“I don’t have a comment,” Marlee said before Constance could continue.
Eli raised his eyebrows in her direction.
“On anything,” she added quickly.
“I’m just calling to confirm that Eli Howard is the man you married in Vegas,” Constance continued.
"Please, don’t go there with this. Please,” Marlee said.
“We got the name from Scott Bishop,” Constance continued, her voice quieter. Like she was letting Marlee know so it didn’t blindside her.
Still, it totally blindsided her.
Marlee’s blood seemed to stop pumping. As if she didn’t already have a load of reasons to dislike her ex, he was still piling them on.
“Still no comment.” Marlee held firm.
“Who is it?” Eli asked.
“It’s the paper,” she mouthed back.
Eli slipped the phone from her ear while Constance continued speaking.
He held Marlee’s cell to his own ear. “She said no comment.”
His expression went dark. Scary dark. Then he pushed the end button and handed the phone back to her.
“They know it’s you,” she said, tucking her phone away.
“Yep.” He stared at the grill.
“I’m sorry, Eli,” she said. And she was. Really sorry her circumstances were about to take over more than his bedroom and some closet space.
“Not your fault, Mar,” he said.
Then he did the quiet thing again. She didn’t try to fill the space with words. This time, she just let things be.
Chapter Twelve
Ten Weeks Until the Divorce Becomes Final
Working in a kitchen was not super fun. Working in a kitchen actually pretty much sucked. And not just because she was Marlee and kitchens were kind of her nemesis, either. Eli might be all quiet and thoughtful in his daily life, but in his kitchen? He was all about barking orders and demanding precision. If he hadn’t been directing his barking toward her a good part of the time, she probably would’ve found it sexy. A guy who knew what he was doing directing a staff who knew exactly what they were doing? Yeah, hot. And then there was Marlee, who had no idea what she was doing, which made the barking of the orders run like a cheese grater over her skin. Yes, she’d mastered the use of a grater and could now shred cheddar so it looked like it came in one of the bags from the grocery store. This was a skill she never thought she’d take pride in.
She’d never known there was a wrong way to grate cheese. Turned out, there was. There was also an incorrect way to wash the pots and pans. And a wrong way to stir the soup. And a wrong way to use words, too. The staff were all, “Yes, chef,” and “behind,” and “hot plate.” Marlee had learned the first day not to call him Eli in the kitchen when the staff all looked at her like she’d violated the cardinal rule of kitchening.
Eli hadn’t seemed to care, but she didn’t like the not-so-nice looks. She picked up the “chef” thing pretty quickly. Then Eli had looked at her funny, but he didn’t correct her. And given that he corrected everything, she figured that meant it was what she was supposed to do. Working in a kitchen was crazy.
She tossed another batch of slivered almonds over yet another tray of chicken breasts. Eli had an assembly line going and her only job was to almond the chicken. Chicken that looked freaking amazing all nestled in a tray of cream sauce. Her stomach rumbled. Starving was a distinct possibility if she didn’t get something to eat soon.
That’s the one thing she hadn’t expected from working in a kitchen—she was hungry all the time.
And to top it all off, even though what Eli paid her seemed totally fair, by the time his bookkeeper got done taking out all the money for the government, there wasn’t nearly as much as Marlee had thought there’d be.
When she’d asked Eli about it, he had explained some blah-blah about taxes and benefits.
She tried to understand, but the bottom line was the same—her paycheck was pitiful.
“Less almonds.” Eli stopped behind her. “Spread them out more.”
Less almonds? She was literally putting on the exact number of almonds he’d shown her, in the exact same spots.
“Yes, chef,” she said instead of saying what she really wanted to say about him micromanaging the almonds. She didn’t glance at him, because if she did, two things would happen. One, she would tell him to lay off because the almonds were exactly as he’d shown her. And two, if she looked his way, she’d get all tongue-tied because he was in his chef’s jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair was wrapped in a bandana thing that made her stutter and want to beg him for a Vegas repeat every time he wore it. Which was stupid, because she didn’t really like him when he wore it.
