Revelations (Brody Hotel Book 4)

by Amelia C. Adams

  She parked her car and went inside, calling out to Gabby as she threw her bag on the table.

  Gabby practically galloped from her bedroom to the living room. “So? How’d it go? Did they hire you on the spot or what?”

  “Or what.” Elena sat down and kicked off her shoes. “They’re going to call in the morning.”

  “The morning? That’s . . . that’s a whole sleep away.” Gabby flopped on the couch. “Tell me everything.”

  “Well, first I chopped an onion. Then—”

  Gabby picked up a pair of matched socks from the clean laundry basket and lobbed it at Elena’s head. “No, silly! After that. Get to the good part.”

  “They really seemed to like the food, and Mr. Brody loved the cost analysis on the menu. He said that was impressive.”

  “And you second-guessed yourself. I told you—you’ve got to stop doing that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re so smart. Anyway, Mr. Brody is going to look over the menus tonight and get back to us.”

  “That’s it? No one fainted or swooned or anything?”

  “Well . . . someone swooned, but it wasn’t them, and it wasn’t because of my cooking.” Maybe if she talked it out with Gabby, she’d get some perspective.

  “Wait. Who swooned? And why?”

  “So, Mr. Brody has a friend. And this friend . . .” Elena made a fanning motion with her hand. “I thought we had a moment, but then it passed, and I might have imagined the whole thing.”

  “Or maybe you didn’t,” Gabby said, scooting toward the edge of her seat and looking definitely interested. “What’s his name?”

  “Tony Espinozo, and he’s a lawyer, and apparently he tasted my enchiladas yesterday—the ones I made at Florence’s condo. So he was already a fan of my cooking before today.”

  “That’s so cool. That means he’ll be rooting for you to get the job.”

  “I really hope so. I don’t know if he has much influence over the final say, though.”

  “Why would Mr. Brody have someone taste the food if he didn’t want their opinion?”

  “I don’t know.” Elena started to rub her eyes, then remembered she was wearing makeup and forced herself to stop. Raccoon eyes were harder to wash off. “And it really wasn’t a moment, and I should just accept that.”

  “You’re acting kind of weird,” Gabby said. “I haven’t seen you like this . . . well, ever. Hmm.” She pulled her phone from her pocket. “I need to google this guy. You said his name is Tony Espinozo?”

  “Yeah. And he’s a lawyer.”

  “Let’s see. Yup, I see a law firm, and they have a website, and they have pictures of their staff, and . . . holy guacamole and chips and salsa. This guy is hot.”

  “That’s what I’m telling you. Now, listen. You need to give me a lecture about how I’m just imagining things and that I need to focus on my job and not get distracted.”

  “But why would I want to do that? If you had a moment with this guy, you should be following up on it, shouldn’t you?”

  “But how do I know it was really a moment? I could have imagined it. You know how much I like watching Hallmark movies—maybe my brain thought I was living in a Hallmark movie, and I conjured up the whole thing.”

  Gabby shook her head. “You’re absolutely hopeless. Okay, here’s what you do. Go take a shower because you smell like a pub, which is weird for you. Then spend a nice relaxing evening watching a movie—but not a romance—with your adorable little sister, and go to bed early so you’re well rested when you wake up and receive the phone call that you got the job. Then, when you see this Mr. Espinozo, act like nothing happened today, and see if it happens again. If it does happen again, that means the first time was real. If it doesn’t happen again, it doesn’t matter if the first time was real because you want something that lasts, not something that fizzles out. Make sense?”

  Elena nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Took me a second to untangle all your chattering, but I get it now.”

  Gabby stuck out her tongue. “You. Shower. I’ll choose a movie and throw a pizza in the oven.”

  Elena hoisted herself up. “All right, taskmaster. I’m on my way.” She had to admit, though, as the hot water hit her neck, that Gabby was pretty brilliant. Real chemistry would come back, and she’d know soon enough just how real it was—or wasn’t.

  ***

  True to Gabby’s plan, Elena went to bed around ten o’clock, but she didn’t fall asleep until after midnight. That slight headache had become something more than slight, and then her brain started churning again. It was time to get realistic—what if she was working herself up into a tizzy over a job that would actually turn out to be miserable? Maybe she only thought it would be awesome. Maybe it would be day after day of the same dreary routines she’d gone through before. Wouldn’t it be a shame to invest so much emotional energy into something that might end up being the pits?

  Reverse psychology wasn’t working—not this time. She couldn’t explain why, but this was the job she wanted. The whole thing appealed to her—the history of the building, restoring it to its former glory, bringing it modern with the new addition while still honoring the past. It was more than just a hotel or a millionaire’s hobby—this was family. It was heritage. It was a way to commemorate things that had happened before and celebrate things that were about to come. It wasn’t her family, but that actually didn’t seem to matter—she’d be part of it if she worked at the hotel.

  When the phone rang, she’d been awake for an hour, and she nearly pounced on it. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Moreno, this is Andrew Brody. I’m sorry for calling so early, but we have a lot to do if we want to open this hotel on time. Are you still interested in the head chef position?”

