BOUND BY THE DEMON PRINCE

“I am fucking broke” Literally cursed as I threw myself into work again with the knowledge that I had to hire new staff.

I had pushed myself the whole week in the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Preparing dish after dish ensured that the rest of the kitchen was running smoothly regardless of my predicament. I worked hard, focusing on the feel of the kitchen knife in my hand, the slight but bearable ache from being on my feet all day, and the strong smell of all different types of food cooked in the same place.

Inevitably, close to midnight, the restaurant closed, and the other junior chefs cleaned their stations and left, leaving me alone in the restaurant. Walking into my office, I sat down to review the list of candidates for tomorrow's interview. An hour later my stomach growled alerting my body that I had not eaten a damn thing the whole day.

I made my way to the kitchen and settled on frying the chicken. Half an hour later, slicing through the freshly grilled chicken with ease, Luna waited patiently, perching on the top of my foot with his gray-tailed snaking around his ankle. The Sly cheesy feral knew that late-night cooking typically led to something for him. I chopped it into small cubes, tossed them onto a plate, and placed it on the Kitchen floor.

Purrs erupted from below, the cat's body vibrating against my shin. With the cat happy and distracted, he turned the flame on the stove to heat the sauce. Owning the restaurant was meant to be a turnaround into success. I switched off the stove and served the meal. Finally complete, I tossed the remaining chicken in the fridge. Luna had disappeared and I knew the fur was waiting for him on the bed.

Looking at the bedside clock, I realized it was already three am. Luna had settled at the end of the bed, hence I flipped off the lights and curled up under my blanket pile. Fatigue took over and I fell into a deep sleep.

Early the next day, the interviews had already begun. By the fifth candidate, my body and mind were already tired. I cringed at their answers and wondered how they ever worked at the Michelin restaurants they mentioned in their profiles. It was a waste of my time.

“Boss, one more interview, boss, crossing fingers, “Chef Felicity Kafele chanted. I knew he was as irritated as I was. What we needed was a professional to turn things around. We needed a miracle.

Lost in thoughts, I heard Chef Felicity clearing her throat and I turned to look at her in question.

“The next candidate is here” she whispered.

I turned around and the person standing in the office was a male god or better yet a male model. His furrowed brow, which held a little bit of anticipation and anxiety and a little bit of confusion, was thick. His nose was just shy of being wide. His full lips were pulled down at the corners but didn't hide the fact that his mouth was wide. His eyes pulled all the rest together to create the perfect face. They were the color of the setting sun's rays, the dark brown that I had ever seen. His ebony hair fell past his shoulders in shiny, silken waves. He looked powerful and authoritative in a way only distinguished men could look. His shoulder blades were wide, and his arms looked strong. Was he in the wrong place?

I turned to look at Felicity and realized she was awe-struck as he was. The man walked toward him and said “I’m Leonardo Besian.” His accent rolled the R's in his name and was exotic as the man who stood in the room.

Finally finding my voice I managed to croak out “Chef Levi Xander.” And this is my assistant Ms. Felicity Kafele.

“Have a seat.” She smiled as he moved across the desk, extending his hand to her. The man had dimples. It was surreal. Once seated he stared at me the whole time I felt hypnotized by his gaze.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bean.” Chef Felicity drawled as she sized him up and down, stamping the authority of how handsome the man in front of him was.

“I read the requirements of the new hire for the Michel Chef. The only experience I have is working in the Royal family guardian kitchen. I don't have much experience working in a restaurant. I hope you can agree to a food-tasting interview to show my skills. f,” he said, breaking eye contact and looking at the files sitting at the desk. The man had come prepared.

There was pin-drop silence in the room. How arrogant was he? “I believe it to be fair-” The sentence remained half finished as Chef Felicity hurriedly stood up and said, “I will show you the kitchen right now, Mr. Bean.”

“Please, call me Leonardo,” he said. His smile was so not professional or pleasant that I internally swore I saw a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “May I proceed?”