by Allie Burton
He seized her mouth with his, smothering her screams and he followed her into ecstasy.
* * *
Humming, Isabel peeled turnips in the kitchen. She couldn’t hide the constant grin on her face. After making love a second time, Michael had walked her home and kissed her passionately on her doorstep. She’d thought about inviting him inside, and she believed he would’ve taken up her invitation, except she didn’t want to appear clingy.
The person of her thoughts marched into the kitchen with a fake-stern expression. She knew it was fake by the sparkle in his eyes. “Who’s on the demiglace?” He didn’t even say hello.
Tony leapt. “Bringing it down, Chef.”
He didn’t acknowledge the good job. “What about the turnips?”
His harsh tone made her jump. The peeler slipped out of her hands and rocketed several yards. Her cheeks fried. She never messed up. “Working on it, Chef.” She snatched the peeler off the floor and took it to the sink.
“Work on it faster.” He pivoted and headed toward his office, taking the broad shoulders she’d clung to last night, the thick hair she’d run her fingers through, and the tight butt she’d squeezed.
She’d wished she could do everything to him again. Now. She wished she could take away his pretend-anger.
Maria nudged her shoulder. “Did you and Chef have a fight?”
Isabel stiffened. “Fight? No.”
She shook her head, trying to deny anything between them. She and Michael had spent less than five seconds in the same vicinity, and someone already detected she acted strangely. She scrubbed the peeler to avoid Maria.
“You two are awkward around each other.” Her narrowed gaze proved she didn’t believe the denial.
“No, no.” Isabel played it cool, she hoped. They’d agreed not to let anyone know what had happened between them last night. It was against kitchen rules, and the producer would only take advantage. He didn’t want their relationship exploited. “We’re good.”
What the exact nature of their relationship was, she wasn’t sure. She was willing to find out.
“What’s good?” Michael snuck up on them, this time wearing his black chef’s coat.
“We are.” She slapped his arm as if he was a buddy. “Chef.” She angled her chin to point at Maria, hoping he’d get the clue.
He swung his gaze toward the woman. His lips curled into a semblance of a smile. “Of course we are.” He sounded stilted. “Good, that is.”
She and Michael were terrible actors. How did he ever make it on TV? How were they going to pull off this we’re-not-having-sex act?
Her stomach turned and she jerked her head down. “Good.”
“Good.” He grimaced.
“Good?” Maria glanced between the two of them with furrowed brows.
“Maria,” He distracted her. “How is the terrine?”
“Almost ready, Chef.” She waved him to her station, and they continued their discussion.
Isabel forced herself not to watch, to focus on her mindless task. Except she couldn’t stop the images in her head. His expression as he entered her. Her fantasy. His ecstasy.
“Hellooo!” Betsy the bridezilla breezed into the kitchen like she had every right to be present. Her annoying voice rose higher. “Where’s Chef Mikey?”
Isabel’s hand slipped again. She put a huge gash in the turnip. At least she’d held onto the peeler this time. She wanted to peel bridezilla’s tongue off. The woman was engaged, and Michael was…hers.
Realization caused the peeler to slide down the turnip without a peel. He was hers for now. She didn’t know what the future would bring. They hadn’t discussed the near-present, let alone the future.
He swerved around from his position by Maria. “What’re you doing here, Betsy?” His horrified expression was comical.
Isabel coughed to cover a chuckle realizing she wasn’t worried.
Toying with her low-cut blouse, bridezilla shot her a disgusted expression. “Gross. I hope you’re not coughing on the food.” Betsy swayed toward him and placed her hand on his chest. “Right, Mikey? Isn’t that important in a kitchen?”
The woman’s attack seemed personal. She wanted to stir up trouble. In the kitchen and between Isabel and Michael.
“Um, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Throw the batch of turnips out and start again.”
Excuse me? She tried not to take offense at his harshness. She knew he was acting. “This took me a while. I covered my mouth. I would never—”
“Isabel.” His don’t-mess-with-me tone cut her off.
Offended, she tossed the peeler in the sink. The metal clattered. She picked up the peeled turnips and plodded to the garbage and threw them away. What a waste of time and vegetables.
Betsy slipped her a sneaky-troublemaking smile. “I figured while you were preparing the meals for dinner it would be a good time to talk about the food for my wedding.” Tiptoeing her fingers up Michael’s chin, she shot another mischievous scowl Isabel’s way. “Just the two of us.”
“Where’s Jorge, your fiancé?” Because bridezilla obviously needed reminding she had a fiancé.
She gripped his chin and yanked his head closer. “He has to work. And I thought of a brilliant idea for the appetizers.” Her voice cheered. “Crab and lobster stuffed mushrooms.”
He snatched her hand off his chin and patted the top. “Why don’t you wait in my office? I’ll be right there.”
“Excellent idea.” Her smirk stomped on Isabel’s ribcage. “We can have privacy.”
She gripped the edge of the sink. Calm down. He’s with you, and bridezilla is foolish and over-the-top. No way would he be interested.
He watched the woman leave and nodded at Isabel. “Follow me.”
