Carina poked her with her shoe. “You’re doing that weird fantasy food rambling thing again.”
Emily barely heard Carina’s teasing. She was too busy perfecting the recipe in her mind. “Huh?”
“I love you. But you’re crazy.”
Carina was right; Emily was crazy. All great chefs were. She stood, hung the binoculars around her neck, and smoothed out her chef’s jacket. “I’ve got to go. I have a lot of work to do.”
“I thought the meal was ready.”
“Not anymore. I’m going to share my peaches with Knox Briscoe.”
Carina poked her tongue against her cheek as her forehead crinkled with delight. “Someday, one of my lessons about double entendres is going to sink in.”
Emily wasn’t daft or naive. She knew a double entrendre when she heard one—or, more accurately, inadvertently said one—but it wasn’t her fault that the vast majority of people didn’t understand that sex and food were incomparable. The perfect meal trumped sex every time, and anyone who claimed otherwise had obviously never experienced Emily’s cooking. Knox Briscoe didn’t know it yet, but his tongue was about to have the ride of its life.
With food, of course.
* * *
Two hours later, Emily pushed a loaded food cart behind the resort’s main reception desk, then through the maze of cubicles and offices tucked away from the guests’ view. She nodded to Ty Briscoe’s secretary, then let herself into his corner office, where Ty and Knox were deep in discussion at his conference table.
Ty afforded Emily the briefest of glances, but Knox’s focus remained unrelentingly on Ty and the business at hand. With those dark eyes and hard-set jaw, he exuded the same fierce focus that Emily prided herself on in the kitchen. Except with Knox, the fierceness heightened the energy in the room, beating like waves of power through the air. Emily froze near the door, stunned to find herself suddenly, uncharacteristically intimidated. The spying from Carina’s dress shop hadn’t prepared Emily for that.
“That idea has merit,” Knox was saying to Ty in a deep, firm voice. “But my equity firm’s vision extends beyond a cosmetic update. This resort has the potential to become a self-contained city, a beacon for travelers from all over the world.”
Even from the door, Emily could see beads of sweat on Ty’s bald head. His thick, bulldog neck had turned red, something that only happened when he was keeping his anger in check. Emily wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the larger-than-life man, her father figure for all intents and purposes for the past decade, be cowed by another man before. But he was definitely not the alpha in the room today. “Yes, I know, but not—” Ty said.
Knox plowed ahead. “Yes, but nothing, Ty. The vision I have for the resort, the vision you agreed to, is the reason I was able to put together a team of investors so quickly. They’re expecting me to make their money back plus at least a twenty percent profit in record time, and I intend to do just that. Your focus here has been on branding Briscoe Ranch as a one-of-a-kind destination, but it’s time to convert all that potential into real change. So let’s not pretend we’re going to give the resort a simple face-lift.”
Emily shook herself out of her eavesdropping trance and busied herself creating place settings on the table in front of each man. She could have brought along an assistant to do such menial labor, but she’d wanted to make a strong first impression. As it was, though, Knox had yet to acknowledge her at all.
“I hear what you’re saying, but we already have a world-class stable of horses and hill country’s premier golf course. What more do you plan to add?” Ty said.
Emily set servings of chilled peach soup in front of Knox, then Ty, with a flourish. She’d labored for nearly two hours on the soup, which was in the running for her best culinary creation ever, if she did say so herself.
Knox picked up his spoon and poked crisp brown sugar brûlée. “We’ll need to double the number of guest rooms, for starters. From there we add a bar or two, expand the number of upscale shops in the lobby, and add a five-star luxury restaurant. No luxury resort is complete without its own award-winning chef.”
On his next breath, Knox frowned down at the soup, then pushed it ever so slightly away.
Emily gave a quiet gasp. The nerve …
“Agreed,” Ty said. “And we just so happen to have plans for a new restaurant in the works. It’s one of the reasons I asked our special event catering chef, Emily Ford, to showcase her skills by preparing us lunch today.” He gestured to Emily, who was still gaping at Knox’s untouched soup. It wasn’t until Knox’s eyes roved over her in a dispassionate study that she realized she was wringing the bottom of her chef’s jacket in her hands.
