“Yeah,” she said, steeling herself. Time to do what she knew she could do.
For the next ninety minutes, the kitchen looked like a television cooking competition as she and Bart worked furiously to prepare their dishes. She got the soup on first so it could simmer, and then she turned her attention to the other dishes. The mole poblano was time-consuming, but she worked furiously fast, and she fried the churros while everything finished up on the heat. Bart seemed to be moving just as fast, and with more confidence than he had the day before. She honestly had no idea which way this was going to go.
Florence entered the kitchen just as Elena was dishing the soup into a bowl. “Everything looks and smells wonderful,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve just found out that Mr. Brody will have a guest for lunch.”
“That’s fine,” Elena said. She’d made enough for four servings anyway just to be on the safe side.
“Yes, fine,” Bart echoed.
“Great. Elena, you’ll go first. Please prepare a tray with two servings of each item, then carry them out to the dining room.”
Elena’s hands had been sure up until that point, but now they trembled. She wanted this more than any job she’d ever had—that’s because it was more than a job. This would be a career, stability, a foundation for a real life. She’d be able to give Gabby some of the things she’d been lacking, and she could finally get out from under her cloud of fear and worry.
She finished preparing her tray, then picked it up and pushed through the swinging doors to the dining room. She recognized Mr. Brody instantly—she’d been reading everything she could find about him on the Internet. The other man was a stranger to her, but wow. She almost couldn’t keep her eyes off him as she arranged the dishes on the table.
“Andrew, Tony, this is Elena Moreno. Elena, this is Andrew Brody and Tony Espinozo,” Florence said, motioning with her hand.
“Hello,” Elena said, nodding to each in turn. “Thank you for letting me cook for you today.”
“Are you the one who made the chicken enchiladas yesterday?” Mr. Espinozo asked. No—Tony. She could call him Tony in her mind.
“Yes. You tasted them?”
“I did, and they were amazing. I think my grandmother would have been jealous of your tortillas.”
Elena smiled. “My mother taught me how to make them.”
“Now I feel left out,” Mr. Brody said. “Everyone got enchiladas but me.”
“I’ll make you a pan later,” Elena said. “Once I’m done impressing you with my mole poblano.”
Both men laughed. “Deal,” Mr. Brody said, and they picked up their forks.
She wanted to see their reactions to her food, but staring at them while they ate probably wasn’t the most polite thing to do. Instead, she moved over to the side and waited with Florence.
“Is Mr. Espinozo an employee here?” she asked in an undertone so she wouldn’t disturb the diners. Or rather, so he wouldn’t know she was asking about him.
“He’s Mr. Brody’s lawyer,” Florence replied. “And he likes to eat.”
Elena could see that plainly enough by the way he was tucking in. She wanted to ask more questions, a great many more—like, was he married, did he come by the hotel often—but she figured that would all have to wait. Her focus should be on getting this job, not on flirting.
Although, if given a chance to flirt, she certainly wouldn’t pass it up.
“Gentlemen, please leave room for the other applicant’s meal,” Florence reminded them, and they nodded.
“Sorry. I almost forgot there was another applicant,” Mr. Brody said. “Ms. Moreno, that was delicious. Do you have some menu ideas for us?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Great. Why don’t you get those ready for us while we try the other meal, and we’ll see you in a few minutes?”
She nodded and went back into the kitchen. Mr. Brody had said her food was delicious, and Florence had to remind them to stop eating. Those were good signs, right? They had to be good signs.
“Break a leg,” she said to Bart as he headed out to the kitchen, and he offered her a weak smile.
Okay, shifting gears . . . She took off her apron and hat, then smoothed her hair and put on some fresh lip gloss. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out the folder where she’d tucked her menus. She and Gabby had stayed up until three o’clock that morning making them perfect and printing them out on nice paper. For a few terrifying moments, they’d thought they were out of printer ink, but Gabby had smacked the machine on the side, and it had finally worked. It seemed that even the printer was scared to say no to Gabby when she was determined.
