The Anatomy of Jane (19 page)

“If we’re going to die, at least we got sex out of it,” Max said, joining in on the madness.

“You both are crazy!”

“Through forty questions, you will see how crazy,” Wes replied.

“Fine, but I start,” I said, sitting up in between them. “Wes…shit. I can’t think of anything.”

“Okay—”

“No, wait.” I held my hands up and they both laughed at me. “Okay, what makes you frustrated, bored, and unfulfilled?”

“Cheating, that’s three questions.” He frowned.

“No, there is a comma between each adjective.” I crossed my arms.

He looked to Max who just nodded, and I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt.

“Fine, but remember I know how to use a comma too.”

“You’re stalling,” Max replied.

“What makes me frustrated? There are too many buttons on clothes. When am I bored? When I’m not using my hands to cook or fuck. What makes me unfulfilled? I don’t know… Unseasoned food, a bad fuck.”

Shaking my head, I turned to Max. “What do you dream about?”

“Sex,” he answered, making Wes laugh.

“Guys, all of your answers are about sex!”

Wes nodded. “We’re men. What were you expecting?”

“I hate this game,” I muttered to myself.

Max looked to Wes. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Jane Chapman, who is more handsome?” he asked with a wicked grin on his face. Max raised his eyebrow as if daring me to say ‘Wes’ instead of him.

“David Beckham.” I was not falling into that trap.

“What—”

“Next time, be more specific, and no Max, you cannot ask the same question.”

His jaw cracked to the side. I could tell he wasn’t used to being bossed around by a woman. “What is your greatest fear?”

“Being forgotten. My turn.” I didn’t want to dwell on that. “Wes, who was your first crush?”

“Diana Bancroft,” he said without hesitation, and even Max was shocked by that. “In our seventh year, she came back with these massive tits. I’d never had to hide a boner for so long in my life. She was my first shag, too.”

I wanted to smack him. Instead, I focused on Max. “What are your favorite hobbies? Note the answer should not involve sex or anything sexual.”

He actually had to think…like really
think
before saying, “Flying I guess, or collecting cars.”

We went back and forth, laughing at each ridiculous answer. I learned that Max had his eyebrows shaved off by his cousin Irene who then tried to draw them back on. Wes drove on the wrong side of the road a few dozen times when he first came to America. He was also an adrenaline junkie. Max hated olives. Wes loved seafood and especially fishing for it himself. Max was actually a skilled marksman and took up fencing in high school. Rich people.

Everything felt simple and easy, fun even, until it got to Wes’ turn and he simply asked, “Why haven’t you told us how much you owe the loan shark or drug dealer or whatever?”

The question was so random and so sudden that I froze, too shocked to answer.

“Jane?”

Running my hand through my hair, I forced myself to smile even though I didn’t want to. “We just got started, so I’m in no position to ask for money.”

“You’d rather take a beating?”

“Guys—”

Max cut me off. “My turn. How much is the debt?”

“I’m going to take a shower.” I moved to get up, but Wes pulled me back, hovering over me.

“I told you, nothing upsets me more than when the people I care about get hurt. It’s even worse when I can’t do anything about it. I love seeing you smiling and I remember just days ago your face was bruised. Do not make either of us go through that again, please?”

Why? Why did they care so much? Why couldn’t we just—

“Jane? We’re not asking again,” Wes demanded, and because I had somehow become a much weaker person since meeting them, I gave in.

“Two hundred and ten thousand.”

Chapter Twelve

“Eat it.”

He sneered through his teeth while his whole body hunched over. Rage was rolling off him in waves. I’d never seen him like this. In fact, the man I knew in my mind to be Wesley and the chef in front of me now seemed like two very different men.

The short woman next to him, shaking in terror, turned to the plate on the counter beside her before reaching over to take a forkful of rice, scallops, and fish. The whole kitchen was completely silent; it felt like they were all holding their breath—hell, even I was, and I wasn’t entirely sure what the hell was going on. I couldn’t look away from her as she chewed and chewed until she pausing and making a face. Reaching into her mouth, she pulled out a long, thin fishbone. When she did, a few other people in the kitchen grimaced, but not Wes; he just stared her down.

“What is that?” he asked her, eerily calm.

“A bone, Chef.”

“Are bones edible?”

“No, Chef.”

“Are you or are you not the
poissonier
of my kitchen?”

“I am, Chef.”

“THEN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!” He grabbed the plate and threw it across the kitchen. It shattered on impact with the rice and fish flying everywhere. No one else was surprised, but I couldn’t help but jump.

“I made—”

“Get out of my kitchen, or I’ll throw you out!” He leaned forward to hiss in her face, and she took her apron off quickly, leaving it on the counter before running out the back.

He turned back around to face the rest of the staff. Like a drill sergeant, he moved to this next victim, an older man with a bandana on his head. The man looked up but didn’t say anything.

“I should have made you taste it, too, because you made the sauce. The sauce, the sauce I taught you how to make, a sauce I’ve watched you make dozens of times, tasted like SHIT!”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Yes it tasted like shit, or yes you know you made a mistake?”

He swallowed. “I didn’t have time to—”

“Go home, Alexander. Come back when your head isn’t up your own goddamn ass!”

“Yes, Chef.” He also took off his apron and left.

“What do I hate?” he asked the rest of them.

“Apologizing to customers,” his army answered as one.

“What don’t I tolerate?”

“Bad chefs,” they replied.

He took off his apron and threw it on the table. “Think about that while I’m out there apologizing to a sixty-year-old woman over fish, you fucking cunts.”

It was only when he left that they all seemed to breathe again. One of them even rested on her knees as if she had just run ten miles.

“I thought you guys said he was in a good mood the last couple of days, Nicklaus?” a woman muttered.

