Cooking with Fire

by Kira Barcelo

  If he’d thought Marta DeLong had stared at him with daggers in her eyes, that was nothing compared to the way Carolyn was glaring at him.

  “Take it easy, cowboy,” she drawled. “You just got here. Why don’t you and I start over? I’ll give you that tour before the doors open.”

  Cowboy. He should have been offended by her familiarity, but after all, this was his friend’s kid sister. And she’d stirred something inside him, with that sexy way that word—“cowboy”—was delivered, decadent as melting chocolate, in that womanly voice of hers.

  “Okay. Good idea. Let’s start over.” He managed a smile. “Lead the way…cowgirl.”

  Her eyes flashed again. He expected her to go off, but to her credit, she restrained herself.

  “Good. Come along then.” Cool. Snippy, but cool. She turned and led the way out of the kitchen, back into the dining area.

  With each step, those hips swayed in that form-fitting dress. Alex considered himself a consummate professional. This wasn’t his first restaurant and Carolyn Hammond wasn’t his first business partner, though she was the first one with great legs and a cute little bottom.

  Business. Why was he having such a tough time zeroing in on that? Most likely, his loyalty to his friend was getting in the way. Cliff had told him his sister had a few problem areas, not the least of which was her fun-loving nature that had her out cavorting in her new car—a sporty little Mustang, though her finances were strained to the hilt as it was—when she should have been giving the restaurant a little hands-on attention. He had promised Cliff that he was going to take Carolyn in hand, and take her in hand he would.

  And if anyone needed a little hands-on attention, it was Carolyn Hammond. As in, his hands giving some much-needed attention to that adorable bottom, with her over his knee, would do wonders with giving her an attitude adjustment.

  Carolyn stopped near the entrance, pulling a menu out from behind the counter and handing it to him for his perusal. That young waitress was looking on curiously, but she seemed to relax when Alex offered her a nod and a smile.

  “This is the Beachcomber Bistro’s menu,” she said. “You can look that over.”

  “I already have. That was one of the first things your brother and I discussed.”

  “Oh.” Again, her demeanor cooled towards him. “And what did you think?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to see how your chefs pull off each dish. But I’d like to discuss paring it down a little, maybe updating it. The restaurant’s menu is…” Alex paused, extra careful not to offend her. “Well, it’s all over the place.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He scowled sternly at her. She hadn’t snapped at him, but she didn’t have to. With one upturned eyebrow, one inflection of her voice, the lady could convey her displeasure very thoroughly.

  “What I’m trying to say is that you have to decide what you’re serving in here,” he explained. “So that the customer understands what they’re making the trip out here for.”

  “And?”

  “And you’ve got a lot of stuff thrown together. Pizza, typical beach resort fare. Hell, you’ve even got some Asian dishes on there. And stuff you would expect to find in a place with the word beachcomber in it. There’s seafood.”

  “Well, Mr. Stanton, that’s because that’s what the original owners served.” Was it his imagination or was she talking slowly to him? As if she were explaining to a confused child…or an idiot? “That’s what the clientele is used to. For your information, this was a very beloved restaurant for many years. My parents—Cliff’s parents—they used to take us here all the time. We’re trying to stay true to that tradition.”

  Alex minded his manners and spoke respectfully to her. “I understand that, Carolyn. But that tradition isn’t very profitable for you, is it? Because if it was, you wouldn’t need me. You and your brother would be making a mint off this place.”

  “Let’s understand something here, Alex Stanton. I don’t need you. I don’t even want you here. But you now own part of my restaurant.”

  “That’s right. I do.” He fixed his hands to his waist, glaring right back at her. Enough of treating her with kids’ gloves. The tough businessman in him busted out. “That means I have a say in how this place is run. Because I have an investment in this place. And I’m not going down the tubes over something that worked once but isn’t working with people now. And I’m not letting you go down the tubes, either. I told your brother that.”

  “Wow. My hero!” Tossing her head saucily, she stalked across the room. “Anyway, we don’t have a choice. We’re stuck with each other. I don’t freaking like it anymore than you do, so let’s just get on with this, all right?”

