Hot Under Pressure

by Louisa Edwards

  Forcing himself to relax, Beck reached for the phone, sure that Win was right. Except the number on the display wasn’t Jules’s, or even Max’s.

  “Who is it?” Winslow asked nervously, probably reacting to the frown Beck could feel tightening his brow.

  “It’s the restaurant,” he said slowly, clicking the Talk button and holding the phone up to his ear. “Beck.”

  “Oh, thank goodness I caught you.”

  Nina Lunden’s warm, motherly voice filtered into Beck’s consciousness like a sip of peppermint tea—bracing, comforting, and sweet.

  “Nina. What can I do for you?”

  “That’s what I love about you, sweetie. Always straight to the point!”

  She gave a little laugh, and Beck felt his lips twitch in response. Nina was … something else.

  When she’d hired him to work the hot line at Lunden’s Tavern seven months ago, she’d barely glanced at his resume, full of his work history and military service. She’d tossed the papers on the table between them and leaned forward on her elbows, faded blue eyes fixed on his face.

  “Well, Henry Beck? Are you ready to be a chef?”

  “Just Beck,” he’d told her. “And I’m ready. You won’t be sorry you hired me; I’ll never let you down. I’m a hard worker, Mrs. Lunden.”

  “Oh, I know you are.” She’d cocked her head to one side, those kind eyes of hers going shrewd and sharp. “The question is, are you ready for what it means to be a chef, with the bunch of yahoos we’ve got working here? And I say that with love, since my husband and son are part of the kitchen crew.”

  “I’m ready,” he’d repeated, as firmly as he could.

  Her laugh bubbled up, surprisingly youthful and vibrant. “I wonder. You’ve got a very stoic look about you, Beck. I’m not sure how long we’ll let you keep it, or how you’ll like losing it. But there’s no way to know unless you give it a try.”

  She’d led him back into the kitchen and had her husband, Gus, run him through some hands-on tests of his culinary skills, and that was it. He was hired.

  But he’d never forgotten the way Nina Lunden seemed able to peer right inside him, or the way she’d accepted him almost immediately, without hesitation.

  That kind of acceptance wasn’t something he’d had a lot of in his life, and he treasured it when he came across it. Nina had a special place in Beck’s heart from that day on, and even if he didn’t show it much, he had a feeling Nina knew.

  Remembering all that made Beck gentle his voice now. “Nina, tell me what’s going on. If I can help, I will.”

  Her breath caught audibly, and something in Beck’s chest tightened like a fist. “Oh,” she choked out. “Well, that’s good to hear. Because we’re having a bit of a problem here at the restaurant.”

  Suddenly unable to be sitting, Beck got to his feet and started to pace, the hotel carpet thick and soft under his bare toes. “What kind of problem?”

  “It’s Gus,” she said softly, confirming Beck’s fears. “He’s been having dizzy spells, a little trouble breathing. And yesterday, he said his chest was feeling tight. Beck, I’m worried about his heart.”

  Nina had good reason to worry. A mere month ago, Gus had landed in the hospital after collapsing in the restaurant’s kitchen with severe angina. It had kept him off the Rising Star Chef team, and he’d stayed home in Manhattan to run Lunden’s Tavern with a skeleton crew while the rest of them competed.

  “He was supposed to be taking it easy,” Beck said. “Let the crew handle the heavy lifting and the worst of the work.”

  “I know,” Nina fretted. “But he’s so damned stubborn! And I can’t watch him every second—I need to be out front, managing the servers and the bar, and the reservation line’s been ringing off the hook. You wouldn’t believe how much business is booming, just from our team having made it so far in the RSC! We’re packed every night. Which is what we wanted. But it’s taking its toll on Gus, and I’m just worried…”

  “That’s all you have to say.” Beck stopped her before the tremor in her voice could get any worse. “I’ll catch the first flight to New York and get back in the kitchen to help out with the rush and keep an eye on Gus.”

  And if Beck was surprised at the need to muscle through a painful stabbing in his gut at the thought of running out on Skye after last night, well, fuck it. The Lundens were the closest thing to a family that Beck had found in years, and Skye had made it pretty clear that she wanted him out of her life for good.

