Claiming Carlos

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Aren’t we being hasty on this?” Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “How do we know our customers want us to change?”

  Rey crossed his arms and tightened his jaw. “My best friend Elena had a heart attack. She isn’t even that old.”

  Tita Elena was Rey’s ex-girlfriend before he married Tita Anna. There had been some history there, and Carlos found it rather strange that the three of them had remained close friends, especially since Elena had been widowed so many years back.

  “How do you know our food caused it? She didn’t even come here that often.”

  “That’s not the point. After her brush with death, she re-evaluated her life. She’s going to sell her bakery.”

  “But … that bakery meant everything to her.” Carlos could well remember all the happy times when Tita Elena delivered towers of colorful cake for all of the wedding receptions and birthday parties.

  “Things change. When Choco … er Concha comes in, I want you to work out the new menu and recipe costing cards. In the meantime, hand your responsibilities to Danny so you will not be disturbed.”

  Carlos brushed a hand through his hair and nodded. “Sure, boss. Whatever you say.”

  Ordinarily, he’d look forward to some one-on-one time with Choco. They’d trade insults and jokes. But this new creature who insisted on being called Concha, she disturbed him in ways he could not count, starting with the misbehaving cock between his legs. It was going to be a long morning.

  # # #

  Carlos stared at the screen and entered quantities off the top of his head. Frankly, he had no clue how much of each ingredient he threw into a particular dish. A pinch of this, a dash of that. He measured noodles by the circle of his thumb and index finger.

  Sweat beaded over his forehead. Standing right behind him, looking over his shoulder was Choco transformed into a sex goddess.

  “It’s important we get the exactly amount of each ingredient.” She tapped on the screen. “Otherwise, how do we know which dish is profitable? After you input every measurement, I’m going to put in the cost data and we will know at a glance whether we’re undercharging.”

  Her jasmine scent messed with his concentration, and the warmth of her body imprinted on his back made other parts of his body spring to life. He swallowed, almost tasting her lips, the way her tongue darted tentatively, shy, and unsure that last time they kissed.

  Her words blurred into a fog of want and desire. Her voice, smoothly singing near his ear, whispered an erotic breeze, sensually connecting to his deep yearning. Her tightly fitted skirt was hiked so far up the leg at his side … What would she do if he tickled her there? Kissed her? Tongued her? Here, right here in her father’s office.

  Choco continued to lecture. “Ingredients for our upscale cuisine are costly. Caviar, for example. We can’t bleed out our profits without strict measurement. Besides, we need exact calorie counts for the new menu, and it’s impossible without knowing exactly how much of each ingredient there are per serving.”

  “The new menu. Why?”

  “You’re asking why?” She slapped both hands onto his shoulders.

  “Let me hear your thoughts.” Trapping her hands, he pulled them down so she was hugging him from behind. “If you can explain it to me in a way I understand, maybe I can get behind the changes.”

  “I knew you’d see it my way.”

  “Uh, you haven’t explained a thing. I’ve been tense and stressed out lately. Think you can give me a shoulder rub while you explain?”

  Her hands obliged. Ha, ha. He hadn’t thought she’d comply. But this Choco, or Concha, was different. What happened to the fight? The quick insult? The ‘no way, Carlos’ followed by a punch.

  Instead, her voice remained level, calm, mature. “We have to change with the times. People are more health conscious. I learned that when Evie told me to watch my cholesterol. I’ve always been a chubby …”

  Chubby? No way. The woman had wicked curves, the perfect amount of softness over well defined muscles. Velvet over iron, a kind heart over a pit bull’s fight.

  A moan escaped his throat at the way she was loosening his muscles. Blood surged to the huge muscle between his legs, the one piece she’d never touched in all their years as best friends. They’d tickled each other, had pillow fights, tackled each other in bounce houses and ball pits, swam and tried to drown each other in the surf, buried each other in the sand, and engaged in all manner of platonic horseplay.

  “Tita Elena’s heart attack scared everyone. She’s not even fifty.” Choco’s nimble hands continued their caresses. “Of course it could be all the butter and eggs she puts in her cakes. But still, we cook with lard and lots of salt, soy sauce and fish sauce.”

