Page 39 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

The Fury family dynamics are one of them. Mike Fury was a beloved player, a hall of famer champ who could do no wrong on the ice. It was at home where he had trouble. But there’s always been an unspoken agreement between Bash, Rach, and me not to taint his image. Not because we’re trying to protect him, but because we’re trying to protect ourselves from having to relive those moments through invasive questioning from reporters.

So, I have no intention of answering Grant’s question. Instead, I shrug and turn back to the stove.

Almost as if she can sense the tension, Sylvie springs to her feet and claps her hands together. “Whatever the reason, I'm so glad you ended up in the kitchen. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here in this lovely place. Really good job, boys.” She glances between us. “Really, you guys did a great job. I have every confidence this place is going to take off.”

Grant snorts and reaches out to pop a piece of the artichoke salad into his mouth. “I sure as hell hope so; otherwise, we’ll be in the poor house.”

That brings a laugh from everyone, but I can't help thinking about Isabella and her financial situation. If her restaurant fails, that's likely exactly what's going to happen to her.

Yet, having her compete with me isn’t good for my business, either.

I can't let my concern for her get in the way of having my own successful restaurant. Nor can I let the fact that she is beautiful and talented and sexy as hell disrupt my focus.

That woman is a liability in a lot of ways.

And a liability is the last thing I need right now—no matter how much fun it may be to mess around with her.

I need to keep things professional—as much as anyone can in this situation.

Yep, professional. I can do that.

Grant sweeps his hand over the dishes. “So, what’s your final verdict on the menu? We don’t have a lot of time left to make this decision.”

“No, we don’t.” I press my palms down on the counter and stare at the mix of food laid out before me. “Something just isn’t right. I’m going to stay and play around some more. Hopefully come up with something that really sings.”

The way Isabella’s chili did the other night.

Otherwise, she’s going to be the one putting me out of business.

10

IZZY

The smells coming from Jameson’s kitchen are so mouth-watering; they’re not just tempting…they’re downright torturous.

I would never give that man the satisfaction of knowing that, though.

His ego already occupies so much of his perfect body that I’d be worried it might start taking up residence in the parts of the brain he needs to function daily if it gets stroked and grows any bigger.

But my stomach seems to disagree, growling at me like a starved lion on the savannah. It’s been a long day—another long day. I’ve stayed far later than I had planned—again—this time trying to clean the kitchen spotless after the construction crew traipsed through here to install a few other smaller items I’ve been waiting on.

I deeply appreciate their help in getting things set up, but I could do without the mud and dirt on their damn boots. Seeing it on my pristine white tile floors was giving me hives all evening.

So, instead of heading home, eating, taking my meds, and doing what I need to stay healthy, I find myself here on my knees with a metal bowl of hot, soapy water and a damn sponge. Because, of course, I don’t have a mop and proper bucket here yet.

Add that to the to-do list, Iz.

Along with the ten thousand other things that seem to just pile up higher and higher each day. The mountain is starting to feel overwhelming, more like Everest than the moderate hill I thought it would be when I got my keys.

It’s not that I didn’t understand how much work this would be. It’s just I was so determined. Am so determined. The idea of failure never even crossed my mind. Until I met the shameless chef next door.

Now, all I can think about is how easily one mistake on my part could fuck up any chances I might have to actually compete with FURY. Hell, even if I do everything absolutely perfectly, there’s still a chance that I don’t stand a chance.

If I think about it any more tonight, I might become overwhelmed with the possibilities again and only make things worse. So, I try to push away the growling in my stomach and the stab of pain in my lower back as I scrub away like Cinderella.

“This is a very dangerous position.”

Shit!

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