Chapter Text
Chapter One
It started with a screwdriver. A terrible way for any start, considering that it wasn’t used for fixing anything. He should know better than to let Lily talk him into these kinds of shenanigans. And yet, here he was, carving the words “cheating bastard” into the blue paint of a Mercedes on the third floor of a parking structure. He didn’t mind too much, considering it was Conrad’s car and he really hated Conrad. But still. Criminal activity was not his forte.
The sudden ringing coming from his pocket startled him out of his reverie. He freed his phone and held it up to his ear, trying to make sure he really got all of the letters into the paint. “Hello?” he answered absently, not looking at the screen.
“Rem! Where are you?” Lily’s voice came through the other end of the line, a little panicked.
“Where am I?” he huffed, blowing his hair out of his eyes, pressing the screwdriver in harder. “What do you mean? I’m on the third level of the parking garage. Where are you?”
“WHAT?” She shrieked, causing him to wince and pull his phone away from his ear. “Remus, please tell me you’re joking. Please!”
“What do you mean? I’m doing what you asked me to do. With the screwdriver and everything.”
“Remus, I said the fifth level.”
He felt the blood drain from his face. “No… no you didn’t. Lily, you told me the third level of the parking garage, blue Mercedes!”
“Oh no, Remus! What did you do?”
“What did I do? Lily, what- WHAT DID I DO?!”
“I could ask the same thing,” a voice said from behind him, making Remus jump in surprise. He almost dropped his phone to the ground, but caught it at the last moment after some flailing. With his phone secure in his hand, flipped around, making eye contact with a very handsome stranger who had his arms crossed across his chest, one of his eyebrows quirked.
Remus slipped off the hood of the car, his face blooming red as he realized what was, in fact, actually happening. Lily was yelling at him through his phone, asking him what was happening, but he barely blinked before pressing the end button.
“This… this is your car, isn’t it?”
The man nodded. For some reason, the expression he had was a mix of aggravation and amusement, which Remus thought odd of someone surely about to call the police. “I don’t suppose you have a… a good explanation as to why you are sitting on top of my car, carving,” he looked at the words on his hood and almost smiled, “cheating bastard into my paint job?”
“I, well I wish I did. But honestly, I… I don’t.”
“Who is it I have cheated on, may I ask?”
Remus winced. “Listen, I am… I’m really sorry about this. I’m sure you’re a very loyal and considerate partner to anyone you are in a relationship with. This really has nothing to do with you. I thought your car belonged to someone else. And I was just helping my friend, with a favor.”
“Do your friends normally have you commit petty crimes for them when they’re upset?”
Remus knew there really was no explaining why he had actually agreed to Lily’s wild plan which was turning out so badly for him. There was only one thing he could do at this point: grovel. “I am so sorry about this, really. I’ll… I’ll pay for the damage on the hood. I know a detailer who does excellent work and he can get it all fixed up for you. Good as new, I bet. I’ll even pay for him to detail the inside of your car, if that would be some kind of recompense.” Remus had no idea where he would get the money to actually have the work be done, but he was definitely the guilty party and wanted to do all that he could to save his own neck. “Please, sir. Just, don’t call the cops. If you just give me your number, I will pay you back as soon as I get my next paycheck. Please.”
The unnamed man watched him for a moment, seeing him shift back and forth under his scrutiny. Then he stared at the hood of the car, the thick words that were carved in basically screaming up at him. When he had looked at it for a solid minute, he returned his gaze to Remus, who felt more uncomfortable every passing second. Remus swallowed, trying to hide his stress, unsure of what the man was looking for or what he could see in his face, but after his prolonged silent stare, he brusquely asked, “When are you next paid?”
Remus blinked in surprise, thinking that the man would simply call the police. “In… in two days.” He stutters, wondering if this man was really going to let him off without calling the authorities on him. Who does that?
The man nods and pulls out a black ink pen. He grabs Remus' arm, writing a series of numbers out on his skin, making up a phone number to call. Underneath the number was the name JAMES on it. “That’s my assistant’s name and number. When you get paid, contact him to cover the damages. And I won’t call the police.”
