Cat Schield - A Taste of Temptation

“You once mentioned she smokes when she’s agitated,” Mary said. “She’s starting her second cigarette.”

“She’s smoking in my office?” Harper pinched the bridge of her nose. She wanted to insist Mary tell her mother to put out the cigarette, but knew that would be asking too much of her assistant. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“You can’t leave,” Carlo protested. “Croft has started the interview without you.”

“Great,” she muttered. “How long has he been here?”

“Long enough to taste everything Chef Cole has prepared.” Carlo’s dour expression was enough to tell Harper that this interview was going the way the other seven had.

“Mary, looks like I am going to be a while. Get my mother settled in a suite and I’ll visit her as soon as I’m done here.” Harper hung up and turned to Carlo. “If he messes this interview up, I’m going to kill him.”

Carlo offered her a tight nod of understanding.

The hostility in the two male voices hit her before she’d reached the food pass area.

“There’s nothing wrong with the sear on these scallops,” one of the men protested, his tone both arrogant and simmering with hostility. “And the sauce is not under seasoned.”

“It’s obvious the only thing worse than your culinary skills is your wretched palate.”

Pain stabbed Harper’s temple as she recognized the voice of the second speaker. Ashton Croft had been interviewing head chefs for two months, rejecting one after another for failing to live up to his exacting standards.

Harper snapped her vertebrae into a stiff line and stepped into the meticulously organized, stainless-steel kitchen. As was her habit, her gaze swung immediately to Ashton. He dominated the room with his presence. Tall and imposing in his chef whites, he stood glaring at Chef Cole, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.

He hadn’t yet noticed her, hadn’t turned his Persian-blue eyes her way, hadn’t noted her slight breathlessness. His passion for food sent his innate charisma soaring. She cursed the hero worship that she couldn’t completely squash despite her professionalism. She was unequal parts frustrated with the restaurateur and enamored of the dashing adventurer.

His travels fascinated her. Some of the things Ashton had eaten made Harper shudder, but he boldly consumed whatever he was offered. She’d spend her entire life knowing exactly where she was going, and the way he allowed random opportunities to push him into unexpected and sometimes startling discoveries both unnerved and captivated her. Watching his television shows had made her realize just how safe her world was. And a seed of restlessness had sprouted inside her.

With effort Harper ripped her gaze from Ashton and turned her attention to the other chef. Taking in the interviewee’s blazing eyes and clenched fists, she donned her most diplomatic expression and entered the war zone.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” She stepped into the middle of the clash with calm authority. She wanted Chef Dillon Cole to run Batouri’s kitchen. He was an excellent chef as well as a strong, organized leader. Harper restrained a weary sigh. Of all the candidates, he’d been Harper’s first choice for head chef. It was why she’d saved his interview until the last. This close to the restaurant’s already delayed grand opening, she had the leverage she needed to force Ashton’s hand. “I stopped by to see how things are going.”

“Taste this,” Ashton commanded, pushing the plate in her direction without ever taking his eyes off Cole. “Tell me if you think it’s up to Batouri standards.”

The first time he’d done this she’d been flattered that he wanted her opinion. After the third candidate had been rejected, she’d realized he was merely using her to drive home a point. If someone with no culinary experience could taste the inferior quality of the entrées, the chef who’d prepared the dish had failed.

Harper made no move to do as he’d asked. “May I speak to you privately for a moment?”

“Can it wait?” Ashton never took his eyes off Chef Cole.

She fought to keep her frustration on a tight leash. How would it play out on social media if the general manager of Fontaine Ciel was recorded shrieking empty threats at the famous Chef Croft?

“No.”

Her conviction came through loud and clear, snagging Ashton’s complete attention. His laser-sharp blue eyes scanned her expression. Sexual interest flared low in her belly. It traveled upward, leaving every nerve it touched sizzling with anticipation. She cursed silently. Her body’s tendency to overreact to the man’s rakish good looks and raw masculinity had distracted her all too often. She was not her professional best around him.

Once again Harper reminded herself that the flesh and blood man standing before her was unreliable and unconcerned with how his priorities impacted those around him. The dashing adventurer he portrayed on television was entertaining to watch as he charmed locals by listening attentively to their stories and sampling the regional specialties. But when it came to the routine matters necessary to start a restaurant, he easily became distracted.

Lips tightening, Ashton nodded. “Excuse us,” he said to Chef Cole, and gestured for Harper to return to the dining room. “What’s so important?” he demanded as soon as they’d exited the kitchen.

“The restaurant opens in two weeks.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“The press releases have gone out. There will be no further postponement.”

“Understood.”

She tamped down her irritation. “We need a head chef.”

“I will take charge of the kitchen.”

If only that were true. “I need someone I can rely on to be here every day.”

His nod indicated he saw where she was going. “You want me to hire Cole.”

“The last time I was in Chicago I ate at his restaurant. It was excellent. I was looking forward to tasting what he’d created today.”

“You didn’t miss much.”

Harper spent a minute studying Ashton. There was something different about him today. Usually he breezed in, found something wrong with the construction or the fixtures and then stirred up everyone associated with the project before coming up with a fix for whatever he perceived wrong. Working with him had been stressful and invigorating, but in the end the restaurant was far better for his interference.

Today he seemed to be creating trouble for the sake of drama rather than because he had real issues with Chef Cole.

“Is there something going on with you?”

Her abrupt change in topic startled him into a moment of uncertainty. “Not a thing. Why?”

“Because you were on time for a change.”

“I believe I was an hour early.”

She gestured toward the door, making no effort to correct him. “And there’s no go bag.”

“Go bag?” he echoed.

“The black leather bag that you bring with you everywhere.”

“You mean my rolling duffel?” He pointed toward a far corner of the restaurant where the bag sat beside a semicircular corner booth. “Why do you call it a go bag?”

“Because it’s your crutch.”

Amusement narrowed his eyes. “My crutch.”

“When things get too tedious you make some excuse, grab the bag and head off in search of greater excitement.”

“Leaving you behind to clean up after me?”

She let a brief silence answer his question. “You’ve interviewed and rejected seven head chef candidates.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s your point?”

“I need you to hire someone. Chef Cole is that person.”

“You didn’t taste his entrées.” When it came to food, Ashton was a creative genius. She wasn’t surprised he couldn’t find someone who was capable of living up to his demanding criteria. “I found them lacking.”