The Man Ban

by Nicola Marsh

  He rarely had vacation days at home, which meant whenever he attended a conference away from Melbourne he scheduled some time to relax afterward. He’d never been to Auckland, despite it only being a three-and-a-half-hour flight away, and he looked forward to playing tourist.

  After bidding farewell to fellow delegates, he headed for the bar tucked into one side of the foyer. The glaring blues and stainless steel hurt his eyes, but they served a mean martini, a drink he hadn’t sampled since his early days as an intern, when one of his supervisors had insisted his protégés attend Friday night drinks at a pub near the hospital for those not on call.

  He rarely drank these days, considering his life revolved around the hospital, and being the chief ER physician meant he had to keep his wits about him most of the time. But he had no such compunction here, and after ordering an extra dry martini, he pulled out his cell to check on Izzy.

  His grandmother always answered on the third ring, like she hated keeping anyone waiting.

  “Manish, my boy, how are you?”

  “Good. Brain-dead from information overload, but good.”

  “You love it,” Izzy said, her soft accent never failing to invoke memories of trailing after her as a boy, of rolling out parathas alongside her as a teen, of standing hip to hip at the stove while she showed him how to taste food by tapping the wooden spoon against his opposite palm. “But I hope you’ll have some time to relax too. You work too hard.”

  “The conference wrapped up an hour ago, so I’ll play tourist for a few days. How are you?”

  He wasn’t sure if he imagined the barest hesitation. “I’m fine. Old and decrepit, but fine. And I’d be finer if my only grandson would marry before I die.”

  “Not this again,” he said, but there was no malice in his response. His gran had been saying the same thing for the last decade, since he hit thirty and showed no signs of finding a wife. “Trust me, you’ll be the first to know if I ever lose my mind and slip a ring on any woman’s finger.”

  Izzy tut-tutted. “You always make light of this, but I’m not getting any younger, Manish, and I don’t want you to be alone after I’m gone.”

  Izzy had always been a bit of a hypochondriac, and he wondered if it was his gran’s way of seeking attention since he’d graduated. He knew his long hours in the ER meant he didn’t visit her as often as he’d like, but while she’d always have some medical complaint or another, she didn’t mention death very often. Probably out of superstition, so hearing her say it twice in this conversation, after mentioning it at the wedding, seemed strange.

  “Love you, Izzy. See you next week.”

  “Take care, my boy. There’s an Indian dance next weekend, some extravaganza in Noble Park, that would be good for you to attend to meet—”

  “I might be working,” he said, the lie sliding from his lips before Izzy could drop names of prospective brides he had to meet at the dance.

  He heard her disappointed sigh, so he tempered his response with, “We’ll talk about it when I get home.”

  “Hmm, okay,” Izzy muttered. “See you then.”

  She hung up, and he slid his cell back into his pocket before he’d be tempted to check it. Not that his fruitless search for messages during conference breaks had elicited a response from Harper as he’d hoped. She’d ignored his text, and while he’d never hound her, he’d been tempted to call on more than one occasion after a long day of listening to rambling lecturers.

  Maybe their first memorable meeting had been their last and he needed to move on. He never did this. He usually went on one date with a woman, maybe two, and his longest relationship had lasted seven days. Harper wasn’t interested. He needed to forget her.

  As the bartender placed his martini on a coaster in front of him, a mini commotion near one of the function rooms captured his attention.

  A woman who had her back to him was gesturing madly at a guy in chef’s whites, brandishing her cell in one hand and oddly, a turkey baster in the other. The chef looked seriously freaked as the woman continued to gesture wildly, her arms windmilling. Crazy foodies.

  Then the woman turned and his breath caught.

  Harper.

  13

  Harper couldn’t believe this was happening.

  She’d planned everything to the nth degree for the most important shoot of her career, and now this.

  “What do you mean Kylie isn’t coming?”

  The junior chef took a step back, like he expected her to whack him over the head with the turkey baster in her hand. “She called in sick.”

  “Sick,” Harper echoed, knowing it wasn’t this guy’s fault some flaky assistant had bailed on her, but wanting to clobber something anyway, and he happened to be closest. “Isn’t there a replacement?”

  “Uh . . . we’ve rung around, but nobody is available.” The chef took another step back and glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “I really should be getting back to prepping the dishes for the shoot.”

  The shoot. The shoot she had to prepare for solo, an impossible task on her best day, but today, being tasked to make the great Jock McKell’s dishes appear perfect so people all around the country would drool over them and flock to the Storr Hotels, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. That well-stocked minibar in her room was looking mighty tempting right about now.

  “Go,” she said, shooing him away, not surprised when he bolted. She’d come on pretty strong, her disappointment and worry morphing into anger that the junior chef hadn’t deserved.

  She should’ve known something was up when Kylie hadn’t returned her call yesterday. Illnesses happened, and in this industry, when you were sick it was best to keep away from food. But this job was huge for her and she felt like she’d screwed it up before she’d begun.

