Page 15

“Yes, I want to be just like you someday,” he says, flushing when I raise my brows. “I mean, you’re already the head chef of a place like The Altar at your age. I want to be that good someday.”

“You’re already talented; you just need to sharpen it,” I tell him, and the flush on his face deepens. I can’t help but adore him. In the weeks I’ve been here, I’ve grown close to the staff, but I have a soft spot for Jasper, who reminds me so much of myself. I worked my ass off in culinary school, taking odd jobs at restaurants to cover tuition, determined to come out on top despite my circumstances.

He’s doing the same thing.

Bishop doesn’t see it that way. I don’t think Bishop sees Jasper at all, honestly—just a person standing closer to me than he’d like. I chuckle at the memory of him watching us across the room at the potluck.

“You should go home and get some rest,” I tell him. “Tonight was busy and you held your own. Go on.”

“Alright,” he says but doesn’t move. There’s something in his eyes as he hesitates that tells me he wants to say something more.

“Jasper, is everything alright?”

“I—I just wanted to wish you a good night,” he says, but he’s not being completely truthful.

I can tell by way his eyes dart from mine. But before I can push him, a larger figure appears behind him, and just like that, I forget everything.

“I’ll go now.” Jasper turns, letting out a shriek when he nearly bumps into Bishop. “Sir, Mr. Cassidy. Sir.”

“What are you doing here so late, Jasper? Everyone else has gone home.”

“A book,” he mutters, eyes on the floor. “I just stopped to grab a book and wish Ms. Arnaud goodnight.”

Bishop doesn’t say a word, stands there until I roll my eyes. “Stop it, Bishop. Go on, Jasper. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The kid arrows past Bishop, and I catch the squeak of his shoes as he runs off, leaving his president in my doorway, watching him go.

“What was he doing in here?”

I roll my eyes at the possessiveness in his voice even as a quiet flutter forms in my stomach. I stand up and walk around my desk, leaning against it as I look at the man I’ve spent all week telling myself is wrong for me. All of it goes out the window when he walks in and shuts the door behind him.

“Don’t scare my staff, Bishop. Do you know how hard it is to find dependable people for the prep line?”

“There is never a shortage of men willing to work,” he says darkly, crowding me against the desk.

“No,” I say simply, letting out a shuddering breath when he tucks a curl behind my ear. “Don’t intimidate my staff. Surely…” I tilt my head, looking up at him from under my lashes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Jasper?”

“I don’t like how close he is to you.”

“He’s a kid,” I say, tugging at a button on his shirt. “Are you worried a nineteen-year-old is going to outdo you in a game of who-gets-to-nail-the-chef?”

His eyes darken, and something dangerously possessive crosses them. Christ, I know better than to goad a man like this.

Didn’t I just talk myself out of this five minutes ago?

“You’re playing with fire, sugar.”

“Am I?” I ask, sliding a hand over his chest, ignoring the little voice at the back of my mind. I can’t think past this man, past the memory of his fingers in my panties in my own kitchen, touching me in places no one ever had and finding pleasure in me I didn’t know my body was capable of. Who knows how many times I’ve lain in my hotel room bed since, trying to recreate that feeling with no success at all.

“Maybe I should get out more. Visit the casino. Who knows how many Jaspers I’d run into down there. A lot less polite and a lot more willing to—”

His mouth seals over mine.

There’s a roughness in the way he grips my hips and hauls me onto the desk, sweeping it clear. I hear paper scatter, and my coffee cup hits the floor. I don’t stop to look.

He’s hard. Angry and aroused.

Thank God I changed out of my whites an hour ago, is the last coherent thought I have before his hands are shoving my skirt up my thighs.