Fired: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 3) Read online

From tours across the East Asian Ocean to docking in Hawaii, I’d sailed the world with quarter-bouncing beds and perfectly coiffed hair, which was probably why I let it go shaggy now.

  I made it my goal to be late, hungover, and still a pastry god. Sophia might get annoyed with me, but she would never fire me. Unless, of course, she found out about the marriage thing.

  Fuck.

  I threw my whisk across the kitchen. I’d been whisking so hard, my cream turned to butter. I’d have to start over.

  I was meticulously cleaning up the splattered lumps of soft butter when a tiny shadow fell over me.

  Lena.

  “Is something wrong? I heard a loud noise.” She glanced around at the mess.

  “Nothing at all, Boss Lady. Just missed the bowl.” I wiggled the washcloth next to her butt. “Would you like some butter with your buns?”

  She snorted. “Okay, well, I’m going to finish up some ordering and call Crazy back. She texted me two hundred times in twenty-four hours. I’m considering sending them to the Guinness Book of World Records for consideration.”

  “She’d be thrilled if she won.”

  Lena lingered a little longer than necessary. “I’m sorry I got us into this mess,” she said finally. “I’m the one who convinced you to join me in Vegas and to leave the pastry convention early and to go to that third bar.”

  “Okay, but I have a sneaking suspicion I was behind the drive-throughs.” Lena waited a beat. “All of them.”

  “For someone who could afford lobster and caviar flown in daily, you really enjoy pink slime burgers and lard beans.”

  Lena didn’t say anything, but the corners of her mouth turned down.

  I wanted to tell her it was fine. She didn’t talk me into anything I didn’t already want to do. Or even that her fast food addiction was adorably gross. All of that guilt coursing through her eyes told me enough. She wanted this fixed and fast. Before Sophia knew, before her family knew, before anybody knew.

  I don’t know why I persuaded Lena to come with me to Vegas. Okay, that’s a lie. You’ll find I do that often. Not intentionally; call it self-preservation. I persuaded her to join me because she was the one person I didn’t have to try very hard around. She could meet me joke for joke, freeing me to be myself.

  That was why I couldn’t get her out of my head. Well, that and the fact that she was gorgeous. All soft lines and petite features. You’d have to be batting for the other team to not find Lena Beaumont gorgeous. Her sweet, but a little scary vibe was on point.

  I didn’t want her. Not in that way. I hadn’t lied about not sleeping together. Lena had passed out after using my arm as a chew toy. The night hadn’t felt even remotely sexy. More like best friends.

  Which was what I was going to keep telling myself every time I had to readjust my junk the moment I saw her. Or when she couldn’t find her pencil stuck in her hair and then bit said pencil as she poured over accounts. Definitely when she flounced into the kitchen at closing time with a bottle of champagne and a smile so smoking hot it could vaporize diamonds.

  I’d just have to get through service where I could go home and drink myself stupid. I’d never had a serious girlfriend, and it wouldn’t make sense to start now. I wouldn’t know what to do with one.

  More importantly, I wasn’t lonely. Plenty of women were fascinated by my outrageous sugar creations. They came for my art in the kitchen, but stayed for my art in the bedroom. It was important not to be selfish. I didn’t hold with that nonsense about foreplay being for pussies. Was it better for the pussies? Doubtful. I sure as fuck enjoyed it when a woman came on my mouth, screaming my name in hers.

  That was the beginning of our night. I made sure each and every girl was good and wet and revved up before always putting on a condom. I had yet to meet the woman who would make me consider sharing DNA with them. My shitty childhood made sure of that. I doubted a woman existed who could change my mind.

  Which was another reason why Lena should stay far away. Besides growing up privileged and protected from the realities of life, she would want to settle down. This slightly wild stage was for show. Annoy the old man, get all the fucks out of her system, and land in her suburban life with her slightly sordid stories of kissing a girl with cherry Chapstick to smile at while burping a colicky baby at 4:00 a.m.

  While I could certainly help her with a few of those things, I wasn’t the type to settle. Not for mediocrity, not for second best, not for life.