Remus was nodding before he had even finished speaking. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll definitely make sure to do that. Thank you, sir. Really. Thank you.” He was almost bowing to him then, in embarrassment, backing up as slowly as he could without being obvious. If he could just make it a few more steps to the door, he could leave before the stranger changed his mind. His escape was stopped when the stranger, staring at the hood of the car, called out to him again.
“I hope,” Remus looked at him in surprise at being addressed again. The man gestured to the hood and gave him a smirk. “I hope, whoever he is, he gets his karma.”
A laugh escaped Remus before he could stop it. “Me too. And hopefully you get all the good karma points for taking his punishment for him.”
The stranger smiled, fully, at him then and Remus felt the breath leave his body. He waved, stunned, before turning away and running toward the stairs in the parking structure to find Lily on the fifth floor.
***
He was late, as usual, but he wasn’t arrested. That seemed like a major plus. The ride from the parking garage to work was at least rather quick. The kitchen didn’t open for lunch for another 20 minutes and he was used to getting his supplies ready in a hurry. With a grey sky overhead, he biked against the wind against his face, weaving in and out of traffic. In record time, he saw the brickwork of La Chaleur coming into view and couldn’t help but feel that pulse of excitement at returning to work. He felt lucky having the job he did. It was a place of safety for him.
He pulled up on his bike, skidding around to the back of the building and simultaneously opening his backpack and grabbing his uniform out. With a great deal of struggle, he hopped off his bike and laid it against the wall as he was shoving his arms through his jacket sleeves. When he had it on, he worked on buttoning each section and securing his hat on his head while skipping up the back steps and hitting his fist against the door. He was sure he looked like a dishevelled mess, but it didn’t rightly matter.
After pounding on the back entrance, he stepped back as Dorcas shoved the door open with an exasperated look on her face. “‘Bout time you showed up. Jack is in quite the mood, and you always seem to make it better.” She stepped aside, allowing him to enter the kitchen.
“I doubt I’ll be able to do anything,” Remus countered, feeling his face heat up. The whole kitchen was apparently aware that Remus and Jack were sleeping together, but he tried not to bring it up or make it obvious. Dorcas, however, brought it up at every possible occasion. Remus found it funny sometimes, but only on days when Jack was in a good mood. He liked Jack, but he was so changeable. Some days seemed like a romantic film, while other days felt like the brink of WWIII. “If he’s already in a mood, I’ll probably only make it worse.”
Dorcas shoved at him, following him into the kitchen as he pulled a face at her. She fixed his hat on his head before heading off to her own station. The staff was settling in with each other, handing off different utensils and pans to each other, knowing what each person was going to lean to when the customers arrived. The lunch rush was going to start in about ten minutes, and the anticipation was already building. Remus hoped that this part of his day at least wouldn’t be too terrible.
His thoughts shot back to the stranger in the parking garage, his arms folded across a broad chest, his silver eyes staring at him under raised eyebrows. He hadn’t even gotten his name. Now, the most beautiful man Remus had ever seen would remain nameless in his memories. With a laugh at himself, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Handsome strangers wouldn’t help him cook meals.
As the minutes passed, Remus pulled his normal tools and bowls out, setting them in the appropriate stations to cook at a quick pace. He threw a bowl to Gideon, who winked at him in return, and tied his apron more tightly around his waist. As he worked to set up, he felt a wave of peace fall over him. This was his happy place. He felt more like himself here than he did anywhere else.
Clapping called the kitchen to attention and they looked over at the manager of the restaurant, Jack, as he walked in. “Good afternoon staff. Pleasure to see all of you today. I’ve been informed that a very prestigious guest and patron will be checking into the hotel today. He’s notorious for his demands in meals and is not afraid to send meals back or even throw them away himself.” The chefs looked at each other in curiosity. Was this a food critic? “So, whatever he requests, I expect you to fulfill it as quickly and as accurately as possible. Thank you, and have a good day.”
Jack pushed into the backroom and Remus quietly followed him, closing the door behind him. “Jack?”
Jack turned around and gave Remus a tight smile. “Hello chef.”
A very neutral term for someone who had been in Remus’ bed only three days ago. He frowned, deciding to keep his distance. “Chef, huh? When did I become Chef?”
Jack nodded, looking like he was gathering his composure. “Listen, Remus. I think it’s time that we… we end this thing between us, whatever it is. I don’t want it getting back to the wrong people and having anyone think that we can’t do our jobs.”