  Talk about a piece of work! Sarcastic, overgrown brat, calling him my hero. She’d gotten him to wince when she’d used language that, though not quite vulgar, it came close. He knew women talked like that, but ladies didn’t. He’d pegged Carolyn Hammond for a lady. Obviously, he’d misjudged her.

  “So you’ve been here for a while now. Oh, you know what? You probably came when I wasn’t even here. So go ahead.” She folded her arms across her chest and eyed him like a petulant child. “Spit it out. What’s wrong with the décor? I know you don’t like that, either, because obviously there’s no pleasing you. And you know everything.”

  He scratched his neck, taking his time in replying. “I don’t know everything, Carolyn. You’re being very combative. I understand that you feel like I’m intruding into the business you and your brother built together. But I’m your partner now. And I want to work with you. Now are you going to work with me or not?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not at the moment, no.” He swallowed his disappointment. That wasn’t the response he’d hoped to get from her.

  “Then I guess I have to work with you. But I like the décor just as it is. I had things redone in here. So don’t you even think of changing anything.”

  He waited for her to stamp her foot. That was the only thing missing from her mini-tantrum. Alex held back a smile. “That’s fine. I wouldn’t change a thing, either. The place is very inviting, just the way it is. I like what you’ve done here, too.”

  “Well, good.” If he didn’t know better, he would have said she was disappointed that he hadn’t challenged her. “And you won’t change the menu, either.”

  “Ah, no. You will most definitely compromise with me on that one. In fact, you and I need to get to work on revising it as soon as possible.”

  “But—oh, fine. But not today. I have a lot of work to do today.”

  “All right. That’s fine. We’ll start on that tomorrow. I’ll be here tomorrow morning at about seven. We can start brainstorming on the new menu then.”

  “At seven? What’re you, crazy?” Carolyn laughed. “I don’t do mornings.”

  “That so? Well, you do ’em now. Your brother mentioned that. Your little bankers’ hours are history, Ms. Business Partner. I’ll expect you bright and early tomorrow morning. Seven. On the dot.”

  “And what if I’m…fashionably late? Which happens to be more my style?”

  He studied her expression. She was being cute, but in reality, she was challenging him. He’d been there only a little over an hour and between that sullen chef and Carolyn herself, he felt like he’d been sailing a small rowboat in a full-blown, Category 5 hurricane.

  “I don’t suggest you do that,” he said, his tone dangerously low.

  “No?” Carolyn stepped closer to him, close enough that he could smell her perfume. It made his head spin…or maybe it was the proximity of her body. “”Why is that?”

  He squared his shoulders. Hopefully she couldn’t tell that she had aroused him. “Because you’re playing with my money now, too. Not just yours. And if you want to go bankrupt, ma’am, well, that’s your business. But half of this restaurant’s mine now. And I ain’t losin’ it because you want to be ‘fashionably late.’”

  She b
linked. “Well…I’ll try to get here on time.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “But don’t expect me in here at that hour every day.”

  He’d been en route back to the kitchen. Alex wanted to check on that leisurely princess, Chef Marta. But then he stopped and turned to face Carolyn.

  “Actually, young lady, I do expect you in here at that hour. Every day. At least until we get this place up and running as I see fit.”

  “I see. Well, you might find yourself being very disappointed.”

  “Yeah? I hope not. Because I don’t want to have to spank you, but if that’s what it takes to teach you to get in here on time, then I’ll do it. And I’ll spank you once for every minute you’re late.”

  Jamie, the head waiter, was passing by that very moment. Alex tried not to laugh, seeing him look from him to Carolyn, then back again, and then the young guy scurried over before he could break into laughter.

  As for Carolyn…had he gotten through to her? For the slightest second she flinched, looking worried. To his chagrin, she forced a laugh.

  “I’d like to see you try,” she dared him with barely concealed fury.

  “Ah, no, I don’t think you would. I don’t make empty threats…cowgirl. Seven o’clock. On the dot.”

