Free A Feast of You by Sorcha Grace Page B

Hutch. “Coming!”

Seven
    A sa drove me to Morrison Hotel, Hutch Morrison’s signature restaurant located in the South Loop. Morrison Hotel was probably one of the hottest restaurants in the entire country, if not the world, and I still had a hard time believing that Hutch had picked me to shoot the photos for his first cookbook. He was only in his thirties but he was already a legendary chef, like, Julia Child legendary. Beckett had just about passed out when Hutch first called me.
    In spite of the delay as I had searched for my phone, which I still hadn’t found, I actually arrived a couple minutes early. Hutch must have been excited to get started because he opened the door as I was walking up and ushered me in. I barely had time to say good morning and shrug off my coat before he marched me back to one of the booths and gestured for me to slide in. Coffee was waiting. It smelled rich and earthy, and I sipped it while Hutch went over the work he’d done so far on his cookbook project.
    “Now sweetheart, you’re the expert, so if anything I say doesn’t meet your approval, let me know. I live to serve.” He reached over and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. Hutch was a shameless flirt. I didn’t think we’d ever had a conversation where he didn’t touch me at least three or four times.
    “I’m impressed,” I said, leaning over to peruse the list he’d made of what dishes he’d prepare for me to shoot.
    Hutch might have seemed like a casual, down-home kind of guy, but his food was exactly the opposite. His style was elevated—incredibly formal, totally precise, and perfectly crafted. I wasn’t anything close to a foodie and even I recognized the guy was a genius. Morrison Hotel’s entire menu and concept changed on the chef’s whim every few months, and Hutch Morrison’s inspirations tended to come from rock albums. It was global news when he announced his next theme—and Sticky Fingers was about to kick off. Hutch called it “foods from his youth,” and said he wanted to explore simple, Southern fare. I didn’t see anything close to simple on his list, though I spied the brown sugar beignets with blueberry compote I’d already sampled. Tasso pork tenderloin with goat cheese grits, sugared blue bantam peas, smoked tomato and morel medley, and Jack Daniels reduction caught my eye. I couldn’t wait to try that dish.
    “You’ve made a lot of progress on this.” And now that I had a picture of some of the dishes in my mind, I could start to envision the digital cookbook the way Hutch did. It was a genius idea, really, combining his culinary skills with sexy pictures of his dishes and a bit of food history. He’d fully refined the concept with this proposal—it was fresh and new and soon the world would get a candid peek into his world. Hutch was going to be a household name when we were done. I was sure of it.
    “I’m not in the habit of wasting anyone’s time,” Hutch said in that slow Southern drawl of his, which seemed to indicate he had all the time in the world. “Especially not someone like you. I imagine William Lambourne keeps you plenty busy.”
    I glanced up at him, feeling my cheeks heat. Was it that obvious I’d had sex twice this morning?
    A slow smile spread over Hutch’s face. “Well, now, that wasn’t what I meant at all, but I’m sure he keeps you busy in bed too. I only meant you’re more tan than when we last met.”
    “Oh. Valentine’s Day trip.” I smiled.
    He sat back and crossed his tattooed arms. He was wearing black jeans and a charcoal grey T-shirt that showed off his pecs and biceps. “Let me guess. Private island? That seems like Lambourne’s style.”
    I nodded. “Tropos. Four days. We had the entire island to ourselves.”
    “Always wanted to go there.” He leaned close. “Tell me, Catherine, is that an all-over tan?”
    I could flirt as shamelessly as him. “You’ll just have to wonder.”
    He laughed. “That I will. Cold showers for me