Page 20 of Things We Burn

Trust... She’d trusted me with her life within ten minutes of meeting me. And that was something I’d gathered was out of character for her.

“Are you fucking with me?” Julian practically shrieked.

I considered what it was about me that made a woman as beguiling and interesting and in control as Avery Hart to trust me. “No, I need a table there tonight.”

“You are not shitting me,” Julian muttered. “The waiting list for Inferno is two years long.”

Though I expected some kind of waiting list, that gave me pause. When she’d said that last night, I thought she was teasing me. Clearly, she wasn’t. Avery was good at what she did. Powerful. Talented. I liked that.

“You good at your job?” I asked Julian.

I could almost feel his chest puffing up. “I’m the best in the fucking business.”

“Well, get me that table.” I fingered the leather she had sat on last night, imagining fucking her against it at some point.

“It’s impossible.”

“Buy the fucking restaurant if we have to,” I demanded. “I’m getting that table.”

I got on the bike.

I wasn’t done with Avery Hart.

Not by a long shot.

Four

AVERY

My mind was elsewhereduring the dinner service.

Which was a bad thing.

No matter what was going on in my personal life—though I hadn’t had one to speak of in years past—the kitchen melted all of that away. There was nothing but the task in front of me, the three other tasks ahead of that and the various elements that had to be started and finished all at the same time in order to create the perfect dish.

Running a kitchen of this caliber, keeping the food up to my standards, was a constant, back-breaking task. It required every shred of my attention and energy. It was not for the fainthearted and not for people who wanted to live with a work-life balance.

Workwasmy life.

I’d liked it that way.

Until Kane had fucked me thirteen ways from Sunday, and I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head.

Luckily, I was practiced enough at this menu that I could work with my distracted mind. Luckily, I had a staff that I’dhandpicked, hand trained and who all could theoretically handle the night should I suddenly drop dead or take a sick day—which I never did.

I seared a wagyu, thinking about the chances of seeing Kane again while also checking on the scallops to my right.

“These are done in three seconds,” I told Ferris, my sous chef.

“Yes, Chef,” he replied dutifully, taking them off exactly three seconds later.

My attention went to where Hallway was plating.

“That quail egg needs to be three centimeters to the right,” I told her.

“Yes, Chef,” she said, taking direction without pause.

I thought of Kane.

---