Ty continued, “She’s been working with me to develop a dynamic proposal for a world-class restaurant here at the resort. All we’ve been waiting for is the right investor, and here you are.”
Knox’s mouth gave an almost imperceptible frown. “No offense to Ms. Ford, but my investors have shelled out millions of their own dollars to transform Briscoe Ranch into a world-class luxury resort, so we need to aim higher.”
Aim higher? And here she’d thought Knox’s whole claim to fame in the business world was not being a jackass. Her loyalty to the Briscoes meant nothing to this man. And very little to Ty, either, obviously, who was allowing his family’s business to be yanked away from them. No, not yanked. Knox Briscoe had too much poise to do anything so passionate as yanking. Rather, this was chess. Or, perhaps, Monopoly. A slow, deliberate erosion of his opponent down to nothing.
Standing tableside, she touched the edge of the plate on which Knox’s soup bowl sat. Oh, how satisfying it would be to flip it over onto his perfectly pressed slacks. Her masterpiece deserved a better fate, but the temptation rippled through her with wicked glee.
Knox’s body tensed. He knew what she’d been contemplating, too. His hand twitched as though in preparation to grab her wrist and stop her before she could soil his clothing.
“Emily,” Ty warned.
Was she so obvious? So predictably reckless that both Ty and Knox could read her thoughts so plainly?
Screw them. Sure, they held her career in their hands, but neither deserved to eat her cooking today. With outrage pounding through her veins, she pulled out the seat at the head of the table between the two men and dropped into it. She slid Knox’s bowl in front of her, grabbed his spoon, and—as both men gaped at her—cracked through the brûlée and dipped into the bright orange soup.
The soup exploded in her mouth in a burst of complicated, unexpected flavor. Perfection. Better than sex. Better than just about anything else this heartless, cynical planet could offer.
She flattened her palm over the bound stack of papers in front of Knox. His grand plans for her home, her livelihood and the livelihood of so many of her friends and colleagues. He was going to ruin everything and there was nothing she could do to stop it, not if Ty was just going to roll over and let Knox walk all over him.
She pulled the dossier in front of her. Ty and Knox sat, stunned, watching her. Neither had yet to say a word about her brazen intrusion. She flipped open the document.
How the hell was she getting away with this?
Her anger was too blinding for her to focus on the words or make heads or tails of the legal jargon. But she’d heard all she needed to know. Knox and his investors were going to turn the resort into yet another cookie-cutter chain hotel. “Ty, this is a bad deal. He’s going to sell out. He’s a business flipper. That’s what he does. He doesn’t care about the Briscoes at all.”
“I am a Briscoe,” Knox said in a dull, even tone.
Emily was too pissed off to look him in the eye. She took another bite of soup to keep herself from telling him that he wasn’t a Briscoe in any way but his name. Instead, to Ty, she said, “If you do this, you’re going to lose everything your parents built, everything you’ve worked your whole life for.”
“That’s enough, Emily,” Ty said, but there was no mistaking the t
inge of regret in his eyes.
Knox rose slowly, buttoning his suit jacket as he loomed over Emily. “Are you asking to be fired, Ms. Ford? Because I was hoping the chef I hire for the new restaurant would see the value in keeping on some of the resort’s restaurant workers as line cooks.”
Emily stood to face him nose to nose while visualizing the way his suit would look covered in mushroom reduction, sweet potato puree, and bits of roasted pheasant.
“Emily, leave us,” Ty said, standing. “We’ll serve ourselves the rest of the meal.”
Ty’s tone left no room for argument.
Emily stalked away from the table, but lingered in front of the serving tray near the door. She glanced back at the table, where both men were resuming their seats. Not too late to make a childish protest using one of the plated lunches. In the end, she decided against it, out of respect for Ty more than any sense of dignity or self-preservation.
