“I think you’d do a great job as Knox’s secretary,” Carina said quietly.
“Carina, don’t go filling her head with notions. Haylie, honey, I love you, but I don’t think you’re up for such a demanding job,” Ty said. “You’ve never worked an honest day in your life.”
“Dad, could you stay out of it? I mean, seriously. I’m a grown woman.”
“You can’t type,” Ty countered.
“I can so. I text people all the time.”
“I meant the proper way, like a secretary needs to be able to do.”
Her face flushed. “Last week I saw a ‘learn to type’ app. I can download that tonight. And I’m an expert at talking on the phone.”
Yikes.
To Knox, Ty said, “See what I mean? Let’s leave Haylie out of this. My secretary can handle both of us until I can find you a qualified candidate for the job. Let me take care of everything around here while you’re getting yourself settled in.”
With a snicker, Wendell hooked his arm around Haylie’s shoulders. “No one cares about her typing skills, Ty. Just put on one of those smart little secretary get-ups like on Mad Men, maybe pop a couple extra buttons open, give the guys in the office a little motivation to work … that’s what really counts. Am I right, Knox?”
What a dick.
Everyone shifted uncomfortably, including Ty. Haylie cast her eyes down, blushing furiously.
Knox squared a look at Wendell. “No, actually.”
A knock sounded at the open door. Everyone turned, relieved at the distraction. A woman Knox would recognize anywhere filled the doorway, a folder clutched in her arms and a hard-set look of determination on her face. Chef Emily Ford. The first and only woman to ever overturn a bowl of soup onto him in anger—even if it had been an accident. The occasion also marked the first and only time he’d managed to ruin two perfectly good suits in one day.
On the night of the soup incident, as he’d lain sleepless in his hotel room, he’d given the matter some thought. Emily had had good reason to attack him with food. He’d insulted her by implying she was sexually involved with Ty. It’d been a reasonable conclusion, given their obvious closeness, but still. It was rude and sexist. An apology was owed. He’d already added the task to his calendar. For the coming Friday, if memory served. But it seemed she’d messed with his careful plans—again.
Today, she wore another crisp white chef’s jacket unbuttoned over black leggings and a thin, charcoal gray T-shirt. Her curly hair had been tamed with a headband, a ponytail, and innumerable bobby pins.
She took in the crowd in Knox’s office with a gulp. After a nod and a nervous smile at Carina, she settled her determined gaze on Knox. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and, for what it’s worth, I agree with Carina that Haylie would be a terrific secretary.”
Ty and Haylie both raised their eyebrows.
“You do?” Haylie said.
“She does,” Carina said. “I do, too.”
Knox wasn’t sure why he trusted Emily’s opinion over Ty’s or the others, but he did. Emily had proven, when she’d pulled up a chair during his meeting with Ty that she didn’t pander. As opposed to the Briscoe clan, pretense wasn’t in her vocabulary.
Knox thrust out his hand to Haylie. “Then it’s settled. Haylie, you’re hired. Unless you need more time to consider my offer.”
“No!” Haylie said with enough gusto that she covered her mouth and seemed to take a moment to settle herself. “I mean, I accept.”
She sealed the deal with a limp handshake that had Knox fighting a cringe. That seemed to be happening a lot now that he was working at the resort.
Grandmother, er, Granny June—damn, he was going to have to give that some practice—wormed her way through the crowd to Emily. She hooked an arm around Emily’s waist and dragged her into the room with the strength of someone decades younger. Kind of made Knox wonder what she was doing with a motorized scooter in the first place. “Knox, I want you to meet a young lady near and dear to my heart, an honorary member of our family. Emily, I want you to meet my grandson, Knox.”
“They’ve met,” Carina said.
Knox glanced at his cousin and found her eyes dancing with mischief. She’d clearly been informed about the soup incident.
Emily’s cheeks pinked. For the first time, he noticed a light sprinkling of freckles on her skin. “I’m not here to apologize,” she blurted.
