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Just seeing a picture of him—all three of them, really—sent my brain into some very inappropriate fantasies that I may or may not have indulged in.
Okay, fine. I definitely did.
Now that I know what he looks like, though, I’ll be able to keep those fantasies tucked away in my head and maintain control of myself until I get home.
I know that’s breaking the promise I made to myself, but no fantasies is as unrealistic as my giving up being a pastry chef.
Besides, anything I do in the privacy of my bedroom is no one’s business but my own.
More importantly, it’ll keep you focused on your coursework and out of mischief during class time.
I visualize stuffing all those fantasies in a closet and locking the door.
No more stalling, Avery. Time to go in.
I realize when I walk in that I should have looked up all my teachers before I met them. The prickle of attraction is absolutely still there, but since I knew it would be, I had better control of my reaction.
There’s no staring or double-takes. Most importantly, when my mind starts to drift off to the fantasy place, it’s much easier for me to force myself back into student mode.
“I’m glad you made it.” He smiles, and I feel my knees go weak. “I was starting to worry. I’m sure you already know, but I’m Jamie. Please come in and have a seat.”
His voice is going to live rent free in my head for the rest of my life. It’s deep and sultry and he’s not even trying.
Girl, breathe. He’s just a man.
“I appreciate your patience,” I say, taking the seat he offers me. “Things ran late at work, and I left as soon as I could.”
Liar.
So what if I am? Isn’t that better than “I had to redo my makeup to look normal because my head chef made me cry again?”
Fair enough, the judgy voice concedes.
“I imagine that’s a hazard of the job. You’re the executive pastry chef, right? I think that’s what Wesley told me the other day.”
Why don’t you stab me in the heart? That would hurt less.
“One day, I’d like to be. Right now, I’m just a regular old pastry chef—or one of them, anyway.”
“Is that the usual way of things? Just having a pastry chef, I mean. At Wesley’s company, he has an executive pastry chef that he works with, then they each have sous chefs reporting to them. Do you not do that where you work?”
We should, but Henri is a power-hungry tyrant who needs to micromanage everything.
I smile wryly. “Our head chef at Brookside tends to have a more hands on approach, but I think they did things that way before he was brought on. That’s part of the reason I’m here, actually. I’m hoping that Wesley will be able to train me up so I can qualify for an executive pastry chef or sous chef position at another company.”
“What about Phillip?”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s your goal there?”
“I’m looking to get better at marketing my brand. I have a decent online presence but I’d love to expand. Someday, I want people to be coming to whatever venue I work at next because they’re in love with my style and just have to have my desserts at their event.”
I flush a deep red under his intense stare.
“I guess that’s silly, isn’t it?” I shrug.
“Not even a little bit,” he says firmly. “Ambition isn’t a sin, Avery.”
