Into the Fire

by Amanda Usen

  Lila clapped her hands. “All right, everybody, great job. Clean up and go home. We have a lot of work ahead of us before the big day. You can safely expect to work like dogs for the rest of the week, so get some rest tonight.” His staff scattered, grabbing plates and carrying them back to the kitchen. By the time the dining room was cleared, the kitchen was halfway clean and it didn’t take long to put the place to bed.

  Jack grabbed a broom and started sweeping, an idea brewing in the back of his mind.

  He’d been as close to Lila as a person could get, talked food with her for hours and watched her work, but he was no closer to figuring out how she had worked such wonders with his menu. Would she be willing to stay on staff and consult on future Inferno menus? What could he offer her that might keep her here?

  He tucked the broom and dustpan into the corner of the dish room. A few minutes later, his dishwasher dumped the mop bucket and hung the mop on its hook. His cooks were gone. Jack turned out the lights and waited for Lila.

  “Goodnight and thank you.” He let the dishwasher out the back door with a smile that had nothing to do with a job well done. He and Lila might fail to communicate about work, but they had a perfect connection in bed. She had a tremendous effect on him, but he knew he affected her in an equally powerful way. After such a busy day, they could both use a shower, and the erotic possibilities offered by a removable showerhead were many. He was determined to explore every one in the name of getting clean with Lila. Then he was going to spread her out on his bed and begin the pleasurable process of getting dirty again. Rinse and repeat. All night. Or at least until she agreed to stay at Inferno.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “All right, boys and girls, this is it. Opening night. You want to know who will be sitting out in the dining room?” A tense grin creased Jack’s face. “Everyone.”

  Lila watched him pace down the length of the line and wondered how he was going to keep himself from jumping back there and cooking everything himself. She could feel the energy pouring off of him. His cooks could feel it, too. They were raring to go, impatient for the first ticket to hit the kitchen as they listened to Jack’s pep talk. “Tonight you will be feeding the people who pay attention to food in New York. They are expecting mistakes. Don’t make any.”

  Over the past week they had shown incredible focus. They had mastered every tweak, every nuance. Each dish was a work of art. Seasonal produce put bright colors on the plate, and rich sauces added shades of the coming fall. Edible garnishes added height and whimsy. She had poured her heart and soul into creating food Jack would love.

  She looked across the kitchen to where he now stood over the ticket printer, all but frothing at the mouth, daring it to throw something at the kitchen they couldn’t handle. She wanted to put her arms around him.

  She felt her eyes sting and her heart swell. One more week left at Inferno. God she hoped the New York Times reviewer was in the house tonight to put Jack out of his misery. She had tried every carnal trick in the book this week to get him to have a calm discussion with his father. He had responded with equal eroticism and superior stubbornness. Then, she had hoped Mr. Calabrese would drop by Inferno, so she could talk to him again. Jack needed to know about his heart condition. She had been tempted several times to tell him, but that would only increase the tension between Jack and his father. Unfortunately, Mr. Calabrese hadn’t even appeared once.

  Surely he’d come for Jack’s opening night. If he didn’t, she was going to hunt him down and lock him in the office with Jack until they found a way to actually communicate. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Jack appeared in front of her, and she smiled at him. “Ready, champ?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be, thanks to you. Listen, there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. This week has been really great, and I appreciate your hard work and support. You breathed life into the Inferno menu, and I’d like you to help me with the next menu, too.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, stuttered back to life, and then sank. “Are you offering me a job, Jack?” she asked evenly.

  “Well, yes, sort of. I know you’ll be busy running Personal Chef, but I’d like to continue working together.”

  “Working together? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” She watched his eyes darken. Hard as it was to turn down more time with Jack, she wanted more from him. “A job offer? Is that the best you can do?”

  He flinched. “Forget it. Never mind.”

  She grabbed his arm when he turned to go, wondering why her gibe had provoked such an extreme reaction. When he tried to pull away, she tightened her grip. “I’ll consider your offer.” She only had a week left to get Jack and his Dad to shape up, so she wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. “In fact, if you have a nice long chat with your father this week, I promise to accept it.”

  …

  Jack stared down at Lila, still smarting from his father’s words coming out of her mouth. Is that the best you can do? She just wouldn’t give up. All week he’d waited for an opportunity to reopen negotiations with her, but every time he edged their conversation around to work, she started talking about his father. She’d just done it again.

  His phone rang in his pocket, giving him an excuse to ignore her. He picked up when he saw the name on the display, assuming his mother wanted to wish him luck. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Jack, your father—” The clatter of pans made it difficult to hear, so he walked into the dish room. “What did you say?”

  “Your father had a heart attack. He’s at Presbyterian. Unconscious. He never should have left the Cleveland Clinic last week. Stubborn fool.” She sounded furious and terrified.

  Cleveland Clinic? Not Fiji? Goddamn it. Of course his father wouldn’t trust him with the truth. Jack clenched his teeth and looked around the kitchen, feeling helpless. The first order would come through any minute. Unbelievable. His father had figured out a way to ruin this for him too. Even as he had the thought, guilt besieged him. “I’m on my way,” he told his mother.

