Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook

by Robin Kaye

  Logan looked at Rocki and Francis, but the two of them simply shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I just took over the place last night. The manager got married yesterday, went on her honeymoon. I’m just filling in for the month. It was a really bad time for the cook to quit.”

  She smiled and it transformed her from beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way to simply stunning. “It’s a good thing I walked by, then.” She looked around. “I assume the kitchen is through there?” She pointed at the swinging double doors.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Okay, then, let’s take a look.” She set her backpack and suitcase on the bench of a booth, and he found himself following her to the kitchen.

  “Did you close today because you lost your cook?”

  “No, we’re only open Tuesday through Saturday.”

  She shot him another heart-stopping grin. Nope, he hadn’t imagined it. She was absolutely staggering. Her lips were full, rose colored, and bare. She wasn’t wearing all that lip crap Payton was always applying—most of which tasted bad enough to put him off kissing for life. If this woman wore makeup, he couldn’t detect it—not that she needed it. Her eyelashes were coal black, full enough to create shadows on her pale cheeks.

  “So I’ll only have to work five days a week? It’ll seem like a vacation.”

  The way she spoke, he’d have thought he’d already given her the job. He hadn’t. Still, he followed her and couldn’t help but notice that her back was as attractive as her front—not that he was looking or anything. His cell phone vibrated. He snuck a peek—Payton—and shoved his phone into his pocket as the woman inspected the kitchen like a general inspecting her troops. She even ran her finger under the hood. “Your cook kept a clean kitchen. I like that.” She took a turn through the walk-through refrigerator, stepped out, and closed the door behind her. “Okay, I’ll take the job.”

  “You will?” He shook his head. “Hold on. I haven’t even offered it yet. Hell, I don’t even know your name.”

  She stepped toward him and held out her hand. “Skye. Skye Sinclair.”

  He took it—her hand was small, warm, and as callused as his. Her shake was surprisingly firm, considering she barely came up to his shoulder, and her touch sent a shock wave through him that had him holding on to see if it would continue. It did.

  * * *

  Once this guy tasted her cooking, there was no question that he’d hire her on the spot and she really needed the job. The kitchen was first-class, and the dining room was large enough to keep the menu interesting, but still small enough to cook everything to order.

  Since the man seemed completely clueless when it came to running a restaurant, she’d have total control of the kitchen for at least the month he was scheduled to be in charge. It was the one thing she’d always longed for—her very own kitchen.

  This was a real lucky break—she fingered the four-leaf clover she wore around her neck.

  When she’d walked through the doors and spotted him, he’d looked familiar. Tall, really tall, he was at least a foot taller than her five feet two. Sometimes it really sucked being short. He had dark brown, almost black hair, a narrow nose, a square jaw, and high cheekbones sharp enough to fillet meat. His eyes were the color of rich caramel—her favorite decadence other than chocolate. He was tan and lean, and hotter than a desert afternoon during a heat wave. He looked like one of the models she’d seen while paging through the stack of magazines she’d picked up to read on the plane—the man was gorgeous. But the more she watched him, the more he reminded her of someone specific. She just couldn’t put her finger on who.

  When he took her hand in his to shake, she wasn’t sure if the shock she felt running through her arm straight to her breasts was because he touched her, or if it was God’s way of zapping her for lying about her name.

  Then it hit her; he reminded her of that vintner who was engaged to Payton Billingsly. She’d never met him in person, but she’d seen him once at her parents’ country club from a distance. She took a closer look and laughed at her ridiculousness. As if Payton would ever lower herself to marry someone who hadn’t come out of a penthouse on Park Avenue. Besides, according to the society pages, Payton’s fiancé was on the other side of the country running Billingsly Vineyards and helping the ice princess to plan their New Year’s Eve wedding. He was not freaking out over finding a chef for his dad’s bar and restaurant in Brooklyn.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Skye. I’m Logan Blaise.”

  Oh, God, no! It was him. She did her best to smile through the shock, but the way his smiled flattened told her she failed.

