by Allie Burton
He didn’t want to disappoint her, and he couldn’t think of another way out.
Raising his head, he glared at Parker. “Let me think about it. In the meantime, Isabel has prep work to do.”
A satisfied smirk slipped on her face. “Yes, I do.”
“I’ll be out in a second. I need to talk to Parker about my room.” Michael watched her sashay out of the office with the sexy back-and-forth of her hips. He was already in lust.
Once she’d left he approached Parker. “If I agree to pretend to have an affair with Isabel,” Michael choked on the words, “I want a promise from you.”
“What is it?”
“When my contract is over, I want you to guarantee Isabel will get the head chef position at The Heights.” He didn’t want her struggling to find work after exposing herself on reality TV. Plus, she loved Castle Ridge and she loved the restaurant. She’d be a great head chef and should have gotten the job.
His lungs seemed to tear like wax paper. He’d come to appreciate Castle Ridge, too. And Isabel. He was willing to sacrifice the head chef position for her. Play this game for her.
“You’re definitely not staying?” Parker sounded disappointed.
Michael had never realized it was an option. “Definitely not.”
Reeling, he left the office before letting the temptation steep in his mind. Stay in Castle Ridge? If Isabel got the head chef position as she deserved, there’d be nothing for him to do here. A career idea, his idea, poked his brain. A crazy plan that might not even be realistic. And even if the plan was realistic making his base in Castle Ridge would be insane.
No. He was a chef. And determined to be a great chef. Even if his dad wasn’t around to see his success. His confidence wobbled. Why did he need to prove himself to a man long-dead?
Entering the kitchen, he took in a deep breath, smelling garlic and fish and various spices. Most of the staff worked at their stations, organizing and preparing for service. He spied Isabel and Maria organizing the food among the stations and whispering. Taking a step forward, he paused to listen.
Maria wiggled her eyebrows. “The heat between the two of you is volcanic.”
“Is it?” A blush stole up Isabel’s cheeks.
His body responded with a flush of its own, remembering what else heated for her.
Maria tapped the side of the pan with a metal spoon. “Don’t even tell me you and Chef were checking expiration dates in the freezer.”
“I can’t say anything.” She angled closer to Maria. “Not yet.”
“Does that mean Tony and I can come out of the freezer, too?” Maria’s boisterous laugh caught the attention of the entire kitchen.
And Michael was spotted. “Is everything broken down into manageable storage formats, ladies?”
“Fine, Chef. Oui, Chef.” Maria backed away as if he had e-coli. She must dislike him fierce, and he was sorry he’d acted the jerk.
“See, you don’t want your staff scared of you, do you?” Isabel shifted the contents in a Cambro.
He’d already told Parker he’d agree to the fake flirtation. “No.”
She set the container down and stepped close to him. “So, you got everything straightened out with Parker about your bedroom?”
Michael’s muscles tensed. She must suspect that’s not what he’d talked about. She’d be upset to learn he’d made a deal on her behalf. “What? Why?”
She winked, a big, exaggerated flutter of eyelashes. She was already acting the part of seductress. “Just wanted confirm our game was in play.”
Heat struck, a pilot light flaring. He needed to get his head in the game, not his libido. Peering around, he checked to see whether the rest of the staff watched their interplay of words. If they weren’t watching now they would soon, because he and Isabel needed to put on a show. An almost X-rated show to satisfy Jorge and the network.
There was no going back now. Michael would play his part to free his future and secure Isabel’s career at The Heights.
He scorched like a chef’s blowtorch had been held to his body. Leaning into her, he whispered, “Game on.”
Chapter Nineteen
“What’s cooking, Chef?” Isabel patted Michael’s butt in the middle of the kitchen. Her over-the-top flirting was ironic, seeing she’d decided to give up flirting, to become passionate about her career. And yet, she enjoyed touching and teasing Michael.
“Hot cardamom escargot, but not as hot as you.” His wolfish grin displayed even, white teeth.
She buzzed knowing he was acting. Wishing it was real.
“You could melt my panties anytime.” Knowing the cameras caught every word and hoping the staff didn’t, she patted his butt again, a little harder, a little more noticeable.
She was doing this for Michael so the filming would conclude and he could get out of his contract with the network. He’d be free to do as he pleased. And hopefully, he pleased to stay in town with her.
The giddy, and probably unrealistic, thought pushed her forward. At the pass, she squeezed in front of Michael to snatch a diner’s ticket. “Excuse me, Chef-ee.”
He cracked a smile and covered his mouth to stop a laugh.
The Chef-ee was a bit too much. She couldn’t stop her own smile as she continued to work and imagine. This is how it could be for them. Every day. For the rest of their lives.
Her heart swelled as she imagined the future. That’s what she wanted. To be with Michael.
She chopped, she cooked, she flirted, and the evening passed in a hazy dream.
“LOI.” Michael read from the final slip. “Ordering…”
“Oui, Chef.” The entire staff responded, sounding relieved and tired to have the last order in.
A good night. A busy night. And a fun night flirting with Michael.
