King of the Kitchen (19 page)

Diffusing fraught situations was one of Beck’s specialties. He had ample opportunity to practice his diplomacy whenever Christian was around. His uncle was brash and opinionated, two things that didn’t mix well when other strong personalities like celebrity chefs and food critics were involved. Beck spent a lot of time smoothing ruffled feathers.

He reached out without thinking, resting a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. There wasn’t anything intimate about it—it was friendly, a gesture Beck had made with Campbell a hundred times before. But it caught Vincent’s attention, and his amused-but-beleaguered expression soured.

“So that’s how it is,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Duncan, I thought you were past that phase.”

Beck let his hand drop, but Duncan grabbed it and tugged him closer, until the only thing he could comfortably do was put his arm around Duncan.

“Phase? My fascination with deep-fat frying everything was a phase. My obsession with punk music was a phase. My sexuality
is not a phase
. You know that.”

Beck’s eyes widened as he watched Vincent’s cheeks begin to get ruddy. He looked halfway to a stroke.

Vincent scoffed. “Your sexuality? Please. We both know this is nothing more than a cry for attention, just like that busboy you—”

“You have no right to talk about that at all.”

“No right? It was my restaurant, Duncan! My employee! My goddamn walk-in freezer!”

Duncan seemed to sink into himself instead of lurching into the fight like he normally would, and Beck couldn’t help but think he’d never seen Duncan like this. Duncan was a bit shorter and quite a bit leaner than Beck was, but he’d never looked small before. Sitting here getting berated by his father was making Duncan
less
somehow, and Beck wasn’t going to let anyone reduce Duncan’s sarcastic and ebullient self into this.

“Am I to infer that were Duncan and I to tell you we were dating, it wouldn’t be a happy revelation?” he asked, his tone careful and bitingly polite.

Vincent turned his razor-sharp glare on Beck, but Beck didn’t so much as blink. He didn’t have any history with this man—Vincent could do as he pleased, and it wouldn’t affect Beck whatsoever. He’d dealt with bigots before, and while it wasn’t pleasant, he was secure enough in his own sense of self-worth that he wasn’t going to let someone like Duncan’s father tear him down. And he’d damn well do his best to make sure he didn’t get to tear Duncan down, either.

“This isn’t your business,” Vincent snapped. He dropped his napkin on the table and started to slide out of the booth. There really wasn’t a way to do that with dignity, and Beck allowed himself a tiny smile as he watched Vincent struggle to get up.

“It’s very much my business, sir, given that I’m the one you seem to think is dating him,” Beck answered pleasantly. “If there’s anyone at this table whose business it
isn’t
, I’d say it’s yours.”

Vincent was nearly purple by now, and there was no way other diners hadn’t noticed his raised voice. “I warned you if you didn’t stop with this foolishness I’d cut you out of the business,” he said, pointing a finger at Duncan.

Duncan flinched, none of his usual bravado surfacing. He’d heard Duncan go toe-to-toe with Vincent on the phone before, and he’d seen a lot more backbone than this out of him when they’d met up for racquetball. Beck guessed it was the topic that had Duncan so withdrawn. There was clearly a lot of history there, and while Duncan seemed to have no problem standing up for himself against Vincent when it came to his career and the kitchen, there was no sign of that here.

“Respectfully, not five minutes ago Duncan made it clear to you he doesn’t want to be part of your business. I’m starting to see why.”

Duncan snickered at Beck’s subtle jab, and Beck scooted as close as he could get, keeping his arm squeezed tight around Duncan’s shoulders.

Vincent ignored Beck, his gaze locked on Duncan. “I’ve excused a lot of things from you. Your attitude. Your insistence on getting a useless degree. Your love of whatever trend-of-the-moment is coming through the kitchens. But this isn’t something I can excuse, Duncan. You have to make a choice. Do you want me in your life or not? Because I won’t stand here and watch you throw your life away with trash like this.”

That got Duncan fired up. “You don’t get to call him trash,” he spat, regaining some of the color he’d lost when Vincent had started his rant. “You don’t get to call him anything. Beck is a better man than you’ll ever be, and I don’t want you talking about him at all.”

