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Asthe chefmassaged the chicken breasts,Krishmoved his light stand a few inches to the left.
‘Perfect,’ saidConnor, taking another test shot.
‘Ifucking hate raw chicken.Remindsme of my ex-wife,’ saidRolandBurr, celebrity chef and all around arsehole.Helooked up at his audience of two with a crooked grin before picking up a knife and inserting the tip into the side of the slimy meat.
Behindthe scenes,KrishandConnorshared an unamused look and got back to work.
Everyyear,Roland—or ‘Chef’ as he insisted on being called by everyone—hiredConnorto refresh his personal branding shots, and becauseConnorhadn’t yet found a new assistant,Krishcame on the job.Hewould never leaveConnorin the lurch.
Selfishly, today it also served the purpose of keeping him out of the office and away fromFrancesca—even though it meant he had to suffer throughChef’smisogynistic banter.Krishhated it.Whateverkind of manChefwas, it was not the kind of manKrishhad been raised to be.
Connorscrolled through the images on his computer. ‘We’vegot this shot.Let’smove onto the next set-up.’
Everyyear,ConnortoldKrishit would be the last year photographingChef.Hedidn’t like him either.ButConnorseemed on a mission to work since he’d come back from his travels.Sohere they were.
Krishbroke down the lights.Hemoved them to the foyer of the restaurant, next to the white head of a taxidermied cow.Krish’slip curled with distaste.Evena non-practicingHindulike him had feelings about cows and took some offence at seeing them disrespected as wall decor.Itreminded him ofGaston’spub inBeautyand theBeast: lots of wood and red brocade alongside antlers and stuffed animals.Asthe specialty of the restaurant was meat, he could understand the design choices, butKrishwas a life-long vegetarian.Hisfather wasn’t religious, and they never went to the temple, even though they did observe someHinduholidays—doing the fun things and leaving the ceremonial bits.Butone thing his father had insisted on was that the whole family avoided meat, especially beef.
Chefwanted a photo of himself posing with the cow while holding a cleaver.Shuttingaway his aversion,Krishset up the lights toConnor’sinstructions.Histhoughts drifted, as they had many times in the past two days, back to the afternoon he’d almost had sex withFrancesca.
Timehad not dulled the passion they sparked in each other.Itwas immediate and all-encompassing, overwhelming any rational thought.Notthat he didn’t have passion withJess.Ofcourse he did.ButwithFrancesca, there was an edge to it.Somethingthrilling and free.Withher, he’d been so much more adventurous in his love-making.WithJess, their sex life was athletic, but the one time he suggested tying her to the bed, she’d raised an eyebrow and shaken her head.He’dnever suggested anything like that again.
Buthe also couldn’t help feeling like he was missing out.Someof his favourite memories of making love withFrancescainvolved a little light bondage, on both sides.Thatdelicious frustration that came from having his hands immobilised asFrancescalicked and sucked and aroused when all he wanted to do was dig his fingers into her hair and pull her closer.KissingFrancescahad unlocked aPandora’sBoxof memories.
Hehad great memories withJess, too.Shewas kind and caring and dependable.Nobodycould beat her for positivity.Shealways helped him to think through both the pros and cons of any idea when he became too focussed on just the pros.Hisentrepreneurial brain needed that mirror.Andthey had a good time together!Theyenjoyed running and chatting and he liked showing her new things that she’d never experienced in her somewhat sheltered upbringing.Thesmile of surprised delight on her face the first time she tried sushi still made him grin.Nomatter how good kissingFrancescahad felt, she belonged in his past.Hispresent and his future involvedJess, whom he loved.
AftertheBlenheimjob,Francescawould be out of his life, so there was no point in worrying about it.Muchas he hated to admit it, she was right; no reason to tellJessand introduce problems into his relationship where none existed.Sometimes, it was kinder to keep a secret.Evenif he did tell her, he knewJess.Hebelieved she would forgive him and he would work his arse off to make sure she knew he wantedherand only her.Itwas just one kiss, that he regretted.Unimportantin the bigger picture.
Sowhy couldn’t he stop thinking about it?
‘Hey.’
Krishjumped.Connorwas standing next to him.
Henarrowed his eyes with concern. ‘Youokay?Youseem a little distracted.’
‘Sorry, boss.Justthinking about…you know…theBigProposalnext weekend.’
‘Proposal?’ interjectedChef, who was standing nearby, sharpening his cleaver on a whetstone. ‘Don’tfucking bother.Takeit from me, mate.Ihave five ex-wives.’
Frankly,Krishwas amazed that five women would marry this man.Hemust be filthy rich, because neither his personality nor his face was attractive.
‘Well, come on then.What’syour plan?How’reyou going to pop the question?’ askedChef.
Howdid the man make ‘pop the question’ sound so distasteful?Thelast personKrishwanted to share his plans with wasChef.Hethrew a panicked look atConnor, who took the hint and said, ‘We’reready to shoot.Don’twant to end up in overtime…’
Chefsniggered. ‘Tooright, you fucking cunt.Youcost me a bloody fortune as it is.’
‘ButI’mworth it.Yourugly mug isn’t the easiest subject.’
Connoradded what he called ‘TheTwatTax’ toChef’squote, trying to make it so expensive that he wouldn’t book him, butChefjust kept coming back.Onlysomeone as talented asConnorcould makeChef’sred, pockmarked face look good in photos.Krishwas well aware of the extensive retouching required, having done most of it himself.
Withan unattractive laugh-snort,Chefsaid, ‘That’swhyIstill have you around.Wheredo you want me to stand?’
WhileConnordirectedChefinto position and started shooting,Krish’sthoughts returned toFrancesca.Hewondered where she was right now and how she was feeling.Eversince she had told him about her problems withPMS, he worried about her.Itreally seemed to affect her life.He’dlooked upPMSonline so he could learn more about it.Asthe son of scientists, gaining knowledge was always his first port of call.Francescawould probably hate that he had researched it, but he didn’t feel guilty for doing it.Hestill cared about her.
He’dfound out that there was something calledPremenstrualDysphoricDisorder, which presented as an extreme form ofPMS.Whenhe looked over the symptoms, some of them seemed to dovetail with what she described: the drastic mood swings, acting out of character, irritability and anger…but he had no idea if she had some of the other symptoms, like the insomnia, lethargy, or breast tenderness.
Whenhe’d had his mouth on her breasts the other day, she didn’t seem to be in any pain.Quitethe opposite.