She was as prepared as she could be, and now all she had to do was wait.
Her very least favorite thing in the world.
Chapter Four
Tony hadn’t missed the zing of electricity that had raced down his spine when Elena Moreno walked into the dining room, but he decided that must have just been his excitement to see pozole on the tray. That was his favorite soup of all time, but no one made it right.
Her entire meal was fantastic, and he felt like he could float away on a cloud of authentic Mexican food and mariachi music, but first, they needed to taste the meal prepared by the other chef.
There was nothing wrong with it. In fact, it was delicious, but there was something missing. It seemed like a picture from a cookbook—technically perfect, but missing soul.
Andrew asked Bart—that was his name, right?—to prepare his menus, and then he turned to Tony and Florence.
“Two very impressive meals,” he said. “I think it’s going to come down to the menu ideas.”
Tony shook his head. “The menus are important, of course, but Elena’s was the better meal by far.”
Andrew chuckled. “She did it right, did she?”
“Oh, yes. Finally, someone understands me.” Tony grinned, then turned serious again. “It’s not just that. She has passion. This guy? The food was good, but it wasn’t special. I think you want something special for your hotel.”
“He’s right,” Florence chimed in. “We don’t want just any hotel dining room. We want something memorable.”
Just then, Elena opened the door a crack. “Are you ready for me?”
“Of course,” Andrew said, coming to his feet. Tony found that he’d already stood without having any memory of doing so.
Elena sat down across from them and slid a folder their way. Tony smiled—it was similar to the portfolios Marissa and Tabs had used to present their ideas for the interior decorating of the hotel, but Elena’s was a little less expensive. That didn’t matter, though—Tony thought it was a nice touch to include a folder at all.
He noticed that her hands trembled a little as she folded them on the table, but her voice sounded calm as she said, “The first page is my Mexican menu. On the left, you’ll see the name of each item and the description. On the right, I’ve included the approximate cost per serving as well as the approximate price you could charge so you can see the profit margin at a glance.”
Andrew’s eyebrows lifted. “I appreciate that, Ms. Moreno. Not many people would think of doing that extra legwork, but it helps me out quite a bit.”
She seemed a little embarrassed at his praise. “I priced meals out on a regular basis at my former job, so it came naturally to me.”
“I like the idea of a head chef who always knows where the bottom dollar is.” Andrew slid the folder over so Tony could see it as well, and Tony scanned the meal options. His mouth watered even though he wasn’t even remotely hungry.
“Florence mentioned that you would like a variety of meal ideas, so those are represented on the next few pages,” Elena continued.
Andrew flipped the pages over, reading the headers as he went. “Classic Americana, Old West, Italiano, Mediterranean—Ms. Moreno, is there anything you can’t cook?”
“Cabbage,” she replied immediately. “I can’t cook cabbage.”
Tony
chuckled. Her answer was so unexpected, he couldn’t help it.
“I think we could probably side-step that easily,” Andrew said with a smile. “I’d like to hang on to this and take a closer look this evening, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.” She stood up and extended a hand to Andrew, and then to Tony. “My number’s at the top. Please let me know if you have any questions.” She smiled at Florence, then went back into the kitchen.
Tony glanced down at his hand, which was still tingling from her touch. Her skin had been soft and warm, and it had been all he could do to let her pull away. But why was he letting her affect him like this? He had no intention of getting involved with anyone right now—maybe not ever. There was no reason for him to be tingling.
“Hmm-mmm.” Florence shook her head. “We all knew it would happen someday.”
“What?” Tony asked.
“It just took a little longer than we expected,” Andrew replied to Florence, ignoring Tony altogether.
“All right, what are the two of you conspiring about?” Tony asked.
“Oh, we’re not conspiring. We didn’t have anything to do with it,” Florence replied. “It was all fate—pure and simple.”