  I wasn’t an ass. Every girl I was with knew the deal. We could keep fucking, but that was the extent of our connection. Lena, however, would care.

  For the rest of the day, I planned my plated desserts for the holiday season. Notes of cinnamon and allspice, peppermint and marshmallow. Gingerbread. Lots of gingerbread.

  Sugar and chocolate occupied all of my thoughts as I tempered its finicky richness into a molded Christmas tree.

  By the time I resurfaced, the line cooks were already firing off butternut squash soups with frizzled leeks and a brown butter swirl and roasted Brussels sprout salads with bacon jam. The dinner rush had begun.

  I took today’s cakes out of the fridge to frost. Someone else could cut and serve. I needed out of this suddenly suffocating aluminum trap where Lena’s presence filled every corner.

  “Puck, could you come here?”

  Fuck.

  Lena.

  I untied my apron and washed my hands. “Yeah, what’s up?”

  Lena crooked her finger, and we watched out of the door’s window at the dining room. Even under the dim lights and black wood wall panels, the bright green, retro leather chairs and tabletop succulents popped. It was a beautiful design and I know Lena had more than a little to do with it.

  “See her?” Lena asked.

  I nodded. Who hadn’t? The woman was young and fashionable. Most of the men craned their necks to stare at her long mahogany hair and tight dress.

  “I have a hunch she’s an Instagram influencer. I’ve seen her around at a few openings and events. She’s asked to meet our famous pastry chef. It’d be good to leave her with a sweet taste in her mouth, but I can decline if you want to get out of here.”

  “And deprive her of my good looks and winning personality? Don’t worry, Boss Lady. I’ll handle her.”

  I slicked back my shaggy hair with a practiced hand and entered the buzzing dining room. Sophia would be thrilled. Candles flickered romantically, the music was soft, and the ambiance was perfectly romantic, yet upscale. They had done an amazing job building an atmosphere.

  The table of women were chatting over chocolate martinis about their dinner plans and the upcoming holidays. I put both palms on the table and smiled as I leaned over the busty brunette Lena had pointed out. “Did everyone get a taste of dessert?”

  All three of them giggled.

  “It was so yummy,” they raved.

  “But it barely compares to your own deliciousness,” I assured them.

  I knew exactly how to continue this night. A few more words, a subtle smile, and they would beg to spend the night.

  But the truth was, I didn’t feel like being with anyone tonight. Unless it was Lena. She was genuinely fun to be around and not for sex. It was unnerving.

  Okay, that was a lie, too. I wanted her for the sex, too. I wanted to brush her long, honey hair off her neck, tracing it back with my fingertips, and feel her shiver at my touch. I wanted to roll her shirt slowly off her shoulders, kissing the lines where her bra clung too tightly.

  I wanted to feel her body react to mine, molding against my skin, hot to the touch.

  I craved everything I couldn’t have.

  The ladies were saying something about a new nightclub in the Gold Coast. Maybe this was okay. Lena was probably right. Not only was pretending this marriage was something more than a drunken mistake detrimental to our friendship, but it jeopardized everything I’d worked hard to achieve.

  It was time to put my rusty Navy skills to work and shut down all emotions around Lena Beaumont.

  No flirting, no touching—better yet, I wouldn’t even look at her. Absolutely nothing after work, either. The days where we grabbed a drink after last service were officially over. If it hurt her feelings, well, that would be my cross to bear.

  Chapter Three

  Lena

  At this point, Sophia called every day. It sounded like her co-host for the cooking competition was really getting under her skin. She kept calling him Hawthorne Fucking West and slipped him into every one of our conversations. Despite what she insisted, I had the distinct impression this was about her wanting to literally fuck him rather than fuck him over.

  I was just about to hang up on her daily tirade when she suddenly asked about Puck.

  “Puck, uh, what?” I stuttered.

  “Puck,” she repeated. “Has he gone on any benders this week or was he actually at work?”

  “Puck’s great. No benders.” I felt the urge to defend him. “You know, I don’t think he’s as irresponsible as we always believed. I don’t think he even does drugs. Never seen any white powder on his nose or erratic behavior.”