“Woah. What… Are you breaking up with me?” This was truly not his morning.
“I wouldn’t call it breaking up. I think we just need some time apart, a little separation. Maybe even see other people. I just don’t think we should get any deeper into this than we are.”
“Yeah, okay. See, where I come from, we call that breaking up.”
Jack waved him off. “Whatever you want to call it then. We weren’t serious, it was just sex. So, hopefully this won’t impact your performance in the kitchen. The team is relying on you. You know food better than anyone I’ve ever come into contact with.”
Remus felt a wave of frustration rise up in him. It had always been about the job, the money, for Jack. He stared at him, feeling his emotions coming to a boil, but took a deep breath. “Of course, sir. I’m sure my performance in the kitchen won’t be as dissatisfactory as it apparently was in the bedroom.” Jack looked up as if to protest. “No, no. It’s fine. Like you said, I’m one of the best chefs in this kitchen. I’ll make sure not to let a silly little thing like sex get in the way of making sure the job gets done.”
The other man sighed, looking as if he wanted to argue. But Remus turned his back and pushed his way back into the kitchen. Dorcas shot him a worried glance, but he waved her off. He was sure his face was a good indicator of his rage, but he couldn’t help it. Today was just about the worst day he had ever lived through.
***
What Remus didn’t know was that luck was truly not on his side that day after all. Not only had almost been arrested that morning, and now dumped rather callously, but there was what he considered to be his worst nightmare coming just around the corner. Because, just 15 steps from the front steps of La Chaleur, there was a man checking into his hotel room where he would be staying for the next three nights as his company debated whether or not to purchase the land that the restaurant and the small hotel beside it stood on. That man, of course, was none other than the ridiculously handsome, fabulously wealthy, and entirely irritable Sirius Black. AKA, the owner of a now defiled blue Mercedes.
Sirius Black, one of the youngest and most wealthy people in Forbes’ 20 under 20, was not someone to be trifled with. He was known for his fiery temper and his brusque speaking voice. Some people had even compared him to a hedgehog, all prickles and no soul. He didn’t mind. It had been drilled into him from a young age that the only worth he could offer anyone was his monetary value. It made everything easier, looking at life like a business transaction, one that he had a very specific role in. He had one job to do, and that was getting his job done. Nothing else truly mattered.
Except the food.
In a moment of weakness during his study at law school, Sirius had attended a few culinary courses. He had learned very quickly that he was no good at making food, but was in fact quite skilled at recognizing ingredients and determining the quality of any meal. His teacher had told him that instead of trying to cook like the other students, she would grade him based on his assessments of each dish. Sirius excelled as he was able to develop a taste for the very grand. As a result of this class and this habit of dissecting each meal, Sirius had also gathered the reputation of being almost impossible to feed.
Sirius Black was, in fact, the man that Jack had warned his chefs about. Sirius had no intention of remaining in this corner of London for very long. He wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible, buying what he needed to and hopefully not receive food poisoning while he was there. London held very little temptation for him, only reminding him of a younger version of himself with parents who hated each other and expectations placed on his shoulders that he simply did not want.
James stood at the counter, speaking with the young gentleman sitting at the desk. Sirius stood a few paces behind his assistant, taking in the décor of the hotel and the staff that was quietly working around him. It was time for check in so they seemed to be preparing for a rush of guests. Sirius couldn’t see the appeal of this place, but assumed that with a little help and a push in the right direction, this location could get off the ground and become quite successful. Customers were always suckers for little boutique locations such as this hotel.
James turned around and smiled at him, holding their keys in his hands. “Up we go, Sirius,” he said, gesturing toward the lift. Sirius rolled his eyes and moved with James.
“You know you’re not supposed to call me that in public, Mr. Potter.” he said once the lift was moving up.
“I’ve worked for two and a half years to be your friend. I will not stand for having to call you “Sir Black” or whatever other title bullshit you want to pull. Sirius suits me just fine.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “I never should have agreed to this friendship,” he murmured, his tone joking. “Imagine how much easier my life would be with an assistant that didn’t constantly ask me questions or pester me with ideas. It would be a breeze.”
“You’d be bored,” James countered, handing Sirius the key to his own room while he went to settle into the suite beside it. “Let me know if you need anything before dinner.”