Well, that settled that. Her proclamation was the perfect opportunity for him to counter with, I’m the one who owes the apology. But all he could do was study the shifting color of her skin and watch her shoulders stiffen with pride.
“Emily, now’s not the best time,” Ty said.
Knox experienced an unexpected jolt of panic at the idea of her leaving. Probably because her arrival might spare him from any more agonizingly awkward small talk with Ty’s family. That had to be it because he was struck with a sudden, acute need to clear the room of everyone but Emily so he could find out what was on her mind.
Emily tucked an errant lock of hair back into her plum-colored headband. “I can see that. I’ll come back later.”
“No,” Knox said, perhaps a bit too forcefully. He realized too late that he’d stepped between Emily and the door. Clearing his throat, he added, “Sorry, everyone. If you’ll kindly take your leave. I need a private audience with Ms. Ford.”
So formal, but he couldn’t help it. Sometimes when he felt himself slipping out of control, correcting his language was the most efficient way to get himself back in line again, even if he came off sounding like an eighteenth century butler.
“Not a problem. We’ll let you two kids talk,” Granny June said, plopping down on the faux leopard fur seat of her scooter and firing it up.
Knox took his chair behind the desk as the family filed out.
Ty was the last through the door. “I’ll be in my office. Get me when you’re done. We’ve got a lot to do today.” He wagged a finger at Emily. “Behave yourself.”
A part of Knox hoped she would while the other part very much wished she wouldn’t.
Emily closed the door behind Ty, then wrapped her arm back around the folder she’d brought in and clutched it with even more vigor. Clearly, she was winding up to say something serious. A speech face, Shayla called it. He’d bet money the folder held the restaurant proposal she’d worked up for Ty, and that she was about to try to persuade Knox to green light. Not a chance. With an eight-figure budget on the line and a team of investors to answer to, Knox didn’t have the luxury of taking a chance on a no-name chef, even if he admired her gumption.
He gestured toward the empty chair in front of his desk. “You didn’t bring any dishes of food to throw at me, which is surprising. I expected a cream pie to the face the next time I saw you.”
She perched on the edge of the seat, curling the corners of the papers in the folder with the pad of her thumb. He kept silent, feigning patience while she gathered her thoughts.
“You haven’t fired me,” she said finally.
Neither had Ty, though Knox wasn’t surprised at that now, given how close Emily was with the Briscoes. As for Knox, he probably should have considered it, or at least consider writing her up with human resources to start a paper trail that would justify an eventual firing, should it come to that. But he wouldn’t. For the same reason he’d taken her advice about hiring Haylie. An honest employee was a rare gift. “True.”
“Are you waiting to lay me off along with the rest of the restaurant staff? If I were you, that’s how I’d play it. All of us at once.” She said it matter-of-factly, and as though she’d given it a lot of thought in the weeks since their first meeting and had worked up to a healthy emotional detachment from the prospect.
“Are you trying to convince me to fire you?” Knox asked.
“No. I’m trying to figure you out, but you’re resisting.” She tipped her ear toward her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at him, as though gazing at him sideways might help her s
ee him more clearly.
“I’m the one resisting? I’m your boss. You don’t need to figure me out. That’s not a job requirement.”
“It is for me,” she said. “You should have eaten the peach soup.”
What was she thinking, dredging that back to the surface when she should have been buttering him up to hear her restaurant proposal? He didn’t owe her an answer. What he ate was not her concern, but he found himself answering anyway. “Food is nothing to me, nothing but fuel and an inconvenient necessity.”
“I figured,” she said on a sigh. It was a wonder she didn’t reach out to pat his hand and tell him she was praying for his soul.
Maybe he should have eaten the damn soup, after all. “You came to my office to see me. Why? I can’t believe it’s to rehash the soup incident.”
On her next exhalation, she splayed her hands over the folder in her lap. “I’m more than qualified to open a five-star, destination restaurant at Briscoe Ranch. And I’m here this morning to ask you to let me prove that to you.”
