Southern Charm & Second Chances (The Savannah Sisters Book 2)

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  Jane Clark was a curveball. He’d have to deal with that later. For now, he needed to figure out what to do with the rest of the staff, who were glaring at him like he’d insulted their mothers. Reinterviewing for a job wasn’t fun, and the stony faces staring back at him underscored the chore’s unpopularity. But, really, it was simple. If they were good at what they did, they wouldn’t have a problem. Attitude was everything. The current collective mood didn’t bode well.

  “Any questions?” he asked again.

  You could’ve heard a pin drop.

  “Anyone?”

  It wasn’t reverent silence from people who were hanging on his every word. He didn’t want that kind of worship—he had no use for sycophants and hangers-on blowing sunshine at him. But he would’ve preferred a happy medium somewhere in between “you’re our new best friend” and “go to hell.” The vibe in the room was unmistakably closer to go to hell. Actually, it was more like Who the hell are you to come in here and upset the natural order?

  He got it. Most people didn’t like change. Especially when it had the ability to affect their livelihood. Still, this was more awkward than he’d expected.

  “Look, I can see you’re not thrilled with the idea of coming in and talking to me, but I’m not a bad guy.”

  He heard the words falling from his mouth and couldn’t believe he felt compelled to sell himself. His usual tactic was to come in more heavy-handed and lighten up after he’d set the tone of expectation.

  “I’m not looking for turnover for turnover’s sake. I’m not looking to clean house here. I just need to know that we can all operate as a team. I’m not hard to get along with, despite what you might have heard.” He paused and smiled, hoping they would see he was making a joke, but no one laughed. “I simply want you to do your job and do it right. Show me where you fit in as part of the team and you’ll have no problem. Got it?”

  Was it too much to ask? Of course not.

  His gaze tacked back over to Jane Clark. To his surprise, she was one of the few who didn’t look royally pissed.

  God, what was he going to do about Jane Clark? He wasn’t in the habit of giving second chances. But when he and Weathersby had been in the negotiating phase of this partnership, at first, Charles had wanted Liam to keep his staff intact. Liam had pushed back. He and Charles had finally met in the middle and agreed that everyone would have a one-month probationary period in which to prove themselves. Liam would not have agreed to that if he’d known Jane was part of the staff he’d inherit.

  Now, she seemed to be the face of his challenge here.

  Albeit a very pretty face. He looked away and blinked. Looks—pretty or otherwise—had nothing to do with whether he kept her on or not. If he ended up having to let her go, the last thing he needed was to give her reason to believe it had anything to do with anything other than her place on the team. This was strictly about her work performance—past and present—and the deal that he and Weathersby had penned.

  Charles was staying on in more of a “front of the house” managerial role. Since his ties to Savannah ran deep, he would be the community contact, the PR department. Charles’s standing in the community was one of the things that had made partnering with him to elevate Wila so attractive.

  Liam had wanted to expand his portfolio of restaurants into the Southern region. He’d looked at various markets. Atlanta hadn’t felt like the right fit. Miami was a different vibe altogether. Charleston had seemed closed to an outsider. Then Liam had met Charles at an Oscar Hurd Foundation dinner. As they’d talked, Liam happened to mention his love of Savannah and how he was looking to open a restaurant in the South. The germ of the idea for the partnership had been planted. But they’d had to iron out several wrinkles before they’d reached an agreement. The most stubborn one being retention of the current staff.

  “So, you’re saying you’d vouch for the entire staff? There are no problems?” Liam had asked. “Because I usually don’t give second chances. Stupid mistakes are grounds for immediate dismissal. One and done.”

  Charles had frowned and for a moment Liam had feared that he would change his mind. “Nobody’s perfect. That ‘one and done’ philosophy of yours seems like a good recipe for losing a lot of decent people—people with solid talent. Take it from someone who has been in this business longer than you’ve been alive—nobody’s perfect, Liam. All I ask is that you treat my staff fairly. Give them a chance to prove themselves.”

  Liam would’ve preferred a less restrictive agreement but he could live with it. It stood to reason that those who couldn’t stand the heat of his kitchen would leave of their own volition. If not, then he’d show them the door.

  Since Liam was a man of his word, that meant he had no choice but to keep Jane Clark on board.

  For now.

  It rankled him, but it was his own fault. When he’d looked at the employee roster, he hadn’t put two and two together. If he’d realized this Jane Clark was that Jane Clark—the one who’d once worked for him at La Bula—he would have negotiated differently. Had Charles even known that Jane had worked for him in New York? Seems like he should’ve mentioned it.

  Bottom line was that he had not done his homework. He had not looked into the employees before agreeing carte blanche to keep them on. That was Liam’s mistake. He hated mistakes. Because they cost valuable time and money.

  He would make damn sure that Jane’s mistakes didn’t put him in the same dangerous position that had given him no choice but to fire her. Even if he had to shadow her every move in his kitchen, he’d make sure she followed protocol. Because now that he was on board, she was baking in his kitchen. Again.

  “Okay, if there are no questions,” Liam said, “I’ll post an appointment sign-up sheet in the break room. Please sign up today. I want to get this done before the weekend rush.”

