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I bite down on my bottom lip and imagine all the filthy things I could do to her right now. “It is when you do it.”

Without waiting for a response, I grab her hand and tug her out of her chair before dragging her in the direction of the kitchen. In spite of having aged ten years since I was a young chef competing for the position of a lifetime, the Dix kitchen is just as pristine as it always was.

I’ll never forget the awe of walking into this kitchen on my very first day and seeing the shiny luxury of every piece of equipment, every pot, every knife. I still have the original set of knives I was given when I was number nine out of ten in a vicious culinary competition for sous chef at Dix.

I’ve come so fucking far since then, butsometimes I like to remember the boy who came into this kitchen with nothing more than arrogance, unapologetic determination, and the smallest spark of hope. I only lost one of the three by the time I won sous that fateful summer, but Angélica has helped me gain it back slowly. If she’d been at my side then, I wouldn’t have lost it at all.

The kitchen is almost clear, the staff at Dix far more efficiently trained than ours at Grey’s. I hear Javi before I see him, his boisterous voice booming across the whole room. “Still slacking off in the kitchen, One? I thought I taught you better than that,” I tease. Javi was number one out of ten in the Dix competition, and I think he still secretly holds a grudge for coming in second to me. I kept him around because his flavors are brilliant, and we eventually became friends rather than enemies.

“Nine is in the house,” Javi whoops, bounding for us like an excited puppy with too much energy before throwing his arms around me. “I’ve missed you,cabrón. You’ve been gone way too damn long.”

I pat him on the back before gesturing toward Angélica. “You have this one to thank for my extended absence. She hasn’t let me out of her sight. But I finally decided it was high time I introduced her to Paris.”

“I can see why you got so distracted,” Javi replies, his eyes roaming over Angélica’s luscious curves with a little too much appreciation. “I’m Javi, Nine’s more talented and attractive best friend.”

“Angélica,” she answers with a small smile, polite enough to excuse his shitty jokes.

Javi’s face lights up when he hears her accent. “De dónde eres, bebé?”

Angélica shoots me a smug grin because she knows how much I hate to be left out of the conversation when she switches to Spanish. And yes, I am aware of the irony because I useFrench to alienate people in my kitchen. It’s a flaw I’ve been trying to work on ever since she pointed it out.

“Colombia,” she responds.“Y tú?”

“Cuba.”

“Cómo llegaste aquí?”

“Igual que todos. Alguien se arriesgó conmigo. Qué haces con este hijo de puta?”

I’ve learned enough Spanish to know Javi is being a dick right now.

“Él me rogó que lo amara y sentí pena por el pobre bastardo.”

And I’m fairly certain whatever she just said isn’t a compliment either.

“Hey, no weaponizing Spanish in the kitchen. I still have seniority over you all, and I’ll pull rank on both your asses.”

“Qué princesita tan sensible,” Javi quips while giving me some serious side-eye.

Did he just call me a fucking princess? In what used to bemygoddamn kitchen? Angélica just earned herself a spanking for being a bad influence—and because I fucking feel like it.

“Verdad? Qué tenso,” Angélica teases back.

“Angel,” I snarl, “you better behave, or you won’t be in for a fun night when we get to the hotel.”

“Fine, fine, I’m done.For now,” she warns. “So what’s with you two and the numbers? Still can’t get over a cooking competition that happened a decade ago?”

I frown as I look down at her. “How did you know about the Dix competition?” It isn’t common knowledge unless you happened to be living in Paris ten years ago when it was all anyone in the city could talk about.

“I entered,” she answers with a shrug, giving both Javi and I a shock.

“Youentered? How did I not know this?”

“It never came up. And you never asked. I almost made it in.”

I feel the blood in my veins start to chill. “What do you mean youalmost made it in?”

I’m reminded of something a cunning little blonde said a long time ago when she was ripping out my heart. I’ve tried to forget everything about her, but some things still cling to my memories like dark stains that can’t be wiped clean. That backstabbing bitch was number ten in our group all those years ago, her prep station right next to mine. We’d been thrust together like some cruel twist of fate, but it turns out she was never meant to be there at all.