Page 110 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“It doesn’t matter,” I said quietly. “It can’t matter.”

“Why? Because people you’ve never met said so? Man, I thought you were made of sterner stuff. It’s probably for the best you ended things before they could really get started. He doesn’t need that shit in his life.”

I flinched at the harsh edge in Conroy’s tone. He never spoke like that.

He walked away and got to work.

I knew I was doing the right thing. And it wasn’t like Rhett would be alone forever. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. He would definitely recover.

Ten minutes later, Rhett arrived.

He swept into the kitchen in a black chef’s coat, black pants, and a black mood. His dark eyes scanned the room, taking inventory, and I could practically feel the temperature drop.

He was in a shitty mood. Everyone could feel it. The quiet conversations around the kitchen stopped. Everyone was on edge.

“Who the hell put the garnish station here?” he barked at one of the chefs. “Move it. Now.”

“The sauce is too thin,” he snapped at another cook. “Start over.”

I kept my head down, focusing on julienning vegetables. But when we started working on the main course—duck breast with cherry gastrique—there was no avoiding him.

“Your knife work is sloppy,” he said curtly, not even looking at me as he seasoned a pan. “Pay attention to your cuts.”

“Yes, Chef,” I replied quietly.

“The gastrique needs more acid. Didn’t I teach you anything about balancing flavors?”

“Yes, Chef.”

He paused, seeming to wait for me to push back, to defend myself, to show some spark. When I didn’t, his jaw tightened.

“Plate presentation is everything tonight,” he continued, his voice harsher than necessary. “These people are paying five hundred dollars a plate. They expect perfection.”

“I understand, Chef.”

“Do you? Because right now you’re acting like a robot, not a chef.”

I looked up at him then, and for just a moment I saw something flicker in his eyes. Hurt. Maybe frustration. But I couldn’t afford to care about his feelings right then.

“I’m following your lead,” I said evenly. “Just like you taught me.”

He turned away with a grunt and went to bitch at someone else. Conroy didn’t avoid the line of fire. To my surprise, he didn’t push back. He just took it. I saw him look my way once. In fact, several of the chefs were looking at me.

They blamed me for Rhett’s shitty attitude.

They weren’t wrong. I had made him angry. I hurt him and now he was taking it out on everyone else. If I were braver, I would demand he take it out on me. But I wasn’t brave. I was going to keep my head down and get through the last service. Once we were done here, we were done. I doubted I would see Rhett again.

And that was a good thing.

The rest of service passed in tense efficiency. To my surprise, everything went off without a hitch. No burnt dishes, no timing issues, no drama in front of the cameras. The guests raved about the food and the charity raised more money than expected. Even the media seemed satisfied with their coverage of the successful event.

I should have felt proud. Instead, I just felt hollow.

It was over.

All of it.

Getting to cook with talented chefs. Getting to learn from Rhett. It was entirely possible I had tanked my career as well. No one wanted a woman who hooked up with the chef in the kitchen. The cooking world was already cutthroat. I was already a target, given my last name. And I just made that target even bigger.