  Her voice caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She swallowed a few times before managing, “Yes, I am.”

  “Fantastic. Could you possibly be here in forty-five minutes? Florence tells me that the printer has given us a deadline on the menu, and I want to finalize a few things with you before we proceed.”

  “Of course. I’ll be there.”

  Elena hung up the phone, then stared at it for a full minute. She’d gotten the job. She’d actually gotten it. She was the new head chef at the Brody Hotel.

  She opened her bedroom door to find Gabby hovering on the other side. “Well? Well?”

  “I have the job, and I need to be down there in forty-five minutes.”

  “Then why are you standing here talking to me? Get in the shower, woman!” Gabby gave her a nudge toward the bathroom.

  “Can you get yourself to school?” Elena called out as she started the water running.

  “I’ll call Ashley and see if she can give me a ride. If she can’t, I could always walk.”

  “You? Walk? But aren’t your legs broken?”

  “Ha ha. Just get ready, would you?”

  Elena grinned and stepped into the shower. It was so fun to torture her sister sometimes.

  When she arrived at the hotel, she didn’t see Tony anywhere, but she was greeted warmly by Florence, who decided that she needed to meet everyone else who worked there. Marissa was the interior decorator and also Andrew’s girlfriend—or fiancée. She wasn’t exactly sure which, and as she listened to the others talk, she decided they weren’t exactly sure either. Rob was the builder, and Griffin was the architect. Jimmy was the gardener, and he walked around with her and showed her all the flowers he’d been putting in. She enjoyed this part of the tour very much—Jimmy had Down syndrome, and his naturally happy attitude did a lot to help shake her first-day jitters.

  “You’ll meet the others later,” Florence said. “They’ll be in around eleven. For now, we need to get started on these menus—the printer wants the order by noon, and we need to order the food.”

  Mr. Brody met them in the kitchen, where they sat down together at the table and discussed each item.

  “I’d like to take the Classic Americana menu and add a few of the c
huckwagon items to create our everyday menu,” Mr. Brody said. “I circled the ones I’d like to include.”

  Elena looked over what he’d done and nodded. “That’s great. Of course we can do that.” They seemed like a natural fit anyway—the Dutch oven pot roast was pretty classic, so it wasn’t a stretch.

  After a few more minutes of rearranging, both Mr. Brody and Elena were pleased with the result. “I’ll run this off to the printer,” Florence said, taking their notes. “The two of you can figure out the staffing situation next.”

  “Staffing situation?” Elena asked, turning to Mr. Brody.

  “Yes. We need to hire a kitchen staff, and fast.”

  “You mean you have no kitchen staff already?” Elena couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How . . . how could they open in less than a week with no kitchen staff?

  “We’ve had a hard time finding anyone qualified to run a can opener, let alone to work in a full-scale kitchen,” he replied. “And you’re nothing short of a miracle.”

  She waved that off. “So, no staff.”

  “No, not yet. Do you have any friends who might have graduated from culinary school with you, talented people who are looking for work?”

  She thought for a second. “Did you have any concerns about Bart?”

  “Bart? The young man who applied yesterday?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “No, he seemed like a good guy. He just wasn’t right for this position. Would you like to bring him on?”

  Elena nodded. “I’ll need an assistant, and I think he’d do a great job.”

  “Let’s do it. I’ll call him. Anyone else?”

  Elena wished she could think of someone likely to be free, but her friends from school had gone on to accept jobs in Vegas or Paris. She’d stayed close by home so she could help out her mother, and then so Gabby wouldn’t have to change schools. She sometimes wondered where she might have ended up if her responsibilities had been different, but she didn’t regret choosing the way she had.

  “My sister could help out during the dinner service,” she said at last. “She’s worked with me before and understands how I run things. That only gives us two, though.”

  Mr. Brody nodded. “It’s a start. I’ll make some phone calls and see what I can arrange. In the meantime, would you please construct your shopping list so we can place our food order? I’ll call Bart while you’re doing that and see if he’s interested in coming back.”

  Elena turned to a fresh page in her notebook and began to write down all the ingredients she’d need. It was a heady feeling, putting down so many things and knowing that her fridge would be completely stocked with whatever she wanted to cook. She’d never had that before, and she couldn’t wait to see what it felt like. Endless possibilities . . .

  “Bart’s happy to take the job,” Mr. Brody said a moment later, reentering the kitchen. “I also called a friend of mine who runs the culinary school here in town. He’s going to send over his two brightest students to be extra pairs of hands.”

  “He doesn’t have any recent graduates available?”

  “Sadly, they’ve all gone on to other things. He promises, though, that these students are quick and bright.”

  Elena certainly hoped they were. She wouldn’t have nearly the time to train them that she needed.

