Page 8 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

I rattle off the address and my phone number and end the call.

One thing to check off the list.

My phone screen barely goes black before the door flies open. A very angry and wet blonde stands in the doorway, her hands fisted at her sides—the chick from the car, with her friend right behind her.

What the hell?

She storms in, green eyes blazing and dark T-shirt clinging to her body under the soaked jacket she wears open over it. Her nipples pebble through her bra, something I doubt she’s even noticed, given how all of her wrath seems to be directed straight at me.

But even the twist of rage on her lips, the hint of mascara running under her eyes, and her hair plastered around her face can’t hide how beautiful she is.

She points back toward the door. “I just had to walk two blocks in the pouring rain because of you.”

I shove off the ledge and meet her halfway across the room, the squish of my wet shoes on the floor in my ears. “Sorry.” I shrug. “Not my problem, though.”

The woman opens and closes her hands at her sides. “Didn't your mother teach you any manners?”

I snort. “I don't think that includes having to give up a parking spot that I got to first in the middle of a rainstorm.”

She scowls at me, her perfect pink-bow lips twisting up. The move makes her appear far younger than she probably actually is, and while it should be annoying or even make me angry, it’s almost comical to see such a cute woman so angry about something so asinine.

Her eyes dart around the empty space. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

I smirk and cross my arms over my chest. “How is that any of your business?”

She glances back at her friend, who waves her hand, urging the blonde to continue. “Because I'm leasing the space next door.”

Well, hell…

That does make me feel slightly bad about taking the parking spot, but I'm not going to let her know that. This woman is hot as hell when she's pissed off. Changing that would be a real shame.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “And who might you be?”

She glowers at me, looking determined not to give me any information, but her friend steps forward and pushes her way up between us.

The friend flashes me a smile. “Her name is Isabella Baldwin, and she's opening her first restaurant next door.”

“Oh, hell.” I sigh and rub at my jaw. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

The friend shakes her head and opens something rolled in her hand. A magazine…my cover. “And I know who you are…Jameson Fury. Which is why we want to know what you're doing here.”

Isabella narrows her eyes at me. “I sure as hell hope you're not opening a restaurant here.”

Things just got a whole fuck of a lot more complicated for my business plan.

One reason I chose this location was that the immediate neighborhood lacks any restaurants. Bushwick is blowing up and revitalizing at a tremendous rate. Setting up here would have made me unique in an underserved area and in the perfect place when things do explode here. “So what if I am?”

Isabella nudges her friend out of the way with her shoulder. “Well, that's going to create quite a problem for me.”

“Is it?”

Her mouth drops open incredulously. “It's a big-shot celebrity chef competing with my restaurant when I have zero name recognition and probably a quarter of the budget you do. Of course, it’s a problem!”

I shrug and fight a grin at the fact that she called me a “big-shot celebrity chef.” Though, she definitely didn’t mean it as a compliment the way she said it. The woman does have a point, though. It will be hard for her, but I don’t want to make her day any worse than it already is. “Maybe it won't be so bad after all.”

That’s a lie.

She's right. I have no idea who this chick is, and I've won a prestigious television cooking competition, been on the cover of a major food magazine, and have been named the hottest chef in the city. I’ve worked my way up through some of the best restaurants in the country over the last few years to make sure people know who I am. There’s no way her place is going to be as big of a draw as mine.

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