  As he turned toward the kitchen, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand shoot up.

  “Yes?” Liam said.

  Those who had begun moving stopped to listen.

  “Should we be worried?” the woman asked. “I mean about our jobs?”

  The sharp teeth of irritation bit at him. He waited a moment before he spoke, his gaze piercing the young woman who’d asked the question.

  “I don’t know, uh...?” He gestured to her. “Tell me your name again.”

  “My name is Sally.”

  “I don’t know, Sally. You know how well you do your job. You’re the only one who can figure out if you need to be worried or not. I want good people. Do your job well and you shouldn’t have to worry. It’s simple.”

  He knew he sounded condescending, but that was exactly the type of inane question for which he had zero patience. Sally needed to understand that if she was going to continue to work at Wila.

  “Any other questions?” he asked, mostly to see who else would expose themselves. “Anyone?”

  No one raised a hand. Some glared at him.

  This was an inauspicious start.

  “Okay. I look forward to speaking with each of you individually.”

  Then he saw Jane Clark. The lone friendly face in the dining room. Actually, it was a look that registered somewhere between friendliness and pity.

  Usually, he didn’t care what anyone thought of him. That had been his survival mode as a teenager living with his dad after his mother died. The loss had affected both of them deeply. Malcom Wright had lost his wife—the only woman he’d ever loved. Liam had lost his mom—an advocate, the person who had been the buffer between him and his father.

  After she was gone, if Liam said black, his dad said white. The takeaway from those turbulent three years: Liam had learned to block out the sarcasm, the barbs and bullying that had come from a tough New York cop ashamed of his son because he wanted to cook for a living.

  So, yeah. Growing a thick skin had been mandatory and it had served him w
ell. The silent arrows slung by some of the staff would only hurt them in the long run.

  So why did Jane Clark’s warm smile feel like a lifeline?

  He groaned inwardly and turned toward the kitchen.

  “Chef?” Jane said.

  He glanced back. “Yes?”

  “Welcome to Savannah. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Liam blinked. Once. Twice.

  The memory of Jane Clark’s devastated face—the way she’d looked the night he’d fired her—flashed through Liam’s mind.

  Of all the people who would have reason to take issue with him, it was Jane. Yet she was the only one who’d reached out.

  “Thanks.”

  While he didn’t need friends, he saw no reason to spit in a friendly face. There was something calming about her serene smile. It reminded him that there would be a learning curve here—on both sides. It would take time for him to get to know everyone, just as it would take time for even the best chefs and workers to adapt to his way of doing things. They’d just better not take too long if they knew what was good for them.

  “Jane, let’s talk for a moment,” he said as most of the staff began to disperse. Her smile faded and he knew she was assessing him before closing the distance between them.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Come and take a walk with me,” Liam said.

  Jane frowned. “This isn’t my interview, is it? Because I’m not ready and I have a thousand things to do before we open tonight. Unless you’re not planning to give me an interview...but I hope you will because it wouldn’t be fair. I’ve been doing a good job. Charles will vouch for me if you ask him. Charles?” she called.

  His business partner had returned from his phone call and was deep in conversation with Sally, the hostess who’d asked the inane question and was now visibly upset. Charles seemed to be trying to calm her down. He held up a hand in Jane’s direction, signaling he needed a minute.

  “This isn’t your interview,” Liam said.

  Jane swallowed so hard Liam saw her throat work. That’s when he noticed something that looked like fear hidden behind the front she was trying like hell to project as she stood there, her chin slightly elevated and her arms crossed in front of her. Where was that smile she’d offered so freely just a minute ago?

  “It’s not?” She blinked again. “Oh. Okay. Good. Because I like my job. I just wanted you to know that.” The earlier fear seemed to fade to something that was a little more in her control. “What do you need? I mean, like I said, I’m happy to help you however I can.”

  Even though she still looked nervous, he sensed something strong and determined in her. Something he hadn’t noticed when she’d worked at La Bula.

  Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back, accentuating her blue-gray eyes, high cheekbones and pretty heart-shaped face.

  Why hadn’t he noticed how attractive she was before now? Probably because he’d had his head down and his attention so focused on his work that he hadn’t noticed much going on around him outside of business. And he was going to pretend like he hadn’t noticed her looks now.

  “I was wondering if you would be so kind as to show me around the kitchen?”

  The request seemed to catch her by surprise.

  Something flashed in her eyes that made them look sharp and silvery now.

  “You’re a partner. Charles hasn’t shown you around the kitchen?”

  Normally, sassiness like that would’ve bothered him, but it didn’t. At least the woman had spunk...something else he hadn’t witnessed in her before. Then again, he hadn’t been around La Bula much. He’d been more focused on the PR part of the business, leaving his chefs to run the kitchen to his specifications while he traveled and made TV appearances.

  He would be more hands-on in the month he would be in Savannah helping Charles transition the restaurant into the new vision the two of them had discussed.

  “I’ve seen the kitchen,” he said. “Only not while anyone was working. I want to see it through your eyes.”

