Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One (4 page)

“Why would he even bother? You just gave him what he wanted. He’s no longer competing with you in the kitchen. Anyway, if he shows his face, I won’t be able to tell him a thing. I really have no idea where you are—well, not specifically.”

“Good. But even if you did, it wouldn’t matter. I’m going to have to find a less expensive place to stay. I don’t keep that much cash in my personal account and I didn’t have time to liquidate funds. I’m going to have to live really cheap between now and my first payday, especially if I have to rent an apartment.”

“I can wire you cash.”

“No, but thanks. I want to prove to myself I can make it without my family’s money. Now is as good a time as any to start. I’ll be fine.” But she’d have to get a job pretty darn quick and move out of the four-hundred-dollar-a-night hotel room. “I’m going to get dressed and head to Brooklyn.”

“Be careful, and let me know how things go. I worry about you.”

“I love you too, Kelly. And I expect a full report on Ted. You’re not getting off the hook that easily. I’ll call you when I have time for a nice long chat.” Skye ended the call with a smile on her face. It was good to finally get the last word.

“Rex, the head cook, just quit.” Logan leaned against the bar and looked from Rocki to Francis DeBruscio, waiting for their promised help.

Francis was a cross between a walk-in refrigerator and Shrek’s Sicilian cousin, Guido the Ogre. He’d been a fixture at the Crow’s Nest since he’d beaten the spit out of Logan back when they were in high school. Pete had told Frankie either he could work off the emergency room bill washing dishes or he’d call the cops.

Under Pete’s tutelage and watchful eye, Francis had turned his life around, and became a paramedic and an all-around good guy. It was hard to believe that the man upstairs acting like a cantankerous old fart had changed so many lives and single-handedly turned them all into men of whom he could be proud. Logan shook his head at the irony.

Francis did a double take. “Rex would never just up and quit.”

Logan rubbed his forehead where the mother of all headaches was forming. “He’s an only child and his mother just had a stroke. She’s paralyzed on the left
side—and she lives in Florida. It’s not as if he really had a choice.”

Rocki tapped her foot. “Bummer.”

Logan couldn’t believe this. “Come on, guys, you’re supposed to help me out. Can either of you cook?”

The two of them looked like a pair of bobblehead dolls in a crosswind.

“Neither can I. This is just great. What am I supposed to do now?”

Rocki shrugged one shoulder. “I suggest you start looking for a cook.”

“It’s Sunday. How the hell am I going to find a cook by opening on Tuesday?”

A grin split Francis’s face. “You can put a Help Wanted sign in the window.”

“What does Pop do if Rex gets sick, Francis?”

“It’s never happened as long as I’ve known Rex—but Harrison the sous chef might be able to take over for a day or two, I think. Bree knew what was what in the kitchen. I’m sure she could step in if necessary.”

“Not a big help since Bree’s halfway to New Zealand.”

Rocki went around the bar and poured herself a soda, missing the glass and making a mess of the bar Logan just scrubbed. “Have you asked Pete?”

“No, I didn’t want him to have another coronary.”

Both Rocki and Francis shot him matching glares.

“Bad joke. He’s had a rough morning. I caught him smoking his cigar on the roof and we had words.” Logan was definitely not ready for the role-reversal situation he’d found himself in since he returned. “All I need to do is tell Pop his cook just quit.”

Rocki took a long sip of her soda and watched him
over the rim of the glass. “It’s not as if you’re going to be able to hide it from him for long. He’ll notice on Tuesday. Maybe he has a backup chef.”

Francis shook his head. “I doubt it. He’s never needed one before.”

Logan’s phone vibrated. He didn’t have to check to know it was Payton; she’d been calling constantly, crying desertion. He let it go to voice mail. “Fine, I’ll tell Pop, but first I’m going to put a Help Wanted sign in the window. Maybe an incredible cook will walk by and want the job.”

Francis laughed. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll win the lottery.”

He got busy with the sign while they made fun of him. He had nothing to lose, and other than putting an ad in the paper, he didn’t have a plan B.

Logan taped the sign up in the front window and wondered if temp services had cooks—it was worth a try.