Her stomach growled again, the lightheaded, haven’t-eaten feeling making her sway just a tad. Three more trays and she’d be done screwing up his almonds. She flicked each slivered almond individually now, ensuring each one landed with an appropriate amount of space between it and the others. It was like painting. Art. If she thought of it as almond art, she didn’t want to strangle Eli quite so badly.
“Mar?” he asked.
She tossed the last almond on her current casserole masterpiece. “Yes, chef?”
He didn’t say anything. Dammit. She hated when he did this. She was going to have to look at him.
“Marlee.” Man, he never used her full name. She pursed her lips. What had she messed up this time? The almonds were going exactly where he’d asked.
She flicked one last almond sliver in defiance and braced herself for the hit of sexy Chef Eli.
Sexy Chef Eli wasn’t barky, his eyebrows were all furrowed. “You feeling okay?”
Food was a necessity. She shouldn’t have skipped breakfast, but she got up late and it was Monday and that meant she had a corner coffee delivery for Bert and his friends. And with her weird work schedule, her body clock was all wonky. The last week had been crazy busy with events every day. Staying up way late and getting up again early for the next round.
“Marlee.” Now, he was barky again.
She gave an internal eye roll. “Yes, chef?”
“You didn’t answer my question.” He stalked closer, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead.
She batted it away. “I’m fine. Starving, that’s all.”
Using the inside of her elbow, she brushed a stray hair that had fallen from the side of her hairnet.
No touching of the hair with fingers when in the kitchen. Eli’d made that clear on her first kitchen day.
“I’ll go grab something when we’re done with these,” she said.
Jase kept Lothario at the flower shop next door while Marlee was in the kitchen. Lothario loved it there. Customers lavished him with attention, and he wasn’t stuffed in Eli’s office. Once she finished these, she would grab the sandwich she’d made that morning—she hadn’t burned the peanut butter and jelly—and go hang out with her dog for a while.
“You’ve been doing your inhalers and stuff?” Eli asked, like he had been the one managing her asthma for all these years.
Of course, she’d been doing her inhalers and “stuff.”
“Yeah,” she replied.
Eli stared at her for a moment. She stared back, making it a point to exaggerate the motion. He might be the chef, and he might be her husband, but he was also being super weird.
His sneakers squeaked against the sealed cement floor as he turned, grabbed a take-out box, and dished up a heaping mound of chicken divan. He didn’t take time to carefully put the slivered almonds on top like Marlee had been doing. Like he told her to do. Nope, he got away with just slopping a handful on top.
Marlee glared at his back and went back to flicking the almonds.
At least they didn’t have to serve at this event. This was a drop and go, and then she could sleep for three days. After that, she’d have a girls’ night with Velma, Heather, and Claire. Then she’d come back and muddle through again.
“Eat.”
He pushed the open tray toward her, a fork sticking out the top.
She raised her eyebrows at him. Yes, she was starving. No, he did not get to boss her around. Even when the bossing was something she’d actually want to do.
“Please,” he said softer.
Fine. She’d eat. But only because she was really hungry. She reached for the tray. The room went a little wobbly, like when she couldn’t breathe and the dizzy spells started. But she could breathe just fine.
Tired and hungry and working her butt off. It’s times like this she missed money.
Not enough to go live with her parents or—God help her—Scotty until the divorce was final. But enough to wish she had some green bills in her wallet beyond the ones with an Andrew Jackson.
“Stool.” Eli was all barky again. He should just go hang out with Lothario and they could bark together and hump things.
Ack. No.
Visions of Eli in those positions were strictly off-limits. Especially barky Eli in his bandana and chef’s jacket.
Marlee started to move to go grab the stool Eli wanted. He touched her arm before she even got a step away. “Not you. The stool’s for you.”
Oh, well, that was kind of sweet.
