Page 53 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

“And on that note, I think it’s time to start cleaning up.” Jameson pushes away from the table and stalks back toward the kitchen with his plate in hand.

“Shit.” I watch him disappear into the kitchen then turn back to his family. “I really pissed him off with that.”

Rachel shifts over to take the chair Jameson vacated and pats me on the arm. “Don’t worry about it. He always was the moodiest of the three of us. And from what I hear, he was giving you just as much shit before you pulled that stunt, so he deserved it.”

I chuckle and smile at her. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“So…” She grins at me and sips her wine, eyes wide and expectant.

“So…what?”

She shifts closer again and glances toward the kitchen. “What’s up with you and my brother?”

I scan the table to find all eyes locked on us intently. Nothing like having an audience for a super-awkward conversation with the sister of the guy you boinked. “Um, nothing? We’re neighbors, and soon, we’ll be running competing restaurants. It’s just a little friendly competition.”

Bash nudges Greer and smirks. “Kinda like us, Coach.”

“Uh, no.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “That wasn’t friendly competition. That was you trying to put me in my place and knock me down a peg.”

Flynn laughs. “And see how that worked out for you.”

Rach finishes her wine and pushes the glass away. “Friendly competition can lead to a lot more.”

I shake my head before she opens her mouth to continue. “No. Not this time.” I plaster on my best smile, the one I use when I’m trying to convince the people who know matter that I’m okay when I’m really crumbling inside and in agony. “Jameson and I are all we’re ever going to be. Business acquaintances and neighbors.”

* * *

JAMESON

“Jameson and I are all we’re ever going to be. Business acquaintances and neighbors.”

I guess that settles that.

The words are innocuous enough. They shouldn’t hurt me. They’re a statement of fact. Of how things apparently really are. Of what she feels about the situation.

One I apparently misread.

I overstepped in the kitchen the other night and again preparing dinner tonight. But both times, something drew me to her, made my hands itch to touch her, to feel her pressed up against me, to smell that sweet cinnamon clinging to her skin. Seeing her in my kitchen this time, helping me, standing in front of my stove…it was such a fucking turn on. I almost bent her over and took her right then and there despite the fact that I initially wasn’t ready to broach the subject of what happened between us.

But I’m glad I didn’t take it any further than that kiss to her perfect, smooth neck. If I had, it sounds like I would have been making a fool of myself…more than I already have.

I suck in a deep breath and make my way toward the table. “Yep. What she said…” My eyes lock with Isabella’s, and a hint of something indiscernible shimmers beneath their surface. “Just business acquaintances and neighbors.” I try to keep the venom out of my words, to hide how much they hurt to say, but I’m not so sure I do a good job of it given the pained expressions of everyone around the table. “But we’re done fucking with each other, right?”

Those words were chosen very carefully, specifically for their double meaning only Isabella will know.

It’s a definitive statement that whatever we did was a one-time thing. That I won’t pursue it again. That anything that happens between us going forward will remain strictly professional—both in how we run our businesses and how we conduct ourselves when it comes to our personal interactions.

Getting it out in the open and cleared up should feel like a massive relief. Instead, it feels more like a rock has settled into my stomach.

I lower myself into the seat Rachel vacated next to Flynn and grab his half-full wine glass to down it. Everyone watches me intently, like they’re expecting some sort of bomb to go off. I pour myself another glass and shrug. “What?”

Greer shifts nervously in her seat. “Uh, nothing. Was the menu you served tonight the final one?”

I wish I knew…

It’s been a constant battle since I left the television studio. My head can’t seem to land on the right answer for some of the dishes. Continuously tweaking things. Over and over and over.

I thought I had finally found exactly what I wanted for a few dishes when I brought that plate over to Isabella. But now…the thought of having to make that damn béarnaise sauce again, of having to taste it each night and know I won’t be able to without also tasting her cunt on my lips is too much to handle.

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