  Ignoring the voice in his head that whispered how Skye hadn’t seemed all that through with him out in the water last night, Beck tucked the phone against his ear and started packing the few things he’d removed from his duffel with swift, economical movements.

  Before he could even get his toothbrush off the sink, though, Nina was saying, “No, no, that’s not what I’m saying.”

  He paused, his attention caught by Winslow, curled over his own knees on the bed, hunched like he was trying to disappear.

  “What are you saying, Nina?”

  Her deep, steadying breath echoed through the cell network and into Beck’s ear. “I don’t need you to come home. I called to ask you for something else, because I know I can count on you.”

  Unsure what to say, or how to say it without betraying the weird lump in his throat, Beck turned away from Win to stare at the dull painting of the Golden Gate Bridge that hung on the wall beside the closet. “I promised I’d never let you down,” he managed, ashamed of the rasp in his voice.

  “And you haven’t,” Nina said. “Not once. Which is why I need you to do something for me. It won’t be easy, but it’s for the best.”

  Beck braced himself as a familiar calm settled over his mind. He’d felt like this in the Navy, sometimes, waiting for orders.

  And just like back then, he knew that no matter what Nina asked of him, he’d do whatever it took to deliver.

  *

  “You look like crap on a cracker.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Skye kept her focus on doing up her white chef’s jacket. The stupid buttons kept jumping out of her shaking fingers. “Thanks bunches, Fiona. That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear the morning I’m officially on the hook for the entire team, carrying all our hopes and dreams for the RSC into the finals.”

  The morning after I cavorted naked in San Francisco Bay with the husband I’m about to divorce.

  “Slap a little makeup on her, she’ll be fine,” Rex said, running a dismissive hand through his perfectly wavy blonde hair.

  “Easy for you to say,” Fiona retorted. “You always look like you’re just modeling those checked pants and white coat for Chef’s Illustrated.”

  Grasping Skye’s elbow, Fiona steered her away from the rest of their teammates, tugging her to the back of the competition kitchen, a glint of concern in her pale eyes.

  “I’m fine,” Skye said, hoping to pre-empt the interrogation she could see hovering on her friend’s tongue.

  Fiona made a sound that seemed completely incongruous coming from her tiny, pixie mouth. “Right. Tell me another one.”

  Normally, Skye would have no problem dragging this out. Normally, she’d make Fiona cross her arms and huff and cajole and do all those things they’d worked out over the course of their friendship to signify that they were about to have a confidential heart-to-heart.

  But the urge to confess had been riding Skye’s back all morning, and today was not a normal day.

  “Okay, look. Last night, after you guys left for the Ape…”

  As fast as that, she stalled, the confession drying up in her mouth. But Fiona, never one to miss an opportunity, kept it going.

  “The Ape, where you didn’t join us…” Her gaze sharpened on Skye’s face as she continued, “Where Beck hung out for an hour or so, and then ditched before the rest of his team had even ordered their third round. Am I getting closer?”

  “Yes!” The word exploded out of Skye’s chest with a sensation similar to relief, b
ut a lot spinier. “He … found me. We talked. And then we…”

  Fiona waggled her eyebrows delightedly. “Yeah? That’s my girl! I told you, just needed to get it out of your system.”

  Skye sagged, trying to get her breath back. “Right. And now that we’ve … done that. Our systems should be clear.” She grimaced. “Too bad I can’t say the same about my conscience.”

  “What?” Fiona stared, aghast. “Come on, babe. Is this about Jeremiah?”

  “Of course it’s about Jeremiah!”

  If Fiona rolled her eyes any harder, she was going to be staring at the back of her own skull. “Skye. Sweetie. We have been over this and over this. As good old Jerry would be the first to tell you, it’s not cheating when you’re in an open relationship. You haven’t betrayed him, if that’s where your dramatic little brain is going with this.”

  Skye bit her lip. “I know I haven’t betrayed Jeremiah. We have an agreement.”

