Page 57 of The Unwilling Bride
A nerve pulses sharply at his temple.
That hit.
Good.
He’s been setting challenges which are almost impossible to meet since I joined. And while I don’t think that’s a factor in why he’s pushing me, surely, he must be aware of how the optics would seem to someone from the outside.
“The only time you speak to me is to find fault. And except for one time, you never say ‘good job.’ And it’s not like you’re perfect, by the way.”
Now that the words have started coming, I can’t stop them. It feels like I’ve pulled the pin on a grenade. But I want to make sure he understands my credentials, that he sees my dedication and how seriously I take this role. I want him to understand that this job means a lot to me, but that doesn’t mean I can be intimidated.
“I trained at one of the best catering colleges in the country. I worked my way up from kitchen porter to chef de partie before you hired me. I didn’t get here by accident. I earned my place in your kitchen.”
James’ expression empties. He seems almost bored. But his muscles are locked like they’re wound up from the inside.
It’s as if he’s come to the end of some thinking process and arrived at some decision.
Probably to fire me.
Whatever. I’m not stopping until I tell him everything in my mind.
“I've taken everything you've dished out because I thought it could hone my craft and help me be the best, but I can’t; not anymore.”
James’ muscle bunch. His shoulders coil. His biceps stretch the sleeves of his chef jacket.
He spends most of his life in a kitchen. How is he in such annoyingly good shape? He must work out at night.
Maybe, he’s like a vampire who never sleeps, but instead, sucks the spirit from his employees and thrives on them.
I begin to chuckle, then swallow it down.
I think I’ve gotten away with it. Only, of course, Mr. Human CCTV here catches the gleam of amusement in my eyes.
He tilts his head, a look of interest on his features.
That’s it? That’s all I get for my tirade?
I want to push him as much as he pushed me these past few months. I want to break through that tightly controlled façade he likes to keep in place and get more of a reaction from him. I want to see him lose his cool. The way he made me lose control.
It’s what makes me spit out, "You have a temper that clouds your judgment. And an ego that prevents you from admitting when you’re wrong. And your rule of not allowing anyone to talk back to you means the people around you are too afraid to tell you where you’re lacking."
Did I just say that? I said that.
His eyes narrow.
Yep, I’ve surprised this jerk. I should rejoice; except, with every moment, my spirit plummets. My adrenaline, which had spiked, now begins to recede. In place of that galloping sense of euphoria is a sinking hole… One that tells me how much I've screwed up.
He glances down to where I have my finger pushed into his chest. I’ve been deeply conscious of it and enjoying the feel of those brick-like planes shifting. Too much, perhaps. I lower my arm. Take a step back.
It’s a first sign of capitulation, which he instantly seizes upon.
"Are you done?" he asks in a low voice.
The atmosphere seems to grow electric. I swear, I can hear rolling thunder, and smell sulfur in the air.
I can almost imagine the horns on his head lighting up.
Those blue eyes are almost colorless, like the ashes left behind after a fire. A fire that has consumed me and burned me to a husk. The hair on the back of my neck rises. Oh, no.