“Fate? You aren’t . . . No. You can’t be thinking that something’s going on here.” Tony motioned between himself and the chair where Elena had been sitting. “Because that’s silly. She’s a fantastic cook, and apparently, a savvy businesswoman, but I have no feelings for her other than admiration for her skills.”
“Well, while you’re busy talking yourself into a corner, let’s see what Bart has prepared for us,” Andrew said, a little smirk on his face.
“I’m not talking myself into a corner,” Tony replied, trying not to sound exasperated. “I’m explaining myself.”
“Whatever makes you happy,” Florence replied. “Bart, come on in.”
***
When Tony got back to the office after lunch, he saw that Griffin was his next appointment. He still wasn’t looking forward to it, but at least he didn’t have to face it on an empty stomach.
“Griffin, Matt, come in,” he said when the two men arrived. “Have a seat.”
They each chose a chair across from Tony’s desk, and he sat as well. “Matt, Griffin says you need permission to search on his behalf. Is that correct?”
“That’s right,” Matt said. “A limited power of attorney would be ideal—just something that allows me to make inquiries. I’ve done this with a few clients in the past, and I brought a sample, if that’s helpful.” He took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it over.
“Yes, this will be very easy to put together,” Tony said as he glanced at it. He reached out and hit the intercom button on his phone. “Beverly, can you come in here for a second?”
His paralegal entered within moments. “Yes?”
He handed her the document. “Can you write up something similar to this, but changing out the client’s name for Griffin Baker?”
“Sure. It will only take me a minute.”
After she left the room, Tony leaned back in his chair and regarded the two men. “I’m curious about your line of work, Matt,” he said. “Andrew’s mentioned how passionate you are about genealogy—I admit that I’ve never thought much about it.”
“It’s not a real common hobby, and almost everyone has a great-aunt or someone in their family who takes care of it for them,” Matt replied. “I became interested in it for myself because my parents were divorced when I was quite young, and I wanted to learn everything I could about all the different parts of myself. It gave me a better sense of identity than I’d had before.” He tilted his head to the side. “Where are your ancestors from, Tony?”
“My parents moved to Texas right after they got married, but my grandparents were from Tonalá, which is just outside Guadalajara,” Tony replied. “They joined my parents in Texas after I was born.”
“So, central Mexico,” Matt said, sounding thoughtful. “Just like every state in America is different, so is every state in Mexico—they’re all part of the same country, but they have their own flavors that make them unique. Guadalajara is in Jalisco, isn’t it?”
Tony nodded. “I’m surprised that you know that—I haven’t met too many people who are familiar with the states of Mexico.”
Matt shrugged. “I dabble in this and that. Whatever makes me curious. Have you been down there to visit and to see where your parents were born?”
Tony shook his head. “I’ve been down to Mexico City a few times on business, and of course I’ve been to Cancun because everyone’s been to Cancun, but no, I’ve never been back to see where my family came from. I should, though—I’m proud of my heritage.”
Matt nodded. “When you go, take a lot of pictures. They’ll become some of your most valuable possessions.”
Beverly came back in the room and handed each man a copy of the paperwork. “Read that over and tell me if you see any mistakes,” she said.
Griffin shook his head. “It looks fine to me,” he replied.
Both Tony and Matt nodded.
“Excellent. And I happen to be a notary, so we can get this taken care of right now.” Beverly watched as Griffin and Matt signed, then she placed her notary seal on the bottom of the page and had them sign her ledger. “Just let me know if you need anything else.” She bustled out of the room, ledger under her arm.
“Thank you,” Griffin said, coming to his feet and shaking Tony’s hand. “How much do I owe you?”
“No charge,” Tony replied.
“But—”
“But don’t worry about it.” Tony usually charged an hourly fee, but he couldn’t imagine taking money from Griffin—that would compound the awkwardness even further. “Early wedding present.”
Griffin nodded, then smiled. “Thank you.”
