He couldn’t drag his eyes off her, even when her father barked, “Take a seat.”
Choco gave him a tiny hand wave and turned her attention back to Johnny when he offered her a cup of coffee. She graced him with a demure smile.
Since when did Choco learn to smile with her mouth closed? Carlos blinked, as if the apparition in front of him would transform back to his bubbly, loud-mouthed best friend.
“As I was saying, Concha …” Johnny leaned possessively over Choco. “… once we update the menu and redecorate the interior, we can attract a more upscale clientele.”
Concha? Why is he giving Choco a nickname? She doesn’t need another nickname. And look at that, she’s smiling at him, like a cat over crème brûlée.
“What’s this about an updated menu?” Carlos shifted in his seat and squared his shoulders toward Johnny.
“Show him the video,” Rey said, standing to draw the shades.
Johnny switched on the projector. Fast pulsing rock music thundered through a dazzling montage of artfully decorated dishes between landscapes featuring famous Filipino landmarks.
While the video played, Johnny carefully removed his body contouring suit jacket and wrapped it on the back of Choco’s chair. After adjusting his gold and diamond cuff links, he rested his hand on Choco’s shoulder as if he owned her.
What’s with this asshole? And there’s Choco taking it all in. Don’t tell me she likes it. Grrr …
Golden, sparkling letters swirled on the screen, arranging themselves into the words, “Manila Cloud,” followed by an animated sparkle.
Onscreen, Johnny walked onto a set decorated with crystal palm trees, gilded chandeliers, and richly upholstered chairs. The center table was set with a lush arrangement of white orchids, and the plates and silverware were gold trimmed.
“Welcome to the fabulous, newly remodeled Manila Cloud, San Diego’s premier fine dining experience,” the onscreen Johnny said. “Infused with luxury, high fashion, and taste, Manila Cloud’s haute cuisine will delight you with heavenly temptations while keeping you healthy and fit.”
The film transitioned to a location inside a shining gourmet kitchen. “We keep the best of Filipino taste minus the calories, cholesterol, sodium and unhealthy cooking practices our competitors use. Our food is prepared to meet the highest modern dietary standards without robbing you of the delicious taste and aroma you expect.”
Chefs dressed in white were at their stations, slicing, chopping, boiling, grilling. One held up a bright red lobster while another presented a plate to Johnny, who turned to the camera after tasting it. “Ah, lobster ravioli in a Concha y Toro Chardonnay and Brandywine heirloom tomato sauce paired with calamari and calamansi aioli.”
The film showed Johnny exiting the kitchen and delivering the dish to Choco, who sat at a table with a crystal champagne bucket. She was wearing an unbelievable sparkly dress that dropped well down her front and back. Her hair was pinned up, and diamonds dripped from her ears.
Johnny slid into the chair next to her and gazed into her eyes. “This marvelous creation is dedicated to the exquisite Concha Sánchez in honor of the grand opening of Manila Cloud, a perfect setting for that romantic dinner with your lady love.”
A waiter appeared and poured sparkling champagne for the two. They toasted each other, “Cheers, to dining with style.”
As their images dimmed on the screen, Johnny leaned over and kissed Choco on her lips. A mosaic of colorful and artistically arranged dishes served as the background to the credits.
Carlos’s mouth went dry, and a dull thud pounded in his ribcage. How many times had that jerk kissed her this week? And the only Filipino item in that Concha dish was the calamansi juice in the aioli, calamansi being a Filipino citrus fruit whose juice is like a limey, slightly bitter mandarin orange. Besides, calamansi was better off with soy sauce, not mayonnaise.
“Very good, Johnny,” Mr. Sánchez said. “I’m looking forward to these changes. Show Carlos an example of the new menu.”
“Most certainly.” Johnny pressed the remote and started a slide show.
Carlos stared at Choco, or the pod person who inhabited Choco’s body. How could she betray their restaurant with this ridiculous makeover or fakeover? She pointedly kept her eyes away from him as she paid remarkable attention to the screen.
