Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One

by Robin Kaye

“Um…”

  “Think of it as a working interview. You wouldn’t hire a band without hearing them play, would you?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll even clean up after myself. What are you and your friends in the mood for? Or would you rather me go off the menu?”

  “You want to cook?”

  She shrugged. “It’s what I do. Besides, I haven’t cooked in two days and not cooking makes me antsy.”

  “Okay. It’ll get me out of having to cook lunch. If you could make something heart healthy that doesn’t taste it, it would be great. Pop’s on a pretty strict diet, and he’s not happy about it. Oh, and try to make it something a kid wouldn’t mind eating.”

  “You have a child?”

  Was it her imagination or did he just blanch? “Nicki is my dad’s foster child. She’s ten.” He headed out the swinging doors toward the bar, so she followed. “Hey, Rocki, Francis, this is Skye Sinclair. She’s going to cook for us as part of her job interview. Are you staying for lunch?”

  Skye looked toward the ceiling and cursed silently. God was having a good ol’ time at her expense. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. Leave it to her to get a job working for the future Mr. Payton Billingsly. Then she remembered, she had seen his picture on the plane—Food & Wine did a spread on their upcoming nuptials.

  She’d never met Logan Blaise, probably because she avoided people like Payton and this guy was engaged to her.

  She smiled through Logan’s introductions to Rocki, the lead singer of the house band, and Francis, who looked more like a bouncer than a bartender. All the while her mind spun. If she’d traded her brothers only to work for a carbon copy, she’d have to quit her second job in two days. No matter how badly she needed the money.

  He even sounded like her brothers—not a hint of the Brooklyn accent his friends had. He was gorgeous, polished, shallow, and fake. Skye couldn’t help but wonder whether when he and Payton married, he’d take the Billingsly family name. After all, anyone who married Payton had to have a set of balls the size of Mexican jumping beans if he had any at all.

  At least Logan hadn’t recognized her—not that they traveled in the same circles. She’d always avoided his circles. Still, it was a darn good thing she’d thought to use her mother’s maiden name and since it was also her middle name, it wasn’t much of a lie, was it? “So it’s five for lunch, right?”

  Logan raised his brows. “Six including you. You do eat your own food, don’t you?”

  “Not usually with the people for whom I’m cooking.”

  “Make an exception today. I’m sure Pop would like to talk to you.”

  “Fine. Any food allergies I should know about?”

  They all shook their heads. “Okay, I’ll go see what there is to make. Give me about forty-five minutes. I have to start everything from scratch.”

  “No problem, take your time and holler if you need any help.”

  “You know your way around the kitchen?”

  Rocki and Francis laughed, and then Francis stepped forward and threw his arm over her shoulder. “My man Logan knows a lot about a lot of things. He knows his way around a lab, a distillery, a brewery, and a vineyard definitely. But the kitchen is one place he has little or no experience. I’m Italian, so I’m no stranger to the kitchen. If you need anything, just call my name.”

  Skye took a relieved breath. She liked Francis immediately, even if he could bench-press her using only his pinkies. Rocki seemed nice too. She just wasn’t sure what they were doing with a guy like Logan Blaise.

  * * *

  Logan watched Skye saunter to the kitchen. “Is it my imagination or does it seem like she doesn’t like me?”

  Rocki smiled. “Nope, not your imagination. I think she likes Francis and me just fine. What’d you do?”

  “Nothing.” Nothing except hold her hand way too long. Not that he’d ever tell Rocki.

  Francis raised his eyebrows. “Maybe it’s the way you undress her with your eyes.”

  “I do not.”

  “Hey”—Francis held up his hands—“she’s a cute girl. There’s no reason not to look—after all, you’re not married yet. Next time try not to make it so obvious.”

  “I’m not looking.”

  Francis smiled. “Okay, chief. Whatever you say.” He let out a laugh. “Are you going to tell Pete he’s expected to have a lunch with us prepared by our new cook?”

  “I guess I’d better.” He took a deep breath and shook his head at Rocki and Francis, who were obviously enjoying his discomfort. “Wish me luck.”

