Read Online BURN (The HEAT Series Book 1) by Deborah Bladon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deborah Bladon
Ads: Link
to go to my home," I say as we enter his apartment. It's the second time I've been here and I don't feel any more comfortable than I did the first time.
It's a large space, although admittedly it's not as extravagant as it was in my imagination. I was basing my perception on the piece that was written about him in the New York Times last year. It was a feature article about the opening of Nova and although most of the pictures accompanying the two page spread were taken at the restaurant as it was being designed, there was one taken here, in his apartment.
I used the memory of that image, combined with the one on the cover of his cookbook to conjure up a bachelor pad for the ages. The reality is an understated one bedroom apartment, with a custom designed kitchen and an uninhibited view of Central Park.
He lives simply. His life dedicated to his craft. I've been witness to that for weeks now. His existence is centered on the restaurant. Nova's success is as critical to him as the blood in his veins. He carries the weight of the staff's failures on his shoulders, as he is tonight.
"Her dish was better than your dish, Cadence."
I knew we'd discuss this, hell I thought it would happen earlier today after that meeting, but it hadn't. Instead, he avoided me, or maybe I wanted to believe that's what he was doing.
"You never tried mine, Chef."
"Tyler."
"You never tried my dish, Chef," I repeat the salutation on purpose. We may be in his apartment but this is a business discussion. "You passed on it. How could you determine her dish was better if you hadn't tried mine?"
"You're not liberal in your use of seasonings." He slides out of his chef's jacket. "I watched you prepare it. I tasted the sauce when you ran to get the plates for presentation. It wasn't on par with what Maribel cooked."
I stand my ground, watching as he crosses the room to a wooden hutch that houses a makeshift bar. He pours two fingers of amber liquid into one tumbler, before he swallows it back. He refills it again and then pours the same into another tumbler.
I take it when he offers, sipping the liquid. It's whiskey. The strength of the alcohol burns a path down my throat. "You sampled the other three dishes and passed on mine. Everyone noticed."
"I don't care if they noticed, you shouldn't either." He waves his hand toward the sofa, but I don't budge.
"People know we are hooking up." I take another drink, trying to find courage there. "You didn't try it because you wanted to seem impartial."
"Is that what I was doing?" He cocks a dark brow as he takes a seat. "You're a young chef, Cadence. Maribel has years on you. Her dish was better."
"I respect your opinion, Chef." I cradle the tumbler in my palms. "All I ask is that you respect my position as one of your employees."
He pats the cushion next to him. "Come sit with me. I can explain all of this to you."
I linger where I am. I don't want to fall into a kiss or more with him right now. We shouldn’t be having this discussion with a drink in our hands and his bed in the next room. "I had no warning about Maribel taking my place on the morning show. I would have appreciated a heads-up."
"The segments on the show are meant to highlight the best of what Nova has to offer." He empties his glass for a second time. "Maribel's dish is our newest menu addition so it seems fitting that she should be there to prepare it."
"I understand that." I look down at my drink, debating whether I should have more or not. I shakily place it down on the coffee table. "I was under the impression that I would appear with you again. I was surprised when you announced that she would be taking my place."
He places his empty glass across the table from mine. "It wasn't your place, Cadence. It's a spot reserved for me and whoever I feel will represent the restaurant best."
The show isn't really the issue. I enjoyed the times I was on it, but my passion is my food. I prepared an excellent dish that apparently didn't
It's a large space, although admittedly it's not as extravagant as it was in my imagination. I was basing my perception on the piece that was written about him in the New York Times last year. It was a feature article about the opening of Nova and although most of the pictures accompanying the two page spread were taken at the restaurant as it was being designed, there was one taken here, in his apartment.
I used the memory of that image, combined with the one on the cover of his cookbook to conjure up a bachelor pad for the ages. The reality is an understated one bedroom apartment, with a custom designed kitchen and an uninhibited view of Central Park.
He lives simply. His life dedicated to his craft. I've been witness to that for weeks now. His existence is centered on the restaurant. Nova's success is as critical to him as the blood in his veins. He carries the weight of the staff's failures on his shoulders, as he is tonight.
"Her dish was better than your dish, Cadence."
I knew we'd discuss this, hell I thought it would happen earlier today after that meeting, but it hadn't. Instead, he avoided me, or maybe I wanted to believe that's what he was doing.
"You never tried mine, Chef."
"Tyler."
"You never tried my dish, Chef," I repeat the salutation on purpose. We may be in his apartment but this is a business discussion. "You passed on it. How could you determine her dish was better if you hadn't tried mine?"
"You're not liberal in your use of seasonings." He slides out of his chef's jacket. "I watched you prepare it. I tasted the sauce when you ran to get the plates for presentation. It wasn't on par with what Maribel cooked."
I stand my ground, watching as he crosses the room to a wooden hutch that houses a makeshift bar. He pours two fingers of amber liquid into one tumbler, before he swallows it back. He refills it again and then pours the same into another tumbler.
I take it when he offers, sipping the liquid. It's whiskey. The strength of the alcohol burns a path down my throat. "You sampled the other three dishes and passed on mine. Everyone noticed."
"I don't care if they noticed, you shouldn't either." He waves his hand toward the sofa, but I don't budge.
"People know we are hooking up." I take another drink, trying to find courage there. "You didn't try it because you wanted to seem impartial."
"Is that what I was doing?" He cocks a dark brow as he takes a seat. "You're a young chef, Cadence. Maribel has years on you. Her dish was better."
"I respect your opinion, Chef." I cradle the tumbler in my palms. "All I ask is that you respect my position as one of your employees."
He pats the cushion next to him. "Come sit with me. I can explain all of this to you."
I linger where I am. I don't want to fall into a kiss or more with him right now. We shouldn’t be having this discussion with a drink in our hands and his bed in the next room. "I had no warning about Maribel taking my place on the morning show. I would have appreciated a heads-up."
"The segments on the show are meant to highlight the best of what Nova has to offer." He empties his glass for a second time. "Maribel's dish is our newest menu addition so it seems fitting that she should be there to prepare it."
"I understand that." I look down at my drink, debating whether I should have more or not. I shakily place it down on the coffee table. "I was under the impression that I would appear with you again. I was surprised when you announced that she would be taking my place."
He places his empty glass across the table from mine. "It wasn't your place, Cadence. It's a spot reserved for me and whoever I feel will represent the restaurant best."
The show isn't really the issue. I enjoyed the times I was on it, but my passion is my food. I prepared an excellent dish that apparently didn't
Similar Books
