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Well, I won’t argue with her there. “This kitchen is very safe. I promise. Besides, I could use a sous chef, and you’re the perfect candidate.”

“Really?” he asks, his blue eyes shining with happiness.

“Really,” I promise.

In a flash, his arms are wrapped around me, hugging me tight. There’s a sort of awkwardness in his touch that makes me think he doesn’t do this very often. Or maybe he’s never been taught how at all. After the smallest moment of hesitation, I hug him back, squeezing him hard enough that he knows I feel the same as he does.

We might not share a familial connection, but I’d love to participate in Tobias’ life in whatever way he wants. After almost a decade on my own, I’d be happy to start building a little makeshift family of my own.

“What the fuck?”

I look up to see Greyson staring at us with a mixture of horror and confusion in his eyes. Did I cross a line with his son without meaning to? With a tight smile, I disentangle myself from Tobias’ arms and glare up at Grey.

“Your son came for an unexpected visit today.” I’m not bothered that he has a kid, but I’m furious that I didn’t hear about it before fuckingAurélie Dupontthrew him into my kitchen to fend for himself. Now I just want to smack both of them for being terrible parents and letting their son get caught in the middle.

“Flores, wait for me in my office,” he commands without indulging my obvious irritation at all.

Flores. He has some fucking nerve. “No.”

“Don’t push me right now, Angélica,” he sighs. “Let me take care of Tobias. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“And we’ll talk?” I ask, glancing over at his son. “I need you to give me a little more than orders and vague excuses right now.”

He holds my gaze. “I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Fine,” I concede after a long, uncomfortable pause. I turn to Tobias, hating the disappointment in his blue eyes. “I enjoyed cooking with you today. Come visit whenever you want—the kitchen is always open, little chef.”

“Thank you, Angélica,” he answers, pronouncing my name far better than Greyson did the first time.

“You sure he’s your kid?” I ask with a laugh, hoping to cut through the current tension. “Already fluent in multiple languages, so he must get it from his mother.” Grey just stares at me, his jaw clenched tight. Sore subject, then.

“I’ll see you around, Tobias. Tell your mother she should let you in the kitchen. You’re a natural.”

“Office,” Grey grits out like he’s slowly losing his patience.

“Goodbye, Angélica,” Tobias calls as I start to stomp toward Grey’s office as commanded.

“You know what, Tobias?” I turn around, shocked at the sight of the two of them side by side. He’s like a mini shadow of his father. “You can call me Angel.”

Chapter Forty

GREYSON

Ican’t believe she brought him here. To my restaurant. To my fuckingkitchen. The kitchen is sacred ground, and she defiled it with her lies like she always does. I should have seen this coming—the venomous little viper I never had the strength to put down coming back to bite me. I don’t know what kind of twisted game the conniving bitch is playing now, but I can guarantee she won’t win.

I look down at the boy who I’ve never seen in person, conflicted by the feelings coursing through my heart right now. The resemblance is even more startling up close, his bright blue eyes nearly the same shade as mine. His hair is darker than mine, that cool tone of black that almost shines blue in the light. His mother even dressed him in black, like she wanted her own version of me to torment. I can only hope she’s offered him a little more mercy than she offered me.

It was the biggest shock of my life to see Tobias in the kitchen with my girl. His arms were wrapped around her, and she was hugging him right back. I wonder if she even noticed how she didn’t flinch away from the softness of his touch? How shemelted right into his hold like it was the most comfortable thing in the world. That will be yet another thing to discuss with her once I get this shit over with.

My eyes fall on the kid again, and this time he catches me staring. “I’m Grey,” I say, not sure how to start this conversation.

Has she told him that I’m his father? Does he know my history with his mother? I’d guess that whatever she told him—whether it was truth or lie—she did it to indulge her own selfishness. None of this is his fault, but I’m afraid he’ll shoulder some of the blow anyway. I’ve protected him by keeping away and staying silent. Now that she’s brought him to my door, I can’t do either anymore.

“Oui,” he answers, his voice soft.

“Préfères-tu le français?” I ask, knowing I’m fluent enough in French, if that would make him more comfortable.

“Tout ce que tu veux,” he retorts with a shrug.