He kicked her under the table. That brought a sneer so slight, it was probable she didn’t want to crease her makeup. Speaking of, what the heck happened to her freckles? Had they taken a giant eraser and erased every one of them? Her new face looked empty like an unpainted canvas.
He narrowed his eyes and examined her plucked eyebrows. They were too thin and gave her a surprised look. And that makeup? How many colors were piled on her eyelids? And the black cat eyed liner, sure, she looked alluring and seductive, but that wasn’t Choco, unless … No, it can’t be true. She can’t have slept with Johnny. Can’t.
Rey thumped the table. “Carlos, pay attention. I want you to go to San Francisco and visit the kitchen of Chef Enrique Mendoza to learn his techniques.”
“But Chef Mendoza doesn’t cook Filipino food.” Carlos cast a glance at Choco who looked supremely smug.
“You’ll see after Johnny explains the menu change.” Mr. Sánchez leaned back in his executive chair, his feet on the desk.
Johnny flipped to the first slide. “Asian flavored cuisine married with French cooking techniques is one of the hottest trends. I’ve completed a study of high end restaurants world wide. The French are masters of pure ingredients, using healthy bases such as fresh vegetable stock, gluten free grain and sustainable fresh seafood.”
The next slide showed a sampling of menu items:
Gingery vegetable dumplings in arugula bed
Asparagus soup with toasted walnuts
Monkfish in Chinese lobster sauce
Beetroot salad with Moro blood orange
Matcha calamansi tart with buko cream
Sesame crusted bangus and sashimi foie gras
Truffle Xiao Lung Bao
Free range tapas and quail breast in achiote
Vegan sisig with shiitake mushrooms and wild rice
“Stop, stop!” Carlos pushed his chair back and stood, facing Johnny full front. “This isn’t Filipino food. What happened to the lechón, the adobo, pancit, crispy pata, sinigang, bangus sisig, lumpia, kare kare, longganisa, kinilaw, and dinuguan?”
Johnny pointed the remote at Carlos as if he could shut him up. “High in starch, unhealthy and fried, made with parts of pig, entrails, tongue, hooves, waste products.”
“But my customers enjoy these dishes.”
“Until they end up in the hospital or an early grave.” Johnny scowled. “Besides, the clientele I expect to draw with the new Manila Cloud are more refined, upper crust. To them, a well prepared dish is a visual work of art, a delicate culinary experience, not blood stew and fried intestines.”
“Your grandfather loves lechón and dinuguan. How can you remove them from the menu for that fru-fru stuff?” Carlos swiped his hand over his sweaty forehead. “What kind of Filipino are you if you don’t like blood stew?”
“The progressive kind.” Johnny’s teeth clenched. “Mr. Sánchez agrees with me. To modernize Barrio XO into the vision I have for Manila Cloud, we need to go upmarket and capture the sensitive palates of the urban professional and country club set.”
“You’re either with us or against us,” Rey Sánchez said. “I intend to open Manila Cloud in the new location in San Marcos. The North County is more affluent: Rancho Santa Fe, Carlsbad, Encinitas. Johnny’s studies show they are health conscious as well as world travelers. Our menu and décor must keep up.”
“Good, at least we can keep the menu here at Barrio XO.” Carlos breathed a calming sigh.
“Not quite,” Rey said. “It’s high time we updated the menu and test the market. Johnny points out you operate without recipe cost cards and menu inventory plans. In fact, I highly doubt you can duplicate the exac
t taste of each dish.”
“That’s because I customize it to the customer.” Carlos tipped his chin at Choco. “She tells me who’s out there and what she thinks they’re like. With my regular customers, I know what region they’re from: Bicol, Visaya, Cebu, Palawan, Cagayan, Tsinoy.”
“That’s going to change too,” Rey said. “Choco, er, Concha is going to manage the Manila Cloud location, but before we’re able to open it, we’re going to convert the bangus side into a prototype. We’ll keep the kare kare sport bar because it’s more profitable. If you care about the senior citizens who hang out in the bangus room, you’d start by lowering the fat and salt content of your recipes. I also want you to cut the unhealthy items off the menu during the transition. We cannot afford to keep less popular dishes using pig’s blood and intestines around.”