  Keep talking and keep rubbing. Work those talented hands. Don’t stop.

  Carlos tried to imagine a way he could angle her hands down the front of his chest, following the trail between his abdominals to where he kept his cannon loaded. Another moan escaped, and he rolled his head and leaned back further into her arms.

  Her hands came around down his shoulders and encircled his chest. His heart pumped and his cock strained in his pants. It was all he could do not to pull her into his lap and grind into her. Bet that would rumple her expensive, designer mini-skirted business suit.

  “I like it,” he muttered, fervently wishing she’d allow her hands to wander further down.

  “You do? That’s great.” She pushed away from him and clapped. “So now that you’re on board, let’s finish the recipe cards.”

  No!!! Carlos slapped his forehead. Every part of his body ached for continued contact, howling in rebellion. Why had he opened his stupid mouth?

  Choco paced in front of the desk, each swish of her hip hiking her skirt past her bikini line. “I can’t wait to tell Johnny I convinced you. He predicted you’d be fired for not complying.”

  At the mention of Johnny’s name, everything in Carlos went cold. Frozen. Limp.

  He pushed from the chair and stood. “I’m not agreeing to anything until we have real customer feedback. The new menu sounds too expensive for them.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Johnny says we’ll have wealthier customers who’ll be glad to pay for gourmet food without adding to their waistline.”

  “Oh, I bet they will.” He crossed his arms and smirked. “If they hate the food, we can always open a massage parlor.”

  A frown marred Choco’s vacant features. He still wasn’t used to the absence of her cute freckles. Her lips, a red slash against her pale complexion, pursed. “See you in the unemployment line. You can’t give a massage worth squat.”

  He flexed his fingers and advanced on her, zombie style, gnawing and gnashing his teeth. “Try me, my little Choquita.”

  “It’s Concha!” She stomped from the office, her heels clicking and hips jiggling.

  He couldn’t help but tag her with a wolf whistle.

  # # #

  The kitchen was hot, too hot for the blood rushing furiously in Carlos’s head. Rey hadn’t hesitated to institute the no lard, low sodium rule, and returns to the kitchen ran an all time high.

  Every few minutes, one of the waitresses would strut into the kitchen and throw a plate at him.

  “This stinks.”

  “Too bland.”

  “Customer walked without paying.”

  “Limpy lechón. Fire the cook.” Genie, the youngest Sánchez daughter, flipped him the bird.

  “Fire the cook? Fire the cook?” He tore off his bandana and flung it at her. “Tell your father to fire that fricking fancy consultant.”

  “You’re supposed to make the dishes tastier and healthier.” She stamped her foot. “I got stiffed out of my tip, thanks to your soggy ‘crispy’ pata.”

  “Gah! Let me fry you up a new batch.”

  “Sorry, frying’s not allowed. Steaming, baking, and sautéing only.” Choco stuck her head in between him and Genie. “You know the rules.”

  He grabbed her shoulders, his greasy f
ingers smeared over her expensive linen blazer, and turned her toward the dining room. “You, Miss Sánchez, get to inform the customers that we’re watching out for their health.”

  “No need.” She brushed his hands off with a sneer. “Johnny’s entertaining the crowd with his brilliant repartee and magic tricks. They love him.”

  Love him? That phony baloney Look-At-Me-I’m-Johnny-Dee? Carlos stomped out of the kitchen. Sure enough, Johnny waved a silk scarf over a top hat and produced a golden box of truffles. He handed it to a sharp looking woman … wait, was that the local councilwoman? Cameramen surrounded them while the entire table of guests laughed at Johnny’s card tricks.

  Carlos stopped so suddenly that Choco ran into him. The customers used to greet Carlos like a rock star. The children would ask for his autograph, and their mothers would request a recipe. Women would flirt with him and ask if he’d deliver a dessert, and men would slap him on the back and talk about his home runs and how high his soufflé stood.

  “Satisfied?” Choco hissed. “You didn’t believe me, but you’ll see. Johnny knows what he’s doing. He’s the youngest and hottest restaurant consultant in the country. We’re so fortunate to have him.”

