by Allie Burton
And because of those things, he’d signed too quickly.
“And you get to work in a state-of-the-art, professional kitchen.” Cal droned on not realizing each point he made caused Michael’s anger to rise like dough.
“A kitchen with the latest spying technology.” Michael’s game-show-host voice displayed his frustration.
“Video cameras.”
Every muscle and tendon in his body tensed. Every ugly thought surfaced. His knuckles whitened around his phone. “Video cameras recording my every move and every move of the oblivious kitchen staff.”
“It wouldn’t be any fun if your staff was aware of the filming.” Cal’s gleeful tone sung across the line. “That’s what makes reality-television gold.”
“Golden crap.” Michael’s disgust knew no limits. He punched off the phone and tossed it onto the counter, the clattering sound echoing the clatter between his ribs.
This wasn’t reality television.
This was unscripted drama.
The network executives didn’t want to see a professionally-run kitchen and first-class restaurant. They didn’t want viewers to experience how a five-star meal was prepared. They didn’t want a successful re-opening.
Not based on what they’d already named the show.
Kitchen Catastrophe.
Chapter Three
Kicking off her heels, Isabel jumped into the rolling leather chair and ran her fingers over the worn wooden surface of the head chef’s desk. Excitement pulsed beneath her skin. She spun the chair in a complete circle, relishing the headiness of the ride. She’d sat in this chair many times as sous chef. This time, it was different. This time, the chair belonged to her.
Well, almost.
Parker needed to make her promotion official. She bit her lower lip. There was no one else in this town who could do the job. She had the most education and the most experience.
She picked up an order slip dated yesterday and frowned. She’d flown into Denver yesterday afternoon, and taken the ski shuttle home to Castle Ridge. Her golden tan had been out of place with the skiers crowding Main Street. She’d found relaxing on the beach difficult with her mind on her promotion. And the men in the resort town she’d found lacking.
Her mood fouled. The perfect kiss had ruined her vacation. She’d been afraid if she kissed any of the men she’d flirted and danced with at the resort, the memory of Michael’s kiss would disappear.
Like he did.
He was probably back in L.A. with the high-end fashion models he dated. Had she really expected him to ask his sister for her phone number and call? When said sister probably didn’t want anything developing between them?
Plus, he was a celebrity chef, with a following of adoring female fans. She’d seen the gossip pages. He’d probably forgotten their kiss and left Castle Ridge without a single thought of her. The next time she’d see him would be at Danielle and Luke’s wedding, and she’d have to act as if everything was normal.
Getting out of her head chef’s chair and putting on her pumps, Isabel strolled out of the office and into the finished remodeled kitchen. She stopped short and sucked in a breath.
The beautiful, enlarged, up-to-date-with-the-latest-equipment, efficient kitchen. The meat roaster radiated. The stainless steel of the cold side sparkled. The pastry area shimmered. Electricity raced across her skin. She would be in charge of this. The latest gadgets and the newest technology. Her hands itched to start cooking right now. She only wished she’d had a say in the appliances and design. Parker had been so secretive about the remodel once Chef Françoise had given his input.
The kitchen staff didn’t report until the next day, so she was alone to glory in the improvements, the cleanliness, the perfection.
She trailed her fingers on the Combi oven, caressing the surface.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” A deep male voice rumbled.
The electricity charging through her increased its voltage and lit up her insides. Michael had come to see her. He’d felt their connection during the kiss. He must’ve stayed in town for some reason and knew her return date.
She pivoted slowly, schooling the expression of excitement that must be on her face. “Hi, Michael.”
He wore designer jeans with a deliberately worn appearance, and an untucked, long-sleeved, button-down shirt stretching across his chest. His hair was television-performance ready. And his smile shined brighter than any of the new appliances.
He looked better than her myriad unwanted fantasies she’d had of him while on vacation. The fantasies had ruined the planned vacation flirtation.
Shaking his head, the spark in his orbs dimmed. “The Combi is able to control the precise humidity of air inside the cooking chamber.” He leaned against the fish roast.
Why was he going on about her kitchen? Of course, he knew each piece of equipment, he was a professional chef. If he was here to see her, why didn’t he ask how she was or where she’d gone?
“I know about the Combi’s advantages.” Nerves took control of her mouth, and she spewed. Stepping closer to him, she circled her finger around the gas cooktop, wishing she caressed him. “You’d appreciate the rings on this cooktop. They’re what you use on your show.”
Which was weird. That’s not what Chef Françoise had specified when he’d been working on the remodel design. With her mind twisting, she scanned the room, noting a couple of other major digressions.
“You watched my show.” Michael’s pleased-surprised tone drew her gaze back to him.
She dipped her head, not wanting to share how engrossed she’d been watching him cook. “Of course, I do. Almost everyone in town does.”
“Why?” He placed one hand on the side of the cooktop, very near her waist.
The warmth from his arm radiated into her body, as if the cooktop was on. “You’re the most famous person to come from Castle Ridge.”
“What about Luke?” Michael stepped in front of her, keeping his hand on the counter.
She ran a tongue over her upper lip. “He’s famous for skiing. You’re on television.”
