Barbara McCauley - Blackhawk Desires

Kiera yanked her apron off and threw it on a counter. He wanted to talk to her? Fine.

She’d talk all right.

Pushing through the doors, she grabbed her purse out of the employee closet. After she told Sam Prescott exactly what she thought of him, it was pretty much a done deal she’d get canned. The last thing she wanted was to have to come back here and deal with the you-poor-thing-you-didn’t-deserve-it condolences. Strangely enough, even Tyler was looking at her with sympathy.

She caught up with Sam after he’d paused long enough to give instructions to Christine, then followed him through the restaurant.

He didn’t say one word to her.

In the elevator, she stared straight ahead, refused to even glance at Sam, determined to hold her tongue until they were in the privacy of his office. She’d been holding in too much for too long. She was ready—past ready—to let it out. No doubt she’d regret it later, but she’d simply deal with that when the time came.

Tension crackled in the tiny space, and the overhead music sounded like a muted roar. When the doors slid quietly open, Sam strode purposefully into the hallway without giving her so much as a glance. Part of his intimidation method, she figured, stalking after him. She kept her gaze lasered to the back of his head, every step heightening her already strained emotions.

He stopped outside an unmarked office, slid a card-key into the door and opened it, then stepped aside. Head high, she marched in. When she heard the door close behind her, she dropped her purse onto an armchair and whirled on him.

“Chef Phillipe is a bully,” she said furiously. “He insults every member of the staff and refuses to acknowledge any mistake on his part, though let me tell you, he makes plenty.”

Arms folded, Sam simply stared at her.

A tiny little voice told her to put a sock in it, but she squashed the voice like a bug. She was on a roll and had no intention of slowing down.

“The man hasn’t a creative bone in his body,” she ranted on. “Everyone knows he’s hanging on the skill and reputation of your last chef. Everyone but you, obviously, or you wouldn’t put up with his arrogant nonsense.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so.” She slammed her hands onto her hips and moved closer. “Robert is a wonderful sous-chef and he has tremendous potential. He just needs a little guidance, which he’ll never get from Phillipe. You know why?”

“I have the feeling you’re going to tell me,” Sam said evenly.

“Yes, I am going to tell you.” Why not? she thought. She’d already cooked her goose, why not serve it on a platter while she was at it? “Because any sign of talent threatens him so he beats it down. Because he knows he lacks the je ne sais quoi that a truly great chef is born with. And because, sooner or later, he knows that he’ll be found out, and when he is he’ll be flipping burgers and slinging hash in a coffee shop somewhere.”

Lord, but she was riled .

Sam watched Kiera throw her arms out in exasperation. Her cheeks were flushed and sparks flew from her eyes like tiny blue bolts of lightning. He was certain he’d never met anyone like this woman before. She absolutely fascinated him.

She absolutely dazzled him.

“I don’t know why I’m trying to explain this to you.

You wouldn’t understand working in a kitchen, what it means, what it takes.” She spun on her heels and flounced away. “And why should you believe anything I say, anyway? You’re too busy making assumptions and passing judgments.”

“Kiera—”

“You’re management, I’m just a waitress. What the hell do I know?”

“Kiera—”

“I’m done talking. So what are you waiting for? Fire me already.” She whirled around and faced him. “Never mind. I’ll make your job easy. I quit.”

“Kiera,” he said patiently. “I believe you.”

That stopped her. “What?”

“I said, I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

Still unsure, she tilted her head. “Which part?”

Sam folded his arms and sighed. “Chef Phillipe is a bully riding on the previous chef’s coattails,” he repeated her words. “He hasn’t a creative bone in his body and Robert is a good sous-chef. I already knew all that.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I did.”

She frowned. “So then why did you let me go on like that?”

Grinning, he leaned back against the door. “I was enjoying the show.”

Her frown darkened, then she suddenly went still and scanned around the room, confused. “This isn’t your office.”

He was wondering how long it would take her to notice. “No, this is not my office.”

She took in the living room area of the large suite and the kitchen. “This is your … ah, where you …”

“Live,” he finished for her.

She glanced back at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I wanted privacy.” He saw her breath catch when he pushed away from the door.

She shifted awkwardly. “I hardly think dragging me out of the kitchen in front of the entire staff is private.”

“Would you have come up here with me if I’d told you where we were going?”

“I—no.”

The beat she’d waited to answer was just long enough to make his pulse jump. She wouldn’t have said no, and they both knew it.

Yet still, he could see the inner war waging in her eyes: stand her ground or bolt. She was already running away from something or someone in her life. He had no intention of letting her run away from him.

Not anymore.

But she didn’t bolt, just stood still, kept her gaze level as he closed the distance between them until he was less than an arm’s reach away.

“You’re not pregnant.”

She jerked her head up. “What?”

“You’re not pregnant. You bought that test for someone else.”

“And why would I do that?”

She was on guard now. He’d come to recognize the look in her eyes when he approached a subject she clearly did not want to talk about. “Because Clair asked you to.”

“She told you that?”

He shook his head. “She didn’t tell me anything. It’s more of an uneducated guess. You just confirmed it.”

Her eyes narrowed sharply. “You tricked me.”

“I didn’t trick you,” he stated. “I’m simply trying to understand why Clair would ask someone she’s just met to buy a pregnancy test for her.”

“I really don’t see where that’s any concern of yours.”

“Fine.” He shrugged and started to turn. “I’ll just go ask her myself.”

“No!”

Sam turned back, watched her chew on the inside of her lip while she struggled with the proverbial rock and hard place situation.

“She had all the signs,” Kiera said finally. “I just sort of suggested she might be pregnant. She hadn’t considered the possibility until I asked her how far along she was.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “And she asked you to buy a pregnancy test for her?”

“If she’d bought it herself, how long do you think it would take for the entire town to find out?”

“Probably not even long enough for the stick to turn blue.”

“Exactly.”

“So did it?”

She started to say something, then quickly pressed her lips together.

He grinned. “Now that was trying to trick you.”

“Whether she is or she isn’t, and who she wants to tell when, is Clair’s decision,” Kiera said primly. “And I’d appreciate you not mentioning this conversation to her.”

“Geez, I don’t know.” He shook his head doubtfully. “This is pretty big news. It just might innocently slip out, you know, when I’m distracted or caught up in work.”