Page 15

Chapter 15

Sawyer

“Haven’t you been paying attention to anything?” Sawyer barked at Shane at work the following day. She grabbed his wrist before he cut his fingers off. “You’re slicing onions, not playing the fucking cello! Fold your fingers in and hold the knife the way I showed you.”

“Sorry, Chef.”

Sawyer scowled, wondering if she’d made a mistake promoting him. If he hadn’t learned how to use a knife properly yet, then perhaps he was dumber than she’d first thought. There was no place for idiots in her kitchen. It was hazardous, and they were time-consuming to teach.

“I love this job, Chef. I’ll do better, I promise,” Shane added, and she noticed him anxiously watching her. He had to have learned something if he could read her body language so well.

“See that you do, Shane. Practice at home if you have to. I don’t want to see that” —she imitated him swinging the knife all over the place— “in my kitchen again. Understood?”

“Perfectly, Chef.”

“Good.”

Aware the kitchen had fallen silent, Sawyer turned to glare at the rest of her staff. “What? Does anyone have a problem with the way I run the back house?”

Usually, she at least pulled someone off the line before reaming them first, but if she’d waited much longer, Shane would have cut his fingers off.

“No, Chef. You’re the boss,” Leon replied, lifting his gaze from the salmon he was cleaning to meet her eyes.

Sawyer nodded in satisfaction. She turned to her rotisseur chef. “Micah? Any problem?”

“No, Chef,” Micah stated softly, unable to look at Sawyer.

Her gaze landed on Barb, who had stopped stirring the stew to frown at Sawyer. Before either of them could speak, Kelly called out Sawyer’s name from the kitchen’s entrance. “Our 2 p.m. interviewee is here.”

That brought on a new scowl for Sawyer, and she whipped around to face Kelly. “Cancel it or interview them by yourself.”

“Chef, we’re short-staffed and can’t afford to cancel interviews.”

“Then you sit in on the interview, Barb,” Sawyer said. She headed in the direction of her office. “I’m not in the mood for the guaranteed headache that will follow.” She needed another coffee. And maybe a new personality. She felt like she’d been slowly unraveling since Sunday evening. The heart-to-heart with Cindy and Lori brought back painful memories and parts of herself she’d set aside for so long. She was out of sorts—the morning prior was proof of that. Her throat and chest had been raw since McCoy had all but run from her house. Her stomach was still in knots, sour like she’d sucked on a dish full of lemons. The worst part was Sawyer couldn’t even look at McCoy when she’d shown up to work that morning . I still can’t believe I shoved her so hard.

There was a knock on her door, and Barb ducked her head in. It didn’t take a genius to see how upset her sous-chef was. “Chef, can I speak with you?”

“You know you can call me Sawyer, Barb.”

Barb nodded. “It’s not my job to give interviews, Sawyer. I’m not a head chef, nor do I want to be. I have enough on my plate managing the kitchen staff when you’re not here.”

Sawyer stiffened, her mind and body rapidly switching back to attack mode. Her voice was gravelly as she bit out hoarsely, “Then quit, Barb. Fucking quit. If you can’t handle the pressure, it’s high time I find someone who can.” With that, Sawyer pushed past her, leaving Barb to stand in her office alone.

Her cell phone was vibrating by the time she was heading back to her office an hour later. The two back-to-back interviews had been a complete waste of her time. She was beginning to doubt Kelly’s ability to find capable young people who wanted to work.

Sawyer snatched her phone out of her pants pocket just as she was entering her office. Bree’s face lit up her screen, inviting Sawyer to accept the video call. For a nano-second, she considered not answering it, but that just made her feel worse. She took a deep breath, closing her office door with a lot more grace than earlier. She collapsed into her swivel chair, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Hi, love,” she forced out once her daughter was live on-screen. The seriousness in Bree’s eyes had Sawyer sitting up in her chair. “Everything okay?”

“Did you really try to fire Barb?”

Sawyer tensed. Seriously, Barb, you phoned my daughter? To Bree, she tried for a smile, but even by force, it wasn’t happening today. “Bree, honey, I think Barb might have stretched the truth a bit.”

“She said you told her to quit twice so that you can find someone else more capable.”

