Chapter Two

      Colby bobbled the tray, but to his credit, he managed not to drop it, which would have set the kitchen behind on making the demi-glace. Carefully sliding the hotel pan onto the steel worktop at the saucier station, Colby grimaced in Dom’s direction. “Sorry. Just...it looked like the espagnole was already working, and I know you use demi-glace on the veal cheeks dish, so I thought you’d want to get the brown stock going as soon as possible.”

      Completely disarmed by the fact that the kid was right, damn him, Dom gestured Colby back into line with the others with a short jerk of his chin. “When I give an order, I expect it to be followed. Instantly and without question.”

      He watched with interest as the younger man bristled for a moment, then got himself under control, angular face blanked of all expression. The only thing that gave Colby away was the visible clench of a muscle at the back of his sharp jawline.

      “Yes, chef.” Colby scooted back into line with the others, eyes cast down, but there was no power on earth that could make that kid look meek.

      A sidelong flash of the young chef’s blue eyes sent a hook into Dom’s loins and tugged. Hard.

      Clearly, Dom realized, there was only so far he was going to get by mentally referring to Colby as a kid.

      Get it together, Dom snarled silently. Turning on his heel, he folded his hands at the small of his back and paced the line of chef candidates as if they were a batch of raw recruits up for inspection. Which, in many ways, they were.

      “You are all here today because you impressed someone—either a boss who already works for one of Eva Jansen’s other restaurants or Ms. Jansen herself. You may be proud of yourself for getting this far. Don’t be. You may believe your past work entitles you to my good opinion. It does not. I don’t give a shit who you are or where you come from, who you trained with or who you impressed. Your only task now is to impress me.”

      He paused, his gaze touching on each candidate in turn as he assured himself that they all understood the obvious subtext: that Dominic Fevre was not an easy man to impress.

      “Here’s how it’s going to work,” Dom continued. “I will observe you on the line here in the Maison de Ville kitchen, every night for two weeks. That is how long you have to impress me, to convince me that you are the right man to helm Jansen Hospitality’s new restaurant.”

      Several of the candidates exchanged excited glances—some stared straight ahead as though tamping down terror. But Colby St. James jumped as if he’d put his hand down on a hot burner, that bowed, expressive mouth dropping open.

      “Something to say?” Dom clipped out, pausing in front of Colby and staring him down.

      The boy’s jaw snapped shut with a click, that muscle throbbing again in a way that made Dom wonder if Colby was grinding his teeth. “No, chef. Two weeks, heard.”

      “You have something more important to do?” Dom asked gently. “If so, please, feel free to leave now. And don’t come back.”

      “No, chef.” Colby didn’t drop his gaze for an instant, and Dominic felt reluctant respect burning through the haze of stifled desire.

      What was it about Colby? Dom was drawn to him as though invisible threads tied them together, tightening and pulling and wire-taut with tension. Without meaning to, he’d stepped right into Colby’s space, almost toe-to-toe, as if he were daring the kid to challenge him. Any other chef in this kitchen, Dom knew, would be backing down, hunching shoulders and trying to make himself smaller to escape the searing focus of Dom’s intense regard.

      But Colby St. James never seemed to do what Dom expected. No, this young man, who was here only because a friend of Eva’s had gotten him into the interview process at the last minute, didn’t hunch. He squared his shoulders and didn’t lower his eyes, and only by the quick rise and fall of his wiry chest did Colby betray any reaction to the tension that crackled between them.

      “Chef?” Colby muttered, so quietly Dom thought no one else in the kitchen could hear. “I’m not giving up. No disrespect intended. Your intimidation routine is kick-ass, but I’m in it to win it.”

      Dom realized exactly how long he’d been staring silently, looming over Colby and ignoring the rest of the candidates as if they were alone in the kitchen. Dragging his gaze from Colby’s ripe, tempting bottom lip, Dominic nodded briskly and stepped back.

      “All of you, report to Antonio,” he ordered hoarsely. “He’ll give you your line assignments for the day. Each of you will have the chance to show what you’ve got at the different stations. I expect any chef I recommend for the job of executive chef to be more than competent at every aspect of kitchen work, from prep to dessert. Maison de Ville will be open as usual. Do not embarrass me.”

      Good advice, Dom reflected as the chef candidates all but saluted before marching over to Antonio at the grill station. Dominic could stand to remember not to embarrass himself.

      A touch on his forearm turned the muscles there to corded steel. No one touched him in his kitchen. Ever.

      Even before he rounded on the offender, the spark of sexual electricity zinging up his arm told him who it was. Of course. Colby fucking St. James.

      “I think we got off on the wrong foot, chef,” the kid was saying confidently with a bright smile.

      “Let me give you a hint, Colby St. James.” Dom leaned in, close enough to feel that spark jump between them like static. “Failing to follow my orders for the second time in the first hour is not the way to impress me.”

      “Maybe not.” Colby’s lips quirked in a subtle smirk that shot straight to Dom’s dick. “But you know my name. I stood out from the pack.”

      That was true enough to make the hairs on the back of Dom’s neck stand at attention. “Standing out for having a smart mouth isn’t what most people want. I should throw you out of my restaurant right now.”

      Colby’s thin chest heaved once. “But you won’t.”

      “Why not?” Part of Dom truly wanted a reason.

      “Because.” Colby straightened his white sleeves, twitching them proudly over his scarred forearms, laddered with burn marks that told the story of a chef who had served his time and earned