Page 7 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

She grins at me. “Look at the silver lining. He is the hottest chef in New York, and he's right next door. At least you’ll have something nice to look at every day.”

Maybe that’s a bonus for her, but I’m not in any place in my life to enjoy gawking at a handsome man—even if he weren’t an asshole, which he clearly is. There are too many other things going on, things that need my attention constantly. Things that I can’t let get out of control.

Any distractions are dangerous to my plans and goals.

Ashley can come to ogle Jameson Fury. I have my priorities straight.

* * *

JAMESON

I almost feel bad for the blonde who wanted the parking spot. Almost. But I'm not about to give it up to walk a couple blocks in this rain—not when I got here first, fair and square. I'm already wet enough just from stopping to talk to her for a second.

Nothing like wet clothes to make your day shit.

Drops roll down my neck and back, and I run my hand through my hair to squeegee out some water. That only pushes it down my thoroughly soaked white T-shirt, making it even wetter—which I didn’t think was possible. It clings to my chest and abs like it's painted on me. Even my jeans are soaked just from getting out of the car and running in.

This is going to be a long day if I'm cold and miserable, but I don’t have much choice. No time to run home and grab a change of clothes. If we have any chance of getting this place opened quickly, there isn’t any time to waste getting things rolling.

I’ll just suffer today thanks to Miss Blondie.

I glance around the building to take in all the work that needs to be done. Danny should be here any minute to start sketching out the final plans for my dream restaurant and take the measurements. His preliminary layout looked great, but we need to get all the specifics before ordering the equipment and furniture and really getting to down to business.

With Grant’s money on the line, any delays aren’t just costing me; they’re costing him. Owing anyone anything rubs me the wrong way, but none of this would be possible at all without him. That means I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure Fury is a success as soon as possible.

This place needs to be up and running in two months…three months…tops. Which means, the list of things to do is endless. I pull the folded sheet containing the checklist out of my pocket and try to peel the wet paper apart.

The ink spreads out across the pages in blobs.

Shit. At least it's still legible.

Order sign for outside.

Order kitchen appliances.

Order tables, chairs, and other furniture.

Order plates, glasses, other décor.

Hire manager, waitstaff, kitchen staff.

Have Danny schedule inspections.

It goes on, and on, and on…

But until Danny gets here, I can start on some calls and trying to make some headway on this shit.

I wander over to the windowsill and lower myself down on it since it’s the only real place to sit right now to search for the number of the sign maker Grant recommended—somebody he used on another project—and hit send.

“Hello, Waters and Sons Signs”—the woman’s perky tone this early in the morning when I’m sitting here cold and wet grates on my nerves—“how can I help you?”

“Hi, yes, I need to order a sign for a restaurant.”

“Oh, okay, do you have any idea what size and style?”

I grin to myself, picturing it hung on the brick outside. It’s something I’ve been giving a lot of thought, but one vision has been clear in my head since the moment I first decided to go to culinary school. “Red neon with flames around it.”

“Ooooh!” the woman practically coos. “That does sound fun. I can have somebody come out there tomorrow to figure out what type would work, take measurements, and figure out the placement. Just give me the address and your contact information.”

---