What Love Tastes Like. Zuri Day
a taskmaster as well, and possibly because she’d worked as a line cook in a super-busy restaurant while earning her culinary degree—and not buckled under that insane pressure—she’d blossomed under his heavy hand. Unfortunately it hadn’t been the man barking orders in the kitchen who had Tiffany all discombobulated; it was the man who occupied the largest of the executive offices on the second floor.
While she tried to convince herself otherwise, Tiffany knew it was because of Nick that she’d gotten the job. Why else would she have gotten a call the day after her interview, before the chef would have had time to check her references and review her school transcript? She even wondered if it was her imagination that the chef seemed a bit cold and aloof toward her. Often, chefs were temperamental at best, but the last thing one would want was to be told who to hire in his or her kitchen. Because Tiffany felt this might be the case was all the more reason she determined to be the best sous chef in LA.
Fortunately for her, the fast pace in the kitchen had made her first week on the job fly by. She’d been too busy to think, for which she was grateful. Because if she’d given herself time to do so, then she’d have to give in to the hurt and disappointment she’d experienced yet again when her father had come and gone without calling her. Then she’d have to think about how angry she was at herself for being hurt and disappointed. She knew better. Keith Bronson was simply being true to form.
Another blessing: in the two weeks that had gone by since she’d started at Taste, she’d only seen Nick once. Considering how her kitty meowed at the very thought of him, this single sighting was a good thing. Having seen his picture on the Internet, Joy thought Tiffany was crazy not to date him. But Tiffany knew that if she saw him after dark, tackled him in the parking lot, and demanded he sex her real good in the backseat of his car—which was what she wanted to do—he’d think she was crazy, too.
Now, there were only two weeks until September, and the hotel’s grand opening. Besides learning the way Chef liked his vegetables cut, pasta formed, and sauces prepared, Tiffany also had to familiarize herself with a new kitchen and cooking devices and get back into the groove of working in a fast-paced environment. The hotel had been accepting reservations via e-mail for over a month, and some of Nick’s well-placed connections, along with an A-list Hollywood premiere Chef Wang had catered, had created a buzz about the restaurant even before its doors opened. It was the anticipation of this onslaught, combined with Chef Wang’s Type-A, perfectionist personality, that kept everyone frenzied, frazzled, and moving at a furious pace.
By the end of her third week, however, Tiffany began to feel her rhythm in the kitchen, and to develop the timing and anticipation necessary for a sous chef to meet his or her chef’s demands. She’d also begun to interpret Chef’s grunts and eye movements. One long grunt meant you hadn’t done it right, rapid eye movements meant “are you kidding, throw it away and start over,” and a brief head nod meant “good job.” Today, Friday, Tiffany had gotten three head nods and only one grunt. She felt she was getting the hang of this job.
Feeling more comfortable in the kitchen meant that she could relax. But that wasn’t the only reason, especially today. On her way into the building, Tiffany had overheard two secretaries talking. One, whom she assumed was Nick’s assistant, seemed happy that Nick was going out of town. She was looking forward to not having to run some unexpected errand or set up a telephone conference in the middle of her Saturday afternoon. The other commented on how she’d set anything up at any time for their tall, dark, and handsome boss. The rest of the conversation faded as the ladies entered the building. But Tiffany had heard what she needed to. Nick Rollins was nowhere around. She could breathe easy for the next couple days before enjoying her first day off, two days from now. She reached for a large bowl of organic tomatoes, several bunches of fresh organic herbs, onions, peppers, and cloves of garlic. She was getting ready to make the basic tomato sauce that Chef had entrusted to her earlier in the week. She’d held her breath as he tasted it. He’d swirled the sauce, let it rest on his palate, swallowed, and tasted it again. Then he’d given one of his nonverbal signs, her first head nod.
Forty-five minutes later, Tiffany slowly stirred the sauce, thickened by a continual, low-burning flame. She knew from the smell alone that it was perfection, a fact that made her proud. Especially since tomorrow was such an important day. They would be feeding a select group of reporters and journalists from across the country. Everything had to be spot on. Tiffany reached for one of the smaller wooden spoons and dipped it into the sauce. After waiting a second for it to cool, she slowly placed the spoonful of sauce into her mouth. She tasted the concoction with a chef’s palate, making sure that each herb held its own space, that the peppers, onions, and garlic didn’t get lost in the tomato, and that there was just the right amount of raw sugar added to break up the balsamic vinegar that provided the right amount of acid to the pot. Closing her eyes, Tiffany rested back against the table and slowly ate the rest of the sauce off the spoon. Umm, this is delicious. “You’ve done it again, Tiffany Matthews.”
“I’d like to do it again,” a low voice murmured. “Can I have a taste?”
Tiffany froze in mid-lick. An involuntary shudder went down her spine and lodged itself just above her buttocks. Why now, in a rare moment when she was the only one in the kitchen, did Nick have to come around? She put what she hoped was a casual look on her face as she opened her eyes and turned around. “Hi, Mr. Rollins. What can I do for you?”
As soon as the words were out, Tiffany recognized the double entendre. But it was too late. Nick was advancing on her like a cat would a mouse. She retreated as he advanced, and stumbled over her words. “I-I mean…Chef’s not here.”
“I’m not looking for Chef.” Nick kept advancing.
“Oh,” Tiffany panted as her butt came in contact with the counter. She couldn’t go any farther, but crossed her arms in an unconscious gesture of self-protection.
Nick stopped directly in front of her. “It looks as if you’ve been hiding out in the kitchen. So I thought I’d come say hello.”
“Me? Hiding? Why would I need to hide from you?” Tiffany asked. Her voice was full of sistah-girl attitude, even as she scooted around him and virtually ran to the other side of the room. “We’re just busy here, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Oh, I’m very aware.” Nick began covering the distance between himself and Tiffany in long, sure strides.
But before he could reach her, Tiffany made a beeline for the stove and began vigorously stirring the sauce. “I’m really busy,” she said, her voice coming out much higher than she intended, almost like a squeak. “Chef Wang is going to want to taste this sauce when he gets back.”
“And I want a taste right now,” Nick said, once again covering the space between them. “Of the sauce, that is.”
Tiffany reached into a drawer for a spoon and stayed at arm’s length as she gave it to Nick. Nick’s smile was predatory as he placed the spoon in the sauce, pulled it out, blew on its contents, and then savored the flavors. His eyes never left hers.
“How is it?” Tiffany tried not to react to the sight of Nick’s tongue wiping the remainder of the sauce from his lips. She imagined her tongue doing it instead, and immediately stepped back to put more space between them. “Is it good?”
“It’s delicious,” Nick replied.
“Well, I’d better get back to work. Chef and the others will be back any minute.”
“In that case, there’s no time to waste. I’d better hurry up and get what I really came after.” Nick took a step and closed the rest of the distance that existed between them.
Tiffany closed her eyes and braced herself for the kiss. Truth be told, it was what she wanted. She had been running from her own desires just as much as she’d been running from Nick. But he was right here, right now. And she didn’t want to run anymore. Nick licked his luscious lips before lowering them toward Tiffany’s already parted ones. She closed her eyes, barely breathing…and heard the sound of footsteps entering the kitchen.
“There you are!” Chef Wang sang