But then reality hits, and it’s not Clayton’s hand, it’s Solomon’s.
I blink, frozen.
Solomon’s hand is on my ass.
What the hell?
Moving on instinct, I slap his hand, forcing it away from my body as quickly as possible. “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask. It’s not loud enough to draw attention—the kitchen is already so loud—but I speak firmly.
He honestly looks shocked. “I thought I made it clear last week that I was interested.”
I shake my head. “And did I ever give any indication that I was interested back? I did not. Not only am I not interested but given that you’re the head chef and I’m a junior one, it’s beyond inappropriate.” I glance around, but there’s no one paying attention to us.
Solomon rolls his eyes. “Please, Rachel. I’ll define what’s appropriate and inappropriate in my kitchen. And I’m interested in you. I mentioned a promotion, and I plan on giving you one. You should consider being more grateful.”
Cold fear runs through me. “So you planned on giving me a promotion only because you’re expecting to sleep with me?”
He smirks. “Not because of that, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt. You’re a talented chef and I’m a talented chef. We’re both smoking hot. We could be the power couple that takes the culinary world by storm.” The smirk grows deeper, verging on a leer. “And if in the meantime I get you to scream my name, that’s just a bonus.”
“That is never going to happen,” I spit out, fighting against my instinct to gag. The first head turns toward us, and I see Solomon notice. “The kitchen is too hot. I need a minute.”
It takes every bit of my willpower not to sprint all the way through the kitchen to the alley. It isn’t until I burst through the door that I realize I’m holding my wedding ring through my shirt like it can protect me from the possessive looks that Solomon was giving me. The way he touched my ass as if he already owned it.
The cool air feels good in my lungs.
“Rough night?”
Miguel is leaning against the wall tapping out something on his phone. He isn’t looking at me but I’m sure the way that I’m gasping makes it clear that I just escaped the kitchen quickly. “You could say that.”
One of the busboys is in the corner as well, grinning. “You’re not alone. Miguel was just telling me that Solomon has been riding everyone’s ass all night.”
I flinch at his choice of words, but he isn’t wrong.
Miguel snorts. “Everyone but Rachel. But that’s because she’s already doing all of his work for him.”
“What?”
He laughs. “Come on, Rachel.”
“No, seriously, what are you talking about?”
Miguel looks up at me, surprised. Studying me, I see realization come over his face. “Oh my God, he has you running around doing so much shit that you don’t even realize it.”
“Miguel, what the hell?”
“This is your first big restaurant, right?”
I blush. “Yeah.” It’s the truth, but I don’t like to advertise it. I don’t want people thinking I can’t crack it just because it’s new to me.
“Well it’s not mine. And you’re really good. Everyone in the kitchen knows that. Everyone in the kitchen is there because they know that working for Solomon can help their careers, but they’re not there for him.” He shakes his head. “Do you know what head chefs do in actual restaurants, Rachel? They cook. And yes, they’re tasting the food and managing the kitchen and all the other things, but they cook the food too. It’s their food.”
“What’s your point?”
“That Solomon is a lazy piece of shit. The reason everyone gets so pissed at him is because he’s everywhere in everyone’s business all the time. But the only reason he’s able to do that is because he’s not busy. He gives everything that he should be doing to you, because you can handle it and you’d do it better than he could anyway.”
I feel myself go pale. He’s right. In the few smaller kitchens that I’ve worked in before I landed my job here, the head chefs had been far more hands-on with the food. I just assumed that because of Solomon’s status, that’s what celebrity chefs did. Managed. They’d already done the work so now everyone else could put in the work for them while they guided the lower ranks.
But Solomon never guides. He only criticizes. I blocked most of it out because this was a means to an end. A way to work up the ladder toward my own goals. But I do a hell of a lot of work in the kitchen. The restaurant is popular and always busy. And if everyone knows that I’m good…I swallow. “I just have to believe that if I’m as good as everyone thinks I am, my time will come,” I say quietly.