King of the Kitchen (5 page)

Duncan tied his shoes with a flourish and stood, bowing to Sadie. She looked gorgeous in her silk gown, as she should. It was her night to shine, even if it was Christian King’s name on the restaurant.

“Shall we?” he asked, holding his elbow out for her to take.

She sent a quick text and slipped her phone into her clutch, taking his arm. “We shall. And you can wipe the smirk off your face, because Corbin carries a spare shoe shoeshine kit in his car. He doesn’t trust you to do it right, so he’ll be fixing your shoes when we get there.”

Damn.

“Are you sure I can’t wear the sneakers? No one’s going to give my feet a second glance if I’m standing next to your radiant beauty.”

She rolled her eyes. “No. Beck would have my head if you showed up in those shoes. Last time you wore something that ridiculous, half the stories the next day were about you and your tongue-in-cheek fashion sense and disregard for the culinary establishment instead of the opening itself.”

Well, they couldn’t have that. Duncan could only imagine the hissy fit Beck Douglas would throw if he got upstaged at his own opening. Not that the restaurant was really his—everyone knew he was Christian’s lackey. He was executive chef of Brix in name only. The menu had probably come from Christian, and all the decor and hard work had come from Sadie. It was more her restaurant than Beck’s, in Duncan’s mind at least.

He sighed in a put-upon way and bobbed his head. “It does get tiresome being the style icon for a generation,” he teased.

His penchant for quirky clothes and his laid-back attitude contrasted pretty sharply with the way Duncan ran a kitchen. The dichotomy, along with how far from his father’s traditional French food his own molecular gastronomy masterpieces were, had made him something of a media darling in the culinary press. Interest in him had started back when he was a teenager, since the story of Vincent mentoring his own son in his kitchens had apparently been a heart-warming one. Duncan didn’t see what was so inspiring about a man who’d been so obsessed with his career that he’d left the woman he loved and abandoned his child. He supposed it was the other side to it, that Vincent had seen the error of his ways and realized how empty his life was without his son in it (seriously, where did the press come up with this stuff?) and taken Duncan under his wing, welcoming him into the culinary family and publicly doting on him. That Duncan had been some sort of culinary savant hadn’t hurt, and before he’d fully understood what was happening, Duncan found himself the subject of media scrutiny and national interest, with gossip columns reporting on what he ordered when he went out to eat with friends, and food magazines clamoring for interviews every time he apprenticed in a new kitchen.

The media even viewed his long-standing status as a chef who couldn’t settle in a kitchen long term with indulgent affection; it was actually a bit sickening. His inability to commit to a relationship was painted with the same rosy brush. Duncan rarely dated anyone for more than a few weeks, which the press liked to jokingly point out was shorter than the time he spent guesting in most kitchens. More proof, they said, that like his father, Duncan put his career ahead of his relationships.

Actually, it was proof he couldn’t commit to anything. Not a person. Not a job. Not even a career, though by now he’d spent longer working as a chef than he had as a food scientist, so maybe that one had worked itself out.

So when several magazines had run two-page photo spreads on his unconventional gala outfit, with fashion industry “experts” weighing in on how refreshing his youthful brashness was and how they could see Duncan starting a trend of wearing Chucks with formal wear, he’d tossed his better judgment out the window and made a deal with the devil, aka his father. He’d let Vincent spring for an expensive tuxedo and all of the frou-frou that went with it, and in exchange Duncan would toe the line and act more like a dutiful son than a culinary rebel when he was out in public. It had served dual purposes; not only had it gotten the press off his back a bit, since Duncan wasn’t as interesting if he wasn’t rebelling against his father’s rules or sullying his reputation, but it also pleased Vincent enough that he agreed to publicly announce he and Duncan had agreed Duncan’s career would be best served if he apprenticed in other kitchens on his college breaks. No one had been willing to steal him away from Vincent until then, so it had opened up a lot of doors for him.

He was still wearing the same tuxedo now, though Sadie had insisted on updating the bow tie and vest with ones she insisted were more
en vogue
at the moment. Duncan hadn’t cared, preferring to let her dress him like a doll over having to listen to her arguments and weigh in on them.

