Just Desserts

by Jeannie Watt

  “You weren’t available!” Eden stood with her hand on her hip, the position she assumed whenever she was taking control—which had started when he’d been a toddler and she’d announced that she was the boss. “And I didn’t think you’d mind since, again, it was your idea.”

  He opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Arguing would only spur her on. Unfortunately, not arguing had the same effect.

  “You need help,” Eden said, dropping her hands to her sides and leaning forward, jutting her chin out for emphasis. “You’ve been in two car accidents driving home from Tahoe. At least now you can get some more sleep.”

  “Sleep had nothing to do with those car accidents, and one of them was attempted murder.”

  “How close have you come to falling asleep at the wheel on your many drives off the mountain?” Eden demanded.

  Justin shifted his weight. “I’ve never fallen asleep.”

  “Have you come close?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, and she pounced. “That precludes any veto power you have over my decision to get help during the time that Patty is out.”

  “I’ve never had a problem with you hiring help,” Justin said. “Actual cooking help, that is. But Layla?” What was up with that? Was his sister setting him up…with someone stable? Please, not that.

  “You should have seen her in chemistry class,” Eden continued.

  “Chemistry class?”

  Eden adjusted the lapels of her chef’s coat. “She starts tomorrow.”

  Justin shook his head and then stalked across the kitchen to his locker. He slammed his small gym bag, containing the clean black pants he’d change into to help cater a party that afternoon, into it.

  This was not the way the world was supposed to work. Or it wasn’t the way it had worked for the past twenty-eight years.

  “It isn’t forever,” Eden called across the kitchen as she diced carrots with a vengeance. “If Reggie can hold out until her due date, and Patty comes back early, then we’ll get by. If not, we’ll hire a temp for a couple weeks.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said as he closed his locker. “But maybe we should have gotten a real temp.”

  “Or maybe you can quit your job at the lake and we won’t need a temp.”

  We’ve been over that.

  He went into the pastry room and closed the door, even though he didn’t need to in order to make the batter for mini cupcakes. He simply wanted time to think, to figure out why having Layla there seemed like such a threat.

  Maybe because he had no idea why she would agree to such a thing.

  What was her objective? Layla never did anything without having an objective.

  Shit. Maybe he was her objective.

  But he hadn’t heard from her in days, not since the rotten date, and now this. Frankly, the whole Layla situation was confusing the hell out of him.

  SAM’S STORE WAS PACKED with sorority girls when Layla stopped by near closing. She went into the back and started unpacking newly arrived lingerie while she waited for Sam to ring up the final sales and close up shop.

  “I’m working part-time at Tremont Catering starting tomorrow,” Layla called through the beaded curtains after her sister had escorted the last customer to the door and locked the dead bolt.

  Sam instantly appeared in the doorway, pushing back the strands of purple beads. “Get out.”

  “It’s true. Their prep cook is having surgery.”

  “Did Justin hire you?” Sam asked darkly, releasing the beads as she walked on into the room.

  “Nope,” Layla said lightly, taking a red bra out of its protective plastic bag. “Eden.” Layla still wasn’t clear on the double-teaming.

  “None of this makes sense.” Sam leaned back against the counter. “Do you have enough cooking know-how to help in a professional kitchen?”

  “I know how to cook, and Eden says I’ll be following directions.”

  “You do excel at that,” Sam said drily.

  Indeed. At Christmastime she was the Taylor who spent the entire day working on all the gifts that required assembly, because she was the only one who would actually read the directions instead of diving in, opening packets and jamming various components together.

  “Are you calling Mom tonight?”

  Sam thoughtfully pushed a few strands of bright red hair behind her ears. “No. I don’t think I’ll do that.”

  “Thank you.” Layla pulled another red package out of the shipping box. “Any more questions or comments? Because I assure you I have answers.” Or at least a pretty good bluff.

  “I just…nothing. Congratulations.” Sam gave a slight cough. “Will you still be available here for the occasional afternoon?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Layla replied, holding up the red panties she’d just unwrapped—panties that seemed to be missing the crotch. “I’ve really broadened my horizons since working here.”

  THE METAL DOOR to the kitchen was once again wedged open when Layla entered Tremont Catering at exactly 7:00 a.m. She heard low voices and followed them into the kitchen, where Justin and an obviously pregnant Reggie were conferring over several sheets of paper spread across the counter.

  Layla paused in the doorway, glancing around at the stark work area, all stainless steel and tile, the only color being Reggie’s red smock. Even Justin was dressed entirely in neutrals.

  “Morning,” she said, her voice sounding unnaturally bright. Nerves.

