Malcolm didn’t have a lot going for him. He wasn’t one of the blessed, or one of the beautiful. He didn’t have many talents. He was, however, a damn good chef. He worked hard and he insisted on perfection -- not just from himself but also from everyone else in his kitchen. And if that made others miserable, that was just too damn bad. If one couldn’t live up to expectations then one didn’t belong at Burgeon Manor.<br><br>Darien on the other hand, was everything Malcolm envied, hated, and secretly fantasized over. Lean, slim, with a smile that could melt ice and enough charm to woo demons, Darien surprised Malcolm by showing not only interest but also attraction. Which only meant one thing as far as Malcolm was concerned: Darien had to be playing some kind of game. There was no way that a rock god like Darien Flint could have honest feelings for someone like him.<br><br>Yet the more Darien tries to know him, the more Malcolm feels himself being drawn into the lie.

Rockabye

He was already discarding his smock for a fresh one when Reynolds began to speak again. “Apparently one of their people contacted Jarvis directly. Why these blokes don’t just call the kitchen first, I’ll never know. I guess they don’t feel vindicated unless someone at the top knows.”


“What was the problem?” Malcolm said, picking through the printout chits that detailed the orders that had already gone out. “Their tea too cold?”


Reynolds shrugged. “Not sure. Only that they wanted to see the chef. I believe the actual directive was ‘the chef with the bad attitude and the fantastic taste.’ While I have no clue about your taste—” Reynolds paused to grin. “I have no doubt about the attitude.”


“Did they even order something?” Frustration levels were growing exponentially as Malcolm tried to find a chit with the 211-B identifier on it.


Reynolds grabbed the papers out of Malcolm’s hands and shook his head. “Just go! Find out when you get up there for God’s sake!”


Chapter 7