Page 4 of The Unwilling Bride
Around me, a vessel clatters, steam hisses from a pressure cooker. The heat seems to build and press down on me. Sweat beads my forehead.
He watches me silently. I don’t have a clue to what’s going on behind his eyes.
Then, “Harper Richie,” he rumbles in that gravelly voice of his.
There’s a command hidden in those words which makes me shudder.My toes curl. I want to give him whatever he wants. I want to hear his praise. The hair on the back of my neck rises. Ridiculous.
I can’t let him affect me so. I shove my reaction to him aside and tip up my chin.
“I’m here to interview for the role of chef de partie.”
His forehead furrows. His gaze drifts past me, unfocused, like I’m not a woman standing three feet away but a thought he hasn’t decided what to do with.
He won’t even properly look at me?
Heat floods my neck. My pulse stutters, too fast, too loud. Around us, the kitchen roars. Metal strikes metal; someone barks for service.
But the air between us feels vacuum-sealed, dense and breathless.
I’ve rehearsed this moment a hundred times. Running into James Hamilton again.
In every version, I am composed. Cutting. Unimpressed. And of course, he apologizes. Profusely.
I never imagined I’d be the one asking him for a job.
The silence stretches. My heart sinks. My shoulders slump. Maybe I should leave, after all?
That’s when he growls, “You’re here for the role of chef de partie?”
Now, he speaks.
I have a good mind to walk away. But…the thought of my niece, and of how the money I earn could make a difference to her future, stops me.
“I have a culinary degree from Westminster Kingsway, staged at El Celler de Can Roca in Girona, and spent three years at Claridge's under Marcus Wareing before moving to The Ledbury and?—"
He holds up his hand. I stop talking.
Like he only has to command me, and I rush to obey. Like I did when we last met. When he insisted on dropping me home, and I let him. Gah!
I should have learned my lesson. I should not let him order me around. But this is James Hamilton. His charisma is such that I must obey him.
He snaps his fingers.
As if by magic, one of his team tosses a white chef jacket at James, who flicks it at me.
I catch it with my chest and hold it there. “Wha... What’s the meaning of this?”
The look on his face says, 'don’t waste my time.'
But the words that emerge from his mouth are, “I’m offering you the role of sous chef.”
“Eh?” Did I just hear him say sous chef? Not possible. I’m here to interview for a more junior position.
I must be dreaming.
“I… I don’t understand.”
He folds his arms across his chest and fixes me with his cold blue eyes. “You’re hired.”
