Page 17 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

She holds up her hands like she’s expecting a blitz attack, but she isn’t the subject of my wrath. “I’m sorry.”

I push past her and shove out the door onto the sidewalk. “It’s not you I want to dice with my kitchen knife.”

Poor Anna follows me out and shuffles off down the street to God knows where. It doesn’t matter. My attention is elsewhere—like at the open door to Jameson’s place.

I march in there and find him leaning against a newly built, beautiful, high wooden bar top with another guy standing with his back to me. Probably my next interview.

Jameson raises an eyebrow. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here, Isabella. Can we chat later?”

“Chat later?” I scoff, and the guy he’s talking to ducks his head and turns slightly away from me. “No, we can’t chat later.” I march over to them, step between the two men, and jab a finger right into Jameson’s chest. “How dare you?”

“How dare I what?” The smug jerk has the balls to appear confused, his strong brow furrowing.

“Try to poach my staff!” I whirl around on the cowering guy next to Jameson. “Don’t you dare think about accepting a job offer from this man. I found you first.”

The guy holds up his hands and backs away slightly. “I’m not sure what I’m in the middle of here. I just wanted a job.”

“You’re hired.”

Jameson pushes an arm between us. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I was talking with Mr. Albertson. I don’t think we’ve finished our conversation.”

“I have an interview scheduled with him.”

How can he stand here pretending he hasn’t just crossed a major line?

Or maybe that’s the entire problem. There is no line for a man like Jameson Fury…

Jameson glances down at the large watch on his wrist that he probably paid for with his winnings from Prime Chef. “What time is your interview?”

Mr. Albertson chimes in innocently. “Ten thirty.”

Turning his watch face toward us, Jameson raises his brows. “Ten twenty-five.” He shrugs innocently. “I haven’t in any way interfered with your ability to interview him in five minutes, Isabella.”

I growl and stomp my foot. It might be a little childish. Okay, a lot childish. But this man seems to know how to get under my skin and get me worked up in a way that’s definitely not healthy for me…or him.

I’m not a violent person by nature. Far from it. But Jameson Fucking Fury is making me stabby, and I have an awfully nice set of knives just on the other side of that wall that Grams gave me as a graduation gift and I keep incredibly sharp.

“Really, Fury? That’s all you have to say after you just stole Anna from me?”

Jameson chuckles and offers me a slow grin that raises heat that definitely isn’t anger in body parts that definitely should not be heating up for this man. “Oh, I have a lot to say to you, Iz. I’m just getting started.”

* * *

JAMESON

Her perfectly pink bow lips open, and her jaw drops slightly, though why she’s still surprised by anything I say to her is a mystery. I would have thought the chair incident would have taught her something about me—that I’m not about to let her mess up my plans. Whether that be sunbathing or opening Fury.

“But I'm in the middle of an interview right now.” I flash her another grin. “So, let’s chat later.”

My words—or maybe it’s the grin—make her issue another low growl and stomp her foot again, and I can't fight back my chuckle. Getting her worked up has turned into my new favorite pastime, and this is only our third run-in. The woman has managed to avoid another confrontation by beating me here every morning over the past week—a feat only made possible by the fact that I’ve been so sore and exhausted that I’ve let myself sleep in a bit longer than usual.

There’s just something about how easy it is to push her buttons that really gives me the comedic lift I need after a long day’s work. It’s the same joy I got from messing with Rach growing up, only this time, the end result won’t be big sis running to Mom or Bash, crying about it. And I won’t have Dad smacking me around because I made Rachel cry. This time, I’m hoping the end result will be Isabella giving up and leaving…

But it feels rude to be having this argument in front of our friend here. The poor guy just came for an interview and got stuck in the middle of a war he had no idea was happening.

I hold up a finger to her and turn to Mr. Albertson, offering an apologetic smile. “I'd love to have you come work for me as front of house, and the woman you saw leaving on your way in will be the head waitress.”

Normally, I would spend a lot more time checking references and backgrounds of anyone I hire, but this is too good of an opportunity to pass up—both to get a great employee and also to piss Isabella the fuck off.

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