The Chef's Choice: The Chef's Choice. Kristin Hardy
“You have met Roman, right? Your sous chef?”
“Oh, right.” He shrugged. “I haven’t met any of the staff yet. I was down in New York.” None of her business that he’d taken the job sight unseen, and happy to get it. He hadn’t been foolish, exactly, with the money he’d made. At least not all of it. The problem was, you couldn’t eat a TriBeCa loft or a Le Corbusier sofa. For form’s sake, he’d taken a few days to think over Amanda and Ian McBain’s telephone offer, but he’d already begun making arrangements to be gone for however long it took to fight his way back.
The hazel eyes were narrowed at him. She might have had lashes that a few of his model-actress ex-bedmates would have killed for, but they did nothing to soften that stare. “Listen to me. Roman Bennett is the most talented, hardworking line cook you’ll ever meet. He’s been killing himself twenty hours a day since Nathan left to hold this place together. You give him a hard time, you’ll answer to me."
His lips twitched; he couldn’t help it.
She glowered. “Don’t laugh at me.”
It took all he had not to. Here she was, a head shorter than he was and she was threatening him. And she was dead serious, he realized, the smile fading.
“I’m not a jackass,” he said.
“You’ll pardon me if I prefer to wait and see on that one.” The snap in her words stung. Now it was his turn to step a bit closer. “Wait and see about what?” “Whether you live up to your reputation.” Taking his time, keeping control of the irritation, he leaned down to rest his elbows on the counter so that they were eye to eye, lip to lip. She smelled faintly of apples. And he could see her decide not to budge. “It’s a good thing we’ll have lots of time, then.”
For a minute, neither moved. And he couldn’t help wondering what she would do if he shifted just a bit closer, tasted that mouth of hers while it was open and soft with surprise. He saw her shoulders rise slightly as she took a breath, saw those hazel eyes darken to caramel brown.
And flicker with alarm.
She did move then, abruptly. “Stop playing games.” Her voice was sharp.
“Stop playing hardnose.”
“I’m not playing anything.”
“Really?” He watched the pulse beat in her throat. “This could get interesting."
Just then, the door behind him jingled. “We’re back,” a voice announced from the door and he turned to see a woman with Cady’s eyes walking in.
He could almost hear Cady’s sigh of relief. “This has been fun, but here are my parents. I guess it’s time for you to finally meet your staff."
“I guess you’re right,” Damon said. “See you around.”
“Not if I see you first.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve taken on here?” Cady stared at her parents across their kitchen.
“Of course,” Amanda said pleasantly, glancing over her shoulder as she stood at the counter with bread and cold cuts. “Do you want me to make you a sandwich, too?"
“No thanks,” Cady muttered.
“You can give me hers,” Ian said cheerfully. “There’s nothing like fasting for a couple of days to make a guy appreciate food.” “You’re changing the subject,” Cady returned, although a sandwich was starting to sound increasingly good for someone who’d skipped lunch. “Why Damon Hurst, of all people? There have to be tons of qualified cooks out there.”
“Cooks, maybe, but not chefs, and not as many as you’d think. At least not who’d move up to Grace Harbor."
Okay, so a tiny tourist town, even one an hour from Portland, wasn’t for everyone. Still … “There has to be someone. Why Hurst? Why him, of all people?"
He’d leaned in and stared at her with those eyes and she’d almost forgotten how to breathe. This could get interesting. Just thinking of it made her furious.
Just thinking of it made her shiver.
“We hired him because he was recommended by Nathan, for one thing,” her father said, pulling a bowl of potato chips toward himself.
Cady blinked. “Nathan knows him?”
“Well, the chef Nathan works for now does. He told Nathan, Nathan told us."
“He said he hadn’t even been here. What, he couldn’t even be bothered to come interview? He made you go there?"
Her father coughed. “Not exactly.”
“You took him on sight unseen?” she asked incredulously.
“We took him on recommendation. We talked to him by phone, several times. We’d seen him cook on Chef’s Challenge, where he has a winning record, I might add. What more did we need to know?"
“I don’t know, chemistry? See if it feels right?”
“Chemistry?” Ian repeated in amusement. “We don’t want a date, we want a chef. I don’t see the problem. He needs a job and he can give us what we need, which is visibility."
“Or notoriety.”
“You know what they say. There’s no such thing as bad publicity,” Amanda put in mildly as she set the sandwiches down on the table and sat.
“Mom, you know the stories. I mean, he used to throw customers out of his restaurant, for God’s sakes. He gave one of his chefs a black eye. Do you want that happening at the Sextant?"
“Of course not. But he says that’s over. He wants to build something here."
“Sure, until he finds something bigger and better and walks out on his contract.” There was a short silence while her parents suddenly became very interested in their napkins. “You do have him under contract, don’t you?” Cady asked with dawning dismay.
Ian met her eyes. “We thought about it but we decided it was smarter not to. A contract is a double-edged sword, you know. This way if he doesn’t work out, we can walk away."
“You do admit there’s a chance of that, then?”
“Of course we do,” Ian said impatiently. “It’s a calculated risk."
“I agree with the risk part.”
“No matter what, we’ll get a lot of exposure from him. People know Damon Hurst. They’ll want to know why he’s here. They’ll come to see if he’s still got the magic. I mean, think of it, even you’ve heard of him and you barely pick up a paper or turn on the TV."
“Cable’s too expensive,” she muttered, moving to sit at the table with them.
“Our occupancy is down. It has been for the past two years. We need to get publicity and we can’t afford ads right now.” Ian picked up his sandwich. “Hurst’s our answer. We send out a few press releases, maybe get a review or two in the papers or magazines."
And start a media feeding frenzy. “That publicity’s not going to be worth much if your line staff quits and your diners start staying away."
“I think that’s unlikely.”
“I don’t trust him.” Cady reached out for a chip. “Why would a guy like him come all the way up here to work? You know the stories—he dates fashion models and pop tarts. I can’t imagine Grace Harbor’s going to thrill him.”
“Maybe he’s grown up. It can happen, you know.” Amanda gave her a bland look.
“All right, all right, I get the point,” Cady grumbled. “But he’s got to be costing you a fortune."
“Not as much as you’d think. We’ve