  Reggie smiled and Layla noted that somehow Justin’s oldest sister managed to look elegant and put together despite the bump under her smock top. Layla felt positively frumpy by comparison in her cream-colored scoop-neck T-shirt and slim khaki pants, although she did fit nicely into the neutral color scheme.

  “How long’s it been?” Reggie asked. “Ten years?”

  “At least,” Layla replied. Reggie had left for culinary school around the same time she and Eden had graduated from high school, leaving Justin to fend for himself that last year. Not that she and Reggie were more than nodding acquaintances. They’d both kept to themselves back then, and frankly, Reggie had always intimidated Layla. She’d seemed so…perfect. Pretty much the antithesis of her brother.

  “We’re glad you’re here,” Reggie said, apparently speaking for both of them, since Justin had yet to say anything. If they’d been closer, Layla wouldn’t have been surprised to see Reggie elbow her brother in the ribs to get a response out of him. As it was, she said, “Aren’t we?”

  Justin gave a silent nod.

  He was not taking the invasion well, and Layla was feeling just stubborn enough not to let it bother her. He’d made her crazy as a child. Turnabout was fair. In fact, it was rather satisfying. And even more satisfying because no one—not her mother or her sister, or her former nemesis—seemed to think she could do anything outside the box, such as take a job for the hell of it.

  “We’re just plotting out the desserts for the rest of the week, so you may as well come over and see what you’ll be helping with.”

  Layla crossed to the counter, standing on the opposite side from Justin, while Reggie explained the various functions they were catering that week. When she finally glanced up at him, after Reggie had finished, there was no laughter in his eyes, no sense of a plot about to hatch. He looked amazingly serious.

  “So,” Reggie said, settling a hand on top of her baby bump, “I’ll go to work on kabobs and you two can work on the desserts.”

  “Sounds good,” Justin said. He gestured with his head to where he worked on the cakes, and Layla followed.

  As soon as she was in the room, which was several degrees cooler than the main kitchen, he closed the door. And still he did not smile.

  “Why are you here?” he asked mildly.

  “This was originally your idea.”

  He gave her a look that told her this wasn’t the first time he’d heard that, and it occurred to her that since they’d reconnected, she held as much power as he did. The dynamic had shifte
d. Before, as kids, they had played by Justin’s rules—he was the offense and she was defense. Possession never changed.

  It had today.

  Layla placed her palm on the marble slab sitting on the counter, testing the surface. It felt remarkably cool—either that or she was remarkably warm. “I stopped by the kitchen and Eden asked me if I wanted to fill in until your prep cook was back on her feet.”

  He scowled at her, but there was something in his expression that made her much more aware of him, of herself, than she had been a few seconds before. “Why’d you take the job?”

  “I’m looking for something different in my life.”

  “Catering experience?” he asked in a soft voice that sent a tingle skittering up her spine.

  She walked a few steps until she was kitty-corner across the stainless-steel counter from him. “That along with other things.” Amazing how she could speak so calmly with her heart in her throat.

  His mouth twisted, but other than that, no reaction. Perhaps he was hoping she’d back down if he was quiet long enough.

  Fat chance. She’d been photographed throwing up in a bush. Her boyfriend had admitted to sleeping around on her because she was a tight-ass. She was no stranger to humiliation.

  Justin shook his head. “Not a great idea.”

  “For you or for me?”

  “Both of us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—” he set his palms on the counter and leaned toward her, close enough that she could smell cedar soap “—I’m not much for longevity and you have longevity written all over you.”

  Layla laughed. “Then you’re reading things wrong. You and me? Longevity? Justin, I just wanted to have some fun.”

  “Fun. Just fun.”

  He didn’t believe her. She wasn’t certain she believed herself, but she had a point to make. She let out an audible breath that sounded too much like a discouraged sigh.

  “Have you ever used the words tight and ass in the same sentence as my name?” she asked.

  “You know I have,” he said, a humorless smile curving his lips.

  “Well, so did Robert.”

  The smile disappeared. “Robert is an asshole.”

  “He has a few good qualities or I wouldn’t have dated him. Although,” she allowed, “not many come to mind right now.”

  “Layla, I’m flattered that you want to have me as your rebound guy—”

  Her eyes flashed. “I’m not trying to flatter you. I thought we had some chemistry and it’s a shame not to act on it. No longevity involved, unless it’s a mutual feeling. Damn it, I trust you, crazy as it sounds.”

  “It does sound crazy.”

  “Crazy or not, relationships don’t seem to be working for me just now. My career has taken a nasty downturn. I’m rethinking my life and I wouldn’t mind experiencing a few new things while I do that.”

  “So the kitchen is one of those new experiences?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m another?” He moved closer to her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, once again smell the cedar-scented soap he used, and suddenly she had the feeling she was slipping in over her head. So she casually shrugged her shoulders instead of answering.

