Southern Charm & Second Chances

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  Heat prickled Jane’s cheeks at the memory. She’d never been fired from anything in her life until Liam Wright had lost his temper and sacked her right in the middle of the kitchen—in front of everyone. The real rub: it hadn’t even been her fault. Her assistant had mistakenly used salt instead of sugar in the rum baba.

  They had been in the weeds that night and Jane had been so busy trying to keep up with the dessert orders that she hadn’t tasted each batch of rum baba that her assistant had produced. When the tainted cakes were served not only to guests dining at La Bula that night, but also to Eduardo Sanchez, the editor of Food Connoisseur magazine, the onus had been on Jane.

  In that regard, she had failed miserably. She’d let herself down as much as she had Liam. Because it wasn’t the kind of impression you wanted to make on the editor of a magazine considered the bible of the food industry. A review from that publication could make or break a restaurant.

  So, just as her mistake ultimately tainted Liam and La Bula, the assistant’s mistake was on Jane’s head.

  It wouldn’t have changed anything to throw her pastry assistant under the bus. Though it would’ve been nice if Liam hadn’t berated Jane in front of God and everyone before he’d sent her packing.

  “I’m still surprised you’re actually considering boy names, given it’s your duty to produce a female heir to continue the family legacy.”

  The Forsyth Galloway Inn had been passed down through six generations of females on Gigi’s side of the family.

  “My duty?” Ellie scoffed. “I don’t recall you and Kate being released from the task and the responsibility being placed on me.”

  “At the rate Kate and I are going, it may all be on your shoulders, Ellie. Don’t let us down.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee Daniel and I will have a girl. Did you ever wonder what would happen if all of us only had boys? What happens to the inn if we don’t deliver a female heir? Gigi won’t even discuss the possibility.”

  “She probably has a magic potion that she’ll slip into your food that will make you have a girl.”

  Ellie shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past her. I wouldn’t really mind. Growing up with sisters wasn’t so bad. You’ve always been my best friend as much as my sister. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. Jane watched her sister sip her tea.

  “Do you think Charles would really let Liam fire you? He’s been like a grandfather to us. I mean...could Liam really do that? If they’re partners, I would think that Charles would be your best advocate. I’d think he’d consider you pretty sacred given how he feels about Gigi.”

  Though no one had ever discussed it, it wasn’t a secret that Charles was crazy about their grandmother.

  “They’re not equal partners,” Jane said. “I don’t know the ins and outs of the logistics, but apparently Charles only holds a small share of Wila now, just enough to keep him in the game. Liam is majority owner. Once again, my fate is in his hands.”

  Chapter Three

  Having her hands in bread dough helped Jane center herself. It steadied her nerves. Because she was nervous having signed up for the first interview.

  The following day, just as she’d done before the meeting when Charles had introduced Liam, she’d come in early to get the bread started before her one-on-one. This time it was to take her nerves out on the dough as much as it was to jump-start the day.

  After Ellie left, Jane had updated and printed her résumé. Then she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, mulling over questions she wanted to ask Liam and thinking about how she would answer his questions. Especially the burning inquiry he was bound to ask. What happened that night at La Bula?

  She’d decided she wouldn’t bring it up unless he asked.

  She shove-stretched the dough with the heel of her hand and gave it a quarter twist before folding it over and repeating the rhythmic process.

  He didn’t ask then. Of course, he’ll ask now.

  Won’t he?

  Shove, twist, fold. Shove, twist, fold.

  Unless he waits for me to bring it up.

  Should she?

  No. She decided she would not. She had moved on. She’d even made the most perfect batch of rum baba for last night’s dinner. Each cake perfectly formed and extra delicious.

  She’d tasted every single batch because—Well...ha, ha, ha. She tried very hard not to make the same stupid mistake twice.

  Liam had tasted the cake, too.

  He hadn’t said anything to her, but she’d seen him put one of the cakes on a small red plate that was one of the odds and ends that had turned up in the kitchen. She’d watched him cut into the pastry and poke at it with his finger, testing the crumb. Then, he’d hesitantly forked up a small bite. She’d looked away because she hadn’t wanted to know what he’d thought. The batch had the right ingredients. She loved her rum baba...

  Besides, she’d been too busy to worry about Liam’s critique of the classic French dessert. At the same time Liam was eating cake, Charles had presented her with a special order of chocolate Grand Marnier soufflé. The temperamental dessert hadn’t been on this month’s menu, but it was one of the recipes Charles had let her introduce when she’d first arrived. Very occasionally, someone would ask if she could whip one up. Last night, it had been a special request from Charles on behalf of his friends.

  Of course, when the guests at the tables next to Charles’s friends saw the soufflé in all its grandeur, it had started a trend of copycat orders.

  By the time she’d conquered the soufflé frenzy, there was no sight of Liam. Only an empty red plate with a fork balanced across it in the four o’clock-ten o’clock position set at the corner of her workstation.

  Jane chose to believe the empty plate was his way of complimenting her.