Mark, his sous-chef that day, handed over the stool.
Eli gently guided Marlee to sit, like he hadn’t been grouching at her about almonds three minutes earlier. Before she could reach for the fork, he had a slice of chicken speared at the end of it, waiting at her lips. She slid her gaze to him. Totally ridiculous. He was being totally ridiculous.
Still, Eli in his chef gear feeding her? She opened her mouth, closed her eyes, and bit into the chicken as soft as butter with creamy sauce, almonds, and asparagus. There was definitely a visceral response going on inside of her to this food. If it was true that she could burn anything—and oh boy, it was—then it was just as true that Eli could cook anything. She didn’t moan, but damn, she came close.
“You’re absolved.” She wiped at the edge of her mouth with her fingertips, making a mental note that she was no longer scrubbed in and would need to re-scrub in so Eli didn’t lose his mind.
“Absolved of what?” His eyebrows furrowed.
Eli didn’t seem to even notice she’d wiped her lips with her fingers. Sexy, concerned Chef Eli was someone she could get used to, especially when he fed her. He held a napkin out to her—okay, apparently, he’d noticed.
She dabbed the paper against her lips.
“For bossing me around with the almonds.” She took the fork from him, practically Hoovering the chicken. “You can boss me around all you want if I get to eat this.”
With her blood sugar stabilizing, the dizziness began to subside.
“Grab us a water,” he said to one of the other staff. A lot of the bark was missing this time.
He passed the bottle of water to her. She uncapped it, taking a long drink.
“Can I talk to you in the office?” he asked.
Shit.
“Is it ’cause I brought up the almonds?” she asked, her mouth still full.
“Mar.” He jerked his head toward the glass partitions of the small room in the back that he used as an office. “Alone?”
“It’s because I screwed them up, isn’t it?” And this is what it was like to get fired. Damn.
She grabbed the rest of the boxed chicken—if he was going to let her go, she was totally taking the chicken.
He strode to the office. She followed, still noshing on the chicken, the water bottle capped and tucked in the pocket of her black apron. Eats, the name of his catering company, embroidered on the front.
Her heels tapped against the floor. Fired. Fired. Fired, they seemed to echo.
Yes, she wore her heels because they matched the T-shirt with his logo. The one he made all of his workers wear when they were in the kitchen.
“It’s fine if it’s not working out, but I can’t eventually pay you rent if you don’t keep paying me.” Also, she couldn’t buy gas. Or coffee for Bert and his friends. Or Lothario’s special dog food. Or pretty much anything else.
Eli closed the door, which was kind of funny given that the office was totally glass and everyone could see in anyway.
“You need to take a day off. You’re working way too hard.” He sat on the edge of his desk, his hands gripping the dark wood on both sides of his thighs. He kept the office as organized as the kitchen—everything in its place at all times.
Marlee perched in the chair next to his desk, setting the box of chicken on the tabletop so she could finish. “I’m not working harder than you.”
“You almost passed out.” At least barky Eli was gone. She liked this Eli much better. Still in his sexy clothes, without the edge.
She chewed a bite. Swallowed. Studied how he’d just chucked a bunch of nuts at the plate. He was wrong. She hadn’t almost passed out. The dizzy had just gotten to her. Now that she had eaten, she’d be better. Unless he got grumpy about almonds again.
“I did not almost pass out. I just don’t get to taste the food while I work like you do.” Not that she held it against him, but she noted all those individual spoon calories and, frankly, envied them.
He pressed his palm against the back of his neck, triceps bunching through the polyester of his chef jacket. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. Let’s just go back. Start over.”
“So are you firing me or sending me home with pay and I come back tomorrow?” She gestured at him with the tines of the fork.
“Take tomorrow off.” He crossed his arms. “And take the rest of the day today so you can get some rest.”
“But you’re still paying me?” Look, she didn’t mean to be pushy, but her tank was on empty and she’d spent all her money on Bert’s coffee and Lothario’s vet bill to remove his cast. At least he didn’t thump around on three legs anymore.
