The Flirtation Game: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance

by Allie Burton

  She shook her head. “Danielle might’ve needed you before. Now she has Luke.”

  Too true. Michael’s guilt doubled. He hadn’t been around for his sister when she needed him. When she was a pregnant teen, he’d been in college, and his father had been alive to help. Had their father belittled Danielle about her unwed state as he’d belittled Michael’s love of cooking?

  His resentment thickened like a New Orleans roux. He’d missed Bri’s birth and toddler years because of the way his father had treated him. He refused to return home unsuccessful and without a steady girlfriend. At that point, he hadn’t yet proven himself in his career or his personal life, so he’d stayed away, calling only to talk to his sister. When his career had taken off, he’d tried to send her money. She’d refused.

  He’d continued to call almost every day. He’d stayed in touch. But was staying in touch enough?

  Once his career had taken off he’d wanted to come back to visit, except his business manager needed him, or the network requested him for a last-minute event. He couldn’t say no to anything that would help advance his career.

  Which was how he’d gotten stuck in this position. He’d believed the network wanted him to supervise a televised re-opening of a five-star restaurant. A limited time in his hometown where he could spend time with his sister and niece. Where he could make amends to his high school best friend. Where his damaged reputation would be repaired. And hopefully, his celebrity-chef future secured.

  He couldn’t tell Isabel. He didn’t even want to think about the potential lawsuit waiting for him in California. He could only give her a partial truth.

  “People change.” He couldn’t say I changed because he hadn’t.

  “Do they?” She sounded tart.

  Who or what had made her this way?

  He remembered her being fun and flirty, not distrusting. He remembered her vibrant smiles and her sunny laugh. He remembered how she’d worked at the ice cream parlor and had always given him an extra scoop.

  “You’ve changed.” Although after their last two kisses maybe she hadn’t. Was she a flirt, juggling multiple men? How many guys were on her speed dial? The harsh thought plunged into him with a sharp point.

  “In what way?” She seemed to brace herself for an insult.

  How did he tell her she’d grown into a beautiful and complicated woman, tough on the outside and yet soft on the inside? As her boss, he couldn’t say any of that. Not if he didn’t want a lawsuit or additional media scrutiny.

  “Lots of ways.” His vague answer caused her to scowl.

  “You don’t even know me anymore.” She huffed and paced away. “We haven’t seen each other in years.”

  “Besides New Year’s Eve.” He kicked himself for reminding her. They did not need to discuss the attraction between them, because nothing could happen if she worked for him.

  Her cheeks reddened. “Yeah, what was that about? You never noticed me as a teen.”

  He’d noticed. Noticed her fiery personality, matching her hair. Noticed her fierce friendship of his sister. Noticed the small dimples in her cheeks. “How could I not, when you were always underfoot at my house?”

  “If you had noticed, you would’ve known how driven I was to be a top chef. I was top of my class. I worked several internships and apprenticeships under more prestigious chefs than you.”

  “Yet, you came back here.” It must be different for a woman wanting to become a chef. Her parents probably never degraded her for wanting to cook.

  “This is my home. I’d always planned to come back and be the best chef in town.” Her voice went higher with intensity. “Either work here at the lodge, or open my own restaurant.”

  Being head chef at The Heights at Castle Ridge Lodge was her dream. And he’d stolen that. He slumped against the counter. For now. Maybe forever, if the show promoted incompetency of the entire staff.

  Even so, he wanted her to stay. She was familiar with the staff and the food vendors and the clientele. She could help him make the show a non-issue, by assisting him with making the grand re-opening a success. When his contract was up and he left, he could turn the restaurant over to her.

  With her temper, and rightful anger, he understood if she quit on the spot. “Are you going to stay on?”

  “I still think I’m the best chef.” She crossed her arms and glared. “Even if my position was stolen, and I’m being upstaged by a cooking-product pimp.”

  He jerked back. The strike hurt. He did promote products he’d tested on his show.

