Heat: A Bad Boy Chef Romance Read Online Free

dish.”
    Moreau’s eyes narrowed. My stomach dropped. I waited for him to yell. Everyone in the room was watching. A hint of a smile played at the corners of Moreau’s mouth. He stepped aside. I leaned over and carefully drizzled the sauce on top of the pork belly, then added a couple of drops around the plate. It complimented Moreau’s plating well. I smiled. The first completed dish of the day. Now to do it four hundred more times.
    A server walked into the kitchen and grabbed the dishes and took them out to the customers. I returned to my station and got back to work. Less than five minutes later the server returned with both dishes in hand.
    “What?” Moreau snapped.
    “The table did not like them. They said they tasted like rotten fish.”
    “Bullshit,” Moreau replied.
    He grabbed a piece of pork belly from the plate and tasted it. It barely hit his tongue before he leaned over and spat it out into the trash.
    “Roche! What the hell did you put in this sauce?”
    My mind raced over the ingredients I’d used. Had I missed something? No. At least, I didn’t think so. I was sleep deprived and a bit hungover. What if I screwed something up without realizing it? No. I’ve made that sauce a million times. I could make it in my sleep.
    “I prepared it the same way I always do, chef.”
    “Did you taste it?”
    “Well, no,” I sheepishly admitted.
    “You didn’t taste the sauce before sending it out to the customer?” I looked at my feet. “Don’t look down. Look at me.”
    “I’m sorry. I-”
    “Save the excuses. Taste this.”
    He shoved the plate at me. I dipped my finger in the sauce and brought it to my tongue. It tasted like spoiled fish. I couldn’t even swallow it. I sipped some water and spit into the trash. My mind raced through what the sour ingredient was. Nothing I added to the sauce had a flavor even close to this. Had one of the ingredients spoiled? No. I would have noticed. Besides, the restaurant got fresh produce every day. Nothing we used had a chance to spoil. Besides, there were about a dozen people who would have noticed before the ingredient ever got to me, including Moreau.
    I shook my head. “I have another bowl I prepared earlier,” I said. “I’ll get it.”
    “Another bowl of that?” He looked at me like I was crazy. “I’m not serving more of that to my customers.”
    “I don’t know what happened. I’m sure the other bowl is fine.”
    If it wasn’t, I was dead.
    “Go home,” Moreau replied.
    “What?” Tears started to well up in my eyes. Panic set in. “I can fix this just give me a chance.”
    “Get out of my kitchen.” He turned his back on me.
    “But-”
    Moreau started barking orders, screaming that he was pulling the dish from the menu. My vision fogged. I didn’t want anyone to see me cry. This wasn’t the time or place for it. You had to be tough to survive in the environment. I took a deep breath and swallowed back my urge to cry.
    As I walked past the entrée preparer, he looked up at me and smiled. Moreau gave him my job. He was thrilled. When asked if he could handle the responsibility, he shouted: “Yes, chef!”
    He sounded like a Marine being sent into combat. I would never be that tough. Maybe Moreau was right to fire me. I gathered my things and left.

Moreau
     
     
     
     
    What had gotten into the girl’s head? A few drinks and one late night and she screwed up that badly? It didn’t make sense. If she was that easily thrown off her game by a couple drinks, then how dependable was she? This business is long hours, no sleep and little appreciation for the hard work you do. If she can’t shake off what happened the night before then she’ll never last.
    I tried to put Roche out of my mind as I continued with dinner service, but she kept popping into my head. The way she’d demanded to pour the sauce on the dish herself. I was proud of her in that moment. She was doing what I’d told her to do: stand up for yourself.
    It was her