Grill Me, Baby

by Sophia Knightly

  “Yep. Tasty Thai month,” Amy confirmed.

  “I’d better talk to Elliot,” Michaela fretted. “Would you find him for me?”

  “He’s standing next to me waiting for a compliment on his new lavender suede shoes and matching tunic and pants.” Amy started to laugh. “Hold on, Elliot’s taking the phone away. Unfortunately, he heard me mention your hangover. Sorry.”

  “Great,” Michaela muttered. Knowing Elliot, she would never hear the end of it.

  “Feeling woozy, my culinary goddess?” Elliot quipped. “If I’d known you’d be hung-over this morning, I would have gotten here at least an hour earlier. I mean, hello? Did you forget our little munchkins will be arriving at three, hungry and ready to cook?”

  “Yes, I’m rushing. I’ll be there as soon as…”

  Before Michaela could finish, Elliott gave a high-pitched squeal and suddenly shrieked, “Kitty, is the orange vinaigrette ready yet? No? Why not, you lazy debutante?”

  “Elliot, don’t talk to her that way,” Michaela said, clutching her head while he continued to shout.

  “Waldo, get your worthless ass over here and stir this sauce! Quit flexing your muscles, Dan, I’ve already noticed you! And please control those ham fists. You’re handling delicate button mushrooms, not portobellos! I can’t do everything myself and be the master chef too!” he ranted. “Goddess, why did you have to get drunk last night? You’re the most dependable girl I know.”

  There was that word again—dependable. Normally, Michaela would have prided herself in being dependable, but this morning the description depressed her. Being dependable equated being predictable. Well, predictable was better than drunk!

  “I’m warning you, Elliott. If you don’t keep this strictly between us…”

  “Stop it, diva! My lips are sealed tighter than Dan’s ass.”

  Shocked by his crudeness, Michaela drew in a sharp breath. “My God, Elliot, shut up! Did Dan hear you say that?” When she heard him chuckle wickedly, she warned, “Better be careful or he might shut you up personally.” Dan was at least a foot taller and weighed fifty pounds more than Elliot—in solid muscle.

  “Ooh, don’t get me excited, naughty girl. Now hurry up and get here. I’m going crazy.”

  Michaela started to roll her eyes, but stopped when the action made her eyeballs ache. “Better lighten up on the staff or they’ll walk out on you, or worse yet, sue you for harassment.”

  “Hah! I doubt that. They need discipline. You’re too considerate with the lot of them.”

  She grimaced. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. No daily special today. Please make sure you’re ready to serve lunch by eleven thirty.”

  “You don’t have to remind me. You know how capable I am,” he sniffed, sounding affronted.

  “Mmm hmm,” she murmured in a placating tone. “Please put Amy back on.”

  “Fine,” he huffed.

  “I’m going to jump in the shower, then head on over,” Michaela said when Amy took the phone from Elliot. “I’ll fill you in on things when I get there. Bye.”

  Michaela hung up and closed her eyes as she braced herself against the counter. After taking several deep breaths, she got a bottle of aspirin from the pantry and downed two with a full glass of water. She looked around her kitchen and cringed, as little by little, she remembered the events leading to last night’s debacle. Once everything came back to her in vibrant detail, she thanked God that she had finished off the wine after Paolo left or there was no telling what she might have done.

  Never in her thirty years had anyone gotten to her so swiftly and made her lose her composure so completely. When Paolo had first strolled into her apartment, all sexy charm and macho testosterone, she’d felt the potent force of his charismatic presence. But by the end of the evening, he’d witnessed her mortification over being a chubby, awkward kid and she felt vulnerable. He’d been kind and understanding, but she couldn’t allow him to get close to her heart or she’d be lost. She had already been a fool for love once in her life; she couldn’t, wouldn’t let it happen again.

  Agreeing to meet at Sublime had seemed like a safe way out last night, but the more she reflected on it, the more Michaela realized that she needed to reposition herself professionally on her home turf. She decided to call Paolo and change the location of their meeting to her apartment. And she wouldn’t allow him to be there while she cooked. He would come over when it was almost ready and her meal would be awesome!