“Betsy wanted to be alone with you.” Isabel didn’t want to spend another second with the bridezilla, especially if she kept putting her hands on him. She might take the knife and cut the woman’s fingers off.
“Please, Isabel.” He passed by her speaking quiet enough so no one else in the kitchen heard and walked toward the back. Instead of heading to the office, he opened the freezer door and held it open.
She followed him inside and rubbed her arms. “What’re we doing in here?”
Closing the door, he flicked on the light switch. “It’s the only place without a camera. Too cold.”
“Too cold for us, too.” One of the worst jobs in the kitchen was taking freezer inventory.
“It’s the only place to talk.” He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss.
Her cold shivers morphed to heated ones. She responded with the pent-up passion she’d felt the second he’d come into the kitchen. Sparks flew, and if they kept this up they were going to melt the product stored inside the freezer.
His lips claimed hers again. His hands moved from her arms to her lower back and then lower. He squeezed her ass pressing her core against his hardness. Wetness gathered between her legs.
Surprised by her instant response, she broke free, needing time to analyze. “This will appear suspicious. Both of us disappearing into the freezer.”
“You distracted me.” With a smile in his voice, he untangled his arms from around her. “I wanted to let you know Betsy is an actor paid to make our lives difficult.”
A laugh bubbled out of Isabel. “That’s why she acts so ridiculous.” Her mind flew in a million different directions. This information put a totally new spin on bridezilla. “And that’s why she has her hands all over you in front of her fiancé?”
“The producer, who is playing her fiancé, is desperate.”
“Her fiancé is the producer? He’s the jerk causing our problems?” She considered Michael’s problems her problems. They needed to work together.
“Jorge thinks a bridezilla scenario will increase ratings.” Shrugging, Michael avoided her gaze. “Especially since I won’t…”
She knew what he was about to say, knew why he’d been so angry at himself last night when the
y’d made out in the kitchen, knew why he refused to… “Have an affair in front of the cameras with me?”
He gave a tight-lipped nod, causing her body to become tender. He was standing up for her reputation and trying to protect her. He must care. But the prying lens of the cameras peered deep.
“Who else knows about the cameras? About bridezilla?”
“Only Parker. I’ll have to tell him you know, too.”
“Parker’s a friend. He should’ve told me.” Michael should’ve told her earlier.
He ran a finger down her cheek. “I don’t want your reputation damaged, especially when you become head chef at The Heights.”
His words jarred. If she became head chef that meant… “You’re leaving.”
“Of course.” His confirmation shafted through her, wounding her deeper than she thought imaginable.
She’d thought—hoped—now they were together, they might stay together. Have a real affair, if not a fake one in front of the cameras. Her eyes prickled and she blinked several times. She needed to pull herself together and accept the reality of the situation.
Sleeping with Michael did not mean happily ever after.
Chapter Eighteen
Isabel swept toward Parker’s office after leaving the freezer and slammed his door closed behind her. She needed to take her frustrated hopes out on something and someone. “I know.”
The pang in her chest grew stronger echoing a boom of frustration, anger, and lust. Not only didn’t Michael want their relationship on television, he didn’t want it to be known in the kitchen. With a warning not to share their relationship with anyone, he’d left her stewing in the freezer to meet with bridezilla. Her anger needed a target and Parker was available.
She repeated herself. “I. Know. Everything.”
The computer printout in Parker’s hands fluttered to the top of his desk. He raised his head and the flash of fear confirmed he had a suspicion of exactly what she knew.
She paced closer, placed her hands on his desk, and leaned forward. “Are there any cameras hidden in your office?”
“No.” He folded his hands together and twisted his fingers into a nervous weave. “How did you find out?”
“Michael told me last night.” Her face heated, remembering what she’d been doing when he told her, how she couldn’t wait to do it again.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You have a way of wheedling information out of people.”
Her eyebrows arched. “This isn’t about me.” She’d known Parker since grammar school, and had worked at The Heights for years. She cared deeply about this place, and him. They were friends. “I don’t understand why you would do such a thing.”
He dropped his head into his hands. His elbows slid out on the desk lowering his head inch by inch. His normally dapper shirt and tie were wrinkled. “I needed to save the resort and the jobs and my heritage.”
She softened toward him. The knife of his betrayal cut less deep. She knew how much he loved this place. “But this?”
“I came back to town and my parents were halfway through a deal to sell the lodge to a competing resort. They thought they were doing the right thing, because they wanted to retire and I had my own career outside of Castle Ridge.” Regret filled his tone. “When I read the details of the sale it raised red flags. My parents didn’t realize the other family would basically take over operations and lay everyone off.”
Oh my. She reached across the desk and took his hand. “So, all lodge employees would lose their jobs?” She’d lose her job.
Her mind flitted to the image of her resume going out several times. She was one step ahead of most employees. Except she didn’t want the lodge closed, and she didn’t want to leave Castle Ridge.
“I was desperate to stop the sale. I needed a large cash infusion.” He fisted his hand, and pressed it into the top of the desk. His parents had left him in an awful situation before retiring in Florida near her parents.
“Which the network provided.”