A tall man with pulled back hair went back to his pan with a small grin on his face. “He was pretty tame to me. Last time he actually grabbed the pastry chef by the collar and threw him out.”

I snickered at that. Here I thought Max was the asshole of the two, but apparently Wes shared that trait with him.

“Who are you again?” the woman asked, her brown eyes curious. When she asked, they all focused in on me like they had completely forgotten I was there.

“I’m a friend of Wes’,” I said, which only made them share a few looks among themselves before she nodded.

“Are you a cook?” she pressed.

“Stop being so nosy, Abbey!” Nicklaus smiled while shaking his head.

“Are you really a chef?” another guy asked. He was much younger and had been relegated to stacking plates in back.

“No.” I shook my head. We still hadn’t come up with how to describe me yet, but I was going a little stir crazy staying in the penthouse so Wes offered to take me out for the night while Max rushed to work. “I’m just a friend.”

“Better mood friend?”

“Abbey!” Nicklaus snapped at her, and she just grinned and winked at me.

Nicklaus glanced up at me and his eyes drifted up and down my body. For a second, I thought he was checking me out until a frown appeared on his lips. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. He didn’t like me.

Interesting!

“Nicklaus, I need salmon,” Wes commanded when he walked back into the kitchen and put his apron back around his waist.

Immediately Nicklaus moved, grabbing something that was like tiny tweezers and heading to a massive refrigerated walk-in closet. Wes moved around the kitchen grabbing ingredients before stepping up to the stove. He glanced up at me and mouthed,
Sorry
.

I’m fine,
I mouthed back, shaking my head. It was actually nice seeing him at work, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so either. Slowly everyone stopped what they were doing to watch him.

He thinly sliced green onions so quickly that I blinked and they already were done and moved to one side of the chopping board. Next were the garlic cloves and then some leafy greens. It looked like spinach, but I wasn’t sure. He never took his eyes off the food in front of him, and he never wasted a single moment. He was quick, elegant, and meticulous.

“Salmon.” Nicklaus came on over, placing it to the right of him.

Wes didn’t look up. He tasted the brown sauce he had made sometime between when I had looked from him to Nicklaus and back.

“Bourbon,” Wes asked, hand outstretched. In a flash, it was in his hand and he rubbed it onto the fish.

It was then that I saw it, the look on Nicklaus’ face when Wes smiled, satisfied with whatever he had created.

He likes him.

“Chef, I can take over—”

“No. I told her I’d personally bring the dish out.” Wes cut him off, staring at the stove.

It took him less than ten minutes to prepare the dish, including the time it took him to decorate the plate. When he was done, he placed the dish on the palm of his hand to avoid fingerprints and walked out. When he was gone, Abbey and a few others rushed to taste the remaining sauce.

“Ahhh,” Abbey moaned while licking her spoon. “This makes it all worth it.”

“Eating?” I laughed.

“Chef Uhler has been awarded three Michelin stars for the last six consecutive years,” she replied, but I had no idea what that meant.

“Is three good?”

They all froze and stared as if I were an alien.

“Three is God,” Nicklaus snapped at me. “At last count, there are only fifteen Michelin star restaurants in this country. Six in New York, five in California, two in Chicago, one in Las Vegas, and one here in Boston, Chef Uhler’s Wes Hill. Eating his food is an honor. Working here is an even bigger one.”

I think I was just schooled.

“Would anyone else like to fuck up this evening or am I free to go?” Wes came back, completely oblivious. The cooks around what was left of his dish scattered like rats, moving back to their stations.

“We’re good, Chef,” Nicklaus said to him as he walked over to me, placing his hand on my back—which I was sure Nicklaus and everyone else noticed.

“Very good then.” Wes took off the chef’s coat he was wearing. He then grabbed the jacket I had forgotten I was holding for him, took my hand, and led me out the back. “Goodnight, kitchen.”

“Goodnight, Chef,” they called back.

Outside I shivered at the change in the air. Smiling, I backed away from him and bowed.

“I was not aware I was in the presence of a god.”

“I would have told you, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you with my magnificence,” he replied, spinning me around and pulling me closer.

“I now understand why you are so cocky. All of those people bowing down to you, day in and day out. You enjoy it, don’t you? Right,
Chef?
”

He pinched my sides as we walked, causing me to giggle so hard I snorted.

“Ms. Chapman, are you ticklish?”

“Don’t.” I backed away.

A wicked grin spread across his face.

“Wes, no.” I laughed, running away, and he caught up to me with ease before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. I couldn’t stop laughing as he spun me around. “I surrender!”

“You surrender far too easily for my liking, Ms. Chapman,” he replied, setting me back on my feet.

Trying to put on my best fake British accent, I lifted my head up and said, “It is merely a surrender to fight another day, for thy will rue the day thou made me snort.”

He laughed, so hard there were tears in his green eyes. “Rue? Thou? Are you trying to be British or Shakespearean?”

“Shakespeare was from Britain.” I shrugged.

“Very well. As such, I must ask will thy most beautiful of all maidens accompany me on a walk?” he asked, giving me his elbow.

“If it pleases thou.” I nodded, linking arms with him.

“I'm glad I got to see you in your natural habitat,” I said, leaning into him.

“My natural habitat.” He nodded, agreeing.

“Your staff really like you,” I said.

“You mean Nicklaus?"

“Didn't mean any one person. Wait, you know?”

“Of course I know. I'm not as dense as Max,” he replied. “He's never let it interfere with his work, and I benefit also.”

“Him having a one-sided crush benefits you how—other than making you feel good about yourself?”

He pouted. “I'm not that conceited.”

“I believe you—ahh,” I replied as he tickled my sides again. “Okay, okay.”