  He dropped the phone in his pocket and turned to find Lila beside him. “My father had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital. I have to go.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Jack!” The maitre’d called from the dining room. “I need the specials menu. The doors are about to open.”

  Jack closed his eyes, feeling sick. What if his father died without knowing if Inferno was a success or not? His thoughts swam endless circles in his head, making him dizzy. How could he be so damn petty as to think about his damn restaurant when his father might be dying?

  “I’ve got the menus,” Lila said. “You go. Call us when you know anything.”

  “We’ll make you proud, Chef.” Daniel urged him toward the back door.

  Jack took one last look at the line. Knowing his father, Jack would appear at his bedside and his dad would ridicule him for leaving his restaurant on opening night. In fact, he hoped that would happen. He imagined his father threatening to get out of bed and go cook the damn food himself, and Jack regretted dodging his calls all week. His skin prickled, then went cold. It was the same sensation he got when his brain acknowledged a bad burn the second before his synapses fired in pain. How bad was it going to hurt? It was his own damn fault. He should have listened to Lila.

  He turned to find her beside him. “C’mon, Jack. I’ll get you a taxi.” She took his hand and led him up the alley. As they reached the curb, a yellow cab pulled up. Several people got out. “Chef Calabrese!” a man held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Manfred Harris, New York Times. Are you standing outside to welcome your biggest fans?” The man’s eyes twinkled with good humor, but hopelessness struck Jack dumb. The food critic of the New York Times was about to watch him drive away from his restaurant on opening night. Professional suicide.

  Lila slid her arm around his waist and squeezed. “Our poor chef is having an attack of nerves and needed
some air. You know how it is with temperamental chefs.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure whether to give him a pat on the back, a slap on the butt, or a shot of tequila.”

  The critic laughed. “All of the above.” Two more taxis pulled up to the curb and another half-dozen people piled out of the cars. “Here’s the rest of my party. We can’t wait to see your menu, Chef.”

  Jack’s smile felt like concrete. “I hope you love it as much as I do.”

  He felt sick as he watched them file through the front door of Inferno. When the last customer disappeared through the door, Lila gave him a shove. “Go, Jack. We’ve got this.”

  He climbed into the car. “Presbyterian Hospital,” he mumbled.

  Tires squealed. As Jack buckled his seat belt, he felt something tickle his cheek. He brushed his face, and his hand came away wet. He stared at his fingertips, stunned. He hadn’t cried since his mother left. What did it mean that the mere thought of losing his father, a man who’d rarely had an encouraging word for him in his entire life, reduced him to tears? Would he never grow up?

  …

  Lila watched the taxi speed away.

  She’d watched Jack’s face when he spoke to the critic, and his miserable expression had frozen her heart. It was the exact same expression he got when he talked about his father, but he’d been talking about the menu.

  Hell no. She gasped with sudden understanding and flew back down the alley. If Inferno opened to bad reviews, Jack would be devastated. But running the new menu would be even worse. He would never feel like a success. Just like he didn’t feel he had deserved to win the culinary competition because he’d used her ideas, he wouldn’t feel he deserved any accolades for Inferno if they served her menu. His original menu was flawless. There had been absolutely no reason to alter it except to make him feel inadequate, and now her goal had changed. She wanted him to know the truth—his food was amazing. She held his future in her hands tonight, and she would do this for him—even though it might destroy his trust in her. Her heart hammered in her chest as she brushed away a tear.

  She was going to end up hurting him, after all.

  She burst in to the dish room and strode to the front of the line. “All right, people. The show must go on. Are you ready to do this?”

  The crew nodded, but she had never seen a more miserable-looking group. Luis’ dark eyes were snapping with frustrated grief and the usually easy-going Perry was pacing in the sauté station. Roz’s eyes were red-rimmed and watery, and she looked one sad thought away from a crying jag.

  Lila crossed her arms and leaned against the salad station. “Well, I’m not.”

  As one, their gazes snapped to her face—wide with disbelief, then suspicion.

  Suspicion was good—that meant they knew more about what was going on here than they were supposed to. Suspicion meant they wanted to protect Jack. So did she. She just had to convince them of that.

  Lila took a deep breath. “Oh, we’ll open the doors, all right, but we aren’t going to prepare any of the food you’ve been training to cook for the last week.” She looked at each of them in turn, watching shutters slam in their eyes, concealing their thoughts. “Exactly.” She answered their unspoken condemnation. “I agree one hundred percent. The first time I saw Jack’s original menu for Inferno, I wanted to weep at its perfection. Simple, stripped-down food, thoughtfully paired in winning combinations with classic sauces. Nothing over-the-top. Nothing crazy. Nothing that would ever disappoint. Its brilliance lies in the way the food is cooked. Perfectly. Consistently.” She smoothed a few escaping strands of hair back into her bun. “It broke my heart to ruin Jack’s food.”

  She heard a noise behind her and saw that Emily had joined them. “So why did you do it?”

  “We don’t have time for all that, but you all know Jack, right?”

  Five heads nodded.

  “Then you know he probably did something to deserve it.”

  One stifled chuckle.