Sirius hummed and turned. “Should we try out that French place next door?”
“La Chaleur? Sure. I’ve heard good things.”
“You always hear good things and then the food is absolutely barbaric.”
“Your posh palate is just exhausting to deal with, Sirius. I want you to know that.”
Sirius rolled his eyes and flipped James off who grinned at the gesture. Sirius truly was becoming more like a friend to him than a boss and when he acted “inappropriately”, it fed James’ soul and pushed him on to believe that Sirius was more than he looked. And more than he paid.
“I’ll see you at dinner then?” he clarified.
Sirius waved him off. “Naturally. But maybe call ahead and have them reserve some of the space for us. I’ll pay for the inconvenience of course, but I just want to try what dishes they have to offer in peace.”
“Naturally.”
With another roll of his eyes, he pushed into his own suite and set his briefcase down. The room was quite nice. Good color coordination, matching furniture that seemed higher end, and a balcony. Sirius knew that this would be a successful location and typed out a quick message to his father to tell him so. The answer he received was typical of his father, just a simple “get it done”. And Sirius would. He always did.
It had become a part of his daily routine to always be on the move. Once a portion of the family company, Black Star International, had his name legally bound to it, Sirius began to forget about his hopes for a normal life. He was always on the move, searching for the next best location, and avoiding his family problems whenever he could. Orion Pollux Black was a steely CEO with an opinion that refused to budge. He and his wife, Sirius’ mother, Walburga had been seen as the public’s power couple. They could do no wrong. However, the fairytale only existed in the newspapers and magazines that their family littered. At home, Orion was just as cruel as he was in the business world. And Walburga made sure her sons knew that unless they worked hard and became perfect, they would never amount to anything.
Sirius and his younger brother, Regulus, had known since childhood that they were only worth what money they could bring in. Regulus was a brilliant architect who travelled to the Black Star Hotels and would conduct renovations on the new purchases. Sirius, however, worked in the business portion of things. He had successfully purchased over 25 different high-end hotels around the world and had never once faltered under the weight of his responsibility. There was no room for failure. So he simply didn’t fail.
With a heavy sigh, he tossed his phone up beside the pillow he would use that night and sat gingerly on his temporary bed, finding himself staring out of his window. One aspect of travelling so much was that he was able to witness a variety of culture and life, getting to watch the life below him fold out like different pages of a novel. The bustle of people set a nice hum through the room for a while until the sun sat much lower in the sky and it was time for dinner. James came to his room, knocked twice as was customary, and waited until Sirius joined him. Sirius hoped he didn’t look as despondent as he felt. But he had a very good poker face, and now it was time for food. Food made most things better, when prepared well. With that thought in his head, they walked the short distance to the restaurant that stood just beside the hotel.
La Chaleur, or “the warmth” as it was directly translated, was a pristine looking location. Everything had a place and an order, which Sirius greatly appreciated. They were immediately seated at a round table surrounded by a few empty places. They had in fact reserved a good portion of the restaurant for Sirius, allowing him the privacy he valued when he ate.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, sighing. James grinned at that, giving Sirius a “that’s the spirit” thumbs up and gestured for the waiter to attend them. He was tall and thin, but kind looking. He suggested a few options from the menu and was quick to jot down the type of wine and the dish that Sirius wanted to start with.
Sirius wanted to keep an open mind. He wanted to believe that this high class restaurant would deliver him any food that he would consider edible. But his previous dining experiences had been lackluster, at best. It wasn’t that he tried to be difficult. He simply wanted to eat food of a certain caliber. Not many places he had gone to eat had given him that.
As the waiter returned a few minutes later with his first dish, Sirius rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Please let something be good,” he whispered to an unknown god before tucking in and removing the lid from his dish, feeling the warmth of hot food waft up into his face.
***
Remus was not afraid of a challenge. He watched as each one of his fellow chef’s prepared their signature meals for the wealthy guest at table 42 and how each one was returned, barely touched. There was even feedback given to the waiter to pass on, like too much salt, not enough rosemary, the meat was overcooked or undercooked. The look of fear on all of their faces as each dish failed was becoming comical. Remus couldn’t help but wonder who this man was who demanded to be fed the entire menu and then refuse to eat any of it. Wealth really makes people crazy sometimes.
