{"product_id":"knives-seasoning-and-a-dash-of-love-isbn-9781039012417","title":"Knives, Seasoning, and a Dash of Love","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn this spicy workplace romance, a hotheaded celebrity chef finds himself drawn to his inexperienced new hire. But when her bubbly attitude collides with his sharp edges, can they handle the heat, or will their love be a recipe for disaster?\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlexander Chen is one of the most talented chefs to ever grace the culinary world of French haute cuisine. He rules his kitchen with an iron fist and fiery temper, so it's no secret that if you can't handle the heat, he'll gladly toss you out with the trash. As one of the first Chinese-American chefs to claw his way to the top, he has a lot to prove and a massive chip on his shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut he wasn't always like this. Eden Monroe, his newly hired sous chef—who may or may not have (\u003ci\u003edefinitely\u003c\/i\u003e) embellished a lot on her resumé to land herself the job—knew him back when he still went by his real name, Shang. He used to be sweet and helpful and definitely \u003ci\u003enot\u003c\/i\u003e the second coming of the devil himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEden won't say anything, though, no matter how hot her curiosity burns. Especially if it could cost her this job, which she needs if she has any hope of hiring a private detective to find something she lost long ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll she has to do is fly under the radar. It's just a shame that she and her new boss butt heads more often than they fulfill orders. But what happens when things finally boil over, and they discover the feelings between them are spicier than they ever imagined?\u003cb\u003eAdvance praise for KATRINA KWAN and \u003ci\u003eKNIVES, SEASONING, AND A DASH OF LOVE\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A slam dunk debut!\" —\u003cb\u003eKirsten Bohling\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eWe'd Know By Then\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"If you’ve spent three seasons of \u003ci\u003eThe Bear\u003c\/i\u003e pining for something to happen between Carmy and Sydney, allow this delicious debut to curb that craving instead. Add a few sensuous descriptions of food and heat in an oven warmed to the temperature of five chili peppers on BookTok’s spicy scale, and you’ve got yourself the perfect romance read.\" —\u003cb\u003eThe Kit\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This grumpy\/sunshine romance between two chefs heats up the kitchen and hits all the right notes! An engaging debut.\" —\u003cb\u003eJackie Lau\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eLove, Lies, and Cherry Pie\u003c\/i\u003eKATRINA KWAN is a fantasy and romance author. After graduating from Acadia University in 2017 with a BA in Political Science with Honors, Kwan spent the next six years honing her creative skills as a freelance ghostwriter. With several ghostwritten romance novels under her belt, she’s ecstatic to finally be writing books under her own name. She lives in Vancouver with her husband and two cats, and when she isn’t writing, she is desperately trying to keep her collection of houseplants alive.\u003cb\u003eChapter One\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eControl. That’s what he likes the most about running his own kitchen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everything has its place. Everyone has their roles to fulfill. Everything is measured and timed and seasoned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Perfection.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He expects nothing less.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He likes his knives dangerously sharp—it’s more dangerous to work with a dull blade—and he likes his waitstaff to pick up orders the second the plates hit the line. He’s never bothered with a chef ’s hat because they’re quite frankly pompous as fuck and it’s hot enough in here as it is. He keeps his apron clean and the sleeves of his black chef jacket rolled up to just below his elbows.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Trained at the prestigious Gagnon-Allard School of Culinary Arts, he’s the pristine image of the world-class chef everyone believes him to be. He’s the great and mighty head chef of La Rouge, Alexander Chen. Under his guidance, the restaurant has achieved three Michelin stars—the epitome of culinary prestige.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But right now?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Right now, he’s stressed as fuck, and \u003ci\u003eboy howdy \u003c\/i\u003edoes his kitchen staff know it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “What the hell is this?” he asks, voice booming over the roar of hood fans and sizzling skillets. While the noises of the kitchen don’t stop, the talking does. None of the other chefs dare make a peep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A steak,” Peter answers evenly, though the hard set of his jaw betrays his cool tone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander stiffens, staring down his nose at the \u003ci\u003erotisseur\u003c\/i\u003e. He lowers his voice, quieter than before and somehow more frighten­ing than when he was yelling. “I don’t want to make a parody of myself, Drenton. But if this steak were any rarer, it’d still be alive on the damn pasture. The table wants it cooked well-done.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Peter looks like he wants to cry. Embarrassing for a man in his mid-thirties, but alas—Alexander has that effect on people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “But these are prime triple A! Just look at the marbling! Cooking them well-done would be—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “An absolute travesty and crime against God? I know. But it’s what the customer wants. Refire and run it, then I need another one for table ten on the fly.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Peter gestures to the stove beside him with a huff. “Yes, Chef, but I’ve been trying to—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I don’t need your excuses. I need a cook who can do their damn job.