“No,” Kristin says, shaking her head. “That’s too busy. We’ll add one tempura shrimp at the end of the roll, and drizzle the whole thing with…” She trails off, gnawing at her lip.
“Unagi sauce,” I say as the idea pops into my head. “That’s perfect!”
“Well, we’re down one,” Basil says, snickering and shaking his head. “Only like, five million more to go.”
I plant my hands on my waist and jut out a hip. “Basil, this is serious. What if the Food Network only gives me three ingredients? What am I supposed to do then?”
Kristin narrows her eyes. When she finally outgrows her youthful boyfriend drama, she’s going to be one hell of a sous chef. “What if we do a soft-shell crab platter with a little wasabi crème on the side? You could serve it with a slice of lemon. That’s a good three ingredients,” she adds, obviously proud of her idea.
“That’s good,” I say approvingly, nodding my head. “That’s definitely another one – write it down.”
Kristin flushes under the strength of my compliment. “Glad I could help.”
“I still think you need something…I don’t know, a little different,” Basil says, shaking his hands in the air. “Like, who hasn’t had a soft-shell crab platter before? You’re going to want to think outside of the box.”
He’s right. As always.
I bite my lip because some smart casino owner is going to steal him away from me and give him a head chef position before I can blink my sadness away. Until then, I’ll keep him close to my side and my heart.
“So, help me.” I can’t help but feel a little frustrated. Basil, Kristin, and I have been working for hours, and we’ve only come up with two possible ideas that I could use for my Food Network audition.
“Well, maybe something exotic – maybe something really chichi, like sea urchin?”
Basil’s suggestion is good, but when I meet his gaze, I can tell that he’s just as clueless as I am. I bury my face in my hands and groan. Ever since I took Carter’s DNA inside my body, my creativity’s flown the coop. I’m starting to wonder if his semen had creativity destroying molecules, even through the latex barrier.
“This is never going to work,” I moan, wailing more loudly than I have to. “They’re never going to pick me. They’re going to pick someone with more experience, or a wider repertoire. My chance at my own restaurant in L.A. is over.”
“You don’t know that, honey,” Basil says, rubbing my shoulder. His voice is kind and sympathetic. “They want young, bright, and fresh. You’re all of those things. And you're beautiful on top of it. Definitely a face for television.”
“Thanks,” I mutter half-heartedly, putting my hands down and frowning at the small list we’ve compiled.
“Well,” Kristin says, narrowing her eyes. “Look, kale is so out right now – and vegetarian stuff is in. Watercress is the new kale, and it goes great with anything seafood related. Maybe you should have a couple of dishes – one with fish, one just veggies, but nothing passé. It should be like, vegetarian comfort food.”
I blink. Maybe she’s on to something.
Kristin flushes and shrugs. “I read a lot of food blogs, and I’ve heard a lot about poke bowls. We could do them with tuna, and maybe dress them up with a special Asian kimchi coleslaw and some toasted sesame seeds.”
Hope blossoms in my chest. “That’s…genius.”
Kristin grins in response.
“And to think, I almost fired you,” I tease. “You’re going places.”
Kristin blushes even deeper.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “There’s no way you’re getting fired now – not with that kind of insight.”
Basil brings me over a bowl of ahi tuna tartare and gets to work chopping vegetables. In about ten minutes, we’ve got two beautiful tuna poke bowls that look like magazine pictures. It’s the first time I’m really pleased with anything new that I’ve done in what feels like a long time.
“We should add this to the menu,” Basil says. “You know – after your audition. That way, we can feature that our head chef did this dish on television.”
“That’s a good idea.” Hope begins to leak out, like air from a balloon. “Except it’s just going to remind patrons that the head chef didn’t actually win.”
“Hey,” Basil says, putting his hand on my shoulder again. “You don’t know that yet –- you could walk away with the trophy. Don’t sell yourself short. Confidence is key.”
I huff a sigh. I used to be overflowing with confidence. I’m off my game for some reason.
