No Funny Business (The Lennox Brothers Romantic Comedy)

to suck in a deep, calming breath.
After having just wallowed in memories of Kade’s irresistible charm, Lee seemed like the anti-Kade. Lee wouldn’t know what charm was if he accidentally swallowed some and started choking on it.
“Excuse me?” I asked, with great restraint.
I always tried to stay polite with Lee, even though he was basically Lucifer with pimples and floppy bangs. The thing that helped most was dreaming up new, grisly ways the Lee character would die in the serial-killer slash-fest of a novel I was writing.
“Chicks,” he repeated, turning away from the stove to scowl at me. “Why do they pretend not to like me? Are they all dumbwits?”
Besides being a terrible chef and an unpleasant person, Lee’s habit of getting words wrong set my teeth on edge.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you have eight new orders to cook.” I spoke in my most professional, no-nonsense tone.
“That’s not an answer.” He pointed his spatula at me, one hand on his hip. “You’re a chick. Tell me what’s wrong with your kind.”
“My kind?” I stopped myself from blurting anything else. Taking a firm grip on my self-control, I managed not to inform him that ‘my kind’ weren’t pretending not to like him.
“Most of the orders are for fried cheese,” I said instead, with the patience of Mother Theresa, the calm of the Dalai Lama, and the iron will of Dr. Bruce Banner keeping himself from turning into the Incredible Hulk. “But there’s one order for fried—”
Fire flared bright and hot behind him and my stomach clenched. “The bacon’s on fire!” I waved frantically at the frypan. “Quick, cover it with one of the saucepan lids.”
“Shit.” Lee grabbed a glass of water off the counter and threw it into the pan. Flaming grease spattered everywhere, and suddenly there were several small fires burning all over the kitchen.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Lee backed toward the door. “Evacuate! Everybody out!”
I leapt for the fire extinguisher, tore it off the wall, and sprayed a quick burst of foam at each of the fires. It didn’t take much to put them out, but the foam was soapy and made a filthy mess. It also had a sharp chemical stench.
Lee stared around at the devastation, his mouth slack.
“Shiiit,” he breathed for the fifth time, as though the word was the only one he knew. Then he snapped his mouth closed and took off his apron. “Guess I’m done for the day.”
Self control. Calm. Patience.
Unfortunately, I could no longer make myself feel a single one of those things.
“Don’t you dare leave,” I snapped. “There’s a mess to clean up and meals to cook.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t think I should clean this up?”
I gritted my teeth. “Why not? You created the mess.”
“Yeah, but head chefs don’t deal with shit like this. Go get a cleaner.” He threw his apron onto the counter, where it flopped into a blackened, acrid puddle of soapy foam.
I breathed out through my nose, picturing yet another gruesome death for the Lee character in my novel, involving a fire extinguisher and one of his orifices. The resulting image was the only thing that enabled me to reply without shouting.
“We still have customers. Just help me clean up so you can cook those orders.” I pointed at the piece of paper I’d ripped from my notebook, which was miraculously untouched by both fire and foam. Eight orders were still visible, and eight customers were waiting to eat—and to pay.
He cocked his head and his annoying bangs slid into his eyes. “Listen, crazy chick. Nobody’s going to eat here until you’ve had it cleaned up, understand? The place stinks. It’s sickening. Your customers have left.” He motioned to the hatch that connected the kitchen with the rest of the café, and I whirled around to peer out.
Lee was wrong, the customers were still there. But they were standing up like they were about to leave.
“Don’t go!” I dashed through the door into the dining area. “Everything’s fine. Please sit down and your food will be out in a minute.”
The German man shook his head with a regretful expression. “We saw a little of what happened. Those are bad chemicals. Toxic.”
The woman next to him wrinkled her nose. “The smell is everywhere.” She nodded at the muffins and sweet snacks displayed in a glass cabinet on the counter. “All your food will be ruined.”
One gave a pointed cough and another put a handkerchief over his face. They filed out in a hurry, throwing apologetic looks over their shoulders.
“Told you.” Lee sauntered out of the kitchen like an angel of war strolling casually away from a nuclear mushroom cloud, with his satchel over his shoulder and his mobile phone attached to his hand. “I’m outta here.”
And just like that, my inner Dr. Bruce Banner’s iron self-control shattered, and my Incredible Hulk came rampaging out.
I spun on Lee, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. “If you don’t get back in that kitchen right now to help me clean up the chaos and mayhem you created, so help me, I’ll fire you!”
Lee stared into the terrible face of my violent green rage, and openly scoffed. “Like you could fire me.” He slouched to the door and shouldered it open. “Let me know once you get the place cleaned up.”
“Lee, I’m warning you—”
“Chill out, crazy lady. Don’t have a cardio arrest.”
“Cardio? The word’s cardiac.” Setting my kitchen alight was bad enough, but when he got words wrong, it felt like he was aiming a blow torch at my very last nerve. I switched into full sarcasm mode. “Unless you think I’m going to break into a spontaneous jazzercise session?”
He stopped halfway out the door, giving me a puzzled frown. “What are you talking about? Have you lost your rocking chair?”
My last nerve burst into flames. “That’s it. I can’t take any more. You’re fired!”
He stepped back inside. “Take a pill, psycho. You can’t fire me. I’m the chef.” He pointed to the blackboard above the hatch.