He was still running his finger over the tape when a beautiful dark-haired woman dragging a suitcase shouldered the door open. She was a little thing with black shoulder-length hair, pale, almost translucent skin, and the darkest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

“You’re hiring a cook?”

Logan shot a glance at Rocki and Francis, who stood beside the bar with their mouths hanging open.

“That’s what the sign says. Can you cook?”

“Honey, there’s nothing I can’t do in a kitchen.” She had a deep, smoky voice that made him think of tangled sheets and sleepy sex.

Between her voice and her comment, Logan’s mind spun directly into the gutter. What was wrong with him?
Not only was she not his type, but he was engaged. He cleared his throat, temporarily rendered speechless.

“Lucky for you, I’m looking for a job. Can I see the kitchen?”

“Why?”

“I won’t work in a dirty or unsafe kitchen.”

“Where have you worked?”

“Here and there. You know how it is in the restaurant business.” She pulled a menu out of the rack on the side of the hostess stand and paged through it. “There’s nothing on here I can’t handle. How many people do you seat in a night?”

Logan looked at Rocki and Francis. The two of them shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just took over the place last night—I’m filling in for the month. It was a really bad time for the cook to quit.”

She smiled and she went from beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way to simply stunning. “It’s a good thing I walked by, then.” She looked around. “I assume the kitchen is through there?” She pointed at the swinging double doors.

“Yes, it is.”

“Okay then, let’s take a look.” She set her backpack and suitcase on the bench of a booth and he found himself following her to the kitchen.

“Did you close today because you lost your cook?”

“No, we’re only open Tuesday through Saturday.”

She shot him another heart-stopping grin. Nope, he hadn’t imagined it. She was absolutely staggering. Her lips were full, rose-colored, and bare. She wasn’t wearing all that lip crap Payton was always applying—most of
which tasted bad enough to put him off kissing for life. If this woman wore makeup, he couldn’t detect it—not that she needed it. Her eyelashes were coal black, full enough to create shadows on her pale cheeks, and as long as Payton’s fake ones.

“So I’ll only have to work five days a week? It’ll seem like a vacation.”

The way she spoke, he’d think he’d given her the job. He hadn’t. Still, he followed her into the kitchen and couldn’t help but notice that her back was as attractive as her front—not that he was looking. His cell phone vibrated. He snuck a peek—Payton—and shoved his phone into his pocket as the woman inspected the kitchen like a general inspecting her troops. She even ran her finger under the hood. “Your cook kept a clean kitchen. I like that.” She took a turn through the walk-through refrigerator, stepped out, and closed the door behind her. “Okay, I’ll take the job.”

“You will?” He shook his head. “Hold on, I haven’t even offered it yet. Hell, I don’t even know your name.”

She stepped toward him and held out her hand. “Skye. Skye Sinclair.”

He took it—her hand was small, warm, and as calloused as his. Her shake was surprisingly firm considering she barely came up to his shoulder, and her touch sent a shock wave through him that had him holding on to see if it would continue. It did.

*   *   *

Once he tasted her cooking, Skye was sure she’d get the job. There was no question that he’d hire her on the spot. The kitchen was first-class, and the dining room was large enough to keep the menu interesting, but still small enough to cook everything to order.

Since the man seemed completely clueless when it came to running a restaurant, she’d have total control of the kitchen for at least the month he was scheduled to work. That was the one thing she’d always longed for—her very own kitchen.

She’d always had to borrow her brothers’ kitchens. And they made it sound as if she should be grateful they’d let her run the business side of the family-owned line of restaurants. But all she wanted was to cook. She wanted to live in the kitchen. She wanted to create.

Here at the Crow’s Nest she’d be able to do that—on a much smaller scale than she was used to, but then that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. None of her family would ever think of looking for her in Red Hook. Besides, she had to start somewhere. Without the use of her family name, she was lucky to get a job at all. Yes—she fingered the four-leaf clover charm she wore around her neck—this was a real lucky break.