  Hell, he was already peeved beyond belief. He had a terrible feeling he’d live to regret his decision to buy out Cliff Hammond, effectively buying himself the sinking ship that was the Beachcomber Bistro. Before storming off to the kitchen, he added, “And next time I tell that woman to clean the kitchen, don’t you undermine me in front of her. I wouldn’t do that to you, Carolyn.”

  Chapter Two

  By the time Carolyn reached the restaurant that morning, she had already spent an hour at the gym, showered, changed into fresh clothes, done her hair and makeup, and still was able to steal a few minutes at the tanning salon. That placed her through the Beachcomber Bistro’s front doors at, according to her watch, 8:07. What a stellar improvement over the day before!

  Naturally, her hardheaded new partner wouldn’t see it that way. And that was fine by her. She’d meant to stroll in there around nine-thirty or ten, just to get her point across to Mr. Bossy Riding in on His High Horse that he was definitely not in charge. He might have been co-owner of the business with her, and granted, she would rue the day her brother had gone behind her back and inked that deal with Alex Stanton, but he sure as hell wasn’t storm-trooping into her restaurant and changing everything he pleased.

  But as she neared the kitchen and heard the commotion, it took all her strength not to turn tail and march right back out into the sun-kissed summer morning. She stopped in her tracks, listening to Marta DeLong sputtering obscenities amidst pots and pans being banged around. Jamie, over in the corner checking receipts from the day before, exchanged a glance with Carolyn and shrugged helplessly.

  The kitchen door exploded open and out stalked Alex, mumbling something under his breath before his stare fell upon her.

  “Carolyn,” he said. No “good morning,” no “hello”. Nothing preceded her name. The man was a veritable charmer. “It’s 8:10.”

  “No, it’s 8:07. Or rather, it was 8:07 when I got here.” Why was she talking so fast? She was the boss, too, last time she checked. She didn’t have to explain herself to him. “That clock over the register is fast.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, what happened to 7:00?”

  “7:00? Oh, yeah. Well, I tried to get here, but I had other things to do first.”

  “Like what? What was more important than meeting with me this morning to get this place on track?”

  He’s drilling me. In front of Jamie and Hailey. First thing in the morning, too. Doesn’t this guy ever take a break?

  Carolyn replied evenly, “I went to the gym to work out. And then I went to the tanning salon.”

  She stood her ground, though she swallowed nervously under the weight of his stare. He made her nervous in general, not just now after she’d informed him that she’d purposely gone against his wishes. And her heart betrayed her by skipping a beat as she stared back at this athletic, attractive man with his shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing the sinews in his biceps. Damn, he was so sexy he even made that chef’s shirt he was wearing look like the latest rage in macho wear.

  “You know, Carolyn, I would’ve liked to have gotten a workout this morning, too. But I had you and the employees who do give a rat’s behind about this place—Jamie, Hailey, that sous chef Rhonda—depending on me. So I got my ass in here on time.” He wiped his mouth with his hand, then asked, “You said you got in here at 8:07?”

  “Yes.” She lowered her eyes, mulling over that part about the employees who she’d let down.

  “Okay. That’s 67 minutes late. You are so spending some time later in my tanning salon.” Alex opened the kitchen door for her, barking, “Now get in your kitchen and take a look at what your executive chef has been doing to your money!”

  Carolyn didn’t know whether to pitch a fit or to turn around and run, not walk, back out of the restaurant. She had a feeling that Alex wasn’t in the mood for one of her temper tantrums, and with those long legs of his, he was sure to outrun her. Alex was capable of tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her back into the restaurant, embarrassing the hell of her in front of her staff, so she raised her chin defiantly and walked stiffly into the kitchen.

  You are so spending time in my tanning salon. She understood what he’d meant by that; even if she didn’t, her bottom apparently had, because it tingled at the threat.

  And sixty-seven minutes. She recalled what he’d said the day before, about spanking her once for every minute she was late. He was serious about that? His hand smacking her backside sixty-seven times?