  So much for her big break. If she couldn’t pull this off, her name in the industry would be mud and she’d be back to catering parties for wealthy socialites. Ugh.

  “You okay?”

  She froze.

  That deep voice laced with an underlying hint of amusement.

  It couldn’t be.

  She turned and stared into startling gray eyes and the too-handsome face she’d last seen covered in whipped cream.

  As if this day couldn’t get any crappier.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Manny looked as shocked as she felt. “Medical conference. I’d ask you the same but it’s obvious.”

  “It is?”

  “You were at the conference too, but in the DIY artificial insemination lecture,” he deadpanned, pointing at the baster in her hand.

  An unexpected laugh spilled from her lips when it was the last thing she felt like doing. “I’m here for a big job. Wayne Storr, the owner of this hotel chain, was at Nishi’s wedding and liked what he saw with the food presentation, so he hired me for a massive shoot. National coverage in travel magazines to be placed in all his hotels.”

  “Congratulations,” he said, admiration in his potent stare. “I’m glad he saw the great job you did, unlike some other food Neanderthal who dismissed your hard work.”

  The corners of her lips curved upward. He had an inherent ability to make her smile when she felt like crawling into a corner, curling into a ball, and rocking. “You already apologized for that.”

  “Yet you didn’t return my text?” He tapped his bottom lip, pretending to ponder. “Interesting.”

  “I didn’t have time, what with organizing this job,” she said, feeling her face flame at her fib. “A job I’m on the verge of screwing up, big-time.”

  “I thought you looked a little hot and bothered, and that guy you were talking to was petrified. What’s going on?”

  Just like that, the comic relief Manny had provided for the last few minutes faded away and the enormity of her situation crashed over her.

 
“For jobs this big, I require an assistant. We’re shooting three dishes today, three tomorrow, and the amount of work required in preparation is massive. We need to shop for props, create props, arrange surfaces, unpack equipment, and that’s before the real hard work starts.”

  She blew out a breath, annoyed by the burn of tears behind her eyes. “The assistant has called in sick, so basically, I’m screwed. I can’t do this all on my own . . .” She trailed off, horrified to find her throat tightening. She cleared it and continued. “Anyway, I can’t stand around chatting. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Let me help,” he said, the concern in his eyes almost undoing her completely. “I can be your assistant.”

  His offer stunned her, and she gaped at him for a moment before reassembling her wits.

  “Don’t be silly. You’ve got more important things to do than take orders from me.”

  When his brow arched in amusement, like he’d enjoy taking orders from her in other rooms besides the kitchen, she added, “Besides, you don’t know anything about food styling.”

  “I’m a fast learner.” He shrugged, like his offer meant nothing, when she wanted to fling herself into his arms and hug him. “Seriously, if you want my help, I’m offering.”

  This was crazy. Why would a doctor she barely knew, and had thoroughly insulted by covering his face in cream then ignoring his text, want to help her?

  She met his steady stare and her angst faded. Despite her previous assumptions, and her overreaction to his insulting her work at the wedding, Manny was a good guy. He didn’t have to do this, but he’d offered to save her ass despite the way she’d treated him. She’d be a fool not to accept.

  “I’m pretty bossy,” she said, brandishing the turkey baster. “And I’ll probably take an inordinate amount of pleasure in telling you what to do. Barking orders. Humiliating you. That kind of thing.”

  He grinned, and her heart did that weird little flip-flop thing it had done the first time he’d smiled at her at the wedding.

  “I’m all yours, for however long you need me.”

  That’s what she was afraid of.

  14

  Manny wasn’t prone to doing crazy things to impress women. He liked a woman, he flirted, they reciprocated, they dated. Easy.

  So what the hell was he doing, running around like a madman as Harper barked orders at him?

  The last few hours had been manic, and she hadn’t been kidding about needing an assistant. No way could she have done this shoot on her own. He’d helped lift heavy platters and fruit bowls, move tables, and arrange props. And that’s when he wasn’t handing her equipment so she could work at a frantic pace, making the dishes appear particularly delectable.

  She made a rack of lamb look like a work of art; mussels look so fresh, like they’d just been pried off rocks; and whitebait fritters so pretty he wanted to gobble them in one go.

  They hadn’t stopped for a break over the last four hours, and the delicious aromas of the food, along with her immaculate presentation, made his stomach rumble. But Harper had made it clear: no tasting the food until they’d finished, and while cold lamb and mussels held little appeal, he’d happily eat the lot the minute she called quit.

  A photographer buzzed around, changing lighting and angles, taking hundreds of shots. Manny couldn’t believe this much work went into producing those food pictures in magazines. Once she’d arranged the dishes Harper didn’t stop, ducking between the photographer to move a sprig of parsley or glazing the lamb to make it look extra juicy. She’d barely glanced his way, her focus so intent she could give some surgeons he’d worked with a run for their money.

  When the photographer finally laid down his camera and said, “Good job,” Manny was ready for a nap. Pulling an extra shift at the hospital had never drained him as much as this.

  “Right, time to start packing up, Manny,” Harper said, beckoning him over to the banquet table where the food had been set up. “You hungry?”

