Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One (7 page)

Patrice smiled. “No, that’s why he asked me to handle it. He knows I’m a great judge of character and I have a really good feeling about you, Skye.”

She couldn’t believe this. First Pete hired her even though she refused to list her previous experience, and now Patrice was all but handing her the keys to an incredible apartment. She’d been shown more blind trust in the past twenty-four hours than in her entire life. Maybe people from New York just got a bad rap.

Pepperoni sat on Skye’s foot, looking up at her and holding what looked like a stuffed version of the puppet Lamb Chop in her little mouth.

“It looks as if Pepperoni has a good feeling about you too. Let’s give Rex a call and tell him you’re interested. I’m sure you two can work something out. It will be a real relief for him to know that you’re taking over for him at the Crow’s Nest. It’s killed him to leave Pete without a cook, not to mention leaving Pepperoni. If there were any way he could take her, he would have. He loves his little girl.”

Skye had to admit, Pepperoni was adorable.

After a conversation with Rex, they’d made a deal they could both live with. He was going to send a lease agreement out in a few days. He told her about caring for Pepperoni and she was surprised to find out the dog was used to sleeping with him. He gave her the lowdown on the kitchen staff, told her about the specials he’d planned for next week, filled her in on where the orders were in his desk, gave her his cell number in case she had any questions Harrison or Pete couldn’t answer, and wished her luck, thanking her for stepping into his shoes.

She had a smile on her face when she hung up. Pepperoni slept on her lap and Patrice sipped a diet soda
she’d found in the fridge. “The place and the puppy are mine—for now at least.”

“Great. Now, are you going to use Rex’s towels and sheets, or do we need to take a run to Ikea? I have my car if you want to go.”

“Maybe after payday. For now, I’ll make do with Rex’s if it’s all the same to you.”

“Sure. I already washed his sheets and towels and changed the bedding. There’s a washer and dryer in the closet next to the bathroom.”

“Great. I guess all I need are the keys, and then I have to go back to the Crow’s Nest to get my things.”

“No, you don’t. The boys will be here—”

A knock at the door interrupted Patrice. “I texted Francis during your conversation with Rex.” She unlocked the door and opened it to Francis, Logan, Nicki, and a huge dog—an oversized puppy of questionable lineage. One ear stood up and the other flopped over.

Pepperoni jumped from Skye’s lap to the back of the couch and leaped off it like a cat, landing next to the dog that was easily five times her size. She planted her paws on his neck and nipped the bigger dog’s floppy ear, pulling it down to her height. The two danced around, licking each other and playing.

Nicki ran and grabbed the leash that hung on a hook by the door. “Francis said we can take Pepperoni and D.O.G. for a walk. Is that okay with you, Skye?”

“Sure, I guess.” Before she knew what was happening, they had Pepperoni in a harness. Francis, Patrice, and Nicki ushered the dogs out the door and left her alone with Logan.

“I brought your suitcase and a bottle of champagne to celebrate your new job and apartment.”

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.” She took the bottle from him. “Maybe we should wait until Francis and Patrice get back to open it.”

“They’ll probably be gone for a while. But we can wait if you’d like.” He sat on the couch and crossed one of his legs over the other like he was planning on a nice long visit.

She checked the label, another Billingsly vintage. It was an expensive bottle. She should know—she ordered the wine for all the Maxwell’s restaurants and they carried the full line of Billingsly wines. “I don’t even know if I have champagne glasses.”

“You do. They’re in the cupboard over the dishwasher.”

She went around the bar that separated the kitchen from the living area and sure enough, there were champagne glasses; of course she’d need a chair to reach them.

Skye stepped back to get one and ran into a solid wall of man. Logan had snuck up behind and reached over her, taking down four glasses.

He didn’t touch her, but his heat seared her back. What was it with this guy? She slid to the left and stepped back to get away from him. Unfortunately, he did too. His arm wrapped around her was the only thing that kept her from falling over his gigantic feet. “Easy.” He placed the glasses on the counter before he released her.

