Page 70 of Until August
“What if he gives us a bad review again?” I could still feel the sting from his first scathing review. Another bad one would destroy me.
August looked out at the dining room. “He won’t.”
I chewed on my lip, doubt plaguing me. “You don’t know that.”
“Just do what you normally would. Everything is going to be okay.” He sounded so confident. And why wouldn’t he? This critic gave August’s restaurant a glowing review.
Insecurity churned in my stomach, making me a little nauseous. “Easy for you to say. He loved Eight by August. Superb. Sublime. Perfection.” I did a chef’s kiss.
“You read that review?” He sounded surprised.
“Of course I did. I told you I Googled you. It was enlightening.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never read it.”
My jaw dropped. “What? How could you not?”
“What good would it have done? I never read any of my reviews. My restaurant manager dealt with all that.” He waved his hand in the air like he was swatting away a pesky fly.
I couldn’t get over this. Wasn’t he even curious? “But why wouldn’t you?”
“If I believed what every Tom, Dick, and Jonathan said about me, I would have gotten complacent, which is the kiss of death. Or my ego would have gotten in the way of continuously striving to be a better chef.”
“Well, take it from me. You were a pretty big deal, August Harper.” He wasn’t that naïve. He had to have known without my telling him. They didn’t hand out Michelin stars and chef of the year awards to just anyone. “Meanwhile, I failed to seduce.” My shoulders sagged under the weight of those words.
“I wouldn’t say that,” August said in his low, raspy voice, leaning in, his mouth close to the shell of my ear. “I’m thoroughly seduced.”
My cheeks flushed. I looked around to ensure nobody had overheard, but luckily the kitchen was buzzing, and everyone was focused on their jobs.
It had been a week since we’d had sex in my office. The very next day, I’d gotten my period right on schedule. Since then, there have been a few kisses and stolen glances but nothing more.
We were taking it slow. Proceeding with caution. But now I wanted more. I yearned for that connection and how he filled me up so completely. I craved the white-hot heat and the way my body had sparked to life and ignited. I squeezed my thighs together, a dull throb beginning to form as I imagined clenching around him…
Oh my God.
What was wrong with me?
I shouldnotbe thinking about sex right now. “We need to make sure table two's food is perfect.”
August pressed his lips into a flat line of disapproval. “How many times do I have to tell you? There’s no such thing—”
“Hush.” I flapped my hand at him. “I need to concentrate.”
He laughed like this whole thing was a big fat joke. I scowled. “Why are you just standing there?” I tossed my hands in the air. “Go do your job.”
“Thisismy job.” He crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance like he had no intention of going anywhere.
“Standing around and doing nothing?”
“Talking you down from the ledge.” He turned me to face him and wrapped his hands around my upper arms. Our eyes met, and I was drowning in their green depths. Why did he have to have such pretty eyes? “Deep breaths,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down my arms, trying to calm me. “You’ve got this.”
I usually believed him when he said that. This time I wasn’t so sure. But I couldn’t fall apart just because a critic was in my restaurant. Plenty of bloggers had given us glowing reviews, so one person’s opinion shouldn’t matter.
Regardless, I had to stay focused and ensure that every dish that left this kitchen was perfect. Or as close to perfection as we could achieve.
As soon as the ticket came in for table two, I snatched it up and studied it. Then I swiveled, my eyes narrowing in accusation. “They ordered all your dishes.”
“What are you talking about?” August snatched the chit out of my hand.
