No, I thought, inhaling sharply. Not going there.
“You mad at that jambalaya, Bianca?”
I glanced up from the pot. Pepper stood beside me, watching me with arched brows and a worried look, like I might start throwing things.
I sighed. “No, and please don’t say anything about how bad I look, I already—”
I stopped short, dumbfounded by Pepper’s outfit.
Her neon pink blouse was cut so low her hoo-has were on display like buns at a bake sale. Her zebra-print leather skirt was so short it was almost a belt. Under the skirt she wore fishnet stockings and a pair of sky-high, red-and-black heels that screamed Fuck me! at the top of their cheap snakeskin lungs.
She asked brightly, “Hey, what do you think of these earrings?” and lifted her hair away from her face to display an enormous pair of gold hoops with little gold hearts dangling from the bottoms.
Hoyt called out, “Ain’t nobody lookin’ at ya earrings, couillon. And pull down that skirt, I kin see clear to the promised land!”
“They’re lovely, Pepper,” I said, to distract her from whatever insult she was about to toss back Hoyt’s way. You had to have tough skin to work in a kitchen, but all the hazing was done with a generous dose of love.
Pepper smiled. “I bought them with the tip I got last night from Mr. Boudreaux. The heels, too.”
And the rest of the outfit, most likely. Judging by the looks of things, she probably had enough left over from that hundred bucks to buy another ensemble of the same quality, with money to spare.
“How nice for you,” I said. “Now tell me why you’re in the kitchen and not up front at the desk.”
“Oh yeah! That’s what I came to tell you. It’s about Mr. Boudreaux.”
I stared at her with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. “What about him?”
Pepper beamed. “He’s here. And he wants to talk to you.”
I groaned. Dear Lord, not today. Not him, today. “Tell him I’m busy. I can’t get away now.” Besides, I hate his stuck-up guts.
Pepper blinked. Her brows pulled together. “Um. He sort of . . . you know. Demanded to see you. Like he does.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Today you don’t seem quite as inclined to shove a bucket of crawdads where the sun doesn’t shine like you did yesterday, Pepper.”
She admitted sheepishly, “He might have given me another tip.”
Funny how some people’s opinions can be changed with a simple thing like money. At least she had the decency to look embarrassed about it.
“What does he want?”
Pepper shrugged. “All he said was, and I’m quoting, ‘Bring the owner to me. Now.’”
The owner. I bet that bastard didn’t even remember my name, even though it was right over the damn front door! And he expected me to drop everything and come running when he called like I was some kind of servant? Like I was a dog?
Steam began to pour from my ears. I shouted, “That man could give the baby Jesus hemorrhoids!”
Eeny cackled. Pepper took a step back. Shaking his head, Hoyt let out another whistle. Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at me.
Flustered, I smoothed a hand over my hair and tried to compose myself. In a lower voice, I told Pepper, “You go tell Mr. Boudreaux that the owner is as busy as a one-legged cat in a sandbox. I won’t be coming out to see him, now or ever. If he’s got something to say to me, he can have his blasted lawyer write me a letter.”
Pepper didn’t look convinced. “Um . . . I don’t think that’ll go over, Bianca.”
“Good, let him be the one to lose sleep for a change,” I muttered, battering the jambalaya with a wooden spoon. If I kept this up, I’d be serving a finely blended soup instead of the chunky seafood-and-sausage stew, so I forced myself to breathe and slow down.
“All right.” Pepper sighed, turning to go. “But I don’t think he’s gonna like it.”
I grunted. God forbid Prince A-hole doesn’t get his way!
I went back to work, as did everyone else. For a full sixty seconds, at least, until Jackson Boudreaux crashed through the swinging kitchen doors like a gale-force wind.
Hurrying in behind him, Pepper looked at me, her hands held up in surrender. “I tried to tell you!”
But I was having none of Jackson’s nonsense today. I propped my hands on my hips and leveled him with The Look.
The Look was a Southern female specialty, handed down over generations. Every family of women had their own particular version. Some said The Look could even go through walls and be heard over the phone. It was an art form among genteel womenfolk, and its effect was always the same.
Jackson took one more step into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted me.
“You,” I said, attitude set to bitch level ten, “are not welcome in my kitchen. Now turn your uppity butt around and get out.”
And what did that ornery bastard do in response?
He smiled.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible if I didn’t see it for myself, but there it was, a cocky little smirk that lifted the corners of his lips just enough to let me know he found me amusing.
Then—just to make me mad enough to cuss out the pope—he ordered all my employees out of my kitchen.
“Everybody out!” he commanded without looking away from me, that deep voice rolling like thunder through the room.
When those turncoats had the audacity to start hustling their butts out, I almost lost my mind.
“Everybody stay put!” I said. “The next person who moves is fired!”
Cue the sound of screeching brakes. Then I had twelve employees looking back and forth between Jackson and me, waiting breathlessly to see what would happen next.
Standing by Hoyt, Eeny was busily fondling one of her trinket necklaces, muttering something under her breath. I hoped it was a voodoo curse that would make all Jackson’s hair fall out and shrink his balls to the size of peanuts.