  “If you think you’re the best chef, prove it.” He put enough disbelief in his tone to make her think he believed she couldn’t do it. Working with Isabel would keep him on his toes. “You’ll stay on as my sous chef.”

  “I don’t need to prove anything.” She uncrossed her arms and curled her fingers around a large metal spatula.

  Worry wormed through his gut. He needed a good sous chef. “Well?”

  “I’ve been working as sous chef here for years. But you?” She used the spatula to point at him.

  “What about me?”

  “It will be interesting to see if you can handle a real kitchen, with real and demanding customers. Not some phony stage with a million-and-one assistants, and only one perfect meal to prepare.”

  His pulse jumped. He was actually getting excited about this gig and working with Isabel. “Is that a challenge?”

  “You bet it is.”

  The idea grew more appealing. He twisted her words. “So, it’s a bet?”

  He waited for her response.

  Her fingers tightened on the spatula again, making her knuckles white. “Sure.”

  His manhood hardened at the thought of what they could wager. Another hot kiss? A night in his hotel room? A week?

  No. No. No.

  He couldn’t ask for that with his sister’s best friend and his employee. He shouldn’t want to do any of those things with her. He didn’t want to. Drawing an imaginary line, he asked, “What’re the stakes?”

  Like in a western movie, she held the spatula at her hip as if it was a six shooter and was telling him the town wasn’t big enough for both of them. “Whoever can’t take the heat of re-opening the restaurant, creating perfect meals, and pleasing the clientele will quit and leave town.”

  Harsh consequences, especially for her. He planned to leave town anyway, so if he convinced her to stay, they could change the minor details later.

  Controlling his shaking fingers, he shoved out his hand with confidence. “You’ve got a deal.”

  She contemplated him, and he couldn’t stop the slight smile rising when he realized she was going to agree to the challenge. She shoved her hand in his and he ignored the electric spark. They shook to the deal.

  A deal that could be both of their downfall.

  Chapter Four

  Isabel thundered out of the room after issuing the terms, grabbed her coat, and headed outside. Michael had challenged her, and she’d never been one to back down from a challenge. But…

  …being at the Castle Ridge Lodge and not being head chef, and

  …feeling cheated of her promotion, and

  …working with Michael.

  Those thoughts tumbled around in her head and mixed with the emotions in her heart. Michael had been the model to which she’d held up other boys, and then men. He’d been nice and courteous to everyone. Athletic. Helped around the house. He’d been driven to be successful. He looked out for his sister until he’d left town for college. He called Danielle and advised from a distance.

  Now there was something of the bad boy inside him. Stealing her job and a kiss.

  Isabel shouldn’t yearn for his touch and attention. Besides drooling over him on television, she hadn’t seen him in years. One episode, he’d whipped up molten chocolate lava cake. Her mouth had salivated at the rich dessert, and her loins had inflamed at the way his arm muscles had bulged. His graphite-gray orbs had captured her through the airwaves, and she’d be
en lost.

  Licking her lips, she brought herself back to her present dilemma.

  Why return now? Why in her kitchen? Why steal her position? Her head steamed like a rice cooker. She wanted to scream at fate.

  Her high-heeled boots clicked on the pavement, the small salt crystals probably ruining the leather. She didn’t care. Shoes weren’t important at this moment. She gasped.

  Me not caring about shoes?

  Thoughts of the bet buzzed her brain. She needed to talk to someone about her predicament. Pausing on the sidewalk, she slowed her emotions so her brain could catch up. Had Danielle known about Michael taking the head chef position? How could she not?

  Crushing her gloves in her fisted hands, Isabel surveyed Main Street. People dressed in ski jackets and boots crowded the sidewalks. A light, falling snow made the street picturesque. This town had always been home. She’d only left for school and apprenticeships, always planning to return. To her family and her friends. To skiing and friendly-small-town life. Where everybody knew everybody else’s business and cared.

  Danielle had been her best friend since grammar school. Yet, she hadn’t said anything about her pregnancy until much later, and hadn’t revealed who the father was until very recently. Hurt radiated across Isabel. Maybe their friendship was one-sided.