He placed his other hand on the other side, boxing her in. The man had moves. His silver-gray eyes smoldered to black. “Is that the only reason you watch?” His deep voice dropped to husky.
Heat blazed inside, inflaming her skin and setting off smoke alarms in her head. She was burning up. He made it seem as though watching him cook was a sexual act. In a way it was. She’d drooled as she’d watched.
“I, um, um…” Her attraction skyrocketed, but she was unsure of his intent. What had happened to her flirtatious demeanor? The girl who could flirt her way into and out of any situation? “I’m a chef, too.”
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Of course, he knew this. She was his sister’s best friend.
“So you’re learning from me.” His words said one thing, his tone implied something else.
Something sexual. Or maybe that was her interpretation.
Her pulse rushed, and she let a sexy smile slip on her face. “You know I can cook.” Her voice came out suggestive, not offended. She’d match him flirt for flirt.
“I’ve heard.”
Censure or expectation in his tone? Did Michael remember her flirtatious ways and because of that reputation expected something from her? She was willing.
She arched one brow. “Have you?”
He used a finger to smooth her eyebrow, taking away her challenge externally and internally. “What else do you think I could teach you?”
Teaching in the kitchen or teaching in the bedroom? Remembering their shared kiss, she hoped it was the latter. Without realizing it, she found herself tilting forward. “Maybe I know a few things I could teach you.”
His gaze went to her lips.
Blood raced in her veins. Her mouth ached for his, and desire flamed between them. They were playing with fire. She shouldn’t kiss him at her place of work, but she wasn’t on the clock and no one was around.
His mouth came down on hers. Gentle,
as if memorizing every line and seam.
She closed her eyes, wanting to give herself to the thrill. To accept the inevitable. To enjoy every touch and every caress.
Her lips moved against his. Even though they’d only kissed the one time, they easily found their rhythm. A rhythm simmering and boiling until she was out of control. With other guys a first kiss had always been awkward. With Michael it was memorable.
He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and stroked. Sparks flared and enflamed. Her alarms jangled louder. With a single kiss, she was ready to move out of the kitchen and into the bedroom.
Footsteps pounded on the floor.
Michael’s body stiffened, and his lips stopped moving.
She heard the footsteps again. This time, her brain realized the noise.
Her eyes flew open.
He stepped away from her and straightened his shirt. A shirt she hadn’t even realized she’d messed.
She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to pull herself together. She was going to be head chef; she couldn’t be caught making out in the kitchen. Not only was it unsanitary, it was unprofessional.
Parker observed the two of them, a glint of confusion on his face. His perfectly-coiffed hair appeared tame compared to the man she just kissed.
“What do you need?” Michael’s voice sounded normal. He obviously had more control over his libido.
Her skin cooled. Maybe he wasn’t as attracted to her.
“Good. You two are getting reacquainted.” Parker wrung his hands together. He seemed more together than on New Year’s Eve, but still jumpy.
Why would he be nervous of either one of them? In high school, Michael and Parker had been best friends. Now, they acted like strangers.
Michael’s face was a complete mask. What was he hiding?
“I’m glad you’re going to be okay with this decision, Isabel.” Parker’s shoulders relaxed.
She tilted her head, trying to figure his puzzling words out. “What decision?”
“Now that Chef Françoise has retired, I’ll be announcing the new head chef.”
Her chest pounded. She stood straighter, and pulled back her shoulders. This was it. Parker was going to tell her the head chef position belonged to her.
He waved his hand in a vague fashion. “The press release with head shots will go out today.”
Air caught in her lungs. “I didn’t take new photos.”
Michael jerked beside her. He gaped at her with raised eyebrows and tightened facial muscles. “What?”
“No need for the sous chef to take head shots.” Parker avoided her gaze like a guilty man.
“But…but.” The catch in her chest morphed into a fissure, a fissure cracking and widening with each of her panicked thoughts. “I’m the new head chef.”
Michael’s shoulders hunched, and he took a step back, as if he’d taken a punch to his midsection. Except she was the one who’d taken the punch, because something was wrong. Parker acted nervous. Michael shocked.
She sucked in a sharp, jagged breath, ignoring the pain. “Chef Françoise promised me the position.”
Michael’s skin had gone white as a chef’s coat. His round eyes had dimmed of color. “What?”
Parker’s expression softened, except for his pinched mouth. “I’m sorry, Isabel. I thought Michael told you. I thought that’s why you two were talking in the kitchen together.”
Her breath spasmed, sending alarms throughout her body. Her gaze switched back and forth, between Michael and Parker. “Told me? Told me what?”
Parker touched her arm. “The new head chef at the Castle Ridge Lodge is celebrity chef Michael Marstrand.”
* * *
Isabel’s expression changed from the white sheen of shock to the redness of hot anger. “You stole my job?”
Michael swallowed. His heart stopped beating for a second, before racing ahead of his thoughts. “No.”
Her eyes pooled with wetness, making their normal brightness dull to sage. “Chef Françoise guaranteed I’d be taking over for him.” She stabbed Parker with a pointy finger. “You practically promised me the position.”