“Miss Hardwick,” Jackson began, snarly as a grizzly bear, but I cut him off.
“Where’s your attorney? Or are you serving me the papers yourself?”
He blinked, his thick brows drawing together. “Attorney?” Then his look cleared. “Oh. No, I’m not suing you.”
Not trusting myself to speak, I spread my hands wide and stood there, like What then?
He said, “I have a job for you.”
Mother Mary, the man was offering me a job? Like this restaurant thing I’d been planning and saving toward for years was just a little side hobby, something I did in my spare time to make a few extra dollars toward my rent? And judging by his smug, aren’t-you-lucky delivery, he had every assumption that I’d be champing at the bit to come work for him. Because what a dream that would be.
I had to bite my tongue and count to ten before I was calm enough to string a coherent sentence together. Well, it wasn’t actually an entire sentence. It was just a word.
“No.”
I had to give it to him, he had extremely expressive eyebrows. Those thick black caterpillars perched over his steely-blue peepers had an entire language of their own. Right now they were drawn together in a glower that told me I was a rebellious little nitwit that he was fully prepared to have drawn and quartered and fed to his dogs.
My staff looked on in fascinated silence.
Through gritted teeth, he said, “This is an incredible opportunity for you—”
My sharp laugh made two of the line cooks jump. “How thoughtful of you to think of little ol’ me for your precious opportunity! I’ve been waiting so long for such a tantalizing offer! Whatever would I do without you?”
That growl of his came on, low and dangerous. Even Eeny started to look nervous.
Deadly quiet, he said, “Everyone. Out. Now. If she fires you, I’ll pay you each a year’s salary and find you other jobs.”
That offer proved to be too much for my employees to resist. I watched in red-faced f
ury as one by one they silently filed out in a single line, avoiding my gaze. At the end of the line, Eeny shrugged and mouthed, Sorry, boo. Hoyt sent me a wink.
I’d just gotten a painful lesson in the power of men with money, and I didn’t like it one bit.
Swallowing back the string of vile curses boiling on my tongue, I folded my arms over my chest and stared at him.
He stared right back at me. Boy, did he ever. The Beast had a Look of his own. Truth be told, it would give mine a run for its money.
I said, “We open in ten minutes. I have two hundred reservations tonight.”
He said, “You look tired.”
I had to close my eyes and count to ten again. When I opened them, I hoped death rays were shooting out of my head. If I’d had a machete handy, I couldn’t say for sure that I wouldn’t lunge at him with it.
“And you look like you were raised in the woods by a tribe of cannibals. All you’re missing is a bone in your beard.”
That smirk appeared briefly again, there then gone. He ran a hand over his face, staring at me with such sudden strange intensity I thought I might spontaneously combust.
Unnerved, I asked, “Am I going to have to call the police to get you to leave?”
“The chief of police and I serve together on the board of the Peace Officers Association. I’m sure Gavin would be happy to take your call.”
At my sides, my hands curled to fists. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Throwing your weight around.”
He took several slow steps toward me. I stood my ground as he approached, even when he got so close I could smell that masculine scent of his again, the hint of warm musk my traitorous nose found so intriguing.
Looking down at me, he said roughly, “About as much as you enjoy being told what to do, I think.”
“I don’t take orders.”
“Neither do I. And for the record, I don’t enjoy throwing my weight around, but every once in a while it’s the most convenient way to get what I want. And I want you.” His pause burned, and so did his eyes. “To come to work for me.”
I found it impossible to speak for a moment. His closeness was disorienting, and that look in his eyes . . .
“I don’t want to work for you. I don’t need to work for you. And even if I did, I couldn’t. Look around—I’m busy.”
He ignored that and started explaining in a patronizing, irritated voice, like he was a judge and I’d just violated my parole.
“It’s a catering job. A onetime thing. I’m having a benefit dinner and auction at my home for a charity, and I need someone to create the menu and oversee the food and wine for the event. And cook, of course. You’d be in charge of the entire thing. You can bring in whatever staff you need to assist you. There will be press. A lot of press. I’d give you and your restaurant full credit in the event materials.”
Oh. Well then.
Catering was an area I wanted to get into, not only because the money was good, but because it was fun. At a restaurant, the menu stayed fairly static, usually changing only with the seasons or the arrival of a new chef, but catering opened up a whole new world of creative possibilities. Each event was unique, an opportunity for a chef to stretch himself. To show off his skills, really.
And an event at Jackson Boudreaux’s home would no doubt be filled with the crème de la crème of Louisiana society. I could reach a whole new clientele, one that didn’t come to dine in the touristy French Quarter. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit I found that appealing.
My brain started impatiently tapping its foot.
I was forgetting who I was dealing with. If he aggravated me as much as he had over the course of one day, I couldn’t imagine how bad it’d be through the time it would take to plan an entire event. I could end up with a stroke.
I said, “I’m flattered you’d think of me, but the answer is no.”
Without missing a beat he replied, “Your fee would be twenty thousand dollars.”
I almost dropped the spoon in my hand. I slow blinked more times than was probably necessary. “Tw . . . twenty . . .”