After the two men left, Tony flopped back into his chair and loosened his tie. Why had so many things been popping up lately to remind him of his grandmother? She’d passed away a few years previously, and he missed her quite a bit, always more around the holidays. But this wasn’t the holidays or her birthday or the anniversary of her death—why had he been thinking about her so much? And why had Ms. Moreno shown up right in the middle of all of it?
He shook his head and chuckled. If he could ask her, his grandmother would say there was a reason for all of it, that there were no coincidences. If he’d started thinking about her after he met Elena, the connection would be clear—good Mexican cooking always reminded him of his abuela. But he’d been thinking about her before he’d met Elena, and that made no sense at all.
“It really is just a coincidence, Abuela,” he said aloud. “Unless . . . unless maybe you sent her here.”
He laughed at himself as soon as he had the thought. He really was overworked—he’d better start planning that vacation.
Maybe a vacation to Mexico. Something had called to him while Matt was talking about it, something that stirred up his soul like the smell of a good enchilada. Or maybe not. He probably couldn’t be gone that long—he had clients and court dates and paperwork to complete. It was a nice thought while it lasted, though.
Chapter Five
“That was brutal,” Bart said, lifting his beer glass in salute. “That was so brutal.”
“It really was. I mean, I’ve cooked for larger crowds before, but this one felt so much more important,” Elena replied. She glanced around at the pub where they’d chosen to come for their celebratory drinks. It was only three in the afternoon, so the place wasn’t very full yet. She imagined it was pretty crowded around ten, though.
“I wish to offer you my congratulations. You’re obviously the winner of that round, and so I ask you to remember the little people on your climb to the top.” Bart lifted his glass again, this time taking a drink to finish off the toast.
“Mr. Brody said he’d let us know. What makes you think I’m obviously the winner?”
Bart rolled his eyes. “Let’
s see. First, everything you made smelled incredible. Second, they were both practically licking your plates when I came in, and I had to do a tap dance on the table to get their attention.”
“No, you did not,” Elena said, laughing at the mental image.
“Close enough. Then they hardly said anything to me at all while I was showing them my menu ideas. It all adds up.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything. They could sit down tonight and read over our menus and go completely the other way. I refuse to get my hopes up until I know for sure.”
Bart looked at her seriously. “You consider yourself a realist, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I probably do. I mean, I have to keep my feet on the ground for my sister’s sake.”
“She didn’t have school today?”
“It was an early out day, and she always rides home with one of her friends on early out days.”
“I love early out days. Means you can have a drink with me.” Bart nodded toward her glass. “Are you sure you don’t want anything stronger than that Sprite?”
Elena nodded. “I’m not much of a drinker, but thanks.”
“I only drink beer, but my mother keeps telling me I shouldn’t even be doing that much.” He grinned. “So I don’t tell her. Maybe that’s one reason why we move out when we grow up—so our parents don’t know how much of their advice we’re not taking.”
Elena smiled, but her thoughts immediately went to Gabby. She had seven months until her sister turned eighteen—seven short, short months. To Gabby, it probably felt like an eternity, but to Elena, it would go by like a shot.
She and Bart chatted for another hour or so, and then she excused herself to head home. She was having a good time, but she was getting a headache, and she needed to shut her brain off. After giving Bart her number, she climbed into her car and started the drive home, enjoying the silence, but as much as she wanted it to, her brain would not shut off. Instead, she rehashed every dish she’d made for lunch and wondered how she could have done it better.
Then she started thinking about Tony Espinozo, and that didn’t help at all. She must have imagined the chemistry floating around in the room, or it must have been all her—after all, she hadn’t been on a date for a while, and it was perfectly natural that she’d find herself attracted to someone who looked like that. With that olive skin, melted chocolate eyes, and well-fitted suit, any woman who had a heart beating in her chest would be swooning. It was natural and to be expected and all those sorts of things, and she’d better get used to it because if she got this job, she was likely to run into him again, and she couldn’t be acting this way every time she saw him.
Revelations (Brody Hotel Book 4) Page 3
