Page 158 of The Christmas Trap

There’s a gasp from somewhere in the room. I don’t dare look at the source. If I do, I’ll lose my nerve to allow the groundswell of complaints that I’ve held inside me all these months. Now that I’ve allowed them to pour out though, there’s no stopping me. It feels like I’ve pulled the pin on a grenade, and there’s no turning back.

"The only time you talk to me is to complain. In fact, I’m sure you only know how to find faults. And it’s not like you are perfect, by the way."

There’s silence now, and my words echo hollowly around the room. As for my boss, he’s gone rigid. Muscles bunched, shoulders rounded, biceps stretching the sleeves of his chef’s coat. He’s so annoyingly fit. For someone who spends most of his day in here cooking, perfecting the menu, and schmoozing the guests, he’s in annoyingly good shape. He must work out at night.

Maybe he’s like a vampire who never sleeps, but instead, sucks the spirit from his employees and thrives on them.

I begin to chuckle, then swallow it down. Only, he must catch the gleam of amusement in my eyes.

He tilts his head, a look of interest on his features.

It’s the first reaction I’ve seen since I embarked on this one-way ticket to getting fired. So, what the hell? I have nothing to lose. He’s certainly going to ask me to walk after this appalling breakdown. Might as well not hold back.

"You have a temper that clouds your judgment. And an ego that prevents you from admitting when you’re wrong." I toss my head. "And you surround yourself with people who say yes to you because they’re too afraid to tell you where you’re lacking."

Damn, that came out better than I expected.

His gaze widens.

Yep, that was impressive. Enough to have surprised this jerk. I should rejoice; except, with every moment, my spirit plummets. My adrenaline, which had spiked, now begins to recede. In place of that galloping sense of euphoria is a sinking hole… One that tells me how much I've screwed up.

Then he glances down to where I have my finger pushed into his chest. I’ve been deeply conscious of it and enjoying the feel of those brick-like planes shift. Too much, perhaps. I lower my arm. Take a step back.

It’s a first sign of capitulation, which he instantly seizes upon.

"Are you done?" he asks in a low voice.

One thing about my boss? When he gets upset, he becomes calmer, and his tone grows more casual. But the atmosphere seems to grow electric. I swear, I can hear rolling thunder, and dark clouds, and crackling lightning. Also, I can almost imagine the horns on his head lighting up. In fact, I’m sure I can smell sulphur in the air.

Those gray eyes are now colorless, like the ashes left behind after a fire. A fire that has consumed me and burned me to a husk. The hair on the back of my neck rises. Oh no.

No. No. No.I’m in so much trouble.

"I—" I look around the kitchen. Take in Leo, staring at me with his mouth open. One of the other line chefs stands over an open pot with a dripping spoon. The grill chef looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which, admittedly, I think I have.

The junior chef continues to film us. When I scowl at her, she hastily lowers the phone and slips it into her pocket.

"I— Um— I’m—"Not going to apologize.

I didn’t say anything wrong. If anything, I’ve only outlined how full of himself he is. How horribly he’s treated me and the rest of his team.

I set my jaw. "I’m not sorry for what I said."

His eyes widen. A flash of something—very much like lightning—flashes in his eyes. Those luscious lips part slightly. I do believe, I've managed to surprise my boss again. I should celebrate… Except, itfeels like this is my funeral. My stomach drops to my feet. Best to get out while I still have some pride intact. I pivot and race toward the exit that leads to the alleyway. I pull open the back door, and only when I enter, do I realize I’m in the walk-in fridge.

Harper

The door shuts after me. The noise from the restaurant fades. The light from the kitchen cuts off. The motion sensor kicks in, and the overhead fluorescent lights turn on. I should head out again and find my way out, but really, it feels so much safer in here. Maybe I’ll stay here and freeze to death? At least, I won't have to face Lucifer out there.

Slowly, I move to a far corner where there’s a sturdy delivery box. I wipe off the frost on it, then sink down. The chill begins to penetrate my skin. Damn. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea?

I pull my knees up to my chest, cross my arms over them, and rest my head on my folded arms.

That was so, so stupid. Why did I have to lose my temper? Why couldn't I have nodded along to whatever he said, then gone back to my life? Why did I give in to the bone deep exhaustion and allow my emotions to overtake me? I don’t have enough control over my feelings.

I take things to heart. And I have never been good at hiding my thoughts either. Ugh. And I thought I’d been doing so well. I lasted six months—six hellish months—as sous chef to the most infuriating boss in the world. I should get a medal. And a pay rise. And he should be thanking me for keeping things going whenever he's had to leave the restaurant suddenly for a few days.

Instead, he comes back twice as grumpy and with more of a ferocious temper. He seems determined to make me slip up so he can gloat at my mistakes. In fact, sometimes it feels like he’s angling for a reason to fire me. And I handed it to him on a silver platter.