  “Layla, just because we kissed a few times and it was good…”

  “What?” she asked. “It doesn’t mean you’re interested in me? Fine. I can handle that.” Layla was so very glad that she had years of experience dealing with him in other ways, or she’d be a pool of humiliation spreading across the tile floor. “But I’m staying here until Eden tells me I’m fired.” One corner of her mouth tipped up into a careless half smile. “I’ll bet getting fired the second time is even easier than the first.”

  A weary and wary expression crossed Justin’s face. “What do you want from me, Layla?”

  “I think I just laid that out, then you told me it wasn’t going to happen, and now I’m done talking.”

  But I’m not going home.

  His lips twisted slightly and then he opened the door to the kitchen. “I have to get to work.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “There are aprons folded on the shelf next to the lockers by the back door. Go get one.”

  “Conversation over?”

  “As if it never happened.”

  JUSTIN FELT RIDICULOUSLY off center, although he’d rather take a beating than admit it. Layla had laid out her position with remarkable aplomb. She wanted to loosen up, and had chosen him to help her out. It was all very tidy and planned out and Layla-esque; pretty much the opposite of what she said she wanted.

  He wasn’t biting.

  The logical part of his brain told him that if she truly meant what she said, there would be no problem. A few dates, a few good times, then they’d move on to their separate lives. His gut, on the other hand, was sending out danger signals. This was Layla. Yeah, he could see having a fling with her, but he honestly didn’t know if he could walk away unscathed. And what if she, heaven forbid, started taking things seriously?

  He didn’t want to hurt Layla and he probably would.

  Robert had hurt her, and she was looking for something new, maybe to boost her ego, maybe for a touch of revenge…but she was also vulnerable. And he’d known her long enough to feel protective. So here he was, protecting both of them, because he wasn’t exactly in a good place himself, and Layla was anything but appreciative.

  Her cheeks were faintly pink when she came back with the apron, but it was from anger, not self-consciousness. He recognized the spark in her eye—the same one he’d put there many times years ago with his pranks. However, she’d never fought back like this. She usually said something that was both lofty and cutting and then retreated. This time there was no retreat. It unnerved him.

  “The recipes are here,” he said abruptly, opening a drawer and pulling out a stack of plastic coated cards strung on a loose-leaf binder ring. He flipped through them. “Cakes are on the yellow cards. Fillings, blue. Frostings and icings, pink.”

  “Nice system.”

  “I have my moments.” He handed her the cards. “We’re making lemon today. Come on, I’ll show you where we keep everything.”

  He led her through the kitchen to the walk-in and the dry storage area, pointing out where everything was while he gathered eggs, butter, lemons. The dry ingredients he used frequently were stored in a cabinet in the pastry room. He opened the door once he’d deposited the items he’d picked up onto the counter next to the mixer.

  “Get the flour, salt, sugar and baking powder.”

  It took Layla a few minutes to find everything, but she did, making several trips. When Patty had started, she’d moved slowly, too, so he tamped down his impatience, which was probably more a result of circumstances. In the end, showing Layla what to do wouldn’t take much more time than doing it all himself.

  “Okay, first you cream a pound of butter,” he said, unwrapping a one pound brick and chopping it into chunks before starting the mixer and dropping them in. “Let this run for about five minutes. We want a lot of air in the butter....”

  Layla was, as he’d assumed, a quick study, but she still took notes in a small book she’d pulled from her rear jeans pocket. She’d probably been taking notes since she’d first learned to write.

  Patty had taken notes, too.

  In fact, Layla and Patty were quite similar in that regard, but Patty didn’t make him feel protective or defensive. Or, heaven help him, attracted to her.

  How could he possibly be both defensive and lustful? Maybe because he’d never seen this side of Layla before?

  After showing her how to prepare the cake pans and pour the batter, he started on the pastry dough for the mini tartlets to be served that afternoon at a late luncheon Eden and Reggie were catering.

  “When will you frost the cake?” Layla asked. She was all business, but again, he saw the glint of battle in her eye.

  “I’ll start tomorrow,” he said. He glanced up at her fr
om where he rolled out dough. “Have you ever done any cake decorating?”

  She shook her head. “How about I do that?” She pointed at the pastry dough.

  “Sure,” he said. If she rolled crusts, then he could start the filling.

  “How thick?”

  “A sixteenth. No thicker.” Her eyes narrowed as she mentally estimated. “Like this,” he muttered, then tore off a corner of the dough and held it up for her to see. “Just take one of those balls of dough, flour that marble board and start rolling. If the dough sticks, flour the rolling pin. Don’t overwork it.”