  But she was thirty-six years old. A woman her age didn’t get spanked. Really, he had to be making idle threats. Big, bad Alpha male that he was, trying to intimidate her, get her to back down to him. Sixty-seven spanks—talk about excessive! That wasn’t a tanning, that was a damn bonfire set on her poor bottom. Alex was just throwing out his chest, show her how big and strong he was. He wouldn’t really spank her.

  Or…would he?

  It wasn’t easy, but she tried to concentrate on the kitchen instead of her jittery nerves. Standing before her were her three chefs, Marta DeLong, Rhonda Neely and Orestes Rosales. Of the three, only Marta looked so pissed off that she might scream at any second, though she stood silent and taciturn, with her arms folded across her chest.

  There was no love lost between her and Alex. Carolyn saw that immediately. The tension between those two was undeniable. She watched her new partner jerk his head at her executive chef.

  “Why don’t you show Carolyn the little discoveries I made this morning?” he asked Marta.

  Rhonda Neely, a soft-spoken single mom, regarded Carolyn apologetically. Orestes, the usually jovial Puerto Rican family man, who Carolyn knew tolerated Marta but would have commiserated with Alex, sniffed and tossed a dishrag over his shoulder, avoiding everybody’s gaze.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Stanton. Why don’t you show her yourself, since you’re the one who has a problem with it?” Marta asked.

  Carolyn was floored, though she showed no emotion. Had Marta really spoken to Alex that way? True, the guy was an arrogant, bossy sonofagun. But he was still—through no fault of Carolyn’s—Marta’s boss. Her executive chef had never, ever spoken to her that way. To her, Marta had always been respectful.

  And she and Marta were friends. They’d been friends since the day Carolyn had hired her. She knew Marta could be a little lackadaisical sometimes, that she didn’t move very quickly in the kitchen. She wasn’t professionally trained, but she had worked in her family’s restaurant for years. She had also been a frequent customer to the restaurant under the old management, so she knew the items on the menu and how they were supposed to taste.

  But she had always had to protect Marta from her brother, who had always referred to her as a sneak and a liar. Whethe
r he meant that bit about spanking her or not, Carolyn knew she was already in enough trouble with Alex for willfully dancing in over an hour late. She wasn’t about to take any more heat, especially not for an employee who was being insubordinate.

  Hopefully, though, she could protect her somewhat. After all, Marta was her good friend. She couldn’t just throw the poor woman under the bus. That wouldn’t have been right.

  “Marta, that’s no way to talk to Alex. He’s your boss, like I’m your boss.” She winced, seeing the expression of betrayal suddenly splayed across Marta’s face. Alex, on the other hand, appeared pacified rather than triumphant. She consoled her executive chef, telling her, “But I’m your friend. You can talk to me. Show me what he’s talking about.”

  “I’ll show you what he’s talking about,” Rhonda interjected, to Carolyn’s surprise. “This is what Alex found this morning, Carolyn. Orestes and I have known about it. I guess we should’ve said something.”

  “But we didn’t, because Marta would always tell us this is her kitchen,” Orestes added.

  A sense of dread filled Carolyn as Rhonda opened the industrial refrigerator and began displaying containers of food. Some chicken that had just been prepared that morning; some shrimp that was just beginning to turn; hamburger meat that stank and looked to have been decomposing for days.

  “That’s your mortgage money, Carolyn,” Alex pointed out behind her. “Those are your expenses. And I really hope none of that’s being served to the customers.”

  “Oh, God—none of it is. Carolyn, you know me. You know I do a good job.” Marta bit her bottom lip, her eyes welling up with tears. “He doesn’t like me. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him so angry at me. But you know me, Carolyn. You’re my best friend. This man is so mean, he’s so stubborn—and he hates me!”

  The executive chef couldn’t speak any further, so overwhelmed with tears and sobs that she fell into Carolyn’s arms. She patted Marta soothingly on her back, but out of the corner or her eye she spied Rhonda rolling her eyes in frustration and Orestes stage-whispering to Alex, “That’s what we’re up against, boss!”