“Yeah.” He nodded.
“Perfect.” She stood. “See? You feed me and I’m not even a little dizzy.” She did a little bounce to prove her point.
Judging by the way his eyes thinned, he wasn’t amused.
“You think you can bring some of this home for dinner?” She lifted the now empty box, ignoring his reaction to her bounce.
The edges of his lips twitched. There it was. He wasn’t really mad. He never really was.
“I’ll come up with something for dinner,” he said.
“Or I can try spaghetti again?” She was pretty sure she knew exactly where she’d gone wrong.
“Don’t touch the stove. I’ll bring dinner.” He opened the door.
She lifted her keys from the cup thingy on his desk.
“And maybe some of those cupcake things?” she asked.
Those looked amazing. All German chocolate goodness that made her wish she could pop on a plane and go to Europe.
“Sure.” He had a half smile going on that paired really well with the bandana.
She grabbed the bottle of water, tugged off her apron, and hung it on the hook by his desk. “Bring extra of those.”
Now, he was fully smiling. “See you at home.”
Home. One word gave her warm fuzzies all over. She decided to revel in it instead of worrying about what would happen when she got money again and had to move out.
She made her way to Jase’s flower shop, yanking off the hairnet along the way. Shoving the door open, the perfume of flowers drifted over her as she hurried into the shop.
“Lothario.” She opened her arms, dropping to her knees. “My baby.”
Lothario scampered straight for her, his paws slipping just a bit on the floor. He licked her cheek.
“Mommy missed you, too,” Marlee said.
“Your dog defiled the vase holding a dozen roses earlier,” Jase mumbled.
“Did he break it?” Gah, someone please tell her he hadn’t broken anything. She was fresh out of cash until her next paycheck.
Heck, there wasn’t even any change for Eli’s coin-operated washing machine. The fact that those
even existed was a freaking travesty. Who had to put in quarters to run a load of whites? That should be free.
“No, he just needed some privacy.” Jase stood back from a floral arrangement the size of the ones Marlee’s mom kept in the foyer. Marlee used to love looking at the flowers that changed every other day. Now? Now, she realized that the kind of money her parents spent each week on flowers alone would pay for a decent apartment downtown for her and Lothario.
Not that she’d spoken much to her parents since they cut her off. A few check-in texts here and there, and consistently avoiding their dinner invitations, lunch invitations, brunch invitations. Why did she need to go eat with them when she had her own personal chef?
“That’s a bad doggy,” Marlee said, but Lothario knew she didn’t mean it. He was who he was, and everyone would just have to learn to accept that about him. As long as he didn’t hurt himself or break vases in the process.
“How are you, Marlee?” Aspen, her wedding planner, stood by a rack of vases. Marlee had been so intent on Lothario that she hadn’t even seen her there.
She hadn’t seen Aspen since everything fell apart.
“Hey.” Marlee scooped the dog in her arms and stood. “I’m good.”
Aspen had been amazing in the not-getting-married madness, handling the mess. She was also Brek’s sister, and she worked in an office on the same street as Jase, Eli, and Heather. Denver was like that—everyone was connected in some way.
“Is this your newest?” Marlee peeked into the stroller at the tiny baby sleeping there.
“It is.” Aspen shifted the stroller just a little so Marlee could get a better look.
Sleeping babies were Marlee’s kryptonite. Her ovaries did a little let’s-have-one jig. Marlee immediately told them to be quiet.
“Thank you again.” Marlee looked away from the sleeping baby to Aspen. “For everything you did after…you know.”
“It’s my job.” Aspen shrugged. “And you’ve thanked me enough. We’re good.”
Marlee could’ve hugged her. “Thanks.”
Take It Off the Menu: A sizzling, accidentally married rom com! (Mile High Matched, Book 3) (A Mile High Matched Novel) Page 12