Jack pushed his way into the kitchen, looking dejected. “It’s no use, everyone. Nothing we do will satisfy him. He simply will not finish a single meal.”
A smile came to Remus’ face at this. A challenge was exactly what he needed to lift his spirits. He would show 42. He would cook him the meal that would finally pass. Or he would die trying.
“I can do it.” He said, raising his hand. And he felt like he could. The rest of his coworkers gave him a look like they thought he was crazy for WANTING to try. This didn’t put Remus off. He knew his skill level. He trusted his abilities. He could do it. Jack made a gesture as if to urge him to start and within minutes, Remus was prepping the mushrooms, the brussels sprouts, and the brown sugar. If Remus had learned anything about persnickety eaters, it was that they often had a comfort meal. Something that reminded them of growing up or where they were raised. This of course was solidified after he watched the film Ratatouille. After asking the waiter a few questions between each course, Remus had begun to form an image of the guest waiting out past the kitchen doors. He was English and wealthy. He didn’t like a majority of the French cuisine that they had sent out to him, most likely because it wasn’t true French. Remus suspected that, like many wealthy boys he knew, this guest had gone to private school in France. So, naturally, he would turn away any dish that they dared to call “French”, because it wasn’t TRUE French. There were always English influences. He was a purist. So, Remus decided that maybe what this man needed was a bit of home, a bit of England. He went off book and made something that wasn’t on the menu.
He finished the meal in record time and sent it out, watching as Peter the waiter gave him a look of hope and a cross of his fingers. Remus wanted so badly to peer out of the circle windows that looked into the dining room, but kept himself off to the side. He folded his arms and started watching the clock.
He could almost picture what was happening outside. Peter would arrive at the table, presenting the dish with a flourish and uncovering the small pieces of meat wrapped in the flakey pastry. He could almost see the look of surprise on the patron’s face as he looked up at the waiter. “Beef Steak Wellington?” he’d ask, tone disbelieving. Peter would then return with the comment of, “Our chef wanted to give you a reminder of home.” Hopefully that would urge the guest to take a small bite. But after that, he had no clues.
Would the man like it? Would he send it back as he had done for all the other dishes? Would Remus have to resign in disgrace? Obviously the last option was a bit far fetched, but he was a proud man. He didn’t like to be beaten.
It seemed like an eternity passed before Peter returned to the kitchen with the plate, his eyes wide and face pale. Remus hurried over and pulled off the lid to find the plate… totally empty. He looked up, surprised at the lack of leftovers.
“He… he ate the whole thing. He basically licked the plate.” Peter sounded like he had watched an alien abduction happen right before his eyes. A grin was stretching across Remus’ face before he could stop it. He had guessed right. Sometimes people just needed a bit of home.
A knock came at the kitchen door and Peter reached to pull it open. A young man was standing behind it. He had wild hair and a large pair of glasses, but he looked kind. In his hand, he was holding the check sleeve and a small white note. “My employer would like to thank you all for any inconvenience he might have caused and applauds you for the impeccable upkeep of this establishment. He also wants to make sure you are all compensated for the work you performed on his behalf tonight.” He handed Peter the black book that held an unknown amount of money, who took it almost reverently. “And this,” he held the note up, “is for the chef that cooked the last meal. He would like to personally thank you for your work and your sense of understanding.”
When Remus made no move to grab the note and no one else was moving forward to claim the work, the man shrugged and placed the paper on the stainless steel table beside him. “We’ll return tomorrow,” he said, smiling softly, and then he was gone.
Remus basically ran to the table, snatching the note off of the surface and walking back to his station to read it. It felt personal. A connection had been formed between him and this guest within the minutes that Remus had cooked and he had eaten. It was an almost intimate bond. It made Remus tingle with anticipation. With shaking hands, he pulled the note open and read the words once, twice, and then three times. And he knew he was smiling.
“Thank you for bringing me a piece of home in a world that seems to have forgotten what that word means. I look forward to what adventure you’ll take me on next.”
Remus couldn’t agree with the anonymous guest any more. Whatever happened from here on out, as far as this stranger was involved, it would definitely feel like an adventure. Perhaps this day wasn’t quite as bad as he had made it out to be.