Corbin was running around the restaurant when they arrived, uncorking wines and frantically tweaking the cocktails for the night. He was wearing a tuxedo very similar to Duncan’s, and Duncan privately thought the coordinated ties and vests made them look like groomsmen in a wedding. He was smart enough to keep that observation to himself. Sadie wouldn’t find it amusing, and Corbin was so disgustingly besotted with Sadie he’d probably tattle on him the moment the words left Duncan’s mouth.

God, he loved his friends. Even when they were forcing him to schmooze with investors and crappy restaurateurs—in freshly shined shoes.

“Are you sure I should be here? I’ve only met Beck Douglas once, and trust me, it didn’t go well.”

Sadie tsked at him. “You have every right to be here, Duncan. You’d have been on the guest list even if you weren’t a personal guest of mine. You and Beck are both culinary royalty, you know. It would have been very bad press not to invite you.”

“But not Vincent? If I’m royalty, isn’t he too?”

Sadie brushed off his question with an irritated wave of her hand. Her gown flowed around her like water, so obviously expensive Duncan knew she couldn’t have afforded it on her own. No doubt it was a perk of her new job as Beck Douglas’s latest Girl Friday, as Duncan liked to call her. She swore up and down that working for Beck wasn’t the nightmare Duncan was sure it must be.

“Everyone knows about the feud between Vincent and Christian, Duncan. Just like they know you and Beck are kinder, gentler versions of them.”

Duncan wrinkled his nose at the comparison.

“I’ve never met Christian, but if Beck’s the kinder version of him, then I think everyone should be very, very afraid.”

“Duncan, you met him once, and that was on a bad day. Would I really work for him if he was the ogre you claim he is?”

Duncan held her gaze and shrugged. “Probably, if the money was good enough.”

Sadie huffed, and Duncan grinned. He hadn’t seen much of Sadie or Corbin in the last few months since they’d been working feverishly toward Brix’s opening. Looking around, Duncan felt a swell of pride at the knowledge that Sadie was responsible for the opulence surrounding them. She’d spent tireless hours working with interior designers and contractors to get the front of the house in order, since Beck was so focused on the kitchen and menu. He’d had to sign off on everything, of course. But ultimately the attractive, efficient dining room and flawless service were down to Sadie’s skill as a manager.

The restaurant was essentially a wine bar that offered a full complement of upmarket food, though Duncan hadn’t been impressed by anything that had come by on the opulent silver trays yet. It had all been predictably trendy fare, well executed but still boring. The true star of tonight’s opening was the wine, which was no surprise. Corbin had done a spectacular job as Brix’s sommelier, putting together a well-rounded wine list that was both innovative and exciting.

For the opening party, Corbin had worked with JT, the head bartender, to create tasting flights of wines and beers that went up a graduated scale of sweetness, playing on the restaurant’s name since the term “brix” referred to the scale used to measure a beverage’s sugar content. Duncan had enjoyed both of the offerings immensely, even though he usually hated the pretentious flights most trendy places served.

“Are these going to be on the permanent menu?”

Sadie shrugged, following Duncan’s abrupt change of topic easily. They’d been friends since college, and Duncan was well aware it took a special kind of person—namely one with deep wells of patience—to be friends with him that long. John was the longest-running, but that was because Duncan had claimed him as a pseudobrother in kindergarten.

“I think so. We’re using plastic cups tonight, but Corbin had me put in an order for some mini sommelier beakers I assume are for wine and beer flights. They’re really cute.”

“Sounds like they’d go well with the decor too.”

The entire place was done up like a prohibition-era speakeasy, a theme that could have been overdone to the point of being trite, but Sadie and the rest of her crew had managed it admirably.

“I picked them because they had a kind of alchemical appeal,” Sadie said with a giggle. She shot Duncan a sly glance, and he wouldn’t be surprised to find a few of those beaker-style wine glasses showing up in his Christmas stocking. He’d met Sadie in a freshman-level chemistry class his first day on campus, and they’d been best friends ever since. Every holiday she managed to sneak in at least one chemistry-related present to further their inside joke, and the beakers would be perfect. Duncan kind of hoped she did steal a few for him.

“I do love what you’ve done with the place,” Duncan said, stepping in close to speak near her ear, since the roar of conversation around them made it hard to hear each other.