Having anticipated the reason for her visit, he was ready with his reply. “That sort of qualification is proven with credentials, of which you have none. Show me a James Beard award. Show me an apprenticeship at a Michelin starred restaurant. Show me the names of the award-winning chefs you’ve trained under.”
She was silent, her expression remaining regal. She curved her fingers over the edge of the folder and gripped it tight. Her nails were short, her fingers stubby. The backs of her hands were splashed with freckles in the same hue as those on her cheeks. Her stalwart pride was too much to bear. His thoughts drifted to her no-nonsense fashion sense and her passion for her cooking.
He looked into those proud green eyes and something cracked inside Knox. Screw his policy to never over explain his choices to a subordinate. If it hadn’t been so early in the morning, he would have cracked open the scotch and poured them each a finger.
“Emily, listen. It’s not personal, I assure you. My job is to transform Briscoe Ranch into a luxury resort. Not only for weddings, but for a complete five-star experience, from the rooms to the spa, from hospitality staff and the golf course to the dining experiences offered here. What I’m setting out to accomplish here is bigger than you and your dream.”
He cringed inwardly at that last sentiment. It was the truth but brutally worded. Even if she hated him for it, he hoped she could appreciate his forthrightness the way he appreciated hers.
She didn’t reel in defeat. If anything, the fierceness in her eyes shone even brighter. “You buy under-performing businesses and transform them so they’ll reach their true potential. Every article I’ve read about you goes on and on about your sixth sense for detecting diamonds in the rough.”
“That’s true. I do.” God, he sounded like a pompous ass. That wasn’t usually his style, but Emily’s unconventional ways were throwing him off his game. She’d gotten in his head and scrambled his composure like few people could. He stood and buttoned his jacket, prepared to usher Emily out of his office. Time to end this slow bleed of his dignity. “Let me show you out. I have a busy day ahead.”
Emily took his cue and stood, though she didn’t budge from her place before his desk. “I am like this hotel, Mr. Briscoe. Knox. I am an under-performing business that hasn’t reached its true potential. But you won’t give me the chance to prove that to you. I bet that sixth sense of yours is telling you to give me a shot at this. I also bet you’re ignoring it. Why, when you’ve built a fortune listening to your gut?”
He stopped short. How could it be that this woman, this stranger, had such insight into him? She was right; his sixth sense was on high alert. Could it be that he’d found yet another diamond in the rough in the hills of Texas?
He shook the crazy notion away because the facts remained. “Ty told me about you. You’ve worked at this resort since right out of culinary school a decade ago. No internships, no stints as a sous chef at a celebrated restaurant, nothing remarkable, not even a chef competition show on TV. Your whole career, you’ve been here at Briscoe Ranch, laboring in obscurity. If you’re so talented, then why have you been holding yourself back?”
He watched the shift of her weight from one foot to the other, the extra squeeze she gave the folder in her hand. He’d hit a nerve. Good. Turnabout was fair play.
“I’m not holding myself back. All the years I’ve worked here, laboring in obscurity”—she said with a scoff—“I’ve had the freedom to cook what I want, every dish completely original instead of imitations of more prominent chefs or attempts to pander to critics’ fickle tastes. Over the last decade, I’ve risen from a graveyard-shift line cook in the room service kitchen to the executive catering chef, one of the principal roles at the resort.” She spun the folder onto his desk and speared a finger on it. “A few months ago, Ty agreed to my proposal to open a high-concept, signature restaurant at the resort. Subterranean, I’m going to call it. We were in the process of securing funding when you showed up and ruined everything.”
He took a step nearer to her, then another, stopping just short of arm’s length. This close, those freckles on her cheeks came into focus again, as did a faint, hairline scar along her jaw that curved to her chin. He refocused on her furious green eyes. “I did not take this opportunity away from you. Ty did. He was the one who contacted me, looking for investors. My presence here to execute my vision for the resort, as well as the timing of it, was at his invitation. If he let you believe your restaurant would be possible under this new vision, then he was stringing you along. He’s your enemy, not me.”
