I slide my phone out of my pocket to send Minka a text asking if she needs anything from the corner bodega before I head back upstairs, when I notice an email notification on my screen. It’s from Le Cordon Bleu in reply to the paid internship I applied for on a whim almost two months ago.
I tap the notification to open the email.
Dear Ms. Lopez,
We would be delighted to welcome you to our culinary arts instructor internship programme. Our Paris university currently has a few places opening up in late August. The starting pay is a monthly stipend of 600 Euros. Lodging is included in our onsite hotel in the 15th arrondissement.
If you’re still interested in learning from our world-class instructors, please reply to this email by July 15th. We look forward to hearing from you.
All my best,
Bette Martin
Culinary Arts Director
I read the email a few more times before the information sinks in. In less than an hour, I went from almost quitting a career in the culinary arts to having two job offers on opposite sides of the globe.
Somehow, between the dozens of internships and the multiple unsuccessful job interviews in the past two months, I completely forgot I’d applied for the position at Le Cordon Bleu. Now, I have to give Bette my answer by July 15th.
Doing the math, I realize this is about a hundred days away from now. Ethan is supposed to evaluate me for a raise and promotion in ninety days. That’s cutting it awful close.
There’s no doubt I’d rather have the sous chef position than the internship. Paris is beautiful, but I’d rather be broke in Manhattan than broke and friendless in Paris.
I can’t leave the promotion up to fate. I have to give this job everything I’ve got, lay everything on the table, or I’ll be forced to take the internship. After all, at some point, I have to take my fate into my own hands.
Heading into the lobby of the apartment building, I mentally commit myself to earning the sous chef promotion in ninety days. The woman behind the reception desk smiles as she watches me dig my pants out of my butt-crack. If I’m going to pull this off, I definitely need a properly fitted pair of jeans.
Chapter 6
ETHAN
I turn off the alarm on my phone and stare at the ceiling as my blackout blinds automatically begin to rise, letting in the gray light of a dewy spring morning in New York. If I’d known I would be going to sleep and waking up with Alice’s face at the forefront of my mind, I’d never have offered her the hostess position. The last thing I need in the middle of a hectic restaurant opening is to catch feelings for my brother’s ex-girlfriend.
This would be so much easier if she weren’t so bloody talented and beautiful. The fact that she doesn’t know how brilliant she is only makes her more attractive.
My motivations for hiring her may not have been exactly pure, but there is no denying Alice is testing the limits of my patience, and my desire to keep my hands to myself. More to the point, her father, Cristian—knowing my reputation—warned me not to get involved with Alice, or he would recommend my funding be revoked.
I don’t really need the venture capital. But the thought of letting Alice get the best of me, the same way she did with Edward, truly worries me. I’m supposed to be impervious to these types of setbacks. To be perfectly honest, I thought it a sign of weakness that Edward allowed a significant other to have so much power over his professional success.
Nevertheless, with my help, Edward seems to be dusting himself off and charging headlong toward that second Michelin star he so craves. But there’s no doubt he would still be floundering if I hadn’t swooped in to help with his restaurant opening last month.
And despite his outward show of gratitude, I know Edward still resents me for being the more successful twin. The fact I dropped out of uni—or culinary school, as the Yanks call it—also pisses him off to no end.
But I earned my success. It took a lot of hard work to turn my educational failure into a professional empire.
I may have a reputation for bedding a few coworkers, but I’ve never allowed a relationship to get in the way of my business. And I’ll be damned if I allow Alice to be the first woman to get the better of me.
Glancing down at the bulge in my boxer briefs, my cock quivers happily at the thought of letting Alice have her way with me. I shake my head as I adjust the fabric to give my cock a bit more room.
Of course, all these thoughts lead down a very dangerous path, and I soon find myself conjuring up memories of my first year of uni, when I was forced to withdraw from the program after what could only be termed a catastrophic breakup.
My split from Priya gutted me and, for a moment there, I lost my faith in myself. I almost quit cooking entirely. It’s not lost on me that our breakup was similar to what happened between Edward and Alice.
I wiggle my limbs to get the blood flowing—and to shake off thoughts of my sexy new hostess—then I leap out of bed, eager to take my daily cold shower. The shock of the cold water will surely break me out of these treacherous thoughts, and douse the fire in my boxer briefs.
“Who did it?” I ask Ollie as she shows me two deep gouges in a section of the dark wood floor near the double doors leading into the pastry kitchen.
“The Viking service guys. When they delivered the replacement for the proofing cabinet that wasn’t working. Someone came out of the kitchen and surprised them. They dropped the new cabinet, and now that one’s not working either.”
My blood pressure rises as I think of how this will impact our schedule. We’re six days from opening, and this is the fourth thing that’s gone wrong since I left the restaurant early yesterday to grovel at Alice’s feet.
I take a deep breath and pat Ollie on the arm. “I’m certain you’ll figure it out. Just…coordinate with Viking to make sure a new cabinet is delivered by Thursday. We need those for the bread course.”
Ollie nods. “I’m on it.”
As Ollie pushes open the double doors, presumably to give Judy the bad news, I have a sudden thought. “Ollie, wait! If they can’t get it delivered, make sure to ask if there’s a warehouse or supplier nearby where we can pick one up.”
She flashes me a thumbs up and I resist the urge to offer to take care of the problem myself. It’s not that I don’t trust Ollie. I have no doubt I hired the best front of the house manager for the job.
My concern is that we designed the construction of the water line, which feeds into the proving cabinet, for that specific model. If we can’t get the same exact model, I may be forced to make adjustments to the plumbing lines, which may require approval from the code inspector.
Worse, if I can’t get the same model, I may have to rethink the entire tasting menu for opening night. The bread course is meant to compliment the amuse-bouche, which precedes it, and the cold salad course, which supersedes it. If I have to change the salad, I’ll have to change the fourth course, and so on. Obviously, this would be nothing short of a disaster.
I decide to take this brief moment of respite, when no one is bombarding me with the latest setback, and use it to examine possible changes to the menu. I need to prepare myself, should it come to that.