  There was no time to lose. She fixed herself a double shot of espresso and then tidied up the living room and lit a few vanilla scented candles to kill the burnt smell from last night’s ruined meal. Satisfied that things were in order, she flicked on her answering machine and headed for a hot shower.

  Paolo stood before Michaela’s front door and rang the doorbell. He waited a few moments and tried again. No answer, but her car was in the parking lot. Weird. Michaela was nowhere to be found this morning, not at Sublime or at her apartment.

  Francie, the receptionist, had said Michaela might still be at home, but she hadn’t answered any of his calls or responded to the message he’d left on her answering machine. Francie had confided that everyone at the spa was worried when Michaela hadn’t shown up because it was so out of character for her.

  Now he was beginning to wonder if she was okay. He banged on the door several times.

  Suddenly, the door whipped open and Michaela faced him with her hands on her hips. “Please—I’ve got neighbors! Don’t bang on my door that way,” she said in a low voice. “Why are you here? We don’t have an appointment—do we? I don’t remember…”

  “I’m relieved to find you here, querida. Francie told me you were missing this morning.”

  “Missing? Why that little gossip!”

  Paolo took a step forward, and then stopped in his tracks when he saw Michaela was scantily clad in a short, coral terry cloth robe.

  “Don’t you know better than to open the door practically naked?” His gaze took in her bare legs and he couldn’t help but grin. “Not that I mind.”

  Michaela’s face turned pink. “You got me out of the shower. Don’t you believe in calling before showing up?”

  “Check your voice mail. I’ve been trying to reach you all morning, but you’ve been ignoring my phone calls.”

  She sighed. “I wasn’t ignoring them.” Her graceful hands massaged her temples as she closed her eyes briefly and gave a little moan.

  “Headache?”

  She grimaced. “My head feels like it’s splitting at the temples.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, Maki. May I come in?”

  She didn’t open the door further. “It’s not a good time. I’m in a rush to get ready.”

  Michaela might not be feeling well, but that didn’t diminish how fetching she looked in the little robe, even with a headache. Her long copper hair lay loose and damp upon her shoulders. Her arms and cleavage were sprinkled with tiny freckles that turned him on more than he dared to admit. Michaela’s creamy skin tantalized him, especially now that he had seen the dainty freckles. There were sure to be others on her hidden curves.

  His appreciative gaze slid over her pert breasts, her tiny waist and nicely rounded hips barely covered by the robe. His gaze returned to admire her face, but Michaela’s troubled expression stopped his straying thoughts cold.

  Her aquamarine eyes glistened with tension. “Why are you here?”

  “I can’t come tonight.”

  “You can’t come tonight,” she repeated flatly. “The show is on Monday and we still haven’t decided on a menu. We absolutely have to get a productive session before the show, Paolo.”

  “I know, querida, that’s why we need to talk.” Forget talking, what he really wanted was to wind his hands in her hair and hold her still while he kissed the pout off her plush lips, but he forced his gaze away
from her mouth and collected his thoughts.

  “All right, but please make it quick. I am very late for work. Today is Tasty Thai day and there are thirty fifth-graders coming to cook with me,” she said in an agitated voice as she yanked the door open and gestured for him to enter.

  Paolo grinned when Michaela turned her back and self-consciously tugged at the hem of her robe, making sure everything was properly covered.

  “Don’t worry about it. I was just at the restaurant,” Paolo said, forcing his gaze away from temptation. “Your sous chef is on a real power trip.”

  “Ah, so you’ve met Elliot.” A flicker of amusement lit up Michaela’s eyes. “You still haven’t told me why you can’t make it tonight,” she pointed out.

  “Claudia just called. She’s having contractions, but she’s not sure if she’s in labor.”

  The frustration in Michaela’s tone disappeared, replaced by alarm. “What are you doing here? Go to your sister, she needs you!”

  Paolo was drawn to the genuine concern in her eyes.