A strained laugh slipped from Sawyer. She squinted into the phone, wondering how she could dodge this. Things must have been dire if her staff were calling her daughter. Sawyer’s heated discussion with Barb felt like days ago. “Surely she didn’t take me seriously.”

Had Barb quit? Sawyer hadn’t heard anything while in the interviews, and she’d been too busy rushing to her office to bother doing a head count of her kitchen staff.

“She didn’t, but she was worried you were serious. She’s concerned about you, Maman .” Bree blew a raspberry, the few strands of mocha brown hair in her face flying out of the way in the process. Her big brown eyes that were so similar to her father’s narrowed. “I think I should come home for the summer.”

“Come home? Haven’t you already started your summer job?” For reasons unknown, McCoy’s face was the first to come to Sawyer’s mind. She didn’t want the mechanic to be working on the McLaren if her daughter was visiting. Not after they’d come so close to—

“I did, but I miss you. It might be good for you too. I could help at the restaurant in the evenings and give you a break.”

“Bree, I …” Sawyer trailed off, hating how hopeful her daughter looked. She didn’t need anyone to come save her. The stress test was coming up tomorrow, but whatever the results were, she’d be fine. She was fine on her own, figuring life out post-Olivier. Her wounds were scarring over, some more concealed than others, but scarring all the same. She grimaced, lowering her gaze from Bree’s. “I think you should stay in California. A weekend visit before your semester begins is one thing, but giving up your summer for me isn’t what I want.”

“ Maman , I wouldn’t be—”

“It’s my decision. Please respect it.”

Bree’s face fell. She nodded. “Okay.”

They spoke for a while longer, but Sawyer didn’t feel any better by the time they hung up. She’d been hateful to everyone for the better part of two days, the reminiscence of McCoy’s thumb on her lip an endless torture from which she had no reprieve. The sensation of that strong body so close to hers made Sawyer quake with a need so ferocious it genuinely terrified her. She’d lost control then, and even though she’d managed to kick McCoy out, Sawyer still felt a staggering loss of power. She’d been taking her anger out on everyone but McCoy, too humiliated by her breakdown to admit it.

“Fuck that,” she stated loudly in the small office. Sawyer slapped her hands down onto her desk, pushing off them to get to her feet. Reaching for the buttons on her chef coat, she quickly changed into her day clothes. She’d never left work so close to the supper rush, and yet, nothing seemed more important to her in the moment than rectifying what happened with McCoy on her piano bench.

Sawyer didn’t waste time once she pulled into the packed parking lot of Miller’s Mechanics Sawyer was there to get it back. It was time someone put the playgirl in her place.

“Hey, ma’am, you can’t go in there!” the younger blond man shouted after her as she marched through the door adjoining the car bay and reception area. Sawyer ignored him and kept going, dodging the heavyset man named Chip as she made her way to where she’d seen McCoy the first time here.

“Gotcha,” Sawyer muttered through clenched teeth, zeroing in on her target. McCoy was wearing her coveralls and trademark neck bandana, likely to cover up all the hickeys she received each night.

Sawyer’s gut twisted more with the thought. Her steps faltered, one high heel wobbling on the oil-stained concrete. McCoy was standing underneath a sedan, her muscular arms stretched above her head as she worked on tightening a part. Sawyer’s breaths were shallow as she rounded on her, stepping right under the vehicle as well.

McCoy’s lush green eyes darted over in surprise. “Sawyer, what—”

“Stop,” Sawyer interrupted, and her chest heaved as she grabbed a fistful of Coy’s bandana to yank her closer. “Just … just stop talking.”

Somehow, just by looking at McCoy, all of Sawyer’s anger vanished. Before she knew it, she’d dipped her lips down and latched onto McCoy’s. The kiss surprised them both, but McCoy recovered first, melting into Sawyer’s mouth. There was a soft moan, and then the tool McCoy had been using clattered to the concrete floor seconds before strong arms wrapped around Sawyer’s waist.

Sawyer couldn’t breathe as McCoy’s mouth devoured hers, wholly unprepared for the onslaught of dizzying arousal flooding her senses. McCoy’s unique scent of oil and cologne was engulfing, melting every last defense she’d reinforced on the drive over. It was terrifying. Exhilarating.

