Turning Up The Heat. Tanya Michaels
town to shoot a movie. He wanted to personally ensure that everything went smoothly and that service was stellar. As hard as he’d worked to make Piri successful, he had no intentions of slacking off now. They needed the extra profits to help bankroll a sister restaurant. “Wait, tonight’s no good.”
“Not for me, either. Sundays aren’t as busy as Thursday through Saturday, when we have the dueling pianos, but the weekly wine tastings are growing in popularity. I’ve got an entire dessert menu pairing chocolate and red wine.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“That could work. I go in on Mondays, but after I get the desserts prepped, I can probably leave. It’s our quietest night. Or if you want to wait a little longer, I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off.”
No, he emphatically did not want to wait. Part of him was still tempted to talk her into calling in sick and coming over tonight. Before she came to her senses. “Then, I’ll cook you dinner tomorrow. It can be after eight if you need to help with the dinner rush.” By nature, he was a night person, and working in the restaurant industry had amplified that.
“Or you could come to my apartment and I can cook,” she offered. “I owe you. After all, you’re doing me the favor.”
Debatable. “If I come over, can you guarantee my safety? That roommate of yours would probably stab me with a salad fork the first chance she got.”
“Good point. At your place, we won’t be interrupted.”
Private seduction lessons with Phoebe.
He couldn’t have imagined a better fantasy if he’d tried. And he had a very active imagination.
* * *
“UM...” AMY HUANG, the apprentice chef, darted a nervous glance at Phoebe and then looked back at the crystallized mess that was supposed to have been caramel sauce.
Dammit. Earlier, the top of a limoncello sponge cake had collapsed, now this. Embarrassment prickled along Phoebe’s skin, and her fingers clenched around the handle of the pan. She was supposed to be teaching Amy, not demonstrating a showcase of what-not-to-dos.
“Guess everything they say about Mondays is true,” Phoebe said lightly, trying to contain the annoyance she felt over her mistakes. “Why don’t you take a quick break and I’ll clean up?”
Amy’s expression was dubious. “I don’t think James hired you to do dishes.”
“If you want to get technical, he didn’t hire me to ruin perfectly good caramel, either.”
At that, the apprentice chef laughed. “Well, I would appreciate a few minutes to call my boyfriend. He’s out of town celebrating his birthday with his brothers.”
“Go.” Phoebe waved her away, trying not to succumb to a moment of cynicism. Was Amy’s boyfriend missing her, or eyeing other prospects? Were his brothers the type of guys who would respect a commitment, or the type who would try to convince the birthday boy that what Amy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her?
Not all men were heartless liars, she reminded herself. Take Heath, for example. He might date dozens of women, but she couldn’t imagine him deceiving one. He made no secret that he liked to have a good time—but there was more to him than that. He was an ambitious worker and a devoted friend. She was still a little surprised he’d agreed to put his own love life on hiatus to help her.
Surprised and nervous.
She wasn’t sure what to expect when she had dinner with him tonight, which probably explained the atypical mistakes she was making. She’d been distracted since she got here. Who are you kidding? She’d been distracted since she’d hung up the phone with him yesterday. The way his low voice had rumbled “you are sexy” had wound its way through her, as irresistible as the aroma of apple-cinnamon cake in the oven.
“Hey, there.” James joined her at the industrial sink. Of Norwegian descent, the big blond man was a cross between a Viking and teddy bear. From the concerned look on his face, it was clear he’d heard about her mishaps. She hated to fail him after he’d campaigned so long to hire her.
Despite the many times they’d joked about him stealing her away from Piri, she’d never once thought she would have to take him up on his offer of a job. She’d believed she and Cam were a lasting team—personally and professionally. Wrong on both counts.
It would take a long time to establish the same kind of rhythm with this kitchen staff that she’d enjoyed at Piri, but she loved James’s upscale bar and his infectious enthusiasm. Besides, she needed this job. Her side business in wedding cake orders and other specialty items was growing steadily, but it was nowhere near a full-time income.
“You want to head out a little early tonight?” James offered.
“Trying to get rid of me before I burn the place down?”
“Hell, yes. You’re only supposed to resort to arson for insurance when the business isn’t turning a profit. We’re actually succeeding.”
“No surprise there,” she said fondly. “Good concept, good location, great management.” The tapas plates were wonderful, and now that Phoebe was on board, the dessert selection of tasty traditional choices, like cheesecake and peach cobbler, also featured more creative dishes inspired by sweet liqueurs and cocktails.
Throughout the week, the bar offered something for everyone—from open-mic nights to the engaging “dueling pianists,” including James’s longtime boyfriend, to last night’s wine tasting, which paired vintages with bite-size appetizers designed to highlight the notes. A newly engaged couple had come in to celebrate with friends and toast their happiness. Phoebe had rolled out a special cake for them and, after witnessing how in love they were, it had been a struggle not to cry in the crepe batter when she’d returned to the kitchen.
“Don’t beat yourself up for having an off night,” James advised. “Gwen and I shouldn’t have bullied you into seeing Cam at that birthday party. It must have been awful. If Steve and I ever—” He broke off, wincing. “I can’t even think about that.”
“Me, neither. You guys are perfect together.” Then again, what did she know? There’d been a time when she’d believed that about her and Cameron, too. The pain of getting dumped was two-tiered, like the coconut wedding cake she was baking this week. First, there was the obvious pain of rejection and loss. But beneath that was a nagging feeling of stupidity, the questioning why she hadn’t seen it coming. She was starting to second-guess her own judgment.
Any more pastry catastrophes tonight and she might start to second-guess her culinary skills, too.
She sighed. “You know what? I will leave a little bit early. I have plans later anyway.” At the thought of what those plans entailed, her face heated. Part of her still couldn’t believe she’d followed through on her impulse to ask Heath for his help. But the request had been over the phone, from a safe distance. What would it be like to actually face him tonight? Nothing embarrassed the man, so there was no telling how explicit his pointers might be.
No problem, you’ve had years of experience with Gwen’s outrageous bluntness. True, but Gwen didn’t have Heath’s green eyes, or a deep voice that was as addictive as hazelnut truffles. And Phoebe wasn’t even going to think about his mouth or the way he kissed, like he knew all a woman’s secrets.
James gave a low whistle under his breath. “Wow, these must be some very rowdy after-hours plans for you to look that guilty. I take it Gwen has schemed something to cheer you up?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to dwell on her roommate’s dire warnings. “Nothing like that. I’m just grabbing a late dinner with Heath.”
“Heath Jensen? Nice.” He bumped her shoulder with his own. “But I’m a little miffed you haven’t mentioned until now that something’s going on.”
An automatic protest sprang to her lips, but she stopped herself from assuring him that