Page 2 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

I had no doubt many affairs and scandals played out in my dining room. I didn’t care. Good food inspired passion, and it wasn’t on me where those passions led.

I followed Jessica, nodding at a few customers enjoying the meals I had created. I didn’t miss the whispers and turned heads when they saw me. They were about to get a show, and they knew it.

I ran my hand through my sweat-dampened hair, slicking it back as I surveyed the room. The usual Saturday night crowd filled the space. It was the power players in thousand-dollar suits, socialites dripping in diamonds, celebrities trying to maintain their mystique in the dim lighting.

The soft murmur of conversation, flirty words, and backroom deals should have been all I heard. Instead, raucous laughter and raised voices cut through the refined atmosphere. I purposely avoided cheesy restaurant music. My dining room required something a bit more sensual. More everything. It was a combination of smoky jazz with hints of bass. It was loud enough to provide a veil of privacy but quiet enough that it was easy to talk over.

When I first opened the place, it had once been referred to as an underground sex club vibe. I didn’t argue. I didn’t take offense to the comparison. It just added to the allure. And people loved it.

Table fifteen sat in the far corner, and as soon as I laid eyes on them, I knew why Jessica had come to get me.

Four twenty-something assholes sat with their phones out, filming everything. Their table was littered with half-eaten plates. I was pretty sure they ordered at least one of everything off the menu. Why hadn’t I caught that when the tickets were coming in?

I shook off the thought and stared at my perfectly crafted dishes treated like props for their social media circus, feeds I wanted absolutely no presence on. One of them, a blond kid with a trendy haircut, designer jeans, and a diamond in his nose, had his phone aimed at the neighboring table where an older couple was clearly trying to enjoy a romantic dinner in peace.

I drew up to the side of their table and glared down at them. “You need to put the phones away. Now.”

The blond turned to me, his eyes lighting up like he’d just won the lottery. “Holy shit, you’re Rhett Voss! Bro, this is perfect.” He swung his phone toward me. “Can you tell my followers about your restaurant? This exposure could be worth like, fifty grand easy.”

I stepped closer, letting my full height cast a shadow over their table. While I was nothing like the rest of my family in a lot of ways, I had the whole tall, dark, and brooding thing like they all did. A rough childhood meant I also knew how to handle trouble, even if it required getting a little bloody.

Fucking with my food and my restaurant launched me into a whole new level of menacing.

“Put the phone away,” I told him.

“Look, dude, we’re influencers. We’ve got millions of followers between us.” Another one chimed in, skinny with too much gel in his brown hair. He had that whole Timothee Chalamet skinny thing going. I could snap him like a twig.

“I don’t care,” I said. “You’re disrupting the rest of my guests. It’s going to stop.”

“How about we make a deal?” the blond said. “Comp our meal and we’ll post about this place. Win-win, right? What do you say, Voss man?”

The entitlement in his voice made my jaw clench. “You want a deal? Here’s your fucking deal—pay your bill and get out before I throw you out.”

“Whoa, hostile much?” The blond laughed, still recording. “This is gold content, guys. Angry chef goes ballistic⁠—”

I grabbed his wrist, the one holding the phone. My grip was firm enough to make him yelp and drop it. “I’m going to say this one more time. Turn off the cameras. Pay your bill. Leave. I won’t ask nicely again.”

“You can’t touch me, bro!” He tried to yank his hand back, but I squeezed it hard enough to hear his wrist bones creak.

“You’re disturbing my other guests. You’re filming people without permission. And now you’re trying to extort me for free food.” I shook my head without loosening my grip. “You’re lucky this is all I’m doing to you.”

The other three started getting loud, standing up from the table, their chairs scraping against the floor. I released the blond’s dainty wrist and straightened to my full height. These pampered pipsqueaks had no idea what they were dealing with.

“Security!” one of them called out, looking around wildly.

“This is my place,” I said, my voice deadly calm. “The security here works for me, not you little turds. Now, you have thirty seconds to pay your bill or we’re going to have a real problem.”

The blond rubbed his wrist, his bravado cracking. “You’re fucking crazy, man.”

“Twenty seconds.”

They scrambled for their wallets, throwing cash on the table, probably the first time they’d ever paid for anything themselves.

I studied the wad of cash and glanced at the plates scattered around the table. Lifting my chin, I said, “That covers the food. Now tip your server. Make sure it’s good. They had to deal with you.”

They put more cash on the table and I herded them to the exit, making sure they actually left. The blond tried to get one last shot with his phone as they walked out, so I stepped into frame and stared directly into the camera.

“We don’t tolerate bullshit at Hallow,” I said. “If you come here looking for trouble, you’ll find it.”