Except, I know the reason. And I hate the reason and his arrogant supplications around meat.
“I guess you’re right.”
“Babe, you have to fake it until you make it,” Basil says, doing a runway walk down the middle of the kitchen. He turns, strikes a pose, and blows me a kiss. “That’s what my personal trainer says.”
“Maybe for the veggie dish, we could do some kind of savory vegetable pie, but individually-sized,” I say, picturing the dish in my head and thinking of how to make it as beautiful as possible.
“Nori is huge right now,” Kristin adds, proving herself invaluable. “It’s everywhere – maybe we could do something that’s seaweed salad based, and add on.”
I nod. “That’s another good idea. Definitely write that down.”
A loud sound causes Kristin, Basil, and me to jump up and shriek. Glancing around, I see real fear on their faces. It’s late – we’ve been the only people in Sakana for hours – and that definitely didn’t sound like the cleaning crew.
“What the hell was that,” I mutter, grabbing my largest cleaver and creeping toward the swinging door that leads to the dining room.
That’s when I see him.
Carter Caldwell, stalking toward me like he wants to put his hands around my neck and squeeze the breath from my lungs.
I shiver as he approaches, a rigid mass of outrage.
“I know what you did,” Carter snaps. “And you can drop the whole scaredy-cat act, and the knife.” If it’s even possible, his scowl grows even scowlier. “You’ll pay for this, woman. If it’s war you want, it’s war you’ll get!”
I have no idea what’s caused him to storm in here. “What are you talking about?”
I reluctantly set the knife down on the counter and put my hands on my hips, but keep the blade within reaching distance if he loses it and decides to throttle me. He looks spitting mad – he’s red in the face, and his blue eyes have practically turned to narrow, black slits. Basil steps closer to me.
“Do you really want an audience for this?” Carter asks, gesturing toward Kristin and Basil. Kristin looks confused, and Basil looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“Um, no,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s okay, guys. You can go into the dining room. Just wait for me there, I’m sure this won’t take long.”
“No,” Carter snaps. “I dare say it won’t take long at all.” He steps closer, and suddenly I’m reminded of his physical bulk. He’s wearing a tight-fitting cotton shirt, and it hugs his abdominal muscles and biceps perfectly. Despite the anger in his voice and the confusion I feel, a ripple of arousal gushes through me. Pissed Carter is hot as hell. I just wish his rage wasn’t directed at me.
“What is this about?” I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “After all, you’re on my turf now. You don’t just get to storm in here and start yelling at me because you feel like it.”
The look Carter gives me is incredulous. He actually throws his head back and laughs – but there’s nothing pleasant about the harsh sound bubbling up from his throat.
“Pepper, I’m not going to insult your intelligence and call you stupid,” Carter says, shaking his head. He sounds maniacal. And not in the good bad boy way. “So knock off the fucking stupid act. You know exactly why I’m here – what exactly did you think your little stunt would do, huh? Did you think I’d just forgive and forget?”
“Um…” I frown, trying to conne
ct the dots. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Suddenly, it hits me. Somehow, Carter must have found out about my Food Network audition…and he’s jealous of my opportunity. Well, fuck him.
“You know exactly what you did,” Carter growls. “Trying to make me look bad in front of everyone. Jesus Christ! That’s some real middle school shit. Grow the fuck up!”
I blink at him, nostrils flaring. I’m not sure what to say or how to act to calm him down. I really have no idea why he’s so angry about a simple audition. Why can’t he just be happy for me?
“I didn’t think it would affect you at all,” I say, frowning. I knew Carter was territorial, but this is full-on crazy. Why the hell does he even care – it’s not like the Food Network wants me for a barbecue show. Even though we’re both chefs, we’re so different we’re not really in direct competition.
“Oh, please,” Carter says. “You sent a truckload of dead skunks straight to Steakhouse, and you expect me to think it was someone else?” He laughs again, just as harshly as before. “That’s really a new low, Pepper.” He steps closer, and I feel another thrilling pulse of arousal in my lower belly. “After what we shared, I thought we had a connection.”