“Choco?” Carlos bent to stare at her. “Do you agree with this?”
The Choco pod person didn’t respond. Instead she played with her smartphone, her pale mask of a face bland and devoid of all emotion.
“Choco,” Carlos insisted, tapping the table in front of her. “Tell me what you think.”
“It’s Concha to you.” Slowly she raised her eyes to his. “I think you’re out of line.”
# # #
Carlos had to take a break. He shouldn’t have walked out of the meeting, but he couldn’t breathe. Mr. Sánchez had given him the evil eye when he’d spoken to Choco, as if he hadn’t a right to appeal to her.
He retreated to the kitchen. They were behind schedule in preparing dishes for the evening dinner crowd.
His blood thumped through his head, and his fingers and hands were jittery. Take away the blood stew and pork intestines? What was Rey thinking? Where else would his customers find traditional, home-styled food to ease their longing for their mothers’ cooking?
It was unfair to start by gutting the bangus room, the side where the Sunshine Seniors ate. They always enjoyed the food, and Carlos made sure special dietary requirements were kept for those with diabetes, high blood pressure or cholesterol, without compromising on the taste. Johnny’s own grandfather lived at that retirement community, and coming to Barrio XO was a highlight for the old timers who could visit and remember their home country. Some days, they’d tell stories, pull out a bandurria, a Filipino mandolin, and sing songs. The room was set up with a salt-water aquarium, bamboo mats, and baskets, made to look like a beautiful courtyard, reminiscent of many childhood homes in the Philippines.
It was late evening before he had a break. By now, a headache raged, and his shoulders and arms were tense and sore. Sweat drenched his bandana. Carlos grabbed an ice cold bottle of mango calamansi juice and ambled into the alley behind the restaurant to catch the evening ocean mist.
He slumped his exhausted body against the stucco wall and exhaled, closing his eyes.
A cold hand touched his forearm and he startled, spilling part of his drink. Like a pale ghost, Choco stood in front of him, her eyes wide and her mouth pressed in a thin line.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue remained frozen. This wasn’t the Choco he knew, the friendly, joking girl who punched his arm and teased him, or bragged how she’d kick his butt in Mario Kart. For some reason she always drove the Baby Karts, Baby Daisy being her favorite character. This was more a cross between Jessica Rabbit and Mulan, the Chinese female warrior.
“What are you staring at?” she said. “Do you like my dress?”
He let his gaze meander slowly over her. The shimmering vision in front of him suggested dark, sultry nights and satin sheets. She took a step to his side, and he couldn’t help but admire the graceful sway of her hip and the way her smooth, silky hair bounced and glowed in the moonlight. The neckline of her dress dipped dangerously low, low enough that he was acutely aware of the swell of her breasts with every breath she took. Add that to the hip hugging tightness, barely covering the gap between her legs …
“Well?” She advanced closer, moistening her lips and smiling crookedly, suggestively. “What do you think?”
Think? How could any man think at a time like this? Hot desire sucker punched him, slamming blood into his cock and shocking the hell out of him. He swallowed, his throat dry. She wanted him to use words, engage his vocal cords, when every instinct prodded him to spread her against the wall and pound into her until she screamed her release in his name.
“It’s okay if you’re pissed,” Choco said, running her hand up and down his forearm. “I should have warned you.”
She might as well been stroking the fire in his bones the way her hand moved. His cock jerked, thick and needy, and his balls ached, tightened. Fighting for control, he cupped his hand over hers and stilled her caress. What would she do if he pressed her hand against his aching hard-on?
“Why didn’t you return my text messages? Let me know you were all right?” Despite steadying his voice, it still came out like a growl.
Her eyelashes fluttered, feathery, as she studied his face. “I didn’t want you to be mad. It was irresponsible of me to take off.”
“With a man you barely know.” He mustered up anger, eager to tamp down the more worrying primitive urge to heft her over his shoulder and take her to his cave.
