Heat: A Bad Boy Chef Romance by Lila Moore Read Free Book Online

tried to be friendly and professional. Why would someone want to destroy my career? It made no sense.
    I stumbled out of bed and glanced at the clock. Late again. Moreau was going to kill me. I took the fastest shower of my life, then threw on a pair of jeans and a black sweater along with a peacoat. I practically ran to the restaurant.
    When I walked into the kitchen I immediately picked up a weird vibe. Everyone was standing around, waiting for orders. I started to ask one of the fry cooks what was going on when he nodded towards Moreau’s office. Through the window I could see him with a tall, thin woman. They kissed sweetly.
    My stomach twisted into knots. Did Moreau have a girlfriend? People talked about him as if he was a lifelong bachelor. Who was this woman and why was Moreau kissing her?
    The woman turned to leave. Moreau made direct eye contact with me. Now I knew why he’d run out of my place like a thief in the night. He had a girlfriend.
    I went to the employee area and took off my coat and shoved my things away into a locker. I couldn’t let him get to me. Moreau may have seen me as nothing more than a cheap lay, but I couldn’t let that effect my work. In fact, I was going to use this as motivation. Today would be the best day of my career. Every sauce and hors d'oeuvres I prepared would be perfect. Not even Moreau would be able to find fault with my dishes. I would channel all my anger into my work. Today was the first day of a brand new beginning.
    I slammed my locker shut and tied my apron around my waist. I headed out into the kitchen to begin prepping for the day. The entrée preparer was standing at my station.
    “You can go now,” I said irritably.
    “I’m the saucier,” he said with a thick French accent.
    “No. I wasn’t fired. I was just sent home for the day.”
    It was an embarrassing admission, but I was sure everyone in the kitchen had been publically yelled at, or sent home by Moreau at one point or another. It was just part of working in one of his kitchens. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself.
    “I’m the saucier,” he repeated.
    His cruel eyes focused on mine, never wavering. His face was pale with deep dark circles running beneath each eye. His mouth was a tight bloodless line. He was not going to budge. The only person who could solve this was Moreau. Great. The last person I wanted to talk to right now.
    Moreau walked out of his office and said: “Listen up!”
    Immediately, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to Moreau.
    “We’re shutting down for the day.”
    The chefs and servers started to mumble disapprovingly.
    “I know,” he said. “This wasn’t my idea.”
    The woman still lingered in the doorway, listening and watching. Her eyes scanned the kitchen, taking in every chef. When her eyes fell on me, they lingered for a beat longer than the others. Women are rare in the culinary world. The men outnumber us a hundred to one. I was the only girl working in the kitchen, so it wasn’t unusual that I drew attention. Still, I couldn’t help feeling there was something more in her appraising stare. I felt like I was being sized up.
    “I want every inch of this kitchen spotless,” Moreau continued. “Clean your stations top to bottom, then I want you to do it again. I don’t want to see anything out of place or dirty. Maurice, I want you and your guys to focus on the freezer. Throw out anything that’s been in there for longer than a day. Clean it out then replace everything. I want it organized perfectly.”
    Most chefs are pretty OCD about their kitchens. They want everything perfectly lined up and clean. They’re meticulous about cleaning and putting their tools exactly where they want them. It helps things run smoothly when we’re getting slammed during lunch and dinner service. It’s rare you’ll meet a sloppy chef. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever encountered one. No one working at this level would be that messy.