  In addition to the special requests, they’d been busier than usual last night, working in some of the guests whose reservations had to be canceled for the week they’d be closed for training. The hostesses had spent the afternoon calling every guest who had booked a dinner for next week, trying to reschedule. Judging by the behind-the-hand comments and behind-Liam’s-back eye rolls, it had been a monumental effort.

  Jane couldn’t imagine how any type of training could be worth closing the restaurant for a week, but it wasn’t her call. Like most of her coworkers who wanted to keep their jobs, she was determined to make it through this interview the best she could and prove she was a team player who was good at her job.

  She was washing her hands after covering the bread dough and leaving it for its final rise when she looked up to see Liam entering the kitchen.

  He was wearing a royal-blue-and-black print button-down tucked into jeans. His dark hair was still wet from his morning shower. As he walked toward her, the mental picture that had commandeered her thoughts last night—Liam lying in bed amid the mussed bedsheets—intruded again.

  She sighed.

  Girl, that is so inappropriate. What’s wrong with you?

  She dropped her gaze to the towel she’d grabbed off the counter and concentrated on thoroughly drying her hands—one finger at a time. Anything to get that image of Liam out of her head. What he was like in bed was the last thing she needed to think about when she was preparing to interview for her life.

  This was nothing like the speaker’s trick of imagining people in their underwear before addressing a crowd. Imagining your boss naked and in bed—as your first one-night-stand—was altogether different.

  Jane swallowed hard and realized that telling herself not to think about it was just like telling someone not to picture a pink elephant.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Morning, chef.” She forced her gaze to his face, but she was having a hard time looking him in the eyes and she needed to get over that before they sat down together
.

  “Thanks for being the first to sign up,” he said.

  She forced herself to lock gazes with him, which made her stomach do a slow roll. Why did he have to be so good-looking? Why did she have to notice? Worse yet, why was her body betraying her and acting like she was attracted to him?

  No! No! No! No! Stop it right now.

  She tossed the towel onto her workstation, lifted her chin and put her hands on her hips. “Someone had to go first.” She’d read an article about body language that suggested when you feel small or out of control, physically making yourself bigger—the bigger the better—helped a person feel more in control.

  “I figured it might as well be me. Would you like some coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

  “I would love a cup,” he said. “How did you know?”

  “It’s one of my skills.” She tucked the folder containing her résumé under her arm and grabbed the copper travel mug of coffee, her fourth cup this morning. “I should’ve added occasional mind reader to my list of professional skills on my résumé.”

  “I’d better be careful then.” He slanted a smile at her that held plenty of fodder for overthinking before he turned and headed toward the office.

  Did he mean that in a good way or a bad way?

  His sexy smile was almost flirtatious. But then again, the colossal mistake that had caused him to fire me still stands between us.

  Stop! You’d better start remembering all the brilliant answers you came up with last night instead of sleeping.

  Her mouth went dry as she realized that every single, smart, witty response had evaporated like a berry glaze she’d left on the burner too long.

  Liam gestured to the seat on the other side of Charles’s desk. Dutifully, she sat. As she watched him gather a yellow legal pad and a blue ballpoint pen, she sipped her coffee and centered herself.

  Liam was her boss. His only interest was whether she knew her choux from her shortcrust and how well she could whip up batches of Palmier and profiteroles... And, of course, the rum baba.

  Enough with the rum baba. You’ve proved yourself.

  “How about if we start off with you telling me a little bit about yourself?”

  That was easy enough. She gave him the extended version of what she’d said yesterday when he’d had everyone introduce themselves.

  The next two questions were easy, too.

  “When you’re not at work, where do you go for great pastry?”

  “Leonie’s.” She waxed poetic about the virtue of Leonie’s bossche bols.

  “Bossche bols? What’s that?”

  She made a guttural sound that she hadn’t intended be so...animalistic. Then she cleared her throat. “It’s pure pleasure. Essentially, it’s a big profiterole made from the flakiest choux pastry you’ve ever tasted in your life and filled with the lightest whipped cream and, finally, coated entirely with dark Belgian chocolate. God, it’s absolutely orgas—”

  She closed her lips just in time—right before she’d said the word. Actually, it wasn’t just orgasmic. It was better than sex.

  Her cheeks burned.

  Liam looked up from where he’d been scribbling. “It’s that good, huh?”

  “Oh, my God, you have no idea—”

  “Why is it better than yours?”

  She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  He raised both of his brows and he looked a little irritated. “Why is Leonie’s bossche bols better than yours? Why should I keep you on if she’s the best? Should I hire her?”

  Now she remembered why she hadn’t like him very much when she’d worked for him. That challenging, smug, arrogant, sexy—

  No! Not sexy.

  Well, yeah, he is sexy.

  She leaned in. “First of all, bossche bols is not on Wila’s menu. That’s why I go to Leonie’s for it. Second, good luck with hiring Leonie for my job because Leonie isn’t a person. Leonie’s is a bakery. It’s owned by Doug Niedermeyer. Doug does a wonderful business. So, I’m sure he’s good where he is. I mean you could try to get him. But I’d be willing to wager that he’d turn you down.”

