Page 25 of Filthy Chef

I sit up straight and slap his arm away. “We need to get going! We have to prep!”

“You have a few minutes to open your present.”

His face is full of mischief, made all the more mischievous in how he reclines on his side, his head propped up in one hand.

“What present?”

He gestures with his chin at the garment bag.

“Jason, what did you do?”

“I don’t know why it’s a surprise. I told you I would get you new things.”

I pounce to the end of the bed and unzip the black bag. Inside are three hangers with dresses, one more gorgeous than the other. I check the tags. Everything is a size 14.

“What am I supposed to do with these?”

“I’m not sure, but I think what you do is wear them.”

“Smartass.”

I take them out of the bag and examine each one. I can’t believe I told him my size. That alone is a personal detail, but it feels so much more intimate knowing he memorized it and used it.

“Thank you, but I can’t accept these.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t do any of this! I can’t sleep with the chef; I can’t accept hotel rooms, gifts, and all the rest because I work for you!”

Jason sits up, stares at me, then shrugs. “You can do whatever you want.”

“You said you didn’t want to treat me differently.”

“At work. At the restaurant, you still have to work. But outside of work, we do what we want.”

I examine the delicate stitching on the navy blue dress, which is my favorite one. It has a deep lace vee neckline that I would never have been allowed to wear if I still lived under that man’s roof.

Damn. I haven’t thought about my father since last night, before all the daddy’s little girl stuff obliterated all my damn issues out of my thoughts.

Damn, that felt good to not think those garbage thoughts for one night.

This man, this over-the-top chef, did that. He doesn’t know the half of my story but he somehow understood and—well, I would not say that he fixed me, but he helped me reframe a lot of things.

That was good of him. And every minute we spent together yesterday, last night, was so, so good. He made me feel like a queen, even though I assumed we’d go our separate ways.

Carefully, I hang the dresses in the closet, and then turn to find Jason standing behind me.

“Where did you come from?” I laugh, startled.

“I’m stealthy,” he says with a shrug.

“About a lot of things,” I add.

He laughs. “About that, I?—”

I’m not ready to unpack how I feel about him buying the restaurant as some sort of power move so he can have me working for him. But I do want to act on how I feel at this moment.

“Shut up, Chef. Just kiss me.”

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