  Suspicion narrowed her gaze. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t ask me to show you around if you were going to fire me right away,” she said. There was that sassy tone again. He wondered if it was a defense mechanism or if she figured she had nothing to lose. He liked this surprisingly stronger, sassier version of the woman who hadn’t fought back when he’d fired her.

  “Obviously, you weren’t listening a few minutes ago,” he countered. “I’m not firing anyone right away. Not until I’ve had a chance to talk to everyone. But if you’d rather not show me around, I’m happy to ask someone else to do it. It’s up to you.”

  His eyes scanned the dining room. Charles had left. A group of servers was clustered at the hostess station, watching Jane and Liam talk. When they saw him looking, they turned away almost in unison and pretended to act busy. His ears should’ve been burning because he knew they were talking about him, and nice sentiments probably weren’t part of the conversation. That was fine. That was the price of being the boss and the bad guy who came in and changed things.

  “I’m happy to give you the grand tour,” Jane said. “But let’s hurry. I don’t have a lot of time. I’m already behind because of the meeting. In pastries, my day starts earlier than the rest of the kitchen. So meetings like that eat into my workday.”

  “I understand. Thanks for attending. It was important.”

  “Yes, it was. What kind of a team player would I be if I hadn’t shown?”

  He read between the lines and heard her unasked question. Did I really have a choice?

  She hadn’t. For that matter, he noticed, everyone had showed up. Weathersby had mentioned that several had even come in on their day off. It spoke volumes about the respect the staff had for Charles that no one had blown it off.

  “I mixed up some bread dough and left it to rise before the meeting,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I need to punch it down and knead it a bit so it can get started on its second rise.”

  “Not a problem. Do you offer fresh bread every day?”

  “Yes. Despite the anti-carb war going on in the world, I think our clientele would start a riot if we didn’t offer fresh bread.”

  “Good to know. Do you work from an established house recipe?”

  She shot him a look as if he’d asked an obvious question.

  “No, the recipes are all mine. Originals I’ve come up with. Charles outsourced the restaurant’s bread and most of the desserts before I came on board.”

  Liam raised his brows to show due reverence. At La Bula, the staff worked from established recipes—it was the only way to guarantee consistency. He had to hand it to Jane. She’d found a good way to slip in a tidbit about the valuable contribution she made—the creative change she’d implemented.

  Noted.

  As they entered the kitchen, Jane pointed to a wooden door, a stopper at the foot of the door propping it open.

  “Did anyone tell you about the pantry?”

  “No. Is there something I should know?”

  Her lips quirked up into a smile. “Yes. It’s a walk-in pantry. Always make sure the stopper stays in place when you’re inside or you’ll get locked in. There’s something screwy with the latch. You can open it from out here, but not from the inside. Every once in a while, someone forgets—usually someone new. It’s sort of become an initiation.”

  Liam frowned. “How long has it been like that?”

  Jane shrugged. “For as long as I’ve been here.”

  Liam’s frown deepened. “And no one’s fixed it?”

  Jane held up her hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just telling you so you know.”

  Liam nodded. He hadn’t meant to sound so critical. “Thank you. I appreciate the heads-up. It will be one of the first things I fix.”

  The kitchen was already
a hive of activity as they prepped for the evening dinner service. Prep cooks were chopping the herbs, vegetables and protein for mise en place. Stocks, which would later be ladled into sauces, were simmering on flaming burners. Everyone seemed to know their job, each keeping their head down to do it.

  As Liam followed Jane to her station, he inhaled the unmistakable smells of a commercial kitchen—a mix of diluted bleach, a mélange of spices, the tang of raw meat and the phantom scent of stale alcohol, which never seemed to go away no matter how much bleach.

  Her station was a simple, stainless-steel table located in the corner at the far wall. Even though she’d come in early to get started, the area was neat and tidy, as if she’d cleaned up after herself before breaking for the meeting.

  He watched her lift a large metal bowl and set it to the side of her station. After washing and drying her hands, she dusted the work area with flour and removed the plastic wrap from the bowl. She stuck her fist into the large dough ball and watched it deflate to half its size. She dumped it onto the floured surface and began the rhythmic work of kneading it into a shiny, elastic orb.

  He would’ve understood if she’d left the area messy since she had work in progress. She hadn’t known that he would be there today—unless she’d gotten wind about it from somewhere. He couldn’t imagine who would’ve told her other than Charles. But she’d looked surprised when he’d walked in.

  Cleanliness was mandatory. But as far as he was concerned, workday neatness was an unnecessary virtue as long as her baking mess didn’t meander into other stations. His main concern was how the end product tasted.

  He racked his brain trying to remember if any of the desserts Jane had made at La Bula had stood out—other than the rum baba, of course, and it had stood out for the wrong reasons.

  “What else are you baking today?” he asked. “Flourless chocolate cake. Profiteroles. Blackberry cobbler made with local berries and served with homemade vanilla bean ice cream,” she said. “And rum baba.”

  She didn’t crack a smile. He wondered if she’d added it to the menu for his sake. He hoped so. The Wila menu changed every day because Charles said the executive chef always planned what he served around what was fresh. That was a concept Liam respected and planned to keep, possibly putting even more emphasis on the farm-to-table aspect.