With a sniff, she left the room. As the door closed behind her, Knox’s voice wafted through the air. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you, Ty. Sleeping with the special event chef. Interesting. And against my business policy.”
Emily tenuous self-control snapped. She pivoted on her heel, pushed the office door open, and grabbed one of the lidded lunch plates. In one sweeping motion, she pulled the silver lid off and lunged at Knox, overturning the food into the bastard’s lap. She stood over him, seething and watching glorious glops of gravy and sweet potatoes ooze like lava into the creases of his slacks.
Ty Briscoe is like a father to me. The father I never had. He took a huge risk in giving me a job when I was a no-name chef school graduate. His family took me in when I had nothing and no one. When I was goddamn homeless, you son of a bitch. Of course, she didn’t say any of that. She refused to splay open her chest and give Knox Briscoe one single glimpse of her heart. His careless response to her peaches was proof enough of his lack of a soul.
For his part, Knox didn’t rise or curse at her—as Ty was doing, she noticed out of the corner of her eye—nor did he attempt to clean himself off. He kept his cucumber-cool gaze locked on hers, a slight smirk curved on his lips. “Did I hit too close to home on that observation, Ms. Ford?”
Emily braced her hands on the table and the back of his chair. “I may not know what your father did to get disowned by the Briscoes, but it’s no wonder you’re trying to deflect some of that shame you inherited from him onto the people of this resort. Even after all these years, it still stings, doesn’t it? Whatever he did to get shunned? The shame of it all?”
A shadow crossed Knox’s face. Good. She’d meant for that to hurt. She picked one of the pheasant halves off his lap by the drumstick and took a bite of the meaty breast. Delicious, briny, and with a flavor profile that any Michelin star chef would kill to have created. She tossed the pheasant bones back on his lap.
“It makes sense, now, this whole alpha power vibe you’ve got going on. You know what they say about men who seem like they’re overcompensating for something.”
The shadow vanished from Knox’s eyes and the shark-like calculation returned. “That they have big feet? Or am I mixing my old wives’ tales?”
A hand closed around Emily’s arm and tugged her away. Ty pushed between her and Knox, scolding her, apologizing to Knox. When did the giant she’d long revered as a force of nature turn into a spineless, apologetic noodle? She would’ve never expected her idol to fall from grace in the blink of an eye.
“Emily, please. Leave us,” Ty said. “You’re embarrassing yourself and insulting me.”
That pulled her up short. She was way beyond caring if she embarrassed herself, but she did care about insulting Ty. She might not trust Ty to know what he was doing, not after this crippling deal with the devil himself. But she still respected Ty enough to honor his plea. With a nod, she walked with stiff, proud steps to the door.
“Ms. Ford, the suspense is killing me. What do they say about men who seem like they’re overcompensating?” Knox said, sounding amused.
Gritting her teeth, she paused with one foot out the door and tossed a look over her shoulder, startling all over again at Knox’s aura of cool perfection. The cut of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, eyes that were as cruel as they were wise. How had she ever thought she could win over a man like that with peaches and pheasant? Whatever family shame Knox was overcompensating for, it wasn’t going to save Emily or her beloved resort. Knox Briscoe was beyond redemption, her career was over before it had even gotten off the ground, and life was never going to be the same again.
“Haven’t you heard?” she said. “The thing about men who seem like they’re overcompensating for something is that they always are.”
About the Author
Melissa Cutler has the best job in the world writing sexy contemporary romances and romantic suspense. She was struck at an early age by an unrelenting travel bug and is probably planning her next vacation as you read this. When she’s not globetrotting, she’s enjoying Southern California’s flip-flop wearing weather and wrangling two rambunctious kids. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
One More Taste Teaser
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ONE HOT SUMMER
Copyright © 2016 by Melissa Cutler.
Excerpt from One More Taste Copyright © 2016 by Melissa Cutler.
Cover photographs © Shutterstock
Author Photo © Tessa Deshamais
All rights reserved.
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eISBN: 978-1-4668-8309-3
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / April 2016
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
One Hot Summer Page 35