And over far too soon.

“Sawyer,” McCoy rasped, gently pulling out of Sawyer’s grasp and snapping her back to awareness.

Sawyer blinked, dazed. Her legs felt like jello, not at all like she was going to march back out of the garage like she’d anticipated. She had planned to bring McCoy down a peg, not kiss her until they were both gasping for air. But when she’d reached McCoy, all Sawyer saw was the kindness and affection she’d come to expect and love. She loved how McCoy looked at her.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back, I’m sorry.” Remorse and misery overshadowed the usual flare of mischief in McCoy’s eyes, and she dropped her gaze from Sawyer’s. “I-I decided yesterday after you kicked me to the curb. I don’t wanna do this with you.”

“Do what?” Sawyer’s cheeks grew warm. Her heart was crashing against the walls of her chest for a reason unbeknownst to her.

McCoy bent to pick up the wrench she’d dropped. She still wouldn’t look at Sawyer as she replied, “Countless women have tried kissing me over the years, and I swear I’ve never made one feel like I felt yesterday. All you had to say was no, Sawyer.”

“I am ... You took me by surprise. I—” Sawyer clamped her mouth shut, not knowing what she was trying to say anymore and realizing anything right now would be voiced in frustration. McCoy was right, though. Deep down, the truth had been gnawing at her like a rotten tooth festering for too long. The way Sawyer had reacted the morning before had been out of character and, truthfully, downright humiliating on her part. Belittling McCoy in that way was akin to what Olivier used to do to her all the time. Since when had she become that person?

Mon Dieu. It was how she’d been treating everyone lately. What is wrong with me? Sawyer placed a hand over her stomach, the nausea returning with a vengeance now. A tingling sensation was causing an ache in her arm and chest, but she shrugged it off and wiped at the perspiration dotting her brow. “I am …” she began again, only to freeze once more. Her mind blanketed in a mist of brain fog, and she shook her head. Her throat was thick with emotion as she croaked, “I have to go.”

“Sawyer …” McCoy started to say, but she was already speed-walking out of the shop and into the fresh air. Perspiration soaked through Sawyer’s thin camisole and into her blouse by the time she made it back to her SUV. The pressing heaviness in her chest squeezed now, and her breaths were shallow as she fumbled with her car keys.

“C’mon, focus.” She gritted her teeth, reaching a trembling hand up to wipe the sweat from her eyes. Her whole damn body felt off, but she refused to go home. That Michelin star she and her staff were working so hard for wouldn’t earn itself. How would her team feel if she took the evening off after her episode earlier? Her near meltdown Sunday was having lasting effects.

Sawyer’s car keys slipped from her hand, and she clumsily went to pick them up. Dizziness washed through her, and she stumbled headfirst into the Rover.

“Sawyer!”

McCoy’s strong arms caught Sawyer seconds before she face-planted in the parking lot, lifting her in the air like some damsel in distress. Sawyer sagged against McCoy for about two seconds before she remembered herself.

“Put me down. I’m fine.”

She wasn’t sure that was true, but she’d be damned if she let McCoy see her weak like this. Sawyer wasn’t weak.

“You’re not fine. How long has this been going on?” McCoy asked gently, lowering them both to the ground. She didn’t let go until Sawyer was safely leaning against the Rover’s front wheel well. Sawyer stared at the mechanic through blurry, unfocused eyes, aware of McCoy’s calloused hand pushing strands of her damp hair off her cheek. “It’ll be okay, Sawyer.”

“It’s my friend. She collapsed but is conscious.” Sawyer’s gaze widened a little, and she watched McCoy speak calmly into her cell phone as she unlocked the Rover. “Yes, Miller’s Mechanics. 4580 No. 3 Road, Richmond.”

McCoy’s voice faded in and out as Sawyer struggled to remain upright. She was so tired, and her entire left side felt numb, but her eyes blinked open once McCoy was crouched in front of her moments later. She was rifling through Sawyer’s purse. “Yes, um, Sawyer Marie Lavoie. L-a-v- …”

Sawyer took slow, even breaths, concentrating on her soothing voice.