The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,1

And while he may have left his South Boston life behind him when he came to New York as a venerable chef, he still had the temper of a kid from the streets. But this guy, this man, was a culinary visionary. Regardless of the fear factor he imposed, we were working with—and for—the best.

“Is this the kind of kitchen I run?” O’Shea asked with a hiss. “No more messing around. We have a busy night ahead of us.”

“Yes, Chef,” came our nervous answer.

Instead of going off on one of his tirades, when his face would turn beet red and his large nostrils would flare, O’Shea broke out into a wide grin. “I can’t wait to show those French pussies in Paris what an American thug from the docks can do. A third star will seal the deal for opening a Cendrillon in the City of Light.”

Pots and pans banged.

O’Shea turned on his heel and headed to his office in the back of the kitchen. “I’ll join you in twenty for the family meal. Get back to work.”

I set the commercial immersion blender on high, puréeing my velouté to creamy perfection. As I squeezed a lemon to add a dash of acidity to the base, a hot breath on my neck sent shivers of dread down my spine. Catching his musky scent, a mix of cologne, sweat, and cigarettes, I didn’t have to turn around to know Eric stood behind me—too close for comfort. “So, have you thought about my offer?” he asked.

I turned to face him, putting a few inches of needed space in between us. “Have you told O’Shea you’re leaving yet?”

“Nope,” said Eric. “But it’s not like he can hold it against me. He was—what? Seventeen when Jean-Jacques Gaston discovered him at the fish market? And he left Le Homard shortly after it received its second star—”

“We all know his rags to riches story. And it seems he’s passing the torch on to you,” I said with sarcasm. “Moving on up from chef de cuisine to an executive chef with your own restaurant. May the stars be with you.”

Eric placed a hand on my shoulder. “Our stars, they align. Leave Cendrillon to work for me. And then we’ll take things from there.”

“You have to be joking,” I scoffed, pushing his hand off me.

“I’m not,” said Eric. “Every time I look into those gorgeous green eyes of yours, I get lost. Do me a favor, think about all the good times we had.”

Good times? Was he nuts? He’d had them with other women.

“Oh my God, what the hell have you been smoking?” I choked back my laughter and yanked out my necklace from underneath my coat. Attached to the chain was an engagement ring, complete with a sparkling five-carat canary diamond the color of glistening butter. “You do realize Walter and I are engaged.”

“Rings are worn on fingers.”

“Not one as big as this. Don’t want to lose it in the soup,” I said, tucking my necklace back into my jacket. I let out an annoyed huff. “You seem to have a new flavor of the month every week.”

“They mean nothing to me,” he said. “Brain-dead food groupies. Starved for attention.”

Eric crossed his arms over his chest, the black ink of his tribal tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. “What kind of relationship do you have with a stale, boring attorney, anyway? You never see him. You’re always here in the kitchen with me.” He tugged my braid. “We were so good together, Sophie. And now we can be even better. A real team. Don’t forget I was the one who took the risk and convinced O’Shea to hire you after your stage.”

“I proved my worth during my internship. And he hired me, not you,” I said.

“Sure, Sophie,” he said. “Whatever you want to think.”

For a moment, he almost had me, the way he locked onto my eyes. Still, we were over. I was never going to go through that pain again—no matter the temptation of his perfect smile.

Lanky with a goatee and tribal tattoo arm sleeves, Eric broke the mold when it came to sexy chefs. His eyes were dark, the color of dried cloves—dark brown and hard—his eyelashes were long, and his body was buff. In the beginning, when I was young, dumb, and full of hope, his charm and charisma had drawn me to him, right into his bed. I’d loved watching him rule the kitchen, clipboard in hand, acting with finesse even when under