Accidentally Yours

Jamie Rivera had exactly three things on his mind that Monday morning: Firstly, to make a successful cupcake delivery to Maison DeMarco Catering without accidents. Secondly, to avoid seeing his ex, Trevor, who happened to work there. Thirdly, to resist the urge to tweet something tragically self-aware like, “Delivering sugar while living a bitter life.” He failed on all three accounts. "Jamie?" Trevor’s voice cracked through the lobby air like a passive-aggressive text. "Did you miss your way?” Jamie froze to his bones when he sighted Trevor. In all of Manhattan kitchens in the neighborhood, why did he have to work in this particular one? “Relax,” Jamie said, plastering on his best fake smile. “I’m just the delivery boy today. A sweet, sugary ghost from your past.” Trevor, still immaculately dressed in his tight apron and colder than the walk-in freezer, gave a slow blink. “You really shouldn't be here. Ricco's in a mood.” Jamie raised a brow. “Ricco? As in Ricco DeMarco?” He’d seen Ricco on TV, charming in interviews, deadly in kitchens. The guy with three Michelin stars and six ex-boyfriends who all mysteriously fled the country?” Trevor smirked. “He’s in the test kitchen. And he’s yelling at everyone, so if you know what’s good for you…" CRASH! The hallway echoed with the sound of something expensive breaking. Then came a voice in Italian so deep, rich and smooth that it could butter bread. "Who put cinnamon in the lemon curd? I promise, if I get hold of that person, I will…” Trevor groaned. “Ah! too late. You’re part of it now.” A staff member, a flustered intern with sauce on her nose, darted into the lobby. “Is the new assistant here yet? Boss is losing it and Marco quit this morning!” Jamie blinked. “Wait, someone quit?” The girl nodded wildly. “Yeah. Left a Post-it note and a spatula. Said he was ‘spiritually allergic to citrus’ and couldn’t do it anymore.” Trevor gave Jamie a suspicious side-eye. “Don’t even…” “Hi,” Jamie cut in, with a sudden confidence and flair. “That’s me. I’m Marco’s… uh, cousin. Jamie. I’m the new assistant.” The intern barely looked up. “Oh thank God. He’s waiting.” Jamie handed Trevor the cupcakes like they were ticking bombs, winked, and followed the intern down the corridor. What was he doing? He didn’t know. Why was he doing it? Also unknown. But if the universe was throwing him into the lion’s den, he was going to risk it. The kitchen was chaos. Steam, pans and knives all soaring. A mix of three or more different languages colliding. In the midst of it all, stood Ricco DeMarco. Dear God. Ricco wasn’t just handsome. He was Michelangelo carved out of spice and sin handsome. “You,” Ricco barked, pointing a wooden spoon like a wand of wrath. “You’re late.” Jamie looked behind him. No one there. “Me?” “Yes, you! Marco’s cousin, yes? Jamie?” Jamie nodded, “Oui, Chef.” “Fix this,” Ricco growled, motioning to a workstation where what appeared to be a lemon tart had gone to hell and come back with anxiety. Jamie stared at it. “Fix it… how?” “With your brain, preferably. Do you have one?” Jamie grinned. “Only half. The other half is still recovering from jetlag and heartbreak.” Ricco stared. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “You’re strange. I like that.” Jamie blinked. “I…uh. Merci?” “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll probably fire you by sunset.” Ricco stormed closer. “Did you come here for interrogation or to work?” “Both?” Jamie squeaked. “Wrong answer.” Ricco replied disappointed. “I’m in need of an assistant that can manage and run the affairs of my kitchen, even in my absence, efficiently. Can you handle that?” Jamie was about to confess he didn’t even own a calendar when… BOOM! A flash of smoke exploded from one of the ovens. Someone screamed. Jamie instinctively ducked and pulled Leo down with him behind the prep table. Ricco landed on top of him. Chest against chest. Breath against cheek. For a split second, the kitchen noise faded. Jamie could only perceive the cologne on Ricco and the silent beat of his own pulse. Ricco's eyebrows narrowed, trying hard to recall. “Do I… know you?” Jamie said, "Nope," too quickly, he blushed. At once, they got up at the same time, too quickly, that they hit their heads together. “Ow…dammit!” Leo winced. "Je suis désolé pour ça, monsieur”, Jamie muttered, rubbing his temple. “Get up. I need help.” Jamie straightened and saluted, still pretending to know what the hell was going on. “Aye aye, Chef.” He didn’t know how he got there. He didn’t know how long this accidental assistant gig would last. But standing in Ricco’s chaotic world, something in Jamie clicked. This? This was going to be deliciously dangerous. **** Later that night… Jamie called his best friend, Pepper Velour, from Ricco’s swanky apartment where he was now apparently living as his Temporary Assistant. “You WHAT?” Pepper screeched through the phone. “You told a celebrity chef you were his ex’s cousin and now you’re his assistant? And possibly falling in love with him?” “I never said love.” “You said ‘his cologne smells like citrus and danger.’ That’s code.” “I think I've gotten myself into a big trouble," he said as he dropped onto the leather couch and sighed. “Good. Trouble builds plot. Now kiss him, but also lie less.” Jamie ended his call when he heard a knock. He opened to find Ricco who was holding a bottle of whiskey, two glass cups and a more relaxed expression on his face. “Thought you might want to debrief over dinner,” Ricco said. “Unless that’s crossing a line.” Jamie blinked. “Depends. Are you planning on yelling at dessert?” Ricco smirked. “Only if it deserves it.” Jamie grinned and let him in. His heart pounded. Oh, this was bad. This was very, very good… and very, very bad. As they sat on the balcony with wine and laughter and more tension than the Great British Bake Off finale, Leo asked casually, “So… Marco’s cousin, huh? Strange. I never knew Marco had any family.” Jamie choked on his wine.