“Exactly.” He dropped his head into his hands. “They provided a large amount of cash so I could stave off the creditors.”
“And by remodeling the kitchen, they could sneak in cameras.” Things were starting to add up.
“Yeah.” He sounded small and afraid. “The remodel was the perfect excuse to have the employees sign new contracts.”
Resentment pushed the betrayal knife farther into her midsection in a slow burn. “Where you snuck in the television release.”
“I thought the show would help the restaurant and the lodge.” His expression crumpled. “I didn’t know they planned to call the show Kitchen Catastrophe.”
The burning flared into a roasted wasteland of burnt crispness between her ribs. “Cat-cat-catastrophe?”
A solid knock thudded, and the door opened. Michael slipped inside and closed the door. “You told him you knew.” No question, only resignation.
Parker stood and moved beside her. “You’re the one who told Isabel.”
“I had to.” Had she forced Michael’s hand when they’d started making out?
The crispness crumbled and stuck in her throat. Whirling around, she confronted him. “You didn’t tell me the name of the show was Kitchen Catastrophe.”
The title alone spelled trouble. The producer didn’t want the restaurant to be a success. The chill returned surrounding her in a block of solid ice.
“I didn’t know at first.” Michael held up his hands. “I figured it was a cooking show on a cooking channel. They didn’t need drama and sex and fighting. The stuff you see on other reality television shows. At least, none of the shows I’ve been involved with.” His face fell. “I was wrong.”
His injured expression had her softening with sympathy. Between Parker and Michael, she’d become a gooey mess. Michael had been duped and he felt horrible about his part. She wanted to put her arms around him and tell him everything would be okay.
But would it?
The clock on the wall ticked. Parker’s email dinged. And a million ideas pressed in and out of her head like a sieve. How could everything be okay when both of their careers and Parker’s family heritage were on the line?
She slapped her hands against her thighs startling Michael and Parker. “What are we going to do?”
“My new agent has been researching a way out. I can ask her to take a look at the lodge’s contract with the network.”
“Why would the network want the show to be a catastrophe? Why do they want to see you fail?” She tossed out questions, trying to figure out the network’s reasoning because Michael was the only one with a well-known name involved. “What is the goal of the network and producer for the television show?”
Parker slumped back into his seat. “Something they can make a ratings blockbuster. For example, the problem bride.”
Gritting her teeth, she held in a scream. “I can’t take another minute of that woman.”
“The major dramatic issue can’t be sanitation or cleanliness. We can’t risk the reputation of the lodge, or everything we’ve done to get it back will be wasted.” Parker’s firm tone revealed he’d given escape options a thought.
No bridezilla.
No uncleanliness.
And she hated working with the fake jerk-head chef.
What else would bring drama and wouldn’t harm the lodge or restaurant’s reputation?
The tick, tick, tick of the wall clock timed with the beat of her heart. Her thoughts went in one direction and then the other searching for an answer. She flipped through the options again.
Her heart thrashed the answer in rapid succession. She took Michael’s hand and squeezed. Staring into his eyes, she said, “We should…pretend…to have an affair.”
She used the word pretend to throw off Parker. Michael didn’t want the state of their real relationship to get out, and finally she understood why. Because of the cameras.
“No.” He tossed her hand aside. “Having a pretend affair in the ki
tchen would ruin your professional reputation.”
She quirked her head. “What about yours?”
Shrugging, his cheeks reddened. “I already have a reputation.”
With the ladies.
He didn’t even need to say it. She understood. Understood and was jealous. Was she one of many? Was their real relationship something for him to pass the time while stuck in Castle Ridge?
Or, her heart shivered with hope, would pretending to have an affair make him realize what he could have if he stayed? He could have the reality show contract end, he could have the head chef position at The Heights, and he could have her.
Parker stood and paced around his desk. “The producer loves the concept of you two flirting. He’s asked about your relationship.”
“Of course he did.” The disgust in Michael’s tone demonstrated his feelings.
She ran through the list again. They didn’t have a lot of options. If the show was boring, they’d be stuck in this reality-hell forever. The bridezilla and a mean Michael would drive her crazy. While flirting with him would be fun. Kind of a turn on. Especially if no one realized the truth.
Their affair wasn’t fake. It was real.
She sidled beside him and caressed his arm gently. “Flirting would be better than dealing with bridezilla.”
“This wouldn’t be just flirting. We’d need to be over-the-top tempting each other.”
She pushed his weakness. “You wouldn’t have to be a mean jerk anymore. People on staff would like you.”
His smile only curled at one end.
“Please Michael.” She put on an extra-pouty pout. “It might even be fun.”
* * *
Michael remembered how those pouty lips had been on him last night. How could he resist Isabel’s request? He had conditions. Conditions she didn’t need to know about.
He leaned in and whispered, “Too much fun is what I’m afraid of.” The two of them flirting and pretending to have an affair while having a real affair could get confusing. And excruciatingly hot.
And possibly embarrassing.
Questions torpedoed inside his head. What if the lawsuit followed him here? What if they thought he was harassing Isabel at work, similar to what he’d been accused of doing before?