despite the fact that Beck was baiting Duncan, he didn’t deserve to have the opening of his new restaurant—even though it was technically Christian’s, everyone knew it was Beck’s baby—overshadowed by the news that he and Duncan had taken the famous King-Walters rivalry up a notch into an actual physical altercation.
“I’m not looking for a fight. I get it. You’re stressed and amped up on adrenaline because of the opening, and I was a jerk. Just let it go,” Duncan said quietly, bringing his hands up to rest lightly on Beck’s chest. He wasn’t going to try to push him away, but he wanted Beck to know his proximity wasn’t welcome. The last thing Duncan wanted was a physical fight. He hated fighting, and beyond that, he knew Beck would wipe the floor with him. Through the thin suit coat Beck was wearing, Duncan could feel his bulging biceps and rock-hard chest. Most of the other professional chefs Duncan knew, himself included, were fairly fit; they had to be, to stay on their feet all day, darting around a sweltering kitchen. But Beck’s body took fit to a whole new level, and Duncan absently found himself wondering where Beck found the time to work out, given his busy production and restaurant schedule.
“If you keep walking into people’s establishments and insulting them, you might find one even if you’re not looking,” Beck muttered.
“I didn’t throw anything at you that you weren’t throwing at me,” Duncan said, unwilling to take the fall for the fight. Beck gave as good as he got; it wasn’t Duncan’s fault he couldn’t take a verbal punch as well as Duncan could.
Beck hesitated, then stepped back, releasing Duncan’s arm. Duncan resisted the urge to brush his hand over the wrinkled fabric, not wanting to call more attention to the fact that Beck had been gripping him tightly, not just laying a friendly hand on him.
“I heard you tell the reporter from Epicurean Adventures that the food was bland,” Beck said, his jaw clenched. “The culinary world respects you and your opinions, whether their adoration of you is valid or not—and I definitely think it isn’t—what you say matters.”
Beck closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Duncan could tell it was costing him a lot to be so frank, and Duncan appreciated it. And yes, he had told George the food was bland—because it was. But he hadn’t done it in an attempt to hurt Beck’s restaurant.
“He’s an old friend,” Duncan said, his lips curving up into a small, apologetic smile. “The reporter from Epicurean Adventures . I helped him get that job, actually. He knows nothing I say to him is ever on the record, not unless he specifically calls me for a comment about something. And even then, I usually refer him on up the food chain and have him talk to Vincent, because it’s his opinion that matters, not mine. I’m only an ignorant line cook, remember?”
Duncan saw the fight go out of Beck’s posture, and without anger lighting his features, Beck looked tired. “You are a lot more than a line cook, Duncan.”
Duncan shrugged easily. “I don’t get too hung up on terminology. Line cook, sous-chef, whatever. At the end of the day, we’re all little more than kitchen minions, doing the bidding of the executive chef.”
He playfully bumped Beck’s shoulder with his own, drawing a reluctant smile out of him.
Sadie startled both of them when she stepped close, putting an arm around each of their waists. “Beck, you really need to get back to mingling. Duncan, I’m putting you over at the bar where JT can watch you. I don’t need you starting a brawl like you did at Tyler’s wedding.”
“That was you?” Beck asked, giving Duncan a very obvious once-over.
“Hey, I might not look like much, but I fight dirty. I’m wiry, but I’m strong,” Duncan said with a grin. It was a total lie, of course. The other guy had tripped, and Duncan had been there to break his fall. The crowd had taken the sprawl
“I’m not looking for a fight. I get it. You’re stressed and amped up on adrenaline because of the opening, and I was a jerk. Just let it go,” Duncan said quietly, bringing his hands up to rest lightly on Beck’s chest. He wasn’t going to try to push him away, but he wanted Beck to know his proximity wasn’t welcome. The last thing Duncan wanted was a physical fight. He hated fighting, and beyond that, he knew Beck would wipe the floor with him. Through the thin suit coat Beck was wearing, Duncan could feel his bulging biceps and rock-hard chest. Most of the other professional chefs Duncan knew, himself included, were fairly fit; they had to be, to stay on their feet all day, darting around a sweltering kitchen. But Beck’s body took fit to a whole new level, and Duncan absently found himself wondering where Beck found the time to work out, given his busy production and restaurant schedule.
“If you keep walking into people’s establishments and insulting them, you might find one even if you’re not looking,” Beck muttered.
“I didn’t throw anything at you that you weren’t throwing at me,” Duncan said, unwilling to take the fall for the fight. Beck gave as good as he got; it wasn’t Duncan’s fault he couldn’t take a verbal punch as well as Duncan could.
Beck hesitated, then stepped back, releasing Duncan’s arm. Duncan resisted the urge to brush his hand over the wrinkled fabric, not wanting to call more attention to the fact that Beck had been gripping him tightly, not just laying a friendly hand on him.
“I heard you tell the reporter from Epicurean Adventures that the food was bland,” Beck said, his jaw clenched. “The culinary world respects you and your opinions, whether their adoration of you is valid or not—and I definitely think it isn’t—what you say matters.”
Beck closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Duncan could tell it was costing him a lot to be so frank, and Duncan appreciated it. And yes, he had told George the food was bland—because it was. But he hadn’t done it in an attempt to hurt Beck’s restaurant.
“He’s an old friend,” Duncan said, his lips curving up into a small, apologetic smile. “The reporter from Epicurean Adventures . I helped him get that job, actually. He knows nothing I say to him is ever on the record, not unless he specifically calls me for a comment about something. And even then, I usually refer him on up the food chain and have him talk to Vincent, because it’s his opinion that matters, not mine. I’m only an ignorant line cook, remember?”
Duncan saw the fight go out of Beck’s posture, and without anger lighting his features, Beck looked tired. “You are a lot more than a line cook, Duncan.”
Duncan shrugged easily. “I don’t get too hung up on terminology. Line cook, sous-chef, whatever. At the end of the day, we’re all little more than kitchen minions, doing the bidding of the executive chef.”
He playfully bumped Beck’s shoulder with his own, drawing a reluctant smile out of him.
Sadie startled both of them when she stepped close, putting an arm around each of their waists. “Beck, you really need to get back to mingling. Duncan, I’m putting you over at the bar where JT can watch you. I don’t need you starting a brawl like you did at Tyler’s wedding.”
“That was you?” Beck asked, giving Duncan a very obvious once-over.
“Hey, I might not look like much, but I fight dirty. I’m wiry, but I’m strong,” Duncan said with a grin. It was a total lie, of course. The other guy had tripped, and Duncan had been there to break his fall. The crowd had taken the sprawl
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