Page 9 of Bite Me

Dacre whispering “please” rattles uncomfortably in my head as I struggle with unfolding my napkin.

Someone comes in to ask for drink preferences and allergies. I’m worrying about the possibility of someone slipping something into my food when the server disappears through a door and I get a glimpse and smell of a fully functioning kitchen.

This is professional.

Dacre’s presence lingers heavily in the air. His knuckles are white as he brings a glass to his lips, but he hides his emotion well under a smooth expression and a handsome face.

He’s the kind of handsome that should only be reserved for good, deserving men. Instead, the stars above blessed him with a perfect face, and no doubt he uses that to his advantage. That, and he must wear the most expensive cologne in Vviveren because even with the smell of food in the air, I get a whiff of it and swallow. It’s hard to say exactly what I like about it. I just know it’s the type of smell I want to run my tongue over. It’s . . . delicious.

His black forearm tattoos peek out from under his blazer, and the veins in his hands pop in the light of the candles on the table. I think I see a scar—

He clears his throat, and I straighten my shoulders against the back of the chair. It doesn’t matter how perfect Dacre looks or how delicious he smells. Nothing will negate that putrid personality.

I take a sip of the wine on the table.

“I’m surprised you came so willingly. Did you even tell anyone where you’d be tonight?” He smirks, but his knuckles stay white as his fingers wrap around the glass.

How would he know?

I narrow my eyes. “Of course, I did.”

I take a bite of bread to avoid further questioning on that subject. A gasp leaves my lips as it crunches between my teeth and the butter melts in my mouth.

“I thought dinner would be the most appropriate setting. A peace offering, if you will.”

“So this is about the culinary club?”

“You should eat first. I think you’ll enjoy your surprise.”

“I didn’t come here to talk.”

“Oh, what else did you have in mind?” He swirls his drink around in his glass and licks the liquor from his bottom lip.

It feels as if he’s got me up against the wall, even in this big, spacious room. I press one of my cold hands to the heat rising in my cheeks.

“I mean . . . I did. I just didn’t come here to argue.”

“Neither did I.” His voice is smooth and confident, and I swallow at the intensity of his gaze.

The door flies open, and a host of people walk in with our food. In that shuffle, a familiar face catches my eye, and I nearly fall out of my chair to introduce myself. It’s the Sophia Arendal. Sophia—I have a three-star Bureau-rated restaurant—Arendal.

“It’s . . . I’m . . . Hello. I’m Emma. Emma Osborne.” I quickly wipe my hands of butter residue to shake her hand.

“Ms. Arendal is a good friend of mine. I take it you’re familiar with her work,” Dacre says.

Sophia Arendal is one of the best chefs alive. I’ve read every article and book about her I could get my hands on. She’s got a billboard with her face on it on the tallest high-rise in Vviveren City.

“You’re . . . my favorite chef. I’ve been obsessed with you since I was a kid.” I attempt to keep my voice even. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I have no idea what to say.

“That’s very kind. I hope you enjoy what I’ve prepared for you this evening.” She goes into a list of every dish, four courses served at the same time, at Dacre’s request. I try to memorize this moment in its entirety. I want to hear about all the dishes and their intricacies, but when she’s finished, I don’t remember a word of what she said.

“I’d love to have you at my next workshop, if you’d be interested.”

I barely manage a resounding yes and stare at her while she walks back to the kitchen.

“You did all this for me?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”