My jaw drops as nausea bubbles up the back of my throat. Who could have done something so nefarious? “Skunks? Someone murdered a bunch of skunks?”
“Yeah, Pepper, skunks! A fuckload of them. I can’t believe you. That’s repulsive!” He steps back and shakes his head in clear disgust. “I should actually be proud…I can’t believe a woman managed to come up with something so foul. Obviously, I underestimated you.”
“I would never do something like that,” I say, stepping back from him. Now that I know I haven’t done anything to upset him, his unsubstantiated attack is just as foul as sending a load of dead skunks to someone’s restaurant. I can’t believe he’d stomp in here and throw around accusations without any proof outside of a little post-coital spat. “You know how much I love and respect animals. I can’t believe you’re accusing me of such a dirty trick. Why the hell would I want to attack your restaurant like that, even if it does serve disgusting meat?”
“That’s exactly why,” Carter yells. “Because you think all meat is disgusting! Look, I get it – you thought you were being clever. Dead carcasses in a kitchen full of other dead carcasses. But do you even realize what your little stunt cost me? The restaurant’s going to be closed for three days! Three fucking days! Nixon had to hire a hazmat crew. We have to pass another health inspection before we can open.”
I’m stunned. “Carter, please. I wouldn’t do that. I know how important the restaurant is to you. I’m a chef myself, I get it.”
“Oh, so you wouldn’t be thrilled if I decided to send you a boatload of decomposing eels?” Carter smirks. “Because right now, I have it in mind to sue your ass and take you down. My brother’s pockets are deeper than your brother’s.”
A pang of horror and fear hits me in the chest, but I shake it off. I feel so angry and so confused that part of me wonders if I’m dreaming.
Calgon, take me away.
“Yeah,” I snap. “Go on and sue me for something I didn’t even do! That’s going to make you look so amiable in the eyes of your patrons, it’ll definitely boost Steakhouse’s reputation, filling the seats in the dining room to overflowing.”
Carter falls silent. I know that he knows that I’m right, but he’d never admit it.
Arrogant. Check. Stubborn. Check check.
“Pepper, seriously,” Carter says. His voice calms down in a hair’s breadth. He rakes a hand through his luscious hair and sighs. “I just…why? Why would you go and do something like that? I thought you were cool. Sure, we have our differences…but after last night? You’d really go and attack me, just because I threw a few digs about fish in your direction? You need to learn how to take a joke. It’s not personal.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” I say angrily, stepping closer and glaring at the man standing before me. His presence turns my body into a shaking mass of emotion, with lust leading the way. Why don’t I hate him when I should fucking loathe him? “I told you that, of course, we have our differences, but I’d never do anything to deliberately hurt your business like that. Besides,” I add, tossing my head. “Sakana is full, every night, all night. It’s not like I need your leftovers.”
A charged silence crackles between us, so high in intensity I could reach out and touch it. Carter steps closer, and for a moment, I think he’s going to shove me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans in close, glaring right in my eyes. I swallow hard, and my heart thumps like crazy inside my chest, and suddenly it feels like I can barely breathe.
When Carter’s lips press against mine, I don’t push him away. The connection is too raw, too penetrating, and I feel myself weakening in his arms and pressing my body against his. Carter wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close as he slips his tongue into my mouth, hungrily searching. A soft moan escapes as feelings of arousal and excitement flood my body, desperate for more.
I claw at Carter, pulling him closer. My breasts push against his hard torso, and I whimper my need into his mouth as I feel his sharp teeth nipping at my lower lip. The kiss grows more passionate by the second. Carter and I are locked together in a frenzy of lips and limbs. He pushes one of his muscular thighs between my legs until it rubs against my crotch and I spread my legs, moaning in pleasure as Carter pushes me backward until I’m up against a wall.
I can’t get close enough.
When he breaks the kiss and steps away, we’re both panting and flushed. Carter locks eyes with me for what feels like an eternity – I can’t read the tortured, confused look in his gaze.