  “About the job—”

  She did a mental eye roll. Her patience slipped another notch, so she decided to just go with it. “Yes, about the job. How much are you paying me?”

  His mouth dropped open.

  “And is there a reason you’re still holding my hand?”

  “What?” Logan looked down, seemingly stunned to see their joined hands, and broke the connection.

  Thank God.

  “I’m sorry. Um…I don’t know how much the job pays. I’m going to have to figure it out. But I haven’t even offered it to you yet.”

  “Well, Logan, from where I’m standing, I don’t see that you have much of a choice. What are you going to do, call Rent a Chef?”

  His brows drew together—she’d shocked him. Good. “Do they have Rent a Chefs?”

  “If they did, I’d be the last person to tell you.”

  “I have to discuss this with my dad. He owns the place.”

  “Then why isn’t he interviewing me?” She’d much rather deal with the man in charge than Payton’s plaything.

  “He had a heart attack and bypass surgery a few months ago, so my brothers and I are taking turns coming home to help out. The manager just ran off and married one of my brothers, which is why I’m here. She’ll be back in a month, and then I’ll return to my life.”

  “Good to know.” She let out a relieved breath. She could work with anyone for a month. After all, she’d put up with her overbearing brothers for years. “I can wait if you want to discuss this with your father. Are you hungry? Do want me to throw together lunch while you ferret out the paperwork and talk to him?”

  “Um…”

  “Think of it as a working interview. You wouldn’t hire a band without hearing them play, would you?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll even clean up after myself. What are you and your friends in the mood for? Or would you rather me go off the menu?”

  “You want to cook?”

  She shrugged. “It’s what I do. Besides, I haven’t cooked in two days, and not cooking makes me antsy.”

  “Okay. It’ll get me out of having to cook lunch. If you could make something heart-healthy that doesn’t taste it, it would be great. Pop’s on a pretty strict diet, and he’s not happy about it. Oh, and try to make it something a kid wouldn’t mind eating.”

  “You have a child?”

  “Um…” Was it her imagination or did he just blanch? “Nicki is my dad’s foster child. She’s ten.” He headed out the swinging doors toward the bar, so she followed. “Hey, Rocki, Francis, this is Skye Sinclair. She’s going to cook for us as part of her job interview. Are you staying for lunch?”

  Skye looked toward the ceiling and cursed silently. God was having a good ol’ time at her expense. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke.

  She’d never met Logan Blaise, but she’d grown up hearing all about Payton. Skye’s parents always suggested their daughter try to emulate her. A woman so plastic, if she took up smoking, she’d melt. People like Payton made her skin crawl, and this guy was engaged to her.

  She smiled through Logan’s introductions to Rocki, the lead singer of the house band, and Francis, who looked more like a bouncer than a bartender. She watched him speak. He even sounded like her brothers—not a hint of the Brooklyn accent his friends had. He was gorgeous, polished, shallow, and fake.

>   At least Logan hadn’t recognized her. Not that they traveled in the same circles—she’d always avoided his circles. Still, it was a darn good thing she’d thought to use her mother’s maiden name. “So it’s five for lunch, right?”

  Logan raised his brows. “Six including you. You do eat your own food, don’t you?”

  “Not usually with the people for whom I’m cooking.”

  “Make an exception today. I’m sure Pop would like to talk to you.”

  “Fine. Any food allergies I should know about?”

  They all shook their heads. “Okay, I’ll go see what there is to make. Give me about forty-five minutes. I have to start everything from scratch.”

  “No problem. Take your time and holler if you need any help.”

  “You know your way around the kitchen?”

  Rocki and Francis laughed, and then Francis stepped forward and threw his arm over her shoulder. “My man Logan knows a lot about a lot of things. He knows his way around a lab, a distillery, a brewery, and a vineyard definitely. But the kitchen is one place he has little or no experience. I’m Italian, so I’m no stranger to the kitchen. If you need anything, just call my name.”

  Skye took a relieved breath. She liked Francis immediately, even if he could bench-press her using only his pinkies. Rocki seemed nice too. She just wasn’t sure what they were doing with a guy like Logan Blaise.