“He’s luring you into perversion—”

“It’s not a perversion to be attracted to someone of the same sex! It’s natural. It’s who I am,” Duncan said hotly.

Beck squeezed his shoulder, glad to see the Duncan he knew resurfacing.

“It is not who you are. It’s who you’re choosing to be because it makes the most waves at the moment. You date women, Duncan. Your dalliances with men are an abomination manufactured solely to spite me. I know you think I failed you as a father, and maybe I did. But going against God and nature isn’t the way to punish me for that.”

Beck choked on a laugh. It was inappropriate as hell to find anything about this amusing, but he couldn’t help himself. Vincent really thought Duncan’s attraction to men was some sort of revenge plot? Did he really believe half of the things that were coming out of his mouth? Sure, he’d read interviews here and there where Vincent credited his success to his strong faith, but somehow Beck had missed the right-wing Bible-thumping undertones. Christian referring to him as a zealot made so much more sense now.

Beck’s shoulders started to shake as he failed to keep his amusement under wraps, and a second later Duncan joined in. The two of them couldn’t stop, feeding off each other and Vincent’s apoplectic anger at their hysterical laughter.

“This is not a laughing matter. This is an affront to God—”

Someone must have complained, or maybe he’d been watching the table, expecting trouble, because Zane materialized and took Vincent by the elbow before Vincent could finish. “You’re either going to have to sit back down and be civil or go back to my office and cool down,” he said. “The middle of a restaurant isn’t the place for this.”

Duncan and Beck’s laughter trailed off, though Beck could see Duncan was still grinning.

“We’re done here anyway,” Duncan said, more cheerful than Beck had heard him sound all day.

“Circumstances being what they are, we won’t wait for the check. Please make sure our server and the bartender split whatever’s left,” Beck said, handing Zane two fifties to cover their drinks and hopefully make up for some of the hubbub they’d caused the waitstaff.

“Duncan, if you walk away, I won’t pursue you like I did last time,” Vincent warned.

Duncan scoffed. “Last time I was seventeen and living with you. I didn’t have a choice. But you know what? I do now. And I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to realize that. Good-bye, Vincent.”

He stood, pulling Beck behind him, and the two of them walked out of the restaurant. There were a few glances from curious patrons, and at least one person took their picture, but Beck didn’t care. He’d never considered himself much of an activist, though he’d had his photo taken for the NOH8 campaign when it came to town a few years ago, and there had been a few LGBT magazine features on him over the years that had turned a few heads and set some tongues wagging in the culinary world.

But the thought of seventeen-year-old Duncan dealing with the kind of vitriol Vincent had tossed at him tonight made Beck’s blood boil. He’d never experienced anything like that. All his run-ins with bigots and homophobes were limited to viewers who took offense at his sexuality or alpha males who wanted to make a point. He’d never even considered what it would be like to get that kind of reaction from your own family. It broke his heart. It also made him determined to start doing something about it. He had a little influence and a fair amount of money, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t put it to good use protecting kids from that kind of treatment. He couldn’t turn back time and save Duncan from his father, but he could help another kid in a similar position.

Duncan held his head high and kept his pace relaxed as they made their way out of the restaurant, but as soon as the valet brought Beck’s car, all of the fight and pride went out of Duncan, and he collapsed into the passenger seat in a heap.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into that,” he said softly. “Thanks for going along with it. I shouldn’t have implied we were dating, but when he jumped to that conclusion….”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry your father’s such an ass.” Beck reached out and grabbed Duncan’s hand, squeezing it hard before letting go.

Beck chanced a glance over at Duncan and was pleased to see him looking worn out but not beaten down like he had been when Vincent had started in on him.

“Is this going to cause problems for the show?”

Beck furrowed his brow, trying to sort out Duncan’s question. “Your father being a reprehensible homophobe? No, I don’t think so.”

Duncan’s shoulders slumped. “No. The part where he erroneously outed us as a couple to an entire restaurant.”

Beck laughed, even though there wasn’t anything remotely funny about this. It was like being stuck in a nightmare, though not for the reasons Duncan seemed to be worried about. “Are you kidding me? That’s going to be gold for ratings. Viewers are going to be thrilled our ‘bromance’ has turned into a romance.”

