Page 20 of Provoke You

“Right. I’m the job.” She refilled her glass instead and took a long sip.

We sat in silence while I worked on my soup, which was as good as she’d said. In my effort to keep a distance and stay focused, I’d acted like such an asshole. But if she knew what happened to the last girl I tried to help, she never would have invited me to her chef’s table. She never would have allowed me past her threshold.

She took another sip of wine, her eyes surveying my face. “You know what? If we’re going to spend the next month attached at the hip, we should get to know each other. Tell me something about yourself. Your family. Where did you say you were from? Atlanta? Is your family still in Georgia?” She recalled our conversation from this morning when she’d been in my shower naked.

The charm was almost unbearable once she switched to her Instagram persona. A part of me wanted to hang on to this smiling Ela. The other part of me wanted to reach in and make the other Ela come back. The one passionate about this hotel and everything inside it.

To my surprise, I answered. “Yes. I have family there.”

“Your mom and dad? Siblings?”

Her gaze dropped to my hands as I wiped them on a napkin. My mind went blank, and again I gave her the answers she wanted. “Four brothers. Both my parents are gone.” I drank from my water goblet, wishing I’d asked for a bourbon instead.

“Great. Two questions in, and I already managed to make you feel like crap.”

“No, it’s all right. It’s been a long time. I’ve never said it aloud before, that’s all.” I shot a glance toward the empty hallway that led to the kitchen.

I was one of those lucky foster kids who managed to land in the right household a few days after the system took me in. To everyone, I was one of the Cole kids from Atlanta. The Coles had made it so I never had to explain my dead parents to anyone. Why did I feel I needed to explain them to Ela?

“How about you? Is there anything you want to know about me?”

I exhaled, relieved and also disappointed that she didn’t want to know more about my dead parents. “I already know everything there is to know about you.” I flashed her a smile.

“What? You spied on me?”

“Part of the job. I needed to know everyone in the family.” I surveyed her face, not trying to memorize her features anymore, simply admiring.

“Did you know Andre was my stepdad?”

I nodded. “I also know he married your mom when you were still a toddler.”

“He’s the only dad I know. A few years back, I asked Mom about my real dad. I don’t know why I wanted to know how he’d died. I spent hours reading about the accident, feeling guilty that I didn’t feel sad. I wish I remembered him. But when I close my eyes, the only dad I see is Andre.”

“It was an unfortunate accident. I’m sorry.”

She raised a brow. “You read about it? Wait. Don’t tell me. Part of the job.” She drained her glass. “Andre was a good dad. He wasn’t always this detached, you know. There was a time when we were a happy family. But then he took over the family business, and that was that. Dad’s disappearing act hurt more than reading about Mr. LeBlanc’s sudden demise.”

When she made a grab for the bottle, I reached for her hand and held it in mine. Goose bumps spread up her arm, and I tightened my grip. I should have turned down this job when I had the chance. What the hell was I doing?

“What's next on the menu?”

“Scones.” She let out a laugh. “Come on. I wanna bake for you.”

From reading her file, I knew she had finished culinary school. I figured she’d done it as some sort of peace offering to her family to make up for all her party-hardy antics that more often than not landed on social media for the world to see.

“Do you work here?” I felt half-embarrassed to not know the answer to that question.

“That wasn’t in my file?” She rose to her feet and pulled on my hand. “I’ve never seen an actual check, but I’ve worked in this kitchen since I was sixteen. Cece always had something for me to do while Dad worked upstairs—dishes, the soup station, even the grill station after I finished at the Cordon Bleu. I cried that night. I really didn’t think I could pull it off, but Cece got me through it. I can do savory, but I’m a pastry chef like Grans.”

Earlier tonight, I had the illusion that I was in charge of this mission, but as Ela dragged me across a busy kitchen to yet another room tucked away in the back, I knew she was the one calling the shots. She strode right in, donned a black apron, and threw a second one at my chest.

“I’m sure you don’t want flour all over that hot suit of yours. Don’t forget to wash your hands.”

I glanced down at the apron with her name on it. “If I say no, you’re just going to figure out a way to make me say yes. Am I right?”

“You’re not wrong.”

I did as she asked and made a mental note to get this mission back on track once we got back to the room. “Where do you want me?”

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