  “My thoughts are with Jack and Mr. Calabrese right now, but we’ve got a job to do.” They were with her. She could see it in their eyes. “I want to cook the original menu. Jack’s menu.”

  For the longest ten seconds of her life, all she heard was silence. Then a cheer broke out.

  “No offense. Your food is good, too,” Daniel said.

  She snorted. “Damn straight it is. But it isn’t Jack’s food. Inferno is his baby. Time to give it life. Work your magic, guys.”

  “We’re all over it,” Perry called, already heading for his end of the line.

  Roz nodded from the middle. “We’ll make you proud.”

  Luis said nothing, but he was moving through the garde manger like a tornado.

  “I know you will. Best crew in New York.” Lila stepped back and watched them fly into action. As she listened to Daniel rattle off instructions, she wondered if her subconscious had planned this all along. Yes, she had added to Jack’s food, but she hadn’t taken anything away. She hadn’t changed the nature of a single dish. It wasn’t going to be a snap to change it all back in the span of a few minutes, but it wasn’t going to be impossible, either.

  Emily touched her arm. “I’ll grab the original menus and talk to the wait staff.”

  “Thank you.” She turned back to Daniel. “Can they do it?” It had been two weeks since the cooks had done it Jack’s way.

  His grin was reassuring. “Are you kidding? Jack drilled them so many times before you got here, they can cook his dishes in their sleep. We’ll keep the new soups for now, but the rest will be a piece of cake.”

  She bit her lip, besieged by doubt. “What about the wait staff? If they can’t communicate the dishes to the guests, we’re screwed.”

  “Same deal. All of the servers came over from other Calabrese restaurants. They are absolute pros. If they can’t memorize a menu in ten minutes, I’ll fire them,” he said cheerfully. “However, let’s put an incentive in place, just to make sure. Hey!” He called to the nearest server. “Spread the word. A hundred bucks to the server who makes the fewest mistakes tonight.”

  Lila grinned. “You are a genius.”

  “Part of the job description.”

  “You need anything from me?” she asked.

  He glanced at the chaotic, barely-controlled frenetic fury of the Inferno hot line and shook his head. “I think you’ve done enough.”

  Lila laughed.

  Daniel’s expression became serious. “You did the right thing.” He took a breath. “But Jack is going to kill you.”

  “I know. I just hope he forgives me when the reviews start rolling in.” She shooed him away. Daniel needed to be in the eye of the storm directing the action, not standing talking to her. “Go on, get in there. Make it happen.”

  As he zipped out of sight, a terrifying possibility occurred to her. Her knees buckled, forcing her to brace a hand on the counter for support. What if the reviews were bad? Changing her competition menu at the last minute had resulted in disaster. What if she was making a huge mistake again?

  Her gaze darted around the noisy kitchen, settling on the cooks hustling behind the line who were clearly thrilled to bring Jack’s vision to life, and joy rose within her. Her conviction returned, and she knew it stemmed from both her faith in Jack’s brilliance and her love for him. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, signaling a text. Jack. She hit view. Still waiting. Everything under control?

  Jack would never see this as a gift of love—he would see it as betrayal. Heart pounding, she texted back. Absolutely.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “He asked for you.” His mother was sitting by his dad’s bedside, holding his hand. The image struck a chord in his memory. For the first eight years of his life, they had often held hands, but he hadn’t even seen them in the same room together for years.

  The nurse had told him only one visitor was permitted, so he had meekly entered the visitor lounge then doubled back to find his father’s room when she wasn’t looking. The old man looke
d pale. His silver hair was swept back from his forehead. There was an IV in his hand and electrodes taped to his chest. He looked frail…until he opened his eyes.

  Even in his weakened condition, his dad’s hazel gaze cut through him. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.” It was ironic that he had felt an irresistible compulsion to rush to the side of a man who didn’t want him here.

  “But I’m glad you are.” His father’s voice trailed off, leaving Jack staring at him in disbelief. His heart felt lodged in his throat, too tight to allow the passage of anything, even words. His eyes began to sting, but now that he knew what crying felt like, he staved off the tears.

  “You’ll need to watch the restaurants.”

  “Of course.” Disappointment turned his grief to irritation. His father was glad he was here so he could give last minute instructions, probably hoping there was something he could say to keep Jack from mucking up the business while he was under the knife. However, even if he was cruel enough to antagonize his ill father, he knew nothing he said would make any difference. Jack could do a stellar job running all five restaurants, and his father would never admit it. Nobody could do anything better than the great Andrew Calabrese.

  His father’s eyes slowly opened. “Jackson…I was wrong.” A machine began to beep faster in the background.

  His mother held up a hand. “Andrew, I’m all for mending fences, but you should probably wait until they clean out your arteries.”

  His father shut his eyes again. The machine slowed down, and Jack breathed a little more easily. “I wasn’t in Fiji. I was in Cleveland with your mother. At the heart clinic. I’ve been trying to control the progress of the disease with drugs, diet, and exercise, but it’s time to take more drastic measures. But you need to know that’s why I haven’t eaten more than a bite of anything at your restaurant. Lila told me I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”