“Thousand dollars,” he finished, carefully watching my face.
Though he was standing right in front of me, I wasn’t even seeing him anymore. I was seeing my mother getting the chemotherapy she desperately needed. I was seeing her at the best hospital in the state, getting the highest level of care, being tended to by the best doctors.
I was picturing her surviving, when only this morning I’d been convinced she already had one foot in the grave.
When I didn’t say anything, Jackson condescendingly added, “I’m sure you can find a use for that kind of money. Right?”
Think of Mama. Think of Mama and not how much you’d enjoy driving a stake through his cold, black heart.
I closed my eyes, drew in a slow breath, and grimly nodded.
As if he’d just won a bet with himself, the Beast said, “Right. The event’s in two weeks. I’m having three hundred guests. I need a full menu with wine pairings by this time tomorrow.”
My eyes flew open. “Three hundred people? Two weeks? Are you kidding me? That’s impossible!”
The smirk I was beginning to hate appeared again. “No, it’s twenty thousand dollars.”
“Wait a minute—”
“I’ll pay you up front.”
Fresh out of arguments, I stood staring up at him with my mouth open like I was trying to catch fireflies.
His gaze dropped to my lips. The smirk disappeared. A muscle flexed in his jaw. With a sudden gruffness, like I’d done something to make him mad, he snapped, “I’ll send a car for you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning so you can familiarize yourself with the kitchen.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned around and walked out the door.
SEVEN
BIANCA
At promptly ten o’clock the next morning, a sleek black sedan pulled up in front of my restaurant and glided to a stop at the curb.
I had no idea what kind of car it was, but I knew it was fancy-schmancy. Only really expensive, snobby-rich-people show-off cars had those stupid silver ornaments sticking out of the front of the hood like a middle finger to everyone who looked at them as they drove down the street.
Standing next to me at the window, Eeny said, “Your chariot awaits, boo.” Then she burst into hysterical cackles.
I sighed. At Mama’s insistence, I’d told no one about her illness. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to publicly admit she was sick. Or maybe it was vanity. Either way, I’d been sworn to silence. She hadn’t even told the Colonel. So no one at the restaurant knew the real reason I accepted a job from the Beast, but they were all getting a kick out of it. Hoyt had told me yesterday that one of the line cooks had started a pool to see how long it took before I quit.
But I couldn’t quit, no matter how bad it got. Mama’s life depended on that money.
I said, “Please don’t forget to process the shellfish and get it on ice. And the Nieman Ranch delivery should be here no later than noon.”
Eeny snorted. “Expectin’ Carl to be on time with the meat is like expectin’ to see a gorilla ridin’ a tricycle down the sidewalk. That boy is slower than a Sunday afternoon.”
And dumber than a box of rocks, I thought. He could throw himself on the ground and miss. He’d been delivering meat to me every day for months and still called at least once a week to get directions.
“Well off you go, Cinderella,” said Eeny, bumping me with her shoulder. “Don’t want your chariot to turn into a pumpkin!”
“I’m glad this is so amusing to you, Eeny,” I said, giving her a stinky side-eye look.
Grinning, she patted me on the arm. “It’s good for you to get out with a man every once in a while. Keeps the juices flowin’, if you know what I mean.”
My stink eye grew stinkier. “This isn’t a date, Eeny.”
“Oh, I know,” she said airily. “But judgin’ by the way Jackso
n Boudreaux looks at you like you turn his brain to scrambled eggs, it ain’t all business, either. At least for him. Lawd!” she cried suddenly, pointing out the window. “Who’s that tall drink o’ water?”
Emerging from the driver’s side of the sleek black sedan was an equally sleek black man. Dressed in a smart suit, his salt-and-pepper hair short and tidy, he stood looking at the front door, smoothing his tie. He was tall, elegant, and quite good-looking. I judged him to be somewhere north of sixty-five in age.
Immediately I thought of my mother. She’d be all over this one like white on rice.
“Must be Jackson’s driver.” I watched him come toward the door. “Wonder if he’s as mean as his boss.”
“Mm-mmm!” said Eeny, smacking her lips. “He could be meaner’n a drawer of snakes and I’d still take him for a roll.”
I formed a terrible mental image of all three hundred pounds of Eeny rolling around naked in bed, chicken feathers and voodoo charms flying, getting her freak on with the well-dressed driver.
I grumbled, “Thanks for sharing,” just as the gentleman in question came through the door.
“Mornin’, ladies,” he said, smiling. “Don’t you two look prettier than a picture standin’ there by the window!”
He flashed a set of pearly whites and an adorable pair of dimples, and Eeny nearly fainted.
“Good morning.” I stepped forward with my hand extended. “I’m Bianca, and this is Ambrosine.”
“Call me Eeny,” she drawled, flagrantly flirting. “How do you do?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, shaking my hand and nodding warmly at Eeny. “I must admit, I’ve been dyin’ to come in and get a taste of your cookin’ since you opened, Miss Bianca, but I just haven’t found the time. I was a real big fan of your mama’s restaurant. And might I say you bear a striking resemblance to your mama, too. Those beautiful cheekbones.”
Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1) Page 7