Think what she might have done with Johnny. In the hotel room. Alone. Naked. No! His fists clenched and every muscle in his body tensed. Ready to do battle, raging to unleash fury on any man who’d dare lay a hand on her. Except it was too late. Someone had already been there. Transformed his Choco into this Concha. Sexy, sinful, and so effing tempting.
She yanked her hand from his grip. “You’re not my father. What’s it to you? I had a fun getaway. Got a makeover while doing research for the Manila Cloud concept.”
Time to make her uncomfortable. He crossed his arms and skewered her skimpy outfit. “You call displaying yourself research?”
“Pshaw.” She flicked her fingernails at him. “You’re an old stick in the mud. What’s wrong? You never learned to have fun? I got to tour the kitchen of Chef Enrique Mendoza. Johnny and I picked up a lot of nifty ideas and innovative techniques.”
“For what? Food safety or seduction?” It was much easier to turn on the snark, much better than fighting the ache of desire, the come-hither scent of jasmine, the sexy sheen of her porcelain smooth skin.
What was wrong with him? He wasn’t a pervert who hit on his friend, especially the daughter of his boss.
If he ever got to kiss her again, it would be a far cry from those sweet, soft kisses he’d shared with her, exploratory, questioning kisses. Oh no, it would be a fierce, consuming, marking kiss—the kind that would sear through her defenses and soften her knees until she’d cry out, clawing and screaming for him to take her, long, strong and hard.
Choco pouted. Pouted. As if her plump luscious lips weren’t enough torture. If she hadn’t just returned from doing Johnny, he would have made his move already. Sucked on those lips until she cried uncle, begging him to lick the sweet juices out of her, exhausting her, totally demolishing her resistance and claiming her as his, solely and irrevocably his.
He spat on the ground and took a gulp of the mango calamansi juice. “Glad you and Johnny learned so much this week.”
“You’re on board with Manila Cloud. Good. I’d like you and me to figure out recipe costs and ingredient cards for each of the new menu items. We start tomorrow morning.”
Carlos finished his drink and pitched the bottle into the dumpster.
“No, Choco. I do not like your dress.”
Chapter 15
Carlos ground his teeth and seethed through the entire morning meeting. Rey had given the orders, and the first thing to change was the menu. Lard and fatty pork belly were banned. Soy sauce had to be low-sodium, and all desserts had to use nonfat milk, sugar substitute, and egg whites.
How the hell was he going to prepare the leche flan custard or the champorado chocolate pudding? What would happen to the lechón kawali? He couldn’t picture it being made with
lean pork loin, fat stripped off. Besides, the customers loved the crispy skin and layer of fat. That’s what made lechón kawali so tasty.
This was ridiculous. How could Rey ruin his restaurant under recommendation of that pompous ass, Johnny Dee?
And Choco? His former best friend? How could she stand to play femme fatale seductress and costar with Johnny in that smarmy marketing video?
Carlos swallowed bile and his stomach cringed thinking about the surreal meeting in the alleyway. His body had never responded to her the way it did last night, ripping and clawing from the inside to take her, claim her, possess her.
Was it truly because she wore makeup and a clingy dress? One that fired his imaginations and brought out the wild man in him? Dammit. He wasn’t the type of man who took advantage of females wearing skimpy clothes. He’d stayed on the straight and narrow, avoided temptation, but now his very best friend was parading around like a woman in heat, and even worse, he’d been assigned to work with her on the menu changes.
Fortunately, she and Johnny were absent this morning. Or maybe they were too important to wake early and attend the newly instituted pre-day staff meeting.
Rey wrapped up the meeting. “We have many changes to make before we can transform Barrio XO to Manila Cloud. Now, get to work.”
He ambled toward Carlos, who stood at the back of the kitchen against the cold room. “You’ll no longer drive around town in the morning to pick up the food. I want you to go through all of our suppliers and request delivery. It’s more efficient.”
“That’s fine with me,” Carlos said. “About the suppliers. Some of them don’t deliver.”
“I’m aware of that. We’re changing the menu, so this is a good time to prune the list.”
Claiming Carlos Page 10