  She couldn’t talk to her friend about her brother, but she had a brother of her own. Two, in fact.

  The older one happily away on his honeymoon, and the younger one at work. A younger one who’d only had one real relationship.

  She huffed, and a puff of air escaped from her mouth. She tugged her long coat tight to her body. She was dressed the exact opposite of everyone else walking toward the chairlift. They were talking and excited, ready for a day on the slopes, while she was not.

  Leaving the pavement, her heels sunk into the snow. She headed to the group of buildings holding the ticket office, restaurant, and rental shop. Skiers swooshed past her slow pace. Grabbing on to the wooden rail, she hauled herself up the wooden steps and into the building, and headed for the ski patrol office.

  A wooden counter separated her from members of the ski patrol sitting around a large table, coordinating their day. Four men and three women, most of them with their bright-red ski patrol coats hanging from the back of their chairs. Several snacked on fruit and granola bars, and half-filled cups of coffee spiraled steam into the air, filling the room with the scent. The ski patrol had around a hundred people working for them on varying shifts with varying responsibilities, so only a couple of the faces were familiar.

  “Hi. Is Dax around?”

  One of the men in the group slouched into his chair with an expression of all-knowingness. “Dax always has beautiful women asking for him.”

  Another man stood and swaggered toward the counter. “I’m sure one of us can help you. What’s your name, gorgeous?”

  Normally, she’d accept the compliment and flirt right back, except her mind was too twisted with worry. “Isabel, and Dax is my brother.”

  “Good news for me.” One of her brother’s coworkers scooped off his knit cap and ran fingers through his messy black hair.

  “Stop.” Lexi, one of the women who Isabel knew, smacked the guy on the arm. Lexi was beautiful and fit, wearing a trim ski patrol outfit, long blonde hair, and a smile so bright she could do a toothpaste ad. “Dax is in for break. He’s in the back by the lockers. Go on in.”

  Similar to her brother, the other ski patrol members were model-like and in excellent shape. With this career, they were probably reckless, flirtatious, and totally not serious about anything in life. They were fun to go to the local pub with, or on dates. She’d never get serious with any of them.

  She moved past and knocked on the frame of the open door. “Dax?”

  “Hey, Izzy.” He flipped his long blond hair out of green eyes similar to hers and her brother Reed’s. Her brothers were the only ones who ever called her Izzy. “You never visit me at my job.”

  Lockers lined one wall, and the other had doors leading to bathrooms and showers. A backdoor led to the easiest path on and off the slope. Locker-room smell pervaded.

  “Because you’re usually on the mountain causing havoc.”

  “It’s my job to cause havoc.” He flashed one of his carefree-sexy grins. “I’m an avalanche expert.”

  “To Mom’s dismay.” Their mother and father had sold the family home and moved to Florida. Her heart squeezed for a second. She wished she could talk to her mom about this in person. Mom’s hearing was bad, which made talking on the phone difficult, and forget about using technology to make it easier. Her parents didn’t go for that stuff. “I thought I’d take a chance and see if you were around.”

  “Must be something big.” He unbuckled his ski boots, took a chunk of loose snow and flicked it at her. “What’s up?”

  Ducking the soft snowball, doubt invaded. Dax was never serious about anything. “This was a bad idea.”

  “How do you know, if you haven’t even told me what’s going on?” His chin tilted in an adorable-puppy-begging way.

  “It’s about my job.”

  “And?” He slipped off his boots and placed them carefully in his locker. His lackadaisical attitude didn’t extend to his equipment.

  She’d never asked her younger brother for advice. He wasn’t to be taken seriously. “Never mind.”

  He stalked toward her in his stocking feet and placed a hand on her arm. “What’s up, Izzy?” His sincere tone urged her to confide.

  He was younger than Isabel, but he was maturing. He had moments of seriousness, even though most of the time he was a fun-loving guy. She couldn’t confide in Danielle, and Mom and Dad had been so excited about her supposed promotion.