“I did all the ordering, yes, but the whole concept was Beck’s,” Sadie gushed, and Duncan almost groaned out loud. Sadie and Corbin were both head over heels for Beck Douglas, and Duncan couldn’t understand how two otherwise good judges of character had fallen so hard for someone who was such a jerk.

It had been almost nine years since Beck had wandered into the Sunrise Cafe and had his ego explosion, but the indignation was still fresh in Duncan’s mind. It was hard to reconcile the bitter, angry man he’d talked to in the diner with the suave, charming Adonis on television, but Duncan knew better. Sure, he’d left a huge tip for the waitstaff, but that was probably more of an indication that he was accustomed to buying people off because of his bad behavior than it was a tick in the nice-guy column.

“I’m sure,” he said, taking another sip of the beer in his hand.

“It was, Duncan. Christian gave him the basic outline of what he wanted, but Beck really made it all come alive. You should have seen the original menu. You’d have loved it, it—”

“Tut, tut, Sadie. Don’t share insider secrets with the enemy,” a cultured voice said from over Duncan’s shoulder. He didn’t have to look to know it was Beck. He sounded just as charming and posh as he did on television.

“I don’t see how an unemployed sous-chef is your enemy,” Duncan snorted, taking another long sip of his beer. He needed to keep his mouth occupied before he said something he couldn’t take back. Beck might be an epic asshole, but he was a very attractive one. His silky voice did things to Duncan he didn’t want to admit, which was one of the reasons he kept watching the show. That and the fact that on-screen, Beck was a fabulous guy. He was open and friendly and easy for the guests to talk to, exactly the opposite of Duncan’s real-life experience with him. It intrigued him, like Beck’s simple food order had.

“I don’t see a sous-chef here,” Beck said, making a show of looking around. “All I see is culinary prodigy Duncan Walters.”

“I wasn’t such a prodigy when you were shoving a plate of eggs Benedict in my face at a diner a few years ago,” Duncan answered with a challenging tilt of his head. He could see the moment Beck put it together.

“Charlie, wasn’t it?”

Duncan grinned, delighted. “I had quite a few sets of whites, and none of them had my name on them. Kind of like wearing bowling shirts from thrift stores. Ironic.”

“Ironic,” Beck echoed, looking perplexed. “Like slumming it in a sketchy diner?”

“I like the ambiance,” Duncan said easily. It was a familiar jab; anytime a chef found out Duncan liked to spend time as a line cook occasionally, they made a point of turning up their noses at it. Duncan didn’t see why; he’d gotten a lot of practical experience at the Sunrise Cafe over the years. Certainly more than he had in the ritzy kitchens he’d cooked in before he’d started garnering attention.

Sadie cleared her throat, edging herself between the two of them. Duncan hadn’t even realized how close they’d gotten to each other while they’d been trading insults.

“Beck, I don’t know if you’ve formally met Duncan. Duncan, this is Beck,” she said, an undertone of warning in her voice. “This is his restaurant.”

“It’s very nice,” Duncan said tightly, earning an approving nod from Sadie for at least trying to be civil.

Beck didn’t take the same cue, though. He was holding himself so rigidly upright that Duncan was tempted to check and see if the crisp navy-blue three-piece suit he was wearing still had a hanger in it. The great Beck Douglas was apparently too suave for a run-of-the-mill black tuxedo. Not that it would have helped him blend in—someone as attractive as Beck would have stood out no matter what he was wearing.

“Have you landed at a restaurant yet, Duncan? I hear your father is eager to get you on at one of his. Though I’m not sure how much of a step up they’d be from the dive diner.”

Unlike Beck’s first insult, this one did manage to strike a nerve with Duncan, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to remain impassive. He was sure Sadie knew how much the taunt had affected him, but she didn’t do much more than ease a fraction of a bit closer to him, her silk sheathe dress brushing against his hand, warmed by her skin. Duncan wasn’t sure if she meant to comfort him or to remind him they were in Beck’s restaurant—Beck who was her
boss
—so he shouldn’t make a scene.

Duncan pursed his lips, bringing his hand up to stroke his jaw thoughtfully. “Vincent’s restaurants are dives? What does that make this place, then? He has more Michelin stars at his flagship restaurant than all Christian’s places combined, and Christian has a hell of a lot of restaurants. What does that tell you, hmm?”