“Just…just stay the fuck away from Steakhouse,” Carter growls before turning on his heel and stalking away.
As I watch him disappear, I realize I’ve never been more confused – or more aroused – in my entire life.
Chapter Sixteen
Carter
“Monsieur, how ever will I manage when you are gone? I do not know exactement how you perform zee dinner service,” Claude wails, clutching at his face. “I will be so lost without your fierce leadership.”
I roll my eyes behind his back and clap a hand down on Claude’s shoulder. “Claude, you’ll be fine. I know you can do it. It’s just for a few days.”
Claude’s chin trembles, and I lean back, rocking on the balls of my feet as I wait for the inevitable waterworks.
“Don’t cry,” I say, even though I know I’m fighting a losing battle. “It’ll be fine – I promise. You’re smart and talented. You could run any kitchen in Vegas.”
A single tear rolls down Claude’s cheek. “Monsieur, I will call you eef something goes zee pouf,” he says, sniffling.
I force a smile. “Thanks. That’s really all we can do, you know. Your best is all I ever ask of you. If you’ve given it, that’s fine by me.”
My mind drifts as it considers how I wish Nixon had said that to me just one time after our dad died. I’m still waiting for more than a speck of approval from my elder brother. He’s emotionless. Some say that Marcella softened him. I haven’t seen it. All I see is Nixon panting after her like a dog in heat.
Claude nods, and I sigh, grateful that I’ve managed to delay a total mental breakdown.
“I’m going to go home and pack. Just give me a call if something comes up.”
“Yes, monsieur,” Claude replies. He stands straight and tall, his chest puffed out with pride. He kisses his fingertips and throws it toward me. “Zut alor, I think I can do it. I will make you proud!”
Turning on my heel, I stride out of Steakhouse and walk to my parking space in the employee garage. I feel bad leaving right now – it’s not an ideal time. Skunkgate just happened last week, and I know Nixon’s still seething about losing three days of restaurant revenue.
But I can’t help but feel great because I’m finally doing something just for myself. In a few hours, I’ll be on a plane
to Los Angeles, and hopefully winning the Food Network contest by a country mile. I grin – this is going to do wonders for my new line of barbecue sauces.
When I get home, I throw a few pieces of clothing into my suitcase, a suit in a garment bag, and pour myself a glass of whiskey. It seems almost like a dream – I’m about to have the biggest opportunity of my career – and I can’t help grinning and pinching my arm to make sure I’m actually awake.
I want to savor every last second like it’s my last bite of my favorite dessert. Or taste of Pepper’s lips. Thinking of her does something strange to my chest. I want to hate her…but, dammit, I don’t.
Shaking thoughts of her away, I call for a shuttle to the airport. When the van arrives, I’m the only one there. The driver throws my bag in the trunk and grins. “Which airline?”
“United. I’m going to Los Angeles.”
The driver chuckles. “Trying your hand at acting? You certainly have the face for it.”
I grin, confidence rising with every passing minute. “Nope. I’m auditioning for a show on the Food Network. I’m a chef.”
The driver looks impressed. “Wow. That’s really something.”
“I know,” I say, unable to help myself. “It really is.”
The drive to the airport takes a few minutes, and soon I stand in the middle of the airport, clutching my suitcase in one hand and my ticket and driver’s license in the other. I’ve never really been a fan of flying – something about being strapped to a flying tube of metal isn’t really appealing – but suddenly, I realize how exciting airports are. Everyone’s going somewhere or coming home after a long vacation, tanned and tired and upset at the prospect of going back to work.
By the time I get to my gate, I’m practically shaking with excitement. This is it – my chance to shine, my time in the sun. My first opportunity to make a name for myself away from my brothers’ influence.
And I can’t fucking wait.
The plane to Los Angeles is packed. I’m seated in a row with two girls, and they’re both talking about how they’re going to be actresses. People full of dreams stuff the plane to the gills. Some of them want to be actors, some of them want to be dancers.
Pony Up (Caldwell Brothers Book 4) Page 13