“Something came up.” His absurd excuse shafted Michael with guilt.
He hadn’t known anything about promises or guarantees. He’d been focused on his own mistakes and agonies, past and present, not on how his becoming head chef affected the others at The Heights. He’d been told the head chef was retiring, not that anyone else expected to take his place. Now, he wanted to comfort Isabel and tell her everything would be okay.
Except he knew it wouldn’t be okay. Kitchen Catastrophe would seal her fate.
She jabbed her finger into Parker again. “You told me to take a relaxing vacation so I was ready to start in the New Year, and I thought you meant start as head chef.”
Which meant Isabel worked for Michael.
The thought hit him on the side of the head like being whacked by a steel pan. The words reverberated around his head. Unknowingly, he’d swooped in and taken the job she’d expected. She was his employee and he’d kissed her. Granted, he hadn’t known at the time. Still, guilt knifed again and again.
Parker backed up, ready to make a quick escape. “Ready to start with the…remodel.”
And the secret cameras. Bitterness filled Michael’s mouth with the taste of dandelion greens.
“Or was it so you could go behind my back and hire Michael?” Isabel sliced her hand toward him.
The imaginary knife in his stomach twisted and dug deeper.
He held up his hands. “Listen, Isabel—”
“Don’t listen Isabel me.” She reeled to face him, picking up a brand-new pot and sending hated reflections of his father’s abuse. “You knew.” Her accusation speared through his ribs and tore at his lungs. “You knew just now, and you knew on New Year’s Eve.”
He found it hard to respond, struggling with balancing the truth, his past, and saying the right thing. “I knew I was here to become head chef. I did not know you were being considered for the position.” If he’d spent a little time thinking about the workings of the restaurant, instead of his own selfish reasons for taking the job, he might’ve guessed.
Isabel’s entire body went taut. She pinched her lips together, lips minutes ago he’d been savoring, and spat, “Save it for one of your adoring fans, or one of your many famous model-slash-actress lovers.”
“Then you understand why I had to hire him.” Parker flung his hands dramatically in the air. “Chef Michael Marstrand is famous, and will bring prestige to Castle Ridge Lodge. He will kick-start the restaurant for its grand re-opening.”
He didn’t want to be hired because of his fame. He wanted to be hired because of their friendship and his abilities. Because even with a name like Kitchen Catastrophe, he could turn the image around. “I thought I was here because I was a good chef.”
“I’m good.” She set the pot back onto the cooktop with a clatter.
Relief the pot wouldn’t be banged on his head had his shoulders slumping.
“I’ve apprenticed in New York. I’ve got a degree from Le Cordon Bleu. I’m familiar with the best local resources and farms. I’m familiar with the lodge’s clientele and the staff.” She ticked off her accomplishments.
Some he’d known from his sister. Others surprised and pleased him. And made him feel guiltier for stealing her next career step. Maybe he could convince Parker to give Isabel the position when he left.
“I’ll leave you two to discuss your working relationship. We reopen in a few days.” The lodge owner backed out of the kitchen.
Coward.
He’d changed a lot since high school. Sure, he had the responsibilities of running the lodge, but that didn’t mean he could use excuses to get away with bad deeds and deviousness. Then again, it was Michael who’d screwed Parker over in high school. Dropping his friendship like a hot potato once Parker had admitted the truth.
The kitchen was silent except for Isabel’s gulping breaths. M
ichael needed to defuse her anger, settle their working relationship, and stop any affair that might’ve developed. The pain in his chest dulled to a throb. He’d been ambushed as much as Isabel. Again.
Resigned, he stretched the muscles in his neck. “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” She picked up the pot again and held it in front of her. “That I was a talented chef?”
“Yes.”
She gaped.
Understanding dawned. “No. I mean, I know you’re a talented chef from my sister. I didn’t know you worked here, or expected this position.”
She had been dressed as a guest at the New Year’s Eve party, not like kitchen staff. His guilt and confusion collided like oil and water. He wanted to punch something. Hard. He’d gladly give the job to her if he could get out of his contract. A contract only lasting until the network got the footage they needed, an estimated twelve long weeks.
He couldn’t tell her. Secrecy was contained in the contract.
She tapped the pot on her other hand. “Why do you?”
“Why do I what?”
Her eyes narrowed, and her reddish-blonde brows arched in suspicion. “Why would you, an accomplished celebrity chef, want to come back to small-town Colorado to become head chef at a rinky-dink lodge?”
His denial-defense mechanism ramped up. “It’s not rinky-dink.”
He knew how desperate Parker was to get this deal, and once Michael signed on it was guaranteed. How the lodge owner was even more desperate now, knowing the goal of the reality television program. He needed to help his ex-best friend.
“Compared to Los Angeles and New York?” Her skepticism caused nerves to skitter down his spine because she was right. And she was suspicious.
“This is my hometown.” He sounded defensive. The words weren’t true. This place wasn’t his home any longer.
“According to Danielle, you hate this place.” Isabel’s glare ripped his half-truths to shreds.
He rubbed his palms together, searching for other reasons for him to be here. “My sister needs me.”
