Page 6 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

A smirk pulls at his picture-perfect lips. “Your spot? Nice try, sweetheart.”

He winks at me, slams his door, and jogs around the side of the SUV and into the building I share a wall with.

“Shit.”

Is that jerk renting the place next door?

Ashley’s jaw drops. “Oh, my God. Do you know who that is?”

I shift back into my seat and hit the button to raise Ashley’s window so she doesn’t end up looking like a drowned rat. “No, what the hell does it matter who he is? The asshole just took my parking spot!”

“That's Jameson Fury—”

A car horn blaring behind me has me jerking my head to look in the rearview mirror at a vehicle waiting on the street, unable to get around me to pass with cars parked on both sides.

“Shit.” I take my foot off the brake and make my way farther down the block, scanning for somewhere to park now that my space has been occupied by that prick.

Ashley digs around the back of my car through all the junk and grabs something from the floorboard behind me. “You know who Jameson Fury is, right? Winner of Prime Chef on Webflix last year? Voted Hottest Chef in New York?”

She waves something around, and I turn the corner and pull over illegally in front of a fire hydrant just to see what it is.

Foodie Magazine.

An issue I remember very well. The one with a shirtless, dark-haired, smoking-hot guy on a blue apron crossing his arms over his chest on the cover. The look he gives the camera is so dirty, it’s almost a promise he's going to tear off your panties and fuck you on the table he stands behind.

A shiver rolls through me looking into those same eyes that locked with mine only a minute ago through the rain. “That was Jameson Fury back there?”

She nods, and I glance up and down the street.

No available spots.

I could be parked and inside and working already if it weren’t for him. Now I’ll waste half my morning driving around and then get there soaked. “Well, I don’t care who the fuck he is. He’s a dick. We're going to be looking for a spot forever.”

Ash’s lips twist. “I think you have a bigger problem than that…”

“Oh, yeah, what's that?” I pull back out onto the street and continue scanning for a spot. “Because right now, this seems like a big problem when I’m supposed to be meeting with the contractor.”

“Iz, he parked in front of your building and went into the door right next to yours. What do you think Jameson Fury, the hottest chef in New York, is doing there?”

A heavy sense of dread wraps around my spine. “Oh, shit. You don't think he's opening a restaurant, do you?”

I catch her shrug out of the corner of my eye as I turn down the next block.

“I don't know, Iz, but it’s definitely a possibility.” She leans forward and points. “Look! There's a spot.”

Thank God!

But of course, it’s tiny, and I need to parallel park to get into it.

Of fucking course.

I throw on my blinker, pull past the spot, and throw my arm across the back of Ashley’s seat so I can turn and see what I’m doing. The move sends a tiny twinge through my side that I brush to the back of my mind so I can focus on the task at hand. Ashley knows better than to try to talk to me while I’m doing this. I’m a decent parallel parker—a skill I had to learn to master young growing up in Brooklyn—but this is a tight spot, and with my adrenaline running this high already, I don’t need any interruptions.

After a minute of finagling, I finally put the car into park and drop my forehead against the steering wheel, giving myself a moment to process what she just said.

“Great, so now we can get soaked running a block and a half back to the building where this douchebag might be opening a competing restaurant right next door?”

Ashley squeezes my shoulder gently, and I force myself to drag up my head and look at her.

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