  Fiona’s exasperated expression softened. “Knowing it and feeling it are two different things though, huh?”

  “Maybe I didn’t betray Jeremiah, but I betrayed myself.”

  “Oh babe. It must be pure hell to have a conscience.”

  That pulled a tired laugh out of Skye. Fiona punched her lightly in the shoulder, clearly feeling that her job there was done.

  “Now, come on, boss lady. We’ve got a final challenge to hear all about.”

  Tilting her chin from side to side, Skye popped the vertebrae at the base of her neck and rolled her shoulders. “Okay. I’m ready. No more obsessing—it was a one-time thing, and now it’s really over.”

  “Right. So long as you win.”

  Skye shot her friend a what-are-you-doing-to-me look, and Fiona raised her hands in surrender.

  But Fiona was right, Skye mused with a shiver as they rejoined their team and waited for Eva Jansen to swoop down on them with the details of the final challenge.

  It was over and done with … so long as Skye won the competition. And so long as she ignored last night’s most upsetting revelation—that she was still in love with her husband.

  Chapter 17

  Beck would rather be facing down angry Marines demanding second helpings of rehydrated eggs. He’d rather be cleaning the bilge on the first boat he’d served on, the one with the antiquated waste disposal system. He’d rather … well, okay.

  What he really wanted to be doing right now involved him, Skye, and miles of naked skin, but that wasn’t on the table.

  His mission was clear.

  Raising his fist, he rapped sharply on the door to Jules and Max’s room and stood at parade rest, waiting to be let in. Beside him, Winslow was uncharacteristically still and quiet. He had to know, as well as Beck did, what a giant bomb they were about to drop on the rest of their team.

  “Come on in, guys.”

  Instead of Max or Jules, it was Danny who answered the door, lines of strain bracketing his mouth and muscles pinching at the corners of his eyes.

  So they were all here, and everyone was up to speed. Good. That eliminated one step.

  Beck strode into the room with a purpose, taking in the scene at a glance. Max and Jules were sitting together at the foot of the king-size bed, while Danny returned to his perch on the edge of the small writing desk in the corner.

  “Sit down,” Jules said, sighing as she pushed her heavy blonde hair off her face. “We’ve got some bad news.”

  But Beck didn’t sit. For what he had to do, he preferred to be standing. And it didn’t escape his notice that Win stayed where he was, too, standing solid and supportive at Beck’s left shoulder, his presence oddly bolstering.

  “It’s okay,” he told her. “We’ve heard.”

  Confusion widened her eyes, but from the corner came Danny’s exhausted voice. “Of course. Mom called you, didn’t she?”

  It didn’t surprise Beck that Danny was the one who figured it out. Danny was always the one who sat back, observed, and took care of everyone else—which meant he usually had a good handle on the potentially dangerous undercurrents of any given conversation.

  Beck gave a short nod. “Nina let me know the situation with Gus.”

  “Okay, good.” Max stood up and started to pace, as much as he could in the confined space of the small hotel room. Which was about three paces in each direction, but it seemed to help him think. “Then you know we’ve got a problem.”

  Beck did, indeed. “Someone has to go back to New York ASAP to pick up the slack at the restaurant and take the strain off of Gus.”

  Which Beck had been fully prepared to do … until Nina’s quiet, determined plea.

  She wanted her sons home. Gus wanted Jules. And they both wanted Beck to be the one to take the team into the finals.

  The problem was that Beck was pretty sure no one else here was going to like that solution.

  “Right.” Jules’s eyes were on her boyfriend, worry shadowing her steady gaze as she followed his frustrated pacing. “So we have a few options here.”

  Beck braced himself. “Actually, we have one option. You’re all going. Win and I are staying.”

  Jules shot off the bed like a torpedo. “What?!”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Gus and Nina need their family with them now. Win and I are the logical choices to stay behind.”

  Max stepped over the bed separating them to wrap an arm around Jules’s shoulders. “Fuck logic. Jules is our team leader. If anyone competes, it’s going to be her.” He stared Beck down, anger snapping in his eyes—but underneath the pissed-off vibe, Beck could see the fear and worry.