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Freddie, the \u003ci\u003epâtissier\u003c\/i\u003e, hesitantly clears his throat. “Um, Chef?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander turns in one swift motion, the movement both effortlessly aggressive and smooth. He’s an owl making a pinpoint turn midair to lay its sights on new prey. Freddie is only a few inches shorter than Alexander, and just as broad. Nevertheless, he tries—and fails—to hide a grimace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The new hire is here. For the \u003ci\u003esous chef \u003c\/i\u003eposition.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander’s nostrils flare. “What sous chef?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s at this exact moment Alexander spots movement on his periphery. All he catches is a glimpse, but it’s more than enough. A wisp of light-brown hair. Tanned skin. The worn-down fabric of a white chef ’s coat that’s seen better days.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then he remembers. Alexander’s last sous chef, Mitchell, left almost a week ago. He hadn’t even bothered to tell Alexander in person that he quit. The sniveling weasel had stuffed his resigna­tion letter into the pocket of one of Alexander’s spare aprons, and that was that. Couldn’t handle the demands of the job, apparently. Very few can.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander can’t say that it was a surprise. It was more of an inconvenience, if anything, trying to find a replacement. Despite his confidence as a chef, he knows handling an entire kitchen like this one without a second-in-command would be next to impos­sible. There are too many moving parts, too many chefs to keep in line. This kind of work requires a divide-and-conquer approach. \u003cbr\u003e Hence the new, last-minute hire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The new hire that’s now staring up at him expectantly. There’s something oddly familiar about her, but Alexander can’t quite figure out why.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “You’re not what I was expecting,” Alexander states.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He half expects her to blanch or flush or quiver like a mouse beneath his intense scrutiny. Alexander’s more than aware of the kind of effect he has on people. The kitchen is his kingdom, and as head chef, he’s the rightful king.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He’s intimidating. He’s powerful. He’s in his element.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The woman lifts her chin and holds his gaze instead, defiance in her eyes. “I get that a lot,” she replies calmly, the lovely lilt of an accent gracing her words. It sounds Southern, but it isn’t distinct enough for Alexander to pinpoint.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She sticks her hand out and says, “I’m Eden. Eden Monroe. It’s nice to meet you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander doesn’t shake her hand. He glances at his watch instead. “You’re late.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Eden frowns. “I’m on time for my scheduled shift. You said on the phone to be here at three.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He glares at the other kitchen staff. “What’s rule one, people?” he prompts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Fifteen minutes early is on time, on time is late, and if you’re late, don’t show up at all,” the chorus of chefs mumble in practiced unison. They sound like robots, his policy on tardiness so drilled into their brains that the response is automatic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Again, Eden doesn’t seem fazed. She takes it in stride, even going so far as to give Alexander a polite—albeit incredibly tight— smile. “Duly noted. Won’t happen again, Chef.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eChef.\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The way she says it makes his ears ring. It’s gentle, but there’s a hint of snark buried somewhere deep down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He decides he doesn’t like it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander gives her a disinterested once over. She’s short, no more than five feet to his six. Her oversized chef ’s jacket looks more like an artist’s smock than a professional’s uniform. Alexander notes the splash of faded freckles across the top of her cheeks and bridge of her nose. They seem to stand out against the spotless steel environment of his kitchen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There’s something strange about her demeanor, he notices. Wide-eyed and jumpy like a newborn foal, her gaze darting around his state-of-the-art kitchen—with its fleet of polished steel gas ranges, designated task stations, and impeccably organized army of staff—as if she’s stepped into Wonka’s Chocolate Factory and can hardly believe her luck. Too green, too unsure. She doesn’t look like she belongs here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s not that he doesn’t think women can cook. Far from it. Some of his greatest inspirations growing up were female chefs: Julia Child, Nigella Lawson, Christine Hà. And, of course, his mother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s just that Eden’s résumé boasted accolades and years of prior experience working in kitchens like this one. He has a hard time believing that the woman standing before him is going to be his new sous. She’s so—well—ordinary.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Most sous chefs he’s worked with have an air of authority about them. It’s not arrogance necessarily, though Alexander’s no stranger to a hotshot sous with an ego too big for their apron. They’re the ones in charge of calling the shots when the head chef is otherwise occupied. They’re the ones hungry and eager to move up the ladder, to learn all that they can and prove them­selves in preparation for one day running kitchens of their own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Eden is . . . \u003ci\u003enot \u003c\/i\u003ethat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But the night is young, and Eden hasn’t even had the chance to prove she’s not completely useless. If she is, Alexander will have her replaced. It’s just that simple. There are plenty of ambi­tious chefs out there who’d kill for an opportunity to work in his kitchen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Between running La Rouge and trying to find a replacement sous chef, he must have gotten his dates wrong. A mistake he won’t make again. He’ll conduct a more formal interview tomor­row, but for now, he needs all hands on deck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Drenton,” he snaps. “Give her a tour. Keep her at your station for tonight.