She looked at him, sure that her face was the color of a fire engine. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“True. Look, I came over because I’m concerned we started off on the wrong foot. I got the distinct impression that you don’t like me much. Since we’re going to be
working together, I thought that maybe we could start over. If I did anything to offend you—”

“You didn’t. I have no problem with you, Logan. And I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I just want us to be able to work together.”

“I don’t have a problem if you don’t. I can work with anyone for a month.” That had been her mantra since she found out when he was leaving.

His piercing brown eyes stared into hers. One brow slowly winged its way up toward his hairline.

Her heartbeat sped up and the blood rushing through her ears drowned out the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock, and the drone of traffic on Van Brunt Street. They were at an impasse. She’d probably said too much already, and it seemed as if he was waiting for her to continue. It would be a long, long wait. She knew when to keep her mouth shut, and this was one of those times.

*   *   *

Logan stared at Skye waiting for her to say or do something. He was clearly incapable, since it was all he could do to punch down the urge to kiss her. He wasn’t sure what that was all about—he was a grown man, not a horny teenager.

He held her gaze as if they were in an adolescent staring contest, while he reminded himself again of the numerous reasons she wasn’t his type. First of all, he was engaged to Payton, which made Skye and every other woman on the planet off-limits. It was something that had never bothered him before, but then he’d never been tempted by another woman until he’d met Skye. It was crazy—temptation certainly wasn’t on her agenda.

Payton and Skye were polar opposites in every way imaginable. Payton was tall, runway-model thin, blond, and, well, flexible—both physically and mentally. She was easygoing as long as his decisions didn’t affect Payton’s world. Until he’d packed his bags to come home and help out his dad, his plans hadn’t. Now that they had, Payton proved she wasn’t quite as flexible as he’d thought.

Skye was short and curvaceous—a real beauty. She was a dark-haired, fair-skinned, blue-eyed version of Botticelli’s Venus. She had more than enough heavenly goddess in her to arouse mere mortals to physical love. And probably enough to inspire intellectual love too—in anyone capable of it, anyone but him.

“It’s not going to work.”

“Why’s that?”

Payton was also never one to argue, question, or even have an independent thought or idea—at least none she voiced. He wondered for the first time whether he’d just never bothered to ask.

With Skye, there’d be no reason to wonder. She’d made it known from the first moment he’d met her that she had so many thoughts and ideas, they would eventually form a flash mob in that quick-working mind of hers, drowning out all other stimuli.

“I’m not easily ignored.”

“I’m not planning to ignore you. I’m simply saying our working relationship is temporary. We don’t know each other.” She put the bottle of champagne in the refrigerator and poked her head in while she did a quick inventory of its contents. “Sure, everyone has preconceived notions.” She shut the door and headed toward the living area.

He followed.

“But when it comes down to it, we’re strangers.” She turned toward him as soon as she put a huge leather club chair between them. “I need this job and I’m used to working with minimal input from anyone not directly involved in my kitchen.”

“That’s going to change, Skye, because like it or not, I’m intimately involved with everything that goes on in the restaurant, at least until my work here is done, and the kitchen is part of the restaurant.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know the first thing about the workings of a restaurant, no less a busy kitchen.” A sardonic smile played about her full lips. “You didn’t even know how many people you typically serve a night.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“That’s great, but do it on someone else’s watch. I’ll do my job, you do yours, and we’ll get along fine.”

“If we’re going to work together, we need to be able to communicate effectively.”

“I’ve never had a problem communicating and I have no problem telling you exactly what I think. Let me demonstrate. Since I’m not on the clock, I think you should leave. Thank you for bringing my suitcase and for the champagne.” She walked him to the door and opened it before meeting his eyes with what could only be described as a steely blue glare. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the restaurant. At that time, we can communicate about whatever you’d like as long as it relates to my work.”

Logan knew she was deadly serious but had a difficult time keeping a look of total male appreciation off his face. It wasn’t what she was going for—just the opposite in fact. He’d have to rethink the whole Venus thing.
Right now, she was more like a modern-day Irish Lady Godiva, only fully clothed, which was a damn shame.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. It was a mistake—her scent surrounded him: pure female with a hint of garlic, peppers, the wine they drank, and something so subtle, something so spicy, he wanted to move closer until he could categorize it.