  “Those aren’t the only markers,” Sophia said darkly.

  “He’s fine. Diners love him and he’s been in before everyone almost every morning this week.”

  “Seriously?” Sophia asked, disbelief in her voice.

  “Yeah, seriously. He’s great. Lighten up. We’ve got this. Go kick some Hawthorne Fucking West ass, okay?”

  I quickly hung up before she could give me another round of twenty questions I really didn’t want to answer. Sophia was lucky she was thousands of miles across the world or I would’ve made her do a rosé bong or three to loosen up. That woman needed to learn some work/life balance.

  Although, s
he’d probably say I was the one in need of a work/life lesson. Which was fair, considering I found myself at Sassafras later that morning, tangled up, crying in twinkly lights I’d very bravely retrieved from the damp, attic crawlspace, stressed to the max while Christmas carols played on the speakers.

  “You have yourself a merry little Christmas!” I shouted while shaking my lightbulb-covered fist.

  I was still upset about last night, which was crazy. It wasn’t my business who Puck took home. Although, three seemed a little excessive—even for Puck.

  Besides wasn’t I the one who paraded him out there, pointing out a hot girl and her friends and then telling him to be charming? How could I be mad? We weren’t even together. Okay, legally, yes, but that was just on paper. Puck could do whatever he wanted with all the whores of Chicago. Not my business. Sassafras was my business.

  I was barely sleeping trying to keep this ship afloat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat down and had an actual meal. At this rate, my first real meal would be Thanksgiving. We were booked solid, thanks to the rising buzz of Sophia’s co-host gig. I hoped we could convert it to regular customers to get us over the post-holiday slump. But that meant I needed to be on top of my game, and the only thing I regularly pictured myself on top of was Puck.

  The strands tangled around my ankles. I was going down. Which, of course, was when Puck walked in, early, again, wearing only a T-shirt and jeans but managing to look like a professional athlete on holiday.

  “What are you doing here?” I mumbled from under my arm.

  He froze. “Lena. I didn’t think anybody would be in yet.”

  Red and green burst in my eyes from the lights wrapping around my head like deadly vines. I tried standing, and they knotted tighter. “Yeah. I usually wouldn’t be, but I’m a teeny bit behind on my to-do list. Running Sassafras is more difficult than Sophia lets on. That woman is a machine.”

  Puck watched with a grin as I tried to win the Battle of the Christmas Lights. “You may be the boss of me, but you haven’t quite figured out how to boss those lights around. Want some help?”

  I tugged on the strands, mortified, then gave in. “Sure.”

  Puck bent down and began to quietly untangle me. It felt beyond weird to have this sort of tension between us. Our relationship had always been fun and flirty, and I adored it. Now, it was awkward and strained.

  Enough of this bullshit. I only knew one way to put an end to the weirdness. “Do you want to fuck this out now or later?”

  Puck stopped, strands of lights looped around his hands, and stared at me. I waited for what were supposed to be two full heartbeats before Puck burst out laughing, restarting my heart in the process.

  “God, I’d forgotten how awesome you are.”

  “Is that a now, then?”

  Puck pursed his lips. “Lena…” he trailed off.

  I was having a hard time reading him, and I hated that.

  “Well, you’ve been ignoring me for days! No, actually, you’ve been avoiding me completely. By the time I arrive, you’ve already made your desserts, plated a sample, and left for the day. What the hell? I miss hanging out with you. If this is about the annulment, I told you, let me handle the particulars. Sophia doesn’t have to know a thing. If this is about those women you took home the other night, then that’s something else.”

  “I didn’t…”

  Suddenly, Puck took my hands, bringing his nose to mine and waiting a millisecond. Like he was silently asking permission for the thing we both knew he was about to do. Then his lips were on mine, hot and sweet like his creations with just that little bit of edge that made them wildly decadent. As decadent as Puck himself.

  It was delicious.

  His hands were everywhere, and his tongue darted in my mouth, sending shivers down my spine. It was hard and deep, just as I imagined everything else would be. I grew bolder.

