Page 26 of The Unwilling Bride
I draw in a sharp breath. James Hamilton has a tell when he’s angry.
He cracks his neck. An ominous sound that echoes around the kitchen.
He crosses the floor, boots clicking against tile. The only sound in the entire room.
He stops in front of Garrett. Close enough that Garrett has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes.
"Clean out your locker."
James's voice is low. Quiet. The kind of quiet that's more terrifying than shouting.
Garrett's mouth opens. "Chef, it was just?—"
"I didn't ask for an explanation." James doesn't blink. "I told you to get the fuck out."
Garrett goes pale.
“B-but I?—”
“Out,” James growls.
Garrett seems to shrivel in size. Head bent, shoulders hunched; he walks toward the corridor that leads to the staff lockers with his head down.
James turns to face the line. Every single chef is standing at their stations now. All men. Hands at their sides, eyes forward, not daring to meet his burning gaze.
"If I hear one more bottom-shelf comment about any member of this staff… If I see a hand move toward someone without consent… If I witness behavior that belongs in a secondary school playground instead of a professional kitchen, you're gone. All of you. I don't care if I have to cook the entire line myself."
His voice echoes around the space.
Nobody moves.
Nobody breathes.
"This kitchen operates on respect. For the food. For the craft. For each other." His jaw tightens. "Without that, we have nothing. Without that, your technique doesn't matter. Your experience doesn't matter. Your Cordon Bleu degree doesn't matter." He looks at the two jokers. "Am I clear?"
"Yes, Chef." The response ripples through the kitchen.
I wasn’t going to draw attention to what happened, but here he is, like a wrathful, vengeful god, punishing the man who tried to assault me.
It’s thrilling seeing him in his element. Having him come to my defense makes me feel protected.
A melting feeling pools in my chest.
“Excellent.” He claps his hands. Thrice. "Back to work. Service starts in two hours. I expect your best."
The kitchen explodes back into motion. Knives hitting boards. Pans clattering. The buzz of voices calling out to each other.
James turns to me.
His gaze sweeps over me like he's looking for a physical bruise. The mask is back on his face, except there's something raw flickering behind the blue. Something enraged.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him show any emotion. And it was on my behalf?
The melting sensation in my chest spreads to my fingers and toes.
He walks over slowly, each step feeling like he’s the hunter stalking me, his prey. He stops in front of me, and the space between us seems to shrink.
And when he searches my features, everything else in the kitchen vanishes. We seem to be enclosed in our own little bubble of intimacy.