  His teeth clenched, Carlos stuck his face close to her painted one. “I bet you’re fortunate to grace his bed.”

  Slap! She walloped him upside his face. “At least he knows what he’s doing. You’re just a lousy cook.”

  Chapter 16

  Shit. Shit. Shit. If his week was bad before, Saturday had turned into a shitstorm.

  The customers were on full scale rebellion, sending dishes back at warp speed, and Carlos could barely keep up with the replacement orders.

  Rey cornered Carlos in the corridor. “The food returns are getting out of hand, and the waitresses are complaining.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” Carlos threw his hands in the air. “They hate the low fat, low sodium diet.”

  “No.” Rey drilled his finger at him. “We got another report of urine in the salad dressing. Figure out who’s fucking with the food and fire him.”

  Just what he needed. Another case of food sabotage. Carlos stormed to the salad prep table and accosted Thomas. “More pee in the dressing. What the hell’s going on here?”

  “Again? How can that be? I personally mix the dressing and seal it the night before. I always sniff it before putting it out for the waitresses to use. The pickup area’s very public. I can’t see anyone pulling out his dick and taking a whiz.”

  “No, but they could pour a cup into it easily. We need to keep an eye out. I suspect Johnny Dee.”

  “Really?” Thomas’ eyes bugged out. “But isn’t he the fancy consultant? Why would he want to ruin our restaurant?”

  “So he can do a before and after case study. How horrible it was before he waved his magic wand and turned Barrio XO into Manila Cloud.”

  “Tell Mr. Sánchez,” Thomas said. “Because as it stands now, I’m getting the blame.”

  “He won’t believe me. We have to catch him in the act. Have you seen him hovering around the salad bar?”

  “No, not really.” Thomas scratched the back of his head. “But if he’s the one, I’ll pee in his soup myself.”

  The afternoon was no better. Someone pulled the fire alarm. The fire marshals showed up and cleared out the entire restaurant, then fined Barrio XO when they discovered no fire.

  “Dammit. If they want a fire, I’ll give them a fire,” Rey grumbled. “Get back to work, you slackers.”

  The false alarm delayed the evening dinner preparation. Add to that, they needed hot dogs and pizza for a children’s birthday party. Even though the restaurant didn’t offer hot dogs and pizza, Mr. Sánchez insisted on providing it since the parents had ordered a lot of dishes for themselves. Carlos scouted around the kitchen, but all his assistants were elbow deep in food. He couldn’t spare anyone to go buy hot dogs and pizzas, not even Jake.

  His anger and frustration turned to the woman formerly known as Choco. Back when she used to be nice, used to be helpful, used to be sweet, all he had to do was ask her to run the errand.

  He went to the front of the restaurant, only to bump into his mother.

  “The kids are screaming for food,” she said. “They’re hungry.”

  “Let them try the vegan delight, or the gluten-free eggplant stew,” he mocked in a sing-song voice.

  “They won’t take anything except hot dogs and pizzas. Do something, Carlos. I can’t stand the screaming.”

  “Ask one of the waitresses to make a run. Who’s available?”

  “We’re short. Let me call Julia. Maybe she can help.”

  Julia? What did she have to do with the restaurant? Carlos wiped the sweat from his forehead. “No, not Julia. Isn’t she a nurse?”

  “She quit her job when she thought she was getting married.” Ma sashayed to the hostess booth. “Besides, if she’s going to marry you, she better start learning the business.”

  Whoa. This was way too fast. Julia and he had only gone on a first date, one that ended without a kiss.

  “Don’t call Julia. What gave you the idea she’s marrying me?”

  Ma stacked menus and slapped them on the podium. “Isn’t that why you’re dating her?”

  Uh, no. He was dating Julia because Choco urged him to. And Julia was pretty, but marriage? Not yet. Not until he had a foothold in a business and prospects for owning his own restaurant.

  “Really, Ma, leave it alone. I’m not getting married any time soon.” He might as well ask Choco to help—consequences be damned. If he didn’t get the hot dogs and pizza on the table soon, he’d have a full-scale kid rebellion.