  Rocki gave him a pat on the back. “You’re definitely going to need it. We’ll stay here and hold down the fort. Call us if you need reinforcements, and I’ll be sure to send Francis.” She blew him a kiss. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

  Logan dragged ass up the steps to the apartment. He stepped inside and Nicki’s big mutt, who looked like a weird mixture of German shepherd and golden retriever, planted both paws on his chest. “Get down, D.O.G.” He wondered, not for the first time, how Nicki had managed to get a dog of her own. He and his brothers were never that lucky. Maybe Pop had mellowed in his old age. He spotted his father sitting in the recliner in his usual outfit, Dockers and a white T-shirt. “Hey, Pop. When’s Nicki coming home?”

  “Soon. She has a playdate with a friend from school.”

  “Good. Look, we have a situation. Rex called earlier today. His mom had a stroke and he has to go down to Florida and take care of her. It sounds as if he’s moving down there indefinitely.”

  Pete rubbed his chest and then ran his hands through what was left of his white hair. “Hell, I don’t even have a backup—Harrison could cover for a night or two, maybe. Shit. I’ve never needed a backup before. I’ve always had Bree here. What the hell are we going to do? Rex does all the food orders. I don’t think Harrison even knows how to.”

  “It’s okay. I think I found us a new cook.”

  Pop’s stunned look almost made him smile. He always liked surprising the old man.

  “And just how the hell did you do that?”

  “The usual way. I put a Help Wanted sign in the window. She’s downstairs now whipping us up something for lunch.”

  “She?” Pete rose slowly from his chair. He’d always thought that Pop was indestructible, but all it took was a heart attack and bypass surgery to change that. Logan had been there almost a month. His boss had come out of semiretirement so he could swing it. And after all that time he was still shocked by the difference in his father.

  “Yes, her name is Skye Sinclair and she’s offered to cook as part of her job interview. She’s ours if we want her.”

  “Skye is a good Irish name. Unfortunately, the Irish aren’t known for their cooking. What’s she making?”

  “I don’t know. I gave her free rein. I asked that she prepare something heart healthy a kid wouldn’t mind eating. Why don’t you throw a shirt on and come down for lunch?”

  Pete shot him a look of either disgust or disbelief. Maybe both. He hadn’t been happy with his new diet.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “She could start a kitchen fire.”

  “With Rex gone, we might have had to close the kitchen. If there’s a fire, at least we’re insured, so we could recoup the loss of business.” Logan followed his dad to his bedroom and leaned against the doorjamb while Pop carefully pulled a sweater over his T-shirt. He obviously was still feeling the effects of his surgery. “Face it, Pop. It’s a win-win situation. You won’t have to eat my cooking and I have a good feeling about this woman. I think she knows what she’s doing.”

  “Where has she worked?”

  Logan shrugged. “Here and there. You know the restaurant business. Maybe you can get the particulars—she doesn’t seem to like me much.”

  A smile broke over Pop’s face and Logan caught a glimpse of the old Pete Calahan. “At least the girl shows intelligence. Why the mystery, is she running from someone? If she is, that co
uld lead to trouble.”

  He didn’t like the idea of her running from anyone, but if she was hiding out, he’d prefer she do it in the safety of the Crow’s Nest. “If she is on the run, who’s going to see her if she’s in the kitchen cooking?”

  “Good point. Okay, let’s go down and meet this beautiful woman.” He headed toward the stairway leading to the bar.

  “Hey, I never said she was beautiful.”

  “You didn’t have to. You have that look about you—the same one you always wore when you got shot down by a knockout. But then you always went for the knockouts.”

  Logan followed him down the steps and stood beside him when they reached the floor of the restaurant. He glanced toward the kitchen. “You make it sound as if I got shot down often.”

  Pop slapped him on the back. “Often enough. It’s good to see it’s still happening. I wouldn’t want you to get too big for your britches.”

  “Skye didn’t shoot me down. For that to happen, I would have had to ask her out.” He probably would have, had he been single, but he wasn’t. “I’m engaged, remember?”