“Oho, the real reason for you wanting to fake date me comes out. You just wanted to make sure everyone stopped using that word,” Duncan teased.

“Yes. Forget that I’m hot for your nubile body and your acerbic wit. It’s because of that,” Beck said, his lips quirking up into a smile when Duncan reached over and smacked him. “Hey, driving!”

“I’m the sarcastic asshole in this relationship. You’re the pedantic asshole. Stop infringing on my milieu.”

“So we’re an asshole version of the odd couple?” Beck whistled. “I like it. Sounds like the perfect concept for a new show to me.”

“Ah, yes. Assholes in Love. Catchy. Though that might be more reality television fodder than a cooking show subject.”

It was closer to the truth than Beck liked. His crush on Duncan wasn’t dying off like he’d hoped. If anything, it was getting worse. Now that Beck had a better understanding of why Duncan was so oriented toward casual relationships, he couldn’t really blame him. If he’d grown up with a parent who openly hated his sexuality, he might have a hard time with dating and commitment, too.

Beck swallowed back all the words threatening to burst out of his mouth. This wasn’t the time to unload his feelings on Duncan.

“Should we stop somewhere to get something to eat? Now that my righteous indignation has worn off, I’m kind of hungry.”

Duncan laughed. “Oh, absolutely. We’re not too far from Sunrise Cafe. Let’s stop there and infiltrate the kitchen.”

Beck’s lips twitched. He hadn’t realized he’d been driving out of the city. He’d just been focused on getting Duncan away from that scene. “Will you make me eggs Benedict?”

“No way, buddy. I gave you the chance at my eggs Benedict once. It’s on you that you passed it up. Your loss.”

“You probably make it with McCormick’s powder in a kitchen that rushed. I doubt I missed anything life affirming.”

Duncan swatted him again, but Beck was braced for it this time. Without taking his eyes off the road, he caught Duncan’s hand and held it against his chest. He wasn’t trying to hold his hand. It was purely self-defense.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, trying to goad me into making it for you,” Duncan said.

“Did it work?”

Duncan pinched him, and Beck let him go, rubbing ruefully at his chest where Duncan had managed to get not only some skin but a healthy bit of chest hair too.

“That’s not a no. You’re totally going to make me eggs Benedict.”

Chapter THIRTEEN

STEPPING INSIDE
the back door of Sunrise Cafe felt like coming home. The second he slid his key into the lock, Duncan felt some of the tension that had been coiled in his stomach all evening release.

He’d texted John to let him know they were coming, and Duncan grinned when he saw a pair of his old chef’s whites hanging on a peg near the door.

“Still slumming it as Charlie, I see,” Beck said with a grin when Duncan pulled on the embroidered shirt.

“Maybe Charlie is my real identity and Duncan is the farce,” Duncan said. He couldn’t hide his smile when Beck buttoned it for him and smoothed the shoulders.

“You want something? John never throws anything out. I don’t think any of mine would fit you, but he’s bound to have a pair or two that would.”

Beck smirked and shook his head. “I thought you were cooking for me?”

Flirting with Beck was the perfect balm for how tired and angry his father made him. Usually, Duncan moped for hours, if not days, after a big blowup with Vincent, but tonight Beck had him feeling almost like his old self in no time. Duncan wasn’t sure if it was because having Beck by his side during the whole thing made him feel better, or if it was because there had been an air of finality to today’s fight that hadn’t been there before. Vincent certainly seemed like he was washing his hands of Duncan, and even if he wasn’t, Duncan was ready to cut the cord himself.

“Still want eggs Benedict, or should I fix you up two eggs over easy, bacon, and whole wheat toast?”

Beck gaped at him. “We haven’t had breakfast together before. How do you know my order?”

Duncan gave his hands a good wash and tied an apron over his jeans. He tossed another one to Beck, who obediently put it on. The kitchen was suspiciously empty, which probably meant John had sent whoever was on shift home, knowing Duncan would want to cook for a few hours. He wasn’t going to let Beck stand by and watch him—not that he thought Beck was any more capable of that than Duncan was himself. Being in the kitchen was kind of like a drug. A very addictive one at that. The pure joy Duncan got from spending a sweaty shift in a busy kitchen wasn’t something he found many other places.