Served with a Side of Trouble

Served with a Side of Trouble- Part Two

The footsteps paused outside the kitchen door. Luca continued methodically unpacking, seemingly absorbed in his task but fully aware of the presence now hovering in the doorway.

"I see you've made yourself comfortable."

Luca turned, his prepared response faltering slightly as he took in the figure leaning against the doorframe. Julian Deveraux was younger than he'd appeared on the security footage, somehow both more boyish and more guarded in the morning light. Dark hair artfully tousled, expensive silk robe belted carelessly around a slim waist, eyes that assessed Luca with a mixture of disdain and something that might have been curiosity.

Dangerous territory, this. Not just because of Julian's position or power, but because Luca could already see beneath the practiced arrogance to something more complex. Something wounded.

Luca dried his hands on a towel, extending one toward Julian in greeting. Professional. Boundaries. "You must be Julian. I'm Luca Reyes."

Julian stared at his outstretched hand, making no move to take it. Those eyes—sharp, intelligent despite the spoiled-child act—catalogued Luca's scars and calluses with uncomfortable intensity.

"Tell me," Julian said, voice dripping with practiced disdain, "did my father warn you about my 'difficult palate,' or did he simply promise to double your salary when I inevitably fire you?"

Luca withdrew his hand, a flicker of something—not anger, but recognition of the game being played—passing through him. He'd expected this, prepared for it. The boy was testing him, establishing dominance in the way of someone who'd never had to earn respect through actions.

"Actually, he mentioned you might be in a mood." Luca turned back to his knives, deliberately showing his back to Julian—a subtle power move of his own. "Something about the last chef leaving under... unusual circumstances."

He felt rather than saw Julian's reaction—the slight intake of breath, the shift in the air.

"What else did he say?" Julian's voice had lost some of its practiced smoothness.

Time for the calculated risk. Luca glanced over his shoulder, meeting Julian's eyes directly. "Not much. But the security footage said plenty."

The color drained from Julian's face, that careful mask of indifference cracking just enough to reveal genuine alarm. "What footage? I deleted it."

"The local system, sure." Luca shrugged, keeping his movements casual, controlled. "But there's a backup that uploads to the central security office. Standard procedure for estates this size."

Julian took an involuntary step forward, fingers white-knuckled on the doorframe. "How would you even know about that?"

This moment—this was crucial. Luca set down the knife he'd been holding, turning to face Julian fully. The truth, or at least part of it, would establish more than any posturing.

"I make it my business to understand why the person before me left. Kitchen politics can be... complicated." He arranged his spice jars in a perfect line, giving his hands something to do. "I've worked in five high-profile houses before this one. You learn to make connections, to ask questions before you walk into a situation."

"So you what—interrogated the security staff?" Julian's voice rose slightly, betraying his alarm.

"No need. In our world—the people who make your world run—we talk to each other. We look out for each other."

Julian's throat worked as he swallowed, clearly recalibrating. Good. But Luca didn't want to push too far, too fast. This wasn't about humiliating the kid or creating an enemy on day one.

"Look, I'm not here to blackmail you or whatever you're thinking right now," Luca said, softening his tone slightly. "I'm here to cook."

"Then why even mention it?" Julian's voice betrayed him, the slightest tremor at the edges of his words revealing the vulnerability beneath the armor.

Luca leaned back against the counter, arms crossed to mirror Julian's defensive posture. "Because I want us to understand each other. You don't mess with me, I don't mess with you." A pause, then: "And maybe you could say 'please' when you ask for something. Just a suggestion."

The flash of indignation in Julian's eyes was almost comical—as if no one had ever dared suggest such a thing before. And maybe they hadn't. That was the problem with wealth like this; it created beautiful spaces and ugly entitlement in equal measure.

"I could have you fired before dinner," Julian said, the threat hollow even to Luca's ears.

Luca smiled slightly, unable to help himself. "You could try. But given what I know, and given who I know..." He let the sentence hang, implication clear as crystal.

The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire about to snap. Julian searched for words, his expression shifting through emotions too quickly to track. Luca waited, giving him space to process this recalibration of power.

Julian finally stepped back, muscles tight with unfamiliar uncertainty. "I expect breakfast at seven. Tomorrow and every day after."

"Yes, sir," Luca replied, unable to keep a hint of amusement from his voice. "Anything specific you'd like?"

"Surprise me," Julian said over his shoulder as he turned to leave. "That's what you're paid for, isn't it?"

Luca watched him go, the silk robe billowing dramatically as Julian disappeared down the hallway. Only when he was alone did Luca release the breath he'd been holding, tension easing from his shoulders.

That had gone... not well, exactly, but as expected. Julian Deveraux was everything Carlos had described—entitled, defensive, used to wielding power like a blunt instrument. But there was something else there too. Something in those eyes that had recognized Luca as more than just another servant to be ordered around.

Luca pulled out his phone, quickly typing a message to Elena:

*First day. Kitchen is amazing. The kid is exactly what we thought. But I can handle him.*

He hesitated, then added:

*Don't worry. This job is going to work out. Tell Rafa and Sophia I'll call tonight.*

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Luca returned to unpacking. Whatever game Julian Deveraux was playing, Luca had played tougher ones with higher stakes. This was just another kitchen, another employer who needed to learn that respect was earned, not demanded.

And if Julian proved unteachable? Well, Luca had his knife roll and a résumé full of references. He could always walk away.

Humming softly, he began to inventory the pantry, already planning tomorrow's breakfast. Something surprising, Julian had said. Luca smiled to himself. That, at least, he could deliver.