  “That’s right. You’re engaged to a girl I’ve never met. For all I know, she’s a figment of your imagination. I’ll believe it when I see her.”

  “Pop, your faith in me is humbling.”

  “It has nothing to do with faith. It has to do with the fact that you’ve known this girl for years and you’ve never once brought her home. That tells me something.”

  Logan shrugged and wished he knew what that something was. There were countless reasons he’d never brought Payton home. If he had, she’d be filled with questions he had no way to answer or had no interest in answering. It was better to avoid the situation altogether.

  Rocki, Francis, and Francis’s wife, Patrice, waited at the bar. Damn, the last thing he needed was Patrice and Rocki—the dynamic duo—ganging up on him in front of his new hire. “Patrice, when did you get here?” He gave her a kiss, much to Francis’s chagrin.

  Logan found out a long time ago that Patrice had been the reason Francis had beat the crap out of him and Storm both when they were kids. Still, neither of them had ever really gotten hurt until Francis somehow had gotten the insane idea that Patrice had a crush on him—which was news to Logan. Patrice didn’t know he existed, but that didn’t stop Frankie the bruiser. Nicki once told him that Patrice reminded her of an African-American Barbie doll—and the kid was right. Patrice was the beauty queen type and everyone knew beauty queens didn’t go for geeks—and at the time, he was a major geek.

  Patrice tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Francis told me about your new cook, so I thought I’d drop by and meet her.”

  “Right.” The woman was a veritable Wikipedia of who’s who and what’s what in her little corner of the world. Not in a bad way—she never struck him as a gossip, but she definitely had her finger on the pulse of the community.

  Francis stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle. “I told Skye we’d have one more at lunch. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “I don’t.”

  Pete went around the bar and poured himself a beer and Rocki gave Logan the you-better-do-something look.

  Great. “Hey, Pop, thanks for pouring one for me. It’s thoughtful, since you’re off the juice until the doctors give you the go-ahead.” Logan reached across the bar and took the beer from him and smiled at the grimace Pop shot back.

  Nicki burst through the door, her sneakers slapping against the hardwood floor. “I’m home.” She ran right past him, not even giving him a second glance before she scooted under the pass-through right into Pop’s open arms.

  “How was your day?” Pop gave her a noogie and poured her a soda.

  “It was good. We watched movies and did arts and crafts.”

  Logan groaned when Rocki’s elbow made contact with his ribs. “What the heck was that for?”

  Rocki crossed her arms, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. “I don’t know. You’re supposed to act fatherly. Standing there doing nothing is not fatherly.”

  Nicki’s mother, Marisa, had dumped Nicki on Pop’s doorstep six months ago and told Pop that Nicki was his granddaughter. Up until a few weeks ago, everyone had been convinced Storm was Nicki’s father—that is, until they asked him. Apparently he’d been so hung up on Bree even eleven years ago, he’d never slept with Marisa. The same couldn’t be said for Logan. He’d done a whole lot more than just sleep with her, but he’d always used protection. Still, nothing was one hundred percent effective. Marisa was no paragon of virtue at the time, nor did it seem as if she was now—after all, she’d left a great kid like Nicki with a virtual stranger. Logan might be Nicki’s father, but then, it could have all been a big lie. No one knew, which was why they were waiting on the paternity test before they said anything. He’d thought that meant they wouldn’t say anything to anyone—obviously he’d thought wrong. From the look on Patrice’s and Francis’s faces, the only one who didn’t know was Nicki. Shit. “Things take time, Rocki. Give me a break.” What did they expect? No matter how much he wished he and Nicki were close, things like that didn’t happen overnight.

  The doors to the kitchen banged open, saving him from having to try to make conversation. Skye walked out with her arms filled with plates. “Lunch is served.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Skye waited for everyone to come to the table they’d set before she placed a plate in front of the little girl’s seat.

  Nicki wore a confused frown and looked at Skye as if she’d just stolen her candy. “Hi, Nicki. I’m Skye.” She placed the next plate in front of Pete—at least she assumed it was Pete, since no one had introduced them. Still, he was the only one old enough to be Logan’s father. “I hope you enjoy it, sir.”