  He didn’t allow the sight to gentle his own voice. Beck kept it steady and calm.

  “I understand the chain of command, Max, but in this case, we need someone competing who isn’t going to be distracted by emotional concerns, half her mind always on something other than the food in front of her.”

  Jules sucked in a breath, but Beck saw resignation in the way she pressed her lips together.

  Danny stood up, propping his hands on his hips. “Beck is right.”

  “What? Danny, man, come on,” Max protested, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  His brother shook his head, and Beck faded back a bit to let the family hash it out. His part was done.

  “You didn’t say anything about Nina,” Win muttered, cocking his head.

  Nina was the one who’d asked Beck to stay and compete. He angled his body to keep their exchange private. “That would’ve introduced a whole level of emotion that would’ve clouded the issue like a squirt of ink from an octopus.” Winslow snickered quietly, sobering with a jerk as the rest of their team turned back to them. Max was coiled tighter than a bedspring, but Beck imagined even Max didn’t know if it was due to worry for Gus or anger for Jules.

  Who didn’t look particularly angry, herself, in spite of the fact that Beck knew—they all knew—exactly how much it meant to Jules to be the one to bring home a win for the Lunden’s Tavern team.

  But it appeared that Danny had done his usual masterful job of making everyone see reason. He was already heading for the phone on the nightstand, probably to check on flights back to NYC … but no … when the first word he said into the receiver was “Eva?” Beck looked away to give him some privacy as he broke the news of his imminent departure to his girlfriend.

  Max and Jules were having one of those silent mind-meld conversations most couples seemed able to have, and when they were done, some of the tension flowed out of Max’s stance.

  He stuck out his hand and grasped Beck’s, shaking it once in a firm grip. “I know none of this is your fault, and you’re not trying to supplant Jules or something. Sorry I got a little … you know, back there.”

  “You’re concerned about your father,” Beck said quietly.

  Max shook his head. “That’s no excuse to take it out on you. You’re right, and I appreciate you stepping up like this, Beck.”

  Before Beck could brush it off, Jules was right ther
e, her earnest face looking up at him with a complex blend of regret and relief shining in her eyes.

  “You’ve more than proved yourself over the last few weeks and months, Chef. I know we’re leaving the team in good hands.”

  He’d hoped to eventually make his point and leave things on decent terms with his teammates, but this was a little but more of a love-in than Beck had expected.

  Some of the shock must have shown on his face, because Max pulled back with a smirk. “What? You didn’t think we’d be mature enough to eventually figure out you’re doing us a big favor?”

  Time to retake control of this conversation.

  “It’s not a favor,” Beck said decisively. “It’s my job.”

  Jules hunched down to grab their empty suitcase from under the bed and heave it up onto the mattress. “I think carrying the team into the finals of the biggest culinary competition in the nation falls a little outside of the normal sous-chef job description.”

  Winslow had managed to keep quiet for a long time, but this was apparently too much for him. Bouncing onto the bed beside the suitcase, he beamed around the room at everyone with his brightest, most determined smile. “We’re going to rock this! Y’all don’t have to worry about a thing. Just head on home, give Gus and Nina big smooches for us, and keep your cell phones handy so we can call and give you updates.”

  “And get updates on the situation with Gus,” Beck said, trying not to make it a command and failing miserably.

  Max’s shoulders went tight again, but he didn’t pause in his manic packing, throwing clothes haphazardly onto the bed where Jules patiently folded them and laid them in the suitcase. She shot him a worried glance, and her eyes were still soft with it when she looked up at Beck.

  “I’ll keep you informed,” she promised quietly.

  “Eva’s assistant got us on a flight,” Danny interrupted, putting down the phone. “But we’ve got to hustle. She’ll make the announcement to the other team in a few minutes.”

  Jules squeaked. “Oh my God, look at the time! You’ve got to get down there.” Leaping off the bed, she herded Win and Beck toward the hotel room door with panicky, frantic hand-wringing. “I wish I were going down there with you, I’m dying to know what the challenge is…”