  “Mmm,” I moaned into his mouth, letting my fingers roam over his white T-shirt, feeling the cut of his abs.

  He responded by kissing me harder, moving down my silk shirt, rubbing the material across my stomach. This was happening. This was happening in a pile of red and green Christmas lights. God, I loved Christmas.

  Puck brought my body to him with one arm, the other wrapped in my hair, cradling my neck. Nothing felt better than his hard length confined between us. I could barely catch my breath at the idea of fucking him right here, in the entrance of Sassafras—this restaurant that I helped build. It was as hot as my wildest dreams.

  He slid a hand along my thigh, not quite going high enough in my opinion. My entire body craved him. Couldn’t he go a little higher?

  I urged him on with a deep, throaty voice I barely recognized as my own. “Puck.”

  His tongue found mine and we crashed together, all of my senses blitzed by the bright multicolored lights and the heat between us.

  Puck’s hands moved assuredly, knowing what he wanted. What I wanted. He twirled his tongue beneath my ear, dragging it along my jaw and into my mouth. I fantasized what he would do with it in my pussy, enjoying the rush of heat and blood down there.

  The front door slammed, freezing us in place.

  It was Jorge the fish butcher, in early to prep all of the seafood for the day. He came at 10:00 a.m. to filet and de-bone hundreds of pounds of fish for our tasting menu. I’d totally forgotten!

  We bounced apart as quickly as we possibly could while tangled in lights. Jorge only lifted an eyebrow. He waved his knife bag at us and went whistling to his prep station. Well, now everyone was going to know I wanted to wrap Puck up in my light strand.

  “Puck,” I began.

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think he saw anything.”

  I frowned. How could he have missed us? We were sprawled out in the middle of the floor, right in front of the entrance, and covered in twinkly lights.

  “Okay, he probably saw us, but Jorge is cool. He’ll only tell the other chefs at his station. Who will then tell the line cooks, who will then tell the sous chef, who will then tell the waiters… never mind.”

  I collapsed in a jangling heap of red and green. “I’m seriously dead. I can’t do anything right. I’m going to run this restaurant into the ground.”

  Puck gave me a huge grin. “Actually, I came to tell you something important, something that will change your mind and make you realize what an amazing manager you are.”

  “Why? What did I do?”

  “You hired me. I was contacted by James Beard. They put me in the running for Pastry Chef of the Year.”

  “Wow, that’s great! Sophia will be thrilled. It’ll bring in a ton of new business if you win. Don’t tell her I said this, but you should definitely talk about a raise. I’ll back you up.”

  “Sophia’s hard but fair. I’m not worried.”

  That was the thing about Puck. He never worried about anything. I don’t know if he’d ever worried about one thing in his entire life. Carefree mischief drove his days and reigned his nights. It was intoxicating, just like Puck himself.

  I hated the buttoned-up, regimented Puck who came back from Vegas. It was unnatural, like vegan food that tried to pass itself off as meat. I never understood that. If you’re a bean, be a bean.

  “That’s great,” I repeated. “Great. Well, I better get back to all this.”

  Puck caught my arm as I turned to leave. “Hey, Boss Lady. I was going to go check out some of the competition later tonight. The other Chicago nominee is in Lincoln Park. Care to join me? We can order every dessert on the menu.”

  I grinned. I didn’t care if it was under the guise of work. Puck Williams just asked me to dinner.

  I beamed brilliantly. “Pick me up at seven.”

  Chapter Four

  Puck

  There were some things you planned for and some things you just flung into the universe and hoped landed upright. Going on a date with Lena Beaumont was not something to be left to the universe. The woman was all class and sass, and she deserved to be wooed.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t a playbook for this sort of dating. You’re not supposed to get married and then go on a first date. I didn’t even call it a date, but that’s what it felt like.

  Flowers were too cliché and jewelry too forward, even for my soon to be ex-wife. I could bake her something, but I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, so I left my three-story walk-up in Ravenswood and caught the L-train to downtown, pondering.