There’d been none of the normal relationship pressure because they knew the flirting was false, for the cameras. Yet, it was real, too. Every sexy glance, every skim of the hand, and every double entendre had made her hotter.
While the final cleanup work was being done, Isabel spotted Michael putting together food packages.
“What’re ya doing?” She fluffed her fingers through his hair. The chef hat was gone. The pressure of performing was gone, even though the cameras still rolled.
“Putting together leftovers and product expiring soon to deliver to the food pantry.” He hefted a gallon of milk into a box, not waiting for accolades or applause. His practiced movements exhibited he was familiar with the routine.
This should be what the cameras saw, what the television audience saw. The cameras might be recording, but the good stuff would never make air time. “You’ve done this before.”
He kept to his task. “When we’d tape cooking shows we’d go through dozens of takes. We always had extra food. Silly to let it go to waste.”
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she gave him a peck on the cheek. “You’re a sweet guy, Chef Michael.”
“Don’t tell anyone.” He surveyed the kitchen, confirming everyone else had left for the night. “Wouldn’t want to ruin my tough-guy reputation.”
Leaning in closer, she pecked his cheek again. “That’s why we’re flirting. So you don’t need to act the tough chef.”
“Is that why?” He grabbed her around the waist, and brought her in for a kiss.
His lips seized hers in a quick, no-nonsense, no-pretense smooch. Sparks, real sparks, flashed through her body. Still, she needed to be sure. “Real or fake?”
“Real.” He set her back on her feet. “So, we probably shouldn’t kiss here.”
Laughter bubbled out, the ridiculousness of their situation settled in. “Let me help.”
She helped him finish packing the food and loading it into his SUV. She imagined a future similar to this: working together, doing good things together, playing together, doing sexy things together. To each other.
“Do you want to come with?” He grabbed his old ski coat and opened the passenger door.
She wanted to spend more time with him. The real Michael. There wouldn’t be cameras in his car.
“Are you using me for manual labor?” Tossing a sassy grin, she got into the car.
“Slave labor.” He kissed her wholeheartedly on the mouth. “And sexual labor.”
“Oooh. I’m looking forward to the second part.”
His lascivious smile lit her insides. The real flirting was as fun as the fake flirting. He slammed the door and ran around to the driver’s side to get in. Once inside, he started the car and they were off.
The empty streets glittered with a dusting of snow. The quaint, Victorian-style streetlights shed light on the sidewalks. The shops and restaurants were closed. She enjoyed walking home in the quiet streets after a hard night at the restaurant. She relished the cold air after a hot night in the kitchen.
Castle Ridge was home. She didn’t want to find another job in another restaurant. If the reality television show wrapped up early, could she convince Michael to stay on as head chef? And would she be happy in the sous chef role?
“How did Castle Ridge lure you away from the bright lights of L.A.?” She counted the seconds, waiting for him to respond. If he glanced at her, he’d know it, too. No puffs of cold air came from her mouth.
He stared ahead, as if the straight road might curve at any moment. Except he knew these roads well. The only thing they needed to look out for were wild animals and black ice. Why the silence?
“Hello?” She rubbed her hand on his thigh. “Was that a difficult question?”
“Yes.”
“No cameras or microphones. Just me wanting to know.”
His hands adjusted on the steering wheel. “Well, I wanted to come home to see Danielle and Bri.”
“Of course.” They’d already discussed that angle. “And?”
“The idea of taking an underperforming restaurant and re-opening with a new kitchen and a new menu sounded challenging.”
She understood, because she’d thought the same thing. “You could’ve done that in L.A.”
“I wanted to help Parker.” His expression went serious, with a dimness in his eyes. “I wasn’t a very good friend to him.”
“You were one of his best friends in high school.” That was one of the reasons Danielle and Parker became so close.
Michael switched on his blinker and pulled to the side of the street.
Her lungs leaked like a punctured tire, deflating the mood. This wasn’t the food pantry, and if he needed to pull over for this conversation it was bound to get deep. She wanted to know everything about him, and yet knowing usually meant liking even more. Especially with him. “What happened?”
He laid his forehead against the steering wheel. “In high school, Parker revealed a secret I couldn’t handle.”
Her midsection tightened, as she waited to hear the big revelation.
“You’re his friend, too. You’ll keep his secret until he’s ready to tell.”
“Of course.” The three of them were in on the reality show secret. What was one more?
Michael lifted his head to stare. “Parker is gay.”
No bolt of lightning struck at the information. She hadn’t known, and yet the truth of his sexuality put a lot of pieces into place. “Makes sense.”
“So you didn’t know.” Michael banged his head against the wheel. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I thought since you worked for him all these years…”
The quietness of the street invaded the car. She put two and two together. Parker’s fake engagement, his failed marriage, his recent advances toward Danielle. He was a man trying to find himself in the world.
Michael straightened in his seat, and shifted his leg to stare at her. “The thing is…the thing is when Parker told me I rejected him and his friendship.”
“You were young.”
“I was wrong.” Michael gripped the steering wheel tight with white knuckles. He coughed and sniffed. “My dad’s insults had given me a skewed view. I was paranoid, and thought if I continued to be friends with Parker his reputation would rub off on me.”