  She leaned toward him. “This is the best part of the job,” she murmured, pointing to the dishes. “Jock McKell’s recipes are famous, and I can’t wait to taste these.”

  “I’m starving,” he said, offering her the plate of fritters before pouncing on them.

  Harper took a bite and her eyes fluttered shut. “So good.”

  Manny’s hand paused halfway to his mouth as he stared at the ecstatic expression on Harper’s face. Damn, he’d give anything to see something similar but in the privacy of his hotel room.

  As if sensing him staring, her eyes snapped open and when she saw him gawping at her, she blushed.

  “As you can see, I love all aspects of food, especially the tasting,” she said, raising her fritter in a toast. “Eat up.”

  He did as he was told, savoring the melt-in-the-mouth texture of the fritter but unable to process the flavor as he watched Harper eat. There was something inherently beautiful about a woman who enjoyed her food, and he could’ve gawked at her all day. What was left of it, considering darkness had descended and they hadn’t noticed.

  After demolishing three fritters and two lamb cutlets, Harper wiped her hands on a serviette. “I can’t thank you enough for today.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, surprised to find he meant it.

  When he’d first offered to help, he’d done it out of chivalry. She’d been genuinely upset, and the sheen of tears in her eyes had undone him completely. He could’ve spent the afternoon by the hotel pool reading for pleasure, something he rarely had time for. Instead, he’d run around after Harper like a lackey and hadn’t minded. Watching her work had been eye-opening, and it solidified what he knew: he wanted to get to know her better.

  “Once we pack up, can I buy you a drink?”

  Her hesitation disappointed him. Surely, spending an hour or so chilling wasn’t so arduous considering she’d been more than happy to have him around all afternoon?

  “I’m exhausted and I need to plan for tomorrow’s shoot, but sure, a drink would be nice after we pack up.”

  Buoyed by her answer, he mock frowned. “Pack up?”

  “I’m not done ordering you around yet, mister,” she said, with a smirk. “Now hop to it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted, adding a “bossy boots” under his breath.

  She laughed, a pure, joyous sound that made Manny want to say screw the drink and invite her up to his room.

  “Manny?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I owe you one.”

  She winked before turning away, leaving Manny staring at her gorgeous ass and thanking the karma gods he didn’t believe in for this giant cosmic coincidence of placing Harper in his path.

  15

  As Harper sat across from Manny at the hotel bar nursing a mojito, she couldn’t believe the events of today.

  In what bizarre world did she lose an assistant for the most important job of her life, then have the man she’d berated yet who’d piqued her interest in Melbourne show up here and offer to help her out of a jam?

  He’d been amazing, doing everything she asked of him, and only asking essential questions to ensure the shoot went smoothly. Not only had he saved her ass, he’d made the entire process easier than she’d anticipated and she owed him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get it out of her head that the way she’d like to repay him involved the two of them naked and sequestered in her room.

  “Tell me more about your job,” he said, sipping his martini.

  “Haven’t you seen enough of my work for one day? And besides, you’re assisting me tomorrow too.”

  “How could I forget?” His nose crinkled. “I’d envisaged having a few much-needed days off after the conference to play tourist in Auckland but nooooo, I had to get up on my white horse and charge to your rescue.” He smacked his head. “Schmuck.”

  She laughed. “I happen to like a knight in sh
ining armor, especially one who knows the difference between a zester and a piping bag.”

  He smiled. “My grandmother likes to cook and I’ve learned a lot from her over the years.”

  He got this look in his eyes when he talked about his gran that made her melt. “I wouldn’t think you’d have much time to cook, what with your hours at the hospital.”

  “Yeah, I’m busy, but cooking helps me relax.”

  “What’s your go-to dish?”

  “Dahl. I’ve been told it was my first solid food as a kid, and I’ve been addicted to the stuff ever since. Plus it’s easy to whip up. Red lentils cook fast.”

  “I’ve never cooked it, but it’s something I always order at Indian restaurants.”

  “Maybe I can cook it for you one day?” The glint in his eyes alerted her to the incoming zinger as he leaned in close. “It’s an excellent breakfast dish too.”

  Harper laughed so loud nearby patrons turned to stare. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Why? The thought of the two of us spending a night together to indulge in some wild debauchery surprises you?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and she laughed again. “Because quite frankly, with the chemistry between us, it’s inevitable.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” she said, patting his arm, realizing her mistake a second too late. In trying to be funny and condescending, she’d copped a feel of a very nice bicep.

  “Haven’t you heard? Assistants fall for their bosses all the time.”

  “And haven’t you heard, that’s a harassment case just waiting to happen.”

  “Lucky for you then, as of tomorrow evening I won’t be your assistant anymore and you’ll be free to take advantage of me as much as you want.”

  She’d always been a sucker for a sense of humor, one thing most of her previous boyfriends had been lacking, so it stood to reason she found his wit attractive—along with the rest of him. They grinned at each other and as their gazes locked, something indefinable, something altogether scary, arced between them.