  His face split in a smile. “I’m sure I will. And the name’s Pete. No one’s called me sir since I left the force. It’s nice to meet you, Skye.” He took the two plates and handed them around and then shook her hand.

  Francis sat Patrice before heading to the kitchen. “I’ll just get the rest of the plates for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Pete pulled out the chair next to his. “Have a seat. What can I get you to drink?”

  “No, I’ll get it.” She started to rise when Pete’s firm hand came down on her shoulder and squeezed.

  “Sit. Logan, open up a couple bottles of that wine you’re so damn proud of. And Rocki, run and get us all water glasses and a pitcher.” He scooted Skye’s chair in, and brought his head close to hers. “Rocki’s a disaster behind the bar,” he whispered, “but she should be able to handle water without making much of a mess.”

  Francis placed the rest of the plates around the table and groaned when he noticed Rocki behind the bar.

  Pete smiled at him. “Calm down. It’s only water.”

  “Oh, thank God. It took me three hours to clean up after Rocki’s last bartending adventure and I have a shift at my other job later today. I don’t have time to clean up after her again.”

  Skye felt Nicki’s eyes on her. She met them and then Nicki looked at the plate in front of her and smiled. “Look, Pop. Skye made me a happy face.”

  Skye blew out a slow breath. “It’s braised chicken with mushrooms, artichokes, and peppers in a white wine sauce.” She shrugged. “I make it a lot for my younger clientele and they like smiley faces. I left the pepperoncini peppers off yours, Nicki—they can be a little hot.” She had pounded out chicken breasts, cooked the meal, and saved the roundest breast especially for Nicki. She covered the plate with sauce, plated the chicken breast, cut the mushrooms to look like eyes and a nose, and used the artichoke hearts for brows and eyelashes, and turned the red peppers into lips before artfully arranging the rice to look like hair. It had worked—Skye fingered the four-leaf clover, thankful for the luck of the Irish, and held her breath.

  Pete cut into his chicken, piled on peppers, took a bite, and groaned. “I haven’t had anything this good since before m
y heart attack. It’s wonderful.”

  Logan placed a glass of wine in front of her, and she smiled her thanks.

  Pete continued, but this time he was watching Logan. “See, I knew heart healthy wasn’t synonymous with tasteless.” He looked over at Nicki. “Try it. It’s good. Really good.”

  Rocki passed around glasses of water and finally took a seat on the other side of Skye, next to Patrice.

  Logan sat across from her, next to Nicki, and tucked into his meal. Silence reigned—always a good sign. She figured with this bunch, it would be quiet only while they were eating; they looked like a boisterous crowd.

  “Skye”—Pete took a sip of his water while he eyed her wineglass—“if this group hasn’t scared you away, and you’re still interested in the job, I can call a meeting of the kitchen staff. Are you free to meet with them tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes. I’ll make time to meet the staff. I don’t have any plans as of yet. I’m new in town, so all I have on my agenda is finding a place to stay.” She sat back and sipped her wine. She had to admit Logan knew what he was doing when it came to wine—this bottle was fabulous.

  Patrice sat forward and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You’re looking for an apartment?”

  “Yes, I spent last night in Manhattan, but it’s kind of pricey. I thought I’d find something more affordable here in Brooklyn.”

  Patrice smiled. “Really? How do you feel about dogs?”

  “Dogs?”

  “Rex, the cook you’re replacing, has a puggle—she’s fifty percent pug, fifty percent beagle, and one hundred percent adorable. She’s just a little thing and she comes with a fabulous apartment.”

  “What?”

  “Rex asked me to sublet his place and find a home for Pepperoni—that’s her name. It fits—believe me. He can’t bring the dog to his mom’s and he has no idea how long he’ll be away. He hates the thought of it, but the way things look right now, he’ll have to move there permanently.” Patrice shook her head. “Rex has a great one-bedroom just down the street on the other side of the alley. It’s furnished, clean, safe, and, well, Pepperoni is just a love bug. I’d take her, but my daughter Callie is allergic.”