  He strode toward the bar. Choco was sitting with Johnny and doing nothing but looking pretty. Her eyelashes fluttered like butterflies on speed, and her incessant giggling at Johnny’s most unfunny jokes could pass for a sitcom laugh track. Dammit, her father shouldn’t let her goof off at such a busy time. Didn’t he care about his restaurant’s success?

  Carlos barged between the two bar flies and propped his hand proprietarily on Choco’s shoulder. “You know that birthday party in the kare kare room? We need hot dogs and pizza.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she sniffed. “And? Don’t you have the keys to the delivery van?”

  “I’m shorthanded and arm deep in pork intestines.”

  “It’s obvious you’re not managing the food flow effectively,” she retorted. “You walked out of the meeting before Johnny got to the inventory control system.”

  Johnny chugged the scotch in the rocks glass and thumped it on the table. “Since I’m such a good sport, I’ll get the hot dogs and pizza. Give me directions.”

  Oh great. Now he’d owe him one. Carlos had no choice but to accept. He pulled out the keys to the van, but Johnny waved it aside.

  “I have plenty of room in my Tesla. Concha, want to take a spin to the pizza place?”

  Choco or Concha slid off the barstool and held her hand out. “Looks like I’m the designated driver.”

  She giggled and Johnny chuckled and they appeared to be “so together.” Which ground rocks in Carlos’s stomach. Big time.

  Johnny dropped a funny looking black wedge into her hand, slung his suit jacket over his shoulder, and guided her out of the restaurant, his slimy hand tucked on the small of her back.

  Carlo’s heart thumped wildly. He should knock that sleazy grin off Johnny-Come-Lately’s face. But then Choco would hate him even more. Which would really suck.

  Back in the kitchen, he grabbed a cleaver and a pork knuckle.

  Chop. Chop. Chop.

  # # #

  Dance music thumped through the walls. The Saturday night karaoke party was in full swing, but Carlos was in no mood to tend the karaoke machine. His head throbbed with a splitting headache, and his temper flared at the thought of Johnny out there hamming it up. It was best he kept himself to the kitchen without running into Choco or her family.

  Of course Johnny
played the hero. He’d saved the children’s party, returning with great fanfare. In addition to the pizza and hot dogs, he even threw in burgers and hired a clown to create balloon animals for the children.

  “What a standup guy,” Mr. Sánchez had said of Johnny in front of Choco. He even asked Johnny to host the Saturday night karaoke party, something Carlos was responsible for for as long as he could remember.

  Johnny had not only accepted, he’d called a professional disc jockey friend of his to bring a videoke recorder to make complimentary recordings for all the singers.

  Acid spun in Carlos’s stomach. He let Danny and Victor join in the evening festivities while he and Thomas stayed behind to inventory the remaining food ingredients and prepare the menu for the next day.

  Dinner had been another disaster. Without Choco expediting the order flow, food got cold or misdelivered and returns to the kitchen piled plates high and deep. Rey was on Carlos’s back all evening shouting threats, and even though Jake stuck to his side supposedly assisting him, the young man’s surly attitude made him want to punch him upside the head every five minutes.

  He finally sent Jake to the bar to mix drinks. This was going to be a long night of counting and cataloging ingredients. Carlos rubbed his temples and recorded data into a laptop while Thomas called out the numbers.

  They went through the freezer and were now in the pantry counting cans. Thomas paused, glanced over Carlos’s shoulder and quickly lowered his gaze. What was so damn interesting about a can of jackfruit?

  An eerie feeling raised the hair on the back of Carlos’s neck. His shoulders tightened as he turned to the pantry door.

  Choco stood there with the middle-aged woman who’d delivered his mother’s dentures. The woman wore tortoise shell glasses and chewed gum, her eyes darting back and forth.

  “What can I do for you?” Carlos said, not to anyone in particular.

  “This is Miranda Dee, Johnny’s mom,” Choco said. “She wants a tour of the kitchen.”

  “Does it have to be now?”

  Why would anyone tour a kitchen so late in the evening? All the bus boys were busy washing dishes, and the kitchen had yet to be cleaned.