Jordan POV
The next day, I got to the restaurant earlier than usual. I silently congratulated myself: forty-five minutes ahead of time, as if that could make up for the disaster of the other day.
The door was still locked. I rang the bell and waited, hoping it would be Chef Adam who came to open it. My mind was wandering, jumping from thought to thought, when I heard the latch. The door opened, and there he was. And, as if the universe had it in for me, the image of him shirtless came rushing back into my head. My cheeks burned instantly.
"Good morning," he said, with a half-smile. Had he noticed the blush? Of course he had. And worse, he probably even guessed the reason.
"Good morning," I mumbled, stepping inside as he moved aside.
"You're early."
"Yes." That was all that came out. Brilliant, Jordan. What a fine display of your vocabulary. Focus. Stop thinking about your boss without a shirt on. I swallowed hard and, for a few seconds that felt like minutes, we just stared at each other.
"Are you feeling better? Margaret said…"
Ah, Margaret. Melissa's mother, who not only held me hostage in bed but also called Adam herself. Naturally—they had some old, almost family-like connection.
"Yes. She didn't let me leave," I rushed to say, feeling the need to justify myself. "I'm sorry for—"
"Forget it," he cut in, curt. "Since you're early, you can help me prep for service."
The voice was firm, almost arrogant, but… calm. Strangely calm, for someone Melissa swore had been in a foul mood all week.
"Yes! That was the idea." I answered far too quickly, far too eagerly. But honestly, cooking alongside the great Chef Adam Black did things to me.
He just nodded and we headed down the corridor. I stowed my things in the locker, put on my uniform, and came back to the kitchen.
And I cooked. Really cooked. Not just chopping vegetables or stirring sauces. Chef Adam gave me steady instructions, involving me in the process for real. It was surprising. His orders came in a controlled, almost patient tone. But whenever I took too long or was about to mess something up, his voice shifted: firm, low, sharp. The usual Adam. And, incredibly, I preferred that harsher side. The other one left me unsteady, staring at him too long… and whenever that happened, my mind drifted upstairs, to that memory from a few days ago. Focus, Jordan.
"I'll call Mateus to schedule the vlog session for tomorrow. That work?" he asked suddenly, while I kneaded the dough. Fresh pasta was on the menu.
"Yes, of course. We could even do it today," I blurted out with a smile—one that vanished the second I felt myself blush. Again. For God's sake, Jordan, get a grip.
"Tomorrow," was all he said. I nodded, my stomach knotting with nerves and excitement all at once. Finally. I couldn't wait to show Chef Adam my recipe—my own creation. I didn't even care if someone might steal it, just for the chance for him to see what I could do. Would he like it? Or was I being way too confident?
"I'll call Mateus then," he added, wiping his hands and heading to the office.
I sighed as if I'd been holding my breath for hours. It hadn't been uncomfortable cooking together. But it was… odd. Maybe because he didn't yell. Maybe because we actually talked like normal people. Or maybe because that uniform of his hid a torso I really shouldn't be imagining. Focus, Jordan.
"Good morning." The voice behind me made me jump. I squealed, and the rolling pin tumbled to the floor.
"Sorry, Jordan, I didn't mean to scare you." Lorenzo rushed over, bending to pick it up.
Just then, the kitchen door swung open. Adam stepped in.
"You okay?" His eyes swept over me, then Lorenzo, and back to me. For a moment, he seemed… concerned? No, must've been my imagination.
"I startled her and she dropped the pin," Lorenzo explained, rinsing it in the sink before handing it back.
"Can you stop scaring her?" Adam's voice was back, sharp. "I'm tired of screams and things falling in my kitchen."
Oh, hello, Chef Ogre. You're back.
"Sorry, Chef Adam," I murmured quickly. Lorenzo just nodded and went to his station. Adam left again, phone still pressed to his ear. He must've interrupted a call. I shrank a little, embarrassed.
"Don't mind him," Lorenzo said softly. "He's been like that lately. You're feeling better?"
"Yes. Much better," I smiled. "Sorry for canceling our dinner."
"I understand," he replied with that half-smile that always reminded me why I found him so attractive. "But next Sunday—no excuses. Deal?"
I nodded. But right then, Adam came back in. His look was heavy, closed off. Nothing like the man who had opened the door for me earlier that morning. Split personality, maybe?
Our eyes met and I blushed again. This was getting ridiculous. And I couldn't help but wonder: what would Chef Adam say if he knew about my dinner with Lorenzo? We weren't dating, but dinner at his place could definitely look like that—a date. I remembered how excited I'd been when Lorenzo first invited me. But now… something had shifted. I couldn't explain what, only that the idea didn't give me the same butterflies anymore.
Was it because I was breaking one of Chef Adam's rules? I'd always been good at following rules. That must be it. It had to be. I let myself get swept away by Lorenzo's charm, but deep down, I always end up following the rules imposed on me. That was why I felt uncomfortable. That had to be it.
"Everything's set with Mateus for tomorrow," Adam muttered in his usual tone. "We'll film after lunch."
"Yes, Chef," I replied, trying to keep my composure. Behind him, Lorenzo flashed me a smug smile. I almost replied, almost laughed just to break the tension hanging in the air. But I didn't. I bit my lip, took a deep breath, and got back to work.
Focus, Jordan Parker. Focus.
I threw myself back into the tasks at hand, but the question kept pounding in my head: why can't I picture Sunday with Lorenzo anymore… without Chef Adam creeping into the picture?