The woman was magnificent and could give lessons on controlled businesslike evisceration of the enemy. She might be a handful, but he had no doubt she’d be able to successfully lead the kitchen staff into a good protest or even war if necessary.

Logan held up his hands in supplication and nodded. “Fair enough, Skye. I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy your evening. I’m sure Francis and Patrice will be back shortly with your new dog.” He was halfway down the steps before he let himself smile. When the door shut and locked behind him, he let out a relieved laugh, thankful she didn’t see the physical effect she had on him.

The door to her new apartment jiggled against Skye’s back, as if someone had tried to walk in only to find it locked. She wasn’t sure how long she’d stood leaning against the only thing she thought would hold her up the moment Logan left. She’d never been the kind of woman who was bowled over by a man—especially a man who was engaged—no matter how good-looking he was or how great he smelled, or how good he felt against her.

She shook her head. She was proud of herself; she’d been forceful—something she’d been working on for some time—and she’d gotten her point across. She had to admit, Logan took it like a man. Still, the entire episode left her feeling as shaky as a sailor after a yearlong voyage, fighting to find his land legs.

She took a deep breath, stepped aside, threw the dead bolt, and pasted on a smile. “Hey, you’re back.”

Patrice carried Pepperoni in and was followed by a limping, tearstained Nicki, and Francis wearing a grim expression, holding D.O.G.’s leash tight against his thigh.

“What happened?” One look at the ripped knees of Nicki’s jeans told the story.

“D.O.G. pulled too hard and I fell.”

Skye took Nicki’s hand. “Come on in and let’s get you cleaned up. I have a first aid kit in my bag. Go on into the bathroom and I’ll be there in a second.”

Patrice put Pepperoni down and unhooked her leash. “You don’t have to do that. I can take Nicki back to the bar and clean her up there.”

“Nonsense. I have everything we’ll need in my bag. When you’re a chef, you need a good first aid kit in every kitchen, even your kitchen at home. Once we get it cleaned out, it’ll stop stinging. It’s not a problem.”

“Okay.” Patrice lifted her perfectly arched eyebrows in what looked like surprise.

“Francis”—Skye turned to him—“there’s beer, soda, or a bottle of champagne that Logan brought over in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want.” She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom, tossed it on the foot of the bed, and rooted through it until she found her first aid kit. By the time she made it to the bathroom, Patrice had Nicki’s pants rolled above her knees and was washing them with a soapy washcloth. She looked over Patrice’s shoulder at the scraped knees, and then to Nicki, who was blinking back tears and showing a brave face. “That hurts, huh? I have a spray that will numb it and finish cleaning it at the same time. Then all we have to do is put some antibacterial cream on it and cover it with Band-Aids.”

Patrice rinsed off Nicki’s wounds, patted them dry, and then cleaned up the sink.

Skye knelt and then sprayed the abrasions.

Nicki sucked in a breath through her teeth.

Skye blew on the abrasions to relieve the sting. “There. It’s better now, isn’t it?” She waited for Nicki’s nod
before squeezing antibiotic ointment onto the wound. “I’m just going to put a little bit on the scrapes and you won’t feel a thing. Promise.”

“Really?” Nicki didn’t look too sure.

“Believe me, I grew up with four brothers and I was always the one getting hurt.”

“Okay.” Nicki stilled, her eyes locked on Skye. “I have three brothers—Storm, Logan, and Slater.”

She had the Band-Aids on before Nicki even noticed. “There you go. You’ll be all better in no time.” Sitting back on her heels, Skye helped Nicki roll down her tattered jeans.

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Anytime, Nicki.”

Nicki followed her out and Skye tugged on one of her pigtails. They found Patrice and Francis curled on the couch sipping sodas.

Francis pulled himself to his feet. “All better, Nicki?”

Nicki nodded.

“Good girl.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got to get to work. Want me to walk D.O.G. home for you?”