  Her chest clenched before she spit out the news. “They gave the head chef position to someone else.”

  “I’m sorry, Izzy.” Dax frowned. He knew she’d been expecting the promotion. They’d talked about it at Christmas. “Who got the job?”

  Her chest clenched tighter, squeezing her ribs and causing pain to radiate throughout. “Michael Marstrand.”

  A light shone in her brother’s eyes and his mouth opened really slow. “Ohhhh.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dax raised his hands. His gaze stayed steady. “It obviously means something to you.”

  Her cheeks warmed, and she perused the ground. Sometimes her brother saw too much.

  He tipped her chin up with his fisted hand. “You and Michael have always had this…connection.”

  Jerking her head, she shook off her brother. “Michael and I have only animosity. Especially now.”

  “Your mouth is saying one thing, but the blush on your cheeks agrees with me.”

  Her brother’s correct guess lighted her fire. “What would you know about connections? The only connections you make are the one-night-stands you’re so proud of.” As soon as she spoke, remorse deflated her anger. She had no right to judge Dax.

  He puffed out his chest, and his smile grew into a satisfied smirk. Except his bravado seemed false. His eyes didn’t hold their normal smolder, and the muscles on his face tightened as if she’d insulted him, instead of praised his sexual exploits.

  Forgetting her own worries, she touched his sleeve, about to ask how he was doing.

  “Speaking of which, I’m supposed to meet a snow bunny I met on the lift for a drink on my break.” He moved away, and took a pair of snow boots from his locker.

  “Of course you are.” She must’ve imagined the hurt. “What do you think I should do?” She’d come for advice and wanted to hear it, even if she didn’t do as counseled.

  “What are your options?” He sat on the bench and tugged on his boots.

  Her belly roiled. “Quit, but I signed a new contract before I left for vacation. And there aren’t a lot of chef positions in Castle Ridge.”

  He paused in his actions. “You’re not a quitter.”

  “I’m not.”


  “Then go into the kitchen and be the best chef you can be. Chop the fastest, bake the best. Whip Michael into a frenzy.” Dax stood and pulled on his coat. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Crank up the heat.”

  * * *

  The chop, chop, chop of the sharp Gyutou blade cutting through the potatoes and hitting the cutting board didn’t calm Michael. Normally, slicing and dicing vegetables soothed. Something about the repeated, and yet violent, motion. Not this time.

  All he could picture was Isabel’s devastated expression when she’d learned he was head chef. Her expression had fallen, and her eyes had filled with wetness. She was tough. Instead of getting upset, she’d faced him with a challenge.

  He shouldn’t be playing with fire, or with Isabel. If his manager couldn’t get him out of the contract, his goals were simple: get the kitchen up and running, make the day-to-day work boring so the network hated the rough cuts of the reality TV program, and get out with as little drama as possible.

  His crusty laugh didn’t sound merry. With him and Isabel in the same kitchen, things were bound to get steamy. And he couldn’t let it. Couldn’t react to the searing attraction. Couldn’t act on his male impulses.

  His phone vibrated and he wiped his hand off on a towel. He recognized his business manager’s number and his hand tightened around the knife. “Finally returning my call, Cal?”

  “What’s up, Michael, my boy?” The man’s happy tone made him want to use the knife across the distance.

  “You have to get me out of this contract.” If he’d known Isabel expected the position, he never would’ve accepted the contract. He’d thought he was helping Parker, only to learn the show’s goals were different from his own.

  “No can do.” Cal’s constant fake-pleasant voice rubbed Michael raw. Why had he never noticed it until recently?

  “Things aren’t what I expected. This isn’t going to work.” He sounded like a spoiled superstar, and he didn’t care. Sometimes you had to act terrible to get done what was right.

  “Make them work. It’s what you do. It’s why the network hired you.” Cal had changed in recent months. Instead of defending Michael from the lawsuit in L.A., the man wanted to shove him into the fire. He’d thought about getting a new business manager, but with his last program on hiatus, possibly cancelled, and rumors swirling, finding someone good would be difficult.