Page 9 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

I wouldn’t even consider it competition. Not really.

But even if it were, I’ve never been one to back down from a little challenge. That’s the one good thing Bash, Rach, and I inherited from Dad—the drive to succeed at any cost. It may have been horrible for our family life back then, but it has definitely helped all three of us thrive.

Isabella scowls again and grits her teeth. “You’re going to put me out of business before I even open.”

I flash her my best panty-melting grin. The one that always seems to work on the women I meet. “Again. Not my problem.”

The woman growls—actually fucking growls at me. It rumbles low in her chest and slips from her lips. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”

A chuckle bubbles up my throat, and I shake my head. “I've been told that once or twice in my life.”

Her steely emerald gaze holds mine. “I can see why.”

Wow, this chick is full of piss and vinegar.

And the blush spreading across her cheeks with her rage only emphasizes her perfect bone structure. I almost feel bad for her. With my place opening next door, hers doesn't stand a chance. But such is the way it goes in business and life.

Sometimes, you win. Sometimes, you lose.

She glowers at me one more time before she grabs her friend’s arm and drags her from the building out into the rain.

I grin and shake my head as I wander back to my spot by the window to wait for Danny.

Things just got a whole lot more interesting.

3

JAMESON

“Are you at all worried about this?” Grant’s question from behind me holds the same note of tension I’ve been trying to ease from him since he first arrived and I told him about our new neighbor.

It’s a good thing we had already made plans to meet up tonight; otherwise, I would have had to tell him about it over the phone or request a meeting specifically to fill him in, and that might have made this who conversation a lot harder.

I turn back toward the kitchen counter, where he sits nursing a glass of wine. “You think I should be? You don't know me very well, then.”

Grant grins and takes a sip of his wine, then holds the glass up toward me. “You're right. I don’t drink much, but this is good. We should definitely have it on the menu.”

“Just wait ‘til you taste it with this.” I motion to the steak in the cast-iron skillet on the stove. “It's amazing with beef. And I’m already on the hunt for a great sommelier to do pairings for us.”

He smiles and chuckles. “You know I love a nice meal as much as the next guy, but I promise to trust you with all menu decisions.”

“As you should.”

The man doesn’t know the first thing about opening or running a restaurant. And while I might be fumbling around like a newborn trying to figure it out myself, at least I’ve worked in them and have done my homework on what we need to ensure everything is absolutely perfect.

“I know my role here.” He points to himself. “I'm just the money guy.”

Grant is more than that, and we both know it. We’ve become close over the last year, and if we didn’t have this much trust in each other, neither of us would have agreed to become partners in this endeavor in the first place.

I flip the steak in the pan and shove it into the oven for a few minutes to ensure it's the perfect medium-rare. “You're more than that, and you know it. I could never have done this without your backing. You clearly have impeccable taste.”

He laughs and sips his wine. “I won’t argue there.”

“I could probably use your help finalizing all the little décor and interior things. It’s not really my forte, and we need it to look perfect.”

“Where are we looking on the timeline?”

“Danny stopped by today and says he can have everything we discussed with the interior done in the next month as long as what he needs is in stock. And then we can start decorating and probably get opened in six to eight weeks if things go smoothly. Closer to three months if there are delays.”

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