. “One of the most popular soccer players on earth at that?”
“He’s no Messi.” I glanced at Kieran’s plate, noting it was completely empty.
“No, but you are.” Rhy scrubbed his face, probably itching for a joint. “Messy as fuck, not to mention reckless.”
“Resign.”
“Been there, done that,” he reminded me. “Can’t fucking wait to kiss this job goodbye.”