When Skye entered the restaurant and spotted the manager—he’d looked familiar. Tall, really tall, he was at least a foot taller than her five feet two. Sometimes it really sucked being short. He had dark brown, almost black hair, a narrow nose, a square jaw, and high cheekbones sharp enough to fillet meat. His eyes were the color of rich caramel—her favorite indulgence other than chocolate. He was tan and lean, and hotter than a desert afternoon during a heat wave. He looked like one of the models she’d seen while paging through the stack of magazines she’d picked up to read on the plane—the man was gorgeous. But the more she watched him, the more he reminded her of someone specific. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

When he took her hand in his to shake, she wasn’t
sure whether the shock she felt running through her arm straight to her breasts was because he touched her, or whether it was God’s way of zapping her for lying about her name.

Then it hit her; he reminded her of that vintner who was engaged to Payton Billingsly—Logan something. She’d never met him in person, but she’d seen him once at her parents’ country club from a distance. She took a closer look and laughed at her ridiculousness. A woman like Payton Billingsly would never stoop so low to be engaged to a man who would step foot in Brooklyn—not this section of Brooklyn anyway. She’d done a little research and found one of the foodie blogs talking about all the great restaurants in Red Hook—it sounded as if the neighborhood was in the midst of gentrification. Obviously it was just beginning, because the neighborhood she just walked through was still pretty rough. Besides, according to the society pages, Payton’s fiancé was on the other side of the country, running Billingsly Vineyards and helping the ice princess to plan their New Year’s Eve wedding. As if Payton would ever lower herself to marry someone who hadn’t come out of a penthouse on Park Avenue.

“It’s nice to meet you, Skye. I’m Logan Blaise.”

Oh God, no! It
was
him. She did her best to smile through the shock, but the way his smile flattened told her she failed.

“About the job—”

She did a mental eye roll. Her patience slipped another notch, so she decided to just go with it. “Yes, about the job. How much are you paying me?”

His mouth dropped open.

“And is there a reason you’re still holding my hand?”

“What?” Logan looked down, seemingly stunned to see their joined hands, and broke the connection.

Thank God—she checked to see if he was using one of those shocking hand buzzers. No such luck. What the hell?

“I’m sorry. Um…I don’t know how much the job pays. I’m going to have to figure it out. But I haven’t offered it to you yet.”

Good thing he’d said “yet.” If he hadn’t, she’d have walked, which was still a distinct possibility. “From where I’m standing, I don’t see that you have much of a choice. What are you going to do, call Rent-a-Chef?”

His brows drew together—she’d shocked him. Good.

“Do they have rent-a-chefs?”

“If they did, I’d be the last person to tell you.”

“I have to discuss this with my dad. He owns the place.”

“Then why isn’t he interviewing me?” She’d much rather deal with the man in charge than Payton’s plaything.

“He had a heart attack and bypass surgery a few months ago, so my brothers and I are taking turns coming home to help out. The manager just ran off and married one of them, which is why I’m here. She’ll be back in a month and then I’ll return to my life.”

“Good to know.” She let out a relieved breath. She could work with anyone for a month. After all, she’d put up with her brothers for years. “I can wait if you want to discuss this with your father. Are you hungry? Do you want me to throw together lunch while you ferret out the paperwork and talk to him?”

“Um…”

“Think of it as a working interview. You wouldn’t hire a band without hearing them play, would you?”

“No.”

“I’ll even clean up after myself. What are you and your friends in the mood for? Or would you rather me go off the menu?”

“You want to cook?”

She shrugged. “It’s what I do. Besides, I haven’t cooked in two days and not cooking makes me antsy.”

“Okay. It’ll get me out of having to cook lunch. If you could make something heart healthy that doesn’t taste it, it would be great. Pop’s on a pretty strict diet, and he’s not happy about it. Oh, and try to make it something a kid wouldn’t mind eating.”

“You have a child?”

Was it her imagination or did he just blanch? “Nicki is my dad’s foster child. She’s ten.” He headed out the swinging doors toward the bar, so she followed. “Hey, Rocki, Francis, this is Skye Sinclair. She’s going to cook for us as part of her job interview. Are you staying for lunch?”

Skye looked toward the ceiling and cursed silently. God was having a good ol’ time at her expense. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. Leave it to her to get a job working for the future Mr. Payton Billingsly. Then she remembered, she
had
seen his picture on the plane—
Food & Wine
did a spread on their upcoming nuptials.