  “Does your sister have anyone to help her other than you?” she asked.

  “Only me, but my mother is trying to get a flight in as soon as she can.”

  “Okay, that’s good.” She expelled a deep breath. “I guess you’ll have to let me know when we can finalize our plans.”

  “Yes. Don’t worry about the show, Maki. We’ll be magnificent together.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “By Saturday, we’ll have the whole menu set,” he said confidently.

  Michaela walked toward the door. “All right. Good luck with Claudia and the baby. Call me when you can.”

  “I will.”

  Paolo leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks, enjoying her feminine, rose scent. His fingertips grazed the silkiness of her arms until he reached her soft hands and entwined his fingers with hers. Her eyes darkened as his gaze held hers and it was all he could do not to kiss her. Michaela’s mouth looked like a ripe strawberry, lush and sweet and he was dying to have a taste. The urge became a distinct ache as he shifted his stance.

  She finally broke the lingering eye contact and slid her hands from his.

  “I, um—” she cleared her throat, “—I have to get ready. I hope Claudia and baby are okay.”

  “Me too. Thanks for understanding.” His voice came out rough-edged and gruff. “Ciao, linda.”

  “Ciao,” she said quietly before closing the door.

  Paolo leaned his shoulder against the door and gave a wry shake of his head. It was a damn shame that he and Michaela were in stiff competition for the same job. Now that Claudia was about to deliver her baby without Bobby by her side, Paolo needed the high-paying job more than ever to cover her needs and the baby’s too. He also had to send money to Mamá and pay for his sister Gina’s wedding. His whole family was depending on him to win.

  Whether Michaela liked it or not, he fully intended to be the victor. Once she saw how aggressively he competed, she would no doubt double her efforts to hold the upper hand. Nevertheless, she was bound to lose to him. With all the fat trimming and calorie cutting she boasted about, Paolo couldn’t imagine how Maki’s cuisine could be as delicious as his. She might cook with precision, but he cooked with passion. Paolo was intrigued to taste her cooking, but not nearly as much as he craved a taste of her.

  As he got into his car, his cell phone rang with his home number in caller ID. “Hola, Claudia,” he barely got out before he heard her labored breathing.

  “Ay, ay, owweee. This is it! I think the baby’s coming! Come home now!” she cried, panting loudly.

  Paolo felt the blood drain from his face. As the oldest of five children, he had heard what his mother had gone through in childbirth and he didn’t want to think of Claudia suffering that way.

  “I’m on my way,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Chapter Eight

  Paolo stormed into his apartment as if a bull was chasing him. “Claudia, where are you?” he called out. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

  “No, it’s your food,” Claudia retorted as she struggled to sit up on the sofa. “Of course it’s the baby! I thought you’d never get here.”

  “Are you still having contractions?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, wild-eyed. “I just had another one a few minutes ago. They don’t feel like the Braxton Hicks ones I’ve been having on and off.” She rubbed her swollen belly in a circular motion and then stopped and winced. “Here it comes again.” She took shallow panting breaths while her white-knuckled hands held the sides of the sofa cushion. When it subsided, she cried, “The baby is going to come if we don’t leave now! ¡Vamonos al hospital!”

  “Sí, let’s go.” Paolo carefully helped her up, steadying her with an arm around her shoulders.

  “Wait! I need my hospital bag.” Claudia pointed to a blue canvas carry-on next to the front door. “It’s over there.”

  “We’ll get it on the way out. Lean on me.”

  Claudia supported her bulging belly with one arm as she linked her other arm with his and held on tight.

  When they got to the door, Paolo hoisted the hospital bag onto his shoulder. “What do you have in there? Rocks?”

  “You never know what you’ll need in the hospital,” she said, suddenly sounding giddy. Her mood shifts were puzzling to say the least. “Magazines, playing cards, cute outfits for baby and me to go home in, pictures of my family to make me strong. I’ve been collecting things here and there. Aiyee!” Her body went rigid against his side. “Here comes another one!”