She remembered when the two boys stopped being friends right before Michael left town.
“I told him I never wanted to see him again. Never wanted to be alone with him again. I was terrified of him.” Michael’s eyes shone with wetness. “Wrongly.”
Her heart broke for him. She wanted to hold and comfort. She wiped the tear from his cheek. “You’re here now. You’re friends again. You’re trying to help his restaurant.”
He heaved a shaky breath. “I don’t know if manning a reality show called Kitchen Catastrophe is helping.”
“Did you talk him into it?” She squeezed his thigh.
“No. Parker was interested in the deal before I came on board.”
“You took the job to help him.” Her belief in him healed.
“Yes. Partly.” Michael’s lips pursed. “I wanted to make amends with Parker, and the idea of helping save a hometown restaurant would be good for my damaged reputation.”
Her hand stopped moving on his thigh. “You had a damaged reputation?”
His heartbreaker image could only be good for his career. Women were his target audience. He was photographed on the town every night with a different top model or A-list celebrity.
Isabel had gloried in his success and drooled over his shows. Watching his dating antics had been a knife to her heart.
“An almost-tarnished reputation.” He spoke through clenched teeth.
She hadn’t heard any rumors. “What happened?”
“Hollywood is so different than Castle Ridge.”
“Y’think?” The place sounded heartless. Why did he love it so much?
“People’s morals are skewed.”
Her stomach twinged, unsure if she wanted to know more. Yet, she had to know, because she cared. She watched his profile as he put the car in gear and drove. “Your morals?”
He slammed the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “Sometimes even if you do the right thing you get accused of doing wrong.”
“If you’re innocent—”
“Doesn’t matter if the media hears the accusations and repeats it. Your credibility is lost.”
She hoped they were talking in generalities. By the lifting of his stern expression and furrowed brow she had doubts. “Are we talking generalities or something specific?”
He lifted his shoulders and dropped them with a heavy sigh. “Specific.”
“Specific to you?”
“Yes.” He pulled into the food pantry’s backlot and parked by the warehouse doors.
A single light shined on the vehicle.
He’d kept so many secrets. Confusion chafed into anguish. If he was going to tell her something huge, she wanted him to spit it out. “Are we going to play twenty questions?”
Shifting, he placed his left arm on the steering wheel and stared. The security light spotlighted his face with a harsh light. Worry lines etched around his eyes. “I had an assistant who propositioned me. A lot.”
She shifted, uncomfortable with her own propositions toward him. Real and fake.
“I put up with it because he was good at his job. And because of what I’d done to Parker years ago.”
He? She’d assumed his assistant had been female. The ingredients of the recipe of Michael started to come together. How he had to deal with and was scarred by his father’s insults about his profession choice and his manliness. How this scarring had caused him to react poorly to Parker’s announcement as a kid. And why Michael had continued to employ an assistant who’d made passes.
“I liked my assistant as a person and didn’t want to hurt him.” He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “No matter what my father thought, I’m not gay.”
After last night, she had solid evidence Michael wasn’t gay. Hard, solid evidence. An image of him thrusting into her made the chill in the car disappear.
“The situation got worse and I had to fire him.” His vo
ice scratched, sounding upset.
She wanted to reach out and take him in her arms. “Your reputation isn’t damaged because you fire someone.”
“It is if the person accuses you of sexual harassment.” Disgust threaded through his speech. “My assistant, who at one point declared his undying love for me, filed a lawsuit.”
She slouched in her seat and cuddled into her coat. “Oh, no.”
“It gets worse.” Michael yanked the keys out of the ignition. “He threatened to go to the media and out me.”
She shivered again, feeling the cold. Caressing his shoulder and running her hand down his arm, she tried to warm them both.
“I’ve built my image on being a nice guy, an easy celebrity to work with, and an eligible bachelor.” He raised his head and looked at her with red eyes.
She rubbed his arm harder, wanting to make his sadness and worry go away. The last part of his statement hit. No, punched. Bachelor. It’s who he was, even though she was now part of his life, if only a small part. “It’s not an image. It’s who you are.”
When he wasn’t pretending to be a jerk, and once the staff had gotten over their fear of the big-chef celebrity, they liked him. He’d brought new ideas into the kitchen and organized the chaos. He’d been reasonable working with Parker. And Michael was delivering food for the needy.
Bachelor. The word sunk into her gut and her psyche.
“As you’ve learned working with Jorge, perception is everything.” The bitterness in Michael’s tone could’ve balanced a Manhattan drink.
Her hand froze on his arm and dropped away. “Wait a second. I work for you. Will flirting with me for the reality show do you more harm in regards to the lawsuit?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. “I don’t care about my image anymore.” His gruffness told her he was sincere.
His sincerity ebbed in her bloodstream, creating a flow of warmth. She trusted him, believed he’d do the right thing.
Planting his lips on hers, he began convincing her. There were no cameras recording his actions. No producer directing the shots. It was just him and her being together. Being natural.