  She made a few other lists and did the best she could to prepare for this huge responsibility that had been placed on her shoulders, then decided there wasn’t a lot more she could really do before she met up with Bart to start teaching him her recipes. She’d do the major pieces of the puzzle while he prepared the side dishes, but it was important that he know how to do everything in case she got sick or they became too busy for her to do the entrees alone. Eventually, everyone in the kitchen would know how to make everything. That seemed like a lofty aspiration, but one they should most certainly shoot for.

  She had just added the last few things to her lists when she heard a voice out in the hallway—a voice she recognized well. Or rather, the goose bumps on her arms recognized it. She pushed through the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the dining room, ready to face the situation head-on and prove to herself that the chemistry had been completely imagined so she could have some peace. It would be so much easier if she felt nothing—feelings made things complicated almost without fail.

  “Hello, Mr. Espinozo,” she greeted him as she approached the spot where he stood.

  “Hello, Ms. Moreno. Are you getting settled in all right?”

  “We’re making progress. The menu has been sent over to the printer, and I’m just taking care of a few things here and there.” Light and breezy—this didn’t have to be a big deal.

  “Well, I’m certainly glad Andrew chose you. We need a little more life around here, and I could always use homemade tortillas.”

  He caught her gaze and held it, and she felt that zing again—the very thing she’d decided she didn’t want to feel. No, no, no …. Too complicated. She had far too much to do—there wasn’t time for this. But the longer they stood there looking at each other, the stronger the zing got, and there was no denying that it existed.

  He cleared his throat. “I can’t wait to see the menu. I have a feeling I’ll be eating here quite a lot.”

  “We worked hard on it.” Wow. This was possibly the most awkward conversation she’d ever had. But how was she supposed to sound natural when there were fireworks going off overhead and her heart was beating like a galloping horse? “Thanks for your input yesterday. And . . . I’d better get back to work.”

  She made her escape, feeling like a twelve-year-old girl with a playground crush all the way back to the kitchen. Why had she even gone out there when she didn’t have anything to say? She should have come up with a valid reason to talk to him—something to ask him about, maybe. But her mind was completely blank, and if she didn’t even know enough about him to make up a question, she shouldn’t be having zinging feelings around him.

  There. Problem solved. She would hereby choose to disregard the zinging. No one could force her to zing—all zings were entirely within her own control.

  By the time Bart, Alicia, and Hailey, her helpers from the culinary school, had arrived, she’d organized her thoughts and created different zones in the kitchen based on tasks and the layout of the room. She explained each zone and what the responsibilities would be for each area, and then walked them through the meal choices and what went into the creation of each dish. When the food order arrived, she’d be able to show them, but for this first day, they’d become familiar with the ingredients and memorize the components.

  At one point while she was explaining how long to simmer the barbecue sauce for the ribs, she paused, suddenly realizing that this was her kitchen staff, and she was standing in her kitchen, teaching her recipes. A chill raced down her back—this was it. She was seeing the culmination of all her hours of hard work paying off in this one incredible moment, and she had to swallow a few times before she could go on.

  “Are you all right, Chef?” Bart asked, and she smiled.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, though. Are there any questions?”

  She tucked her feelings to the side so she could pull them out and examine them later. She’d definitely remember this day for a long, long time—the day when she finally felt like she was on the right path toward her true destiny.

  Chapter Six

  “Housekeeping reports being ready to go, Jimmy finished planting the bright flowers about twenty minutes ago, the reservations software has been uploaded onto the front desk computer and seems to be working great, and the kitchen staff has arrived,” Florence reported. “Elena is walking them through the meal choices now, familiarizing them with everything they’ll be preparing.”

  “Sounds great,” Andrew said. “And how’s my lawyer? Is he functioning at full capacity?”

  Tony blinked and sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry. Did you need something?”

  Flo
rence laughed. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you, Tony. Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

  “I’m not sure what’s gotten into me either.” Tony shook his head, trying to clear it. “I’m not even sure why I’m here—I’ve got a ton of work to do back at the office.”

  Florence gave him a smile. “Why don’t you leave by way of the kitchen and ask her out? You’ll feel a lot better if you do.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” Tony said, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. “I just needed to take a drive, get some fresh air.”

  “And you happened to end up here?” Andrew asked, a smile on his face.

  “Well, I have been coming here a lot—the car probably headed this way all on its own.”

  “Tony, go ask her out,” Florence repeated.

  He pushed himself to his feet. “I could do that, or I could just leave and get back to work. Beverly’s been stacking papers on my desk like she’s trying to build a house of cards—I’ve got enough there to keep me busy for weeks.”

  “And in the middle of all that, you need to have some fun. You keep mentioning how burned out you are—I think a date is exactly what you need.” Florence gently nudged his shoulder. “Go on now.”

  Tony grudgingly headed toward the kitchen, not wanting to talk to the very pretty Ms. Moreno. Truth be told, he’d rather keep his distance because she complicated things. The fact that she existed meant that his life was going to change, and he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted. He’d made a solid decision not to get involved with anyone, and she challenged that decision and rattled him to the core—and he didn’t even know her yet. She had “danger” written all over her.