  Paolo watched his little sister’s face turn red as she panted rhythmically, her cheeks puffing up with exertion. “Have you been timing them?”

  “Yes, but they’re not coming regularly yet.”

  “Hang in there, nena.” Sweating bullets, he waited until Claudia’s contraction subsided and then led her outside. “Lean on me while I lock the door. Forget about walking, I’ll carry you. We need to get you to the hospital ASAP!”

  The moment he hefted Claudia in his arms, she turned awkwardly and grabbed his neck. A sharp spasm shot from the right side of Paolo’s neck down to his shoulder. Ouch, that hurt. Adding to her tall and athletic figure, Claudia had put on at least another thirty pounds of baby weight. Normally, he could have carried her with no problem, but this morning he had woken up with an annoying crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch. Paolo forced himself to ignore the shooting pain as he took the front steps of the building, two at a time.

  Claudia had said she felt the baby coming! He silently prayed for her baby to take a little longer.

  Michaela hummed as she sprinkled a liberal amount of chopped cilantro, basil and mint leaves around the grilled yellowtail snapper. Her headache was gone and she was feeling better, in spite of her hangover this morning. The clinking of pots and pans and the frenetic pace of her staff pleased her. Ironically, chef was French for boss and Michaela loved being the ringleader of her domain.

  “Why are you smiling, Michaela? Is that a drop of moisture I see on your lower lip?” inquired Elliot. “Salivating over your Italian Stallion or should I call him your Argentinean Chorizo?”

  “Neither, you Flaming Baked Alaskan,” Dan, the brawny, good-looking line chef, mumbled under his breath, surprising both Michaela and Elliot.

  Elliot snickered. “It’s called Baked Alaska, darling.”

  “The kids are going to be here any minute, Elliot,” Michaela said.

  A pout played on his lips as Elliot replied, “Forget the munchkins. When are you cooking with your succulent lamb chop?”

  Michaela tried not to smile. “I don’t think Paolo would like you to call him that.”

  “Too bad. He and Dan have a lot in common.” Elliot gave the strong, athletic man beside him a sidelong glance. Dan Haden hailed from El Paso and he was way taller
and stronger-built than Elliot. Dan once owned a thriving Tex Mex restaurant until he lost everything to his ex-wife and partner in a contentious divorce. “Isn’t that right, cowboy? Love your boots,” he drawled, sending Dan a daring wink.

  From the grim look on Dan’s face, Michaela could tell the big Texan wasn’t amused. He had probably been dealing with Elliot’s banter all morning.

  “Don’t make me shut you up, Elliot,” Dan snarled, not looking up from stirring the Jamaican conch chowder. “I’ll kick your scrawny ass back to your crib.”

  Elliot giggled. “Ooh, tough love, my Texas Longhorn? But I don’t have a crib, it’s more like a throne. I also don’t have a scrawny ass—”

  “Get back to work, Elliot,” Michaela said. “Behave yourself and stop the nicknames.”

  “You don’t seem to mind when I call you a culinary goddess,” Elliot pointed out.

  “That’s because I am,” Michaela declared, smiling benevolently as she used a clean kitchen cloth to wipe up any remaining herbs that had fallen on the edge of the plate. She placed the towel in a laundry bin just as the phone rang on the wall beside her.

  “Spa kitchen, Michaela Willoughby,” she said into the receiver.

  “Hey, it’s Lisa. Any chance you can come to the massage room now?”

  “Can I come later? The kids are about to arrive.”

  “It’ll only be for a few minutes.”

  Michaela wondered what was up with Lisa. It was out of character for her to call the kitchen. They usually chatted in person after work.

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.” Turning to Elliot, Michaela said, “I have to leave for a sec. I’ll be back before the kids get here. Please set everything out on the counters so we can get started right away when I get back.”

  Elliot gave a queenly sniff. “You don’t have to remind me of my duties.”

  “If you don’t, I will,” Dan muttered.

  Elliot’s face brightened as he puffed up his chest and straightened to his full five foot six inch frame. “There you go again, always toying with me.”