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “And the steak?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I’ll make the damn thing myself.” Alexander turns to Eden, more than a little aware of all the chits printing out on the line. “Tomorrow, Monroe. Two hours early.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She noticeably swallows. He finds satisfaction in finally elicit­ing a normal response. He’s used to being on the receiving end of wide-eyed timidity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Two hours? I don’t know if I can make it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Training starts immediately. Unless you don’t think you can handle it. If that’s the case, you can just go. You’ll only be in the way.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She crosses her arms. “Who says I can’t handle it?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander doesn’t bother responding. It’s an abnormally busy day, and even though the restaurant has only been open for an hour, orders are piling up. There are still a million and one things to do, and answering rhetorical questions isn’t on his list.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tickets to call.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dishes to verify and plate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Steaks to \u003ci\u003enot \u003c\/i\u003escrew up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dinner rush hits them like a tidal wave, but Alexander’s pre­pared. He always is. He’s been doing this long enough to know how to keep things moving. Lack of momentum is the fastest way to ruin a night. Food stops going out, orders keep coming in, chefs become overwhelmed with ten different dishes they’re trying to prepare at the exact same time. It’s a nightmare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So he keeps things moving, calling out times and demanding accountability, and more often than not yelling at his chefs to get their heads out of their asses and focus on the tables that have been waiting the longest. It’s an extra headache not having a sous chef at the ready to help him with plating and putting out fires— one of them quite literal—but he manages somehow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e By the end of the night, his feet hurt. His arches ache and his back is sore from carrying his chefs through the worst of it. He doesn’t even take his break because, for him, there’s no such thing as sitting down on the job, not even for a breather.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He’s tired and getting agitated, his fingers itching for a smoke. Even when there’s a backup in the dish pit and one of the idiot waitstaff drops an entire tray of food out front, Alexander sucks it up, leans into the throbbing pain in his feet, and helps send out the last of the dessert that Freddie has diligently prepared. Alexander has to give credit where credit is due. Freddie’s hand­made \u003ci\u003eéclairs \u003c\/i\u003eare to die for. It’s just a shame he takes forever to make them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander’s about to ring the bell to call for a pickup when some­thing distracts him. A woman’s laugh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Eden’s laugh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s light, and the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He risks a glance over his shoulder as he stabs the last chit onto the check spindle. Eden and Peter are at the meat station, already cleaning up the area and preparing for closing. They speak in hushed tones, almost conspiratorial, looking at ease with one another. They look like this is perfectly natural, two old friends who’ve done this countless times before. It doesn’t take long before Freddie wanders over and joins the conversation. Alexander briefly wonders what they’re talking about. It’s not like anyone willingly talks to him about nonwork things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then he shakes his head. He doesn’t care. He rings the bell and sends out the last order of the day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Eden laughs again, bright and bubbly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alexander does his best to ignore her wide smile and concen­trates on overseeing cleanup. He sincerely hopes she isn’t this much of a chatterbox once she’s fully trained. He doesn’t like per­sonal conversations during work hours. There’s too much going on in a kitchen, lots of sharp objects and hot metal and scalding water. Unnecessary small talk will only get in his way of giving out clear, concise orders.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His dark-brown eyes lock with her light-hazel ones. Eden looks away quickly, and he suddenly realizes that he’s been glaring this whole time. He turns to head toward the kitchen doors to check on the \u003ci\u003emaître d’\u003c\/i\u003e. The sooner the last customers eat, pay and leave, the sooner they can all clock out and call it a night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Somewhere deep down, Alexander knows that tomorrow’s training will prove incredibly . . . \u003ci\u003einteresting\u003c\/i\u003e.","brand":"Random House Canada","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301952835813,"sku":"NP9781039012417","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781039012417.jpg?v=1767730828","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/knives-seasoning-and-a-dash-of-love-isbn-9781039012417","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}