  This time Liam’s right brow shot up. “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “You like to gamble?”

  “What?”

  “You said you’d be willing to wager.”

  Now he was making her mad. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s a figure of speech. Can we just get back to the interview?”

  He laughed and she noticed that he had a scar on the left side of his upper lip. She felt her cheeks burn again and tried to console herself by writing it off to the stress of the interview, which felt like it was going downhill faster than a broken case of lemons.

  He scribbled more notes then said, “The kitchen is a busy, fast-paced, often stressful environment. How do you cope with stress, Jane?”

  A shiver shimmied through her at the sound of her name in his mouth.

  She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them in the other direction.

  “I’m pretty even-tempered. It takes a lot for me to lose my cool, which is an asset in an environment like that. But when I need an outlet, I write in my notebook. That’s where I write thoughts and observations about recipes and methods. It’s where I work through a lot of things. I can leave it all on the page.”

  “What’s the biggest mistake you’ve ever made?”

  He gave her a knowing look.

  Okay, here we go.

  She’d nearly forgotten about this question, about the rum baba incident. Obviously, he hadn’t. He’d been playing with her before he went in for the kill.

  She didn’t have to play right into his hand.

  “Personal or professional?”

  She knew darn good and well he didn’t want to hear about her personal life. This was a job interview. She could read between the lines. He wanted her to explain herself. To ask for absolution for the incident. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that.

  Especially because now, he was frowning. “I’m talking about mistakes you’ve made in the kitchen. Or in the restaurant.” He gestured to her as if saying, fess up or get on with it.

  Okay, sure, she’d screwed up. But she didn’t consider what had happened to be the biggest mistake she’d ever made.

  She held his gaze. “The biggest mistake I’ve ever made was firing someone without giving them a second chance—”

  His sigh interrupted her.

  “I’m not finished,” she said. “Please let me finish.”

  He gave a curt nod.

  “After I fired this person, I realized I’d been rash. Later on, I got the opportunity to give him a second chance. I rehired him and he went on to be very successful.”

  “He was successful because you rehired him?”

  “You’re missing the point,” Jane said.

  “No, I get the point that you’re trying to make,” Liam said as he scribbled more notes on his legal pad. “I hear you loud and clear. I didn’t ask for a hypothetical situation. I asked for you to tell me about an actual mistake.”

  “The person was Bruce Tremayne.”

  Liam looked up.

  “You once fired Bruce Tremayne?” His voice was flat.

  “Yeah, it was before I worked for you at La Bula. I rehired him because he’s a damn good pastry chef. You do know that he went on to be one of the most successful pastry chefs in—”

  “I know Bruce very well. I’m going to follow up with him. Did you list him as a reference?” Liam picked up her résumé and skimmed it.

  “Knock yourself out. In fact, I’d love for you to ask Bruce for a reference. Although I didn’t list him. I didn’t work for him. He worked for me. But you know what? I’m happy to give you his number if you need it.” She reached for her phone.

  “I have his number,
” Liam said. “Why don’t I call him right now?”

  Jane nodded. “I hope you will.”

  He held her gaze as he picked up his phone. What? Did he think he was calling her bluff? When she didn’t react, he pressed a few buttons.

  “Bruce? Liam Wright.”

  In a matter of seconds, Jane could hear the muted tones of a male voice on the other end of the call as Liam and Bruce exchanged pleasantries. Since the phone was pressed to Liam’s ear, she could make out the general congenial tones of the conversation, but not every specific word.

  They made small talk for a few minutes and then Liam said, “So, Bruce, I’m down in Savannah working on a new restaurant. My executive pastry chef here is someone named Jane Clark. She mentioned she knows you.”

  Liam paused, no doubt giving Bruce a chance to say Jane who? But from what Jane could make out, he didn’t ask. Based on what she could hear, Bruce’s tone sounded warm and friendly.

  “Would you hire her?”

  For the next minute or two, Bruce did most of the talking. His tone sounded enthusiastic. She was glad Liam hadn’t told Bruce she was sitting there. She wanted him to speak candidly. It was vindicating, really.

  Yes, very vindicating.

  Liam nodded, his handsome face stoic as a statue.

  Why did he have to be so damned handsome? Her eyes tracked back to the scar above his lip. She wondered how he’d gotten it.

  She waited for him to look at her so she could give him the old I-told-you-so raised brow. But he kept his gaze focused on a spot somewhere over her left shoulder.

  “Oh, she fired you, huh?”

  He finally slanted a look in her direction.

  She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, giving him the stink eye.

  “So, you worked for her twice?” More nodding. “Okay, man, thanks. I appreciate the input. I’ll keep what you said in mind. Good to talk to you.”

  He hung up and shifted his gaze back to the paper, focusing on the legal pad in front of him, stoic again as he scribbled some things down. Jane couldn’t tell from his expression what he was thinking.

  Figuring she had nothing to lose, she said, “Well?”