Emily blanched, but only for a split second before recovering her wits. “He wasn’t stringing me along. I’m sure he was grooming me for your takeover, knowing you’d want to step up the caliber of the resort’s dining options. He’s not my enemy. He’s the employer who gave me a chance. All I need is an open door and a budget and I will give you the restaurant of your vision.”
She’d been dead on about his sixth sense and the rush he got with each thrill of discovery. He felt that familiar rush right now while sparring with her. He couldn’t wait for her to leave so he could read her proposal. He should have eaten the damn soup. Now he’d never know what he’d missed. “You and I aren’t so different in our ambition, you know.”
She sniffed at that, feigning a nonchalance he saw right through. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I possess a patience that you clearly lack.”
Oh, this woman. She wouldn’t stop pushing his buttons. He felt heat rising on his neck. He had to stuff his hand in his pockets so he wouldn’t give in to the discomfort and tug his tie loose. Emily had no idea how much patience it had taken to wait for the right time to make his move against Ty Briscoe. Years of planning and strategy, years of positioning himself in the right business, with the right connections, silently closing in on his prey, waiting to pounce until the time was right—until the prey thought it was his idea and came to him, on the verge of bankruptcy and begging for a bailout.
“Prove it,” he heard himself say, not knowing exactly what he meant by the dare.
Her gaze was unflinching. “How?”
He had to think fast. “I’ll give you four weeks. If you can prove to me in that time that you’re as gifted a chef as you claim, then I’ll hand you the reins of the restaurant along with whatever budget you require for this … Subterranean.”
She was not nearly as grateful as he’d expected, throwing him off yet again. “By taking over at the Chop House? Is that what you mean? Fine. As long as I have your approval to change the menu. Javier will be pissed to be booted from his job, but it’s just a month. He’ll understand.”
He hadn’t thought the challenge through to its details, but it only took a moment to decide what he really wanted from her. “Not taking over the restaurant. Guests have an expectation of the steakhouse that we have to uphold. You’ll cook dinner for me. As my personal chef for the month.”
The laughter she burst into caught him off guard
yet again. “As in, cook for the man who thinks that food is nothing but fuel? A man who wouldn’t taste my locally harvested, lovingly created, perfect peach soup? Because I’m not going to agree to this if you expect me to be your personal protein smoothie artist.”
Knox’s blood pounded through his body, saturated with adrenaline. When was the last time anyone tested him like this? When had he last felt so alive? “My food philosophy makes me the perfect candidate for this challenge. Change my mind. If you’re as good as you claim, then that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Her fierce countenance fell away, and he could plainly see the wheels turning in her mind. “Luckily, October is a light wedding month. The menus are done and the food ordered, for the most part. I can supervise during the day, and then my assistant, Nori, can run the kitchen during the events since I’ll be busy in the evenings devoting all my energy to … to…”
“To pleasing me.” Holy shit, that’d come out wrong.
Emily didn’t blink an eye. “No. To bringing you to your knees. In four weeks, you’ll be begging me to run your restaurant.”
Another rush coursed through him. He gritted his teeth against a smile. Emily Ford was stubborn, arrogant, and driven. Just like him. If she really was as extraordinary a chef as she claimed, then maybe he had discovered a diamond in the rough, one that might prove to be a lucrative investment, indeed.
“You’re going to need more than dinners. Breakfast and lunch, too. I can serve them here at your office.”
“I don’t eat breakfast.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m going to need keys to your home and 24-hour access.”
Right. She was going to be in his home, every night. Another part of the challenge he hadn’t thought through. The realization had his control tilting off balance again. He dashed off his address on the back of a business card, then extricated the house key from his personal key ring. “Of course. As I said, I don’t eat breakfast and I take most of my meals here, so the keys to my house will rarely be necessary.”
One More Taste Page 4
