Secret Ingredient: Love (5 page)

“Well?” she asked again.

“Just a little more.” He picked up his knife, sliced off a bite of the stuffed chicken breast and popped it into his mouth.

“Do you have enough data yet?” she demanded wryly.

“No.” He finished off the vegetable and dove into the chicken.

When there were only a couple bites remaining, he put his utensils down and took another sip of wine. “You want my straightforward, unreserved opinion?”

“Don’t torture me, Alex.”

“Do you really believe I would do that?” His brown eyes sparkled with humor.

“I don’t want to believe it. But the evidence is mounting. What do you think?”

“I think it’s good.”

Her heart fell. “Good? You hate it, don’t you?”

“I said it’s good.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “You want me to embellish?”

She nodded vigorously. “Elaborate, exaggerate, enhance. Adjectives, on the double. And the more the better. But only if you liked it.”

“This is, without a doubt, one of the best meals I’ve ever had.” He grinned. “I liked everything, including the vegetable. I suspect a conspiracy. Rosie told you, didn’t she?”

“I put in a call to her to stack the deck in my favor. Brussels sprouts was showing off,” she said, unable to suppress her smile. “Because to quote your sister, quoting you, I wouldn’t eat Brussels sprouts if Wolfgang Puck teamed with Julia Child and won every cooking award from here to New York.”

“Well, I guess I have egg on my face.”

No, she wanted to say. Just a lovely masculine five o’clock shadow. To cover her reaction, she said, “I did them with honey mustard, mustard seeds lightly toasted, and vinaigrette. They were boiled with the lid
off the pot for the best color, I might add.” She was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop. She was nervous, but she also wanted to impress him with her knowledge. “Nutritional analysis—sixty-eight calories, three grams of fat, ten grams of carbohydrates, two grams of protein, no cholesterol, seventy-five milligrams of sodium, thirty percent of calories from fat.”

“Carbohydrates? Who knew Brussels sprouts had that?”

“I did.”

“Who knew they could taste so good?” he asked.

“I did.”

“I guess I owe my sister an apology.”

“What did you do to Rosie?”

“I scoffed. She told me that Frannie Carlino—”

Fran shook her head. “She called me Frannie?”

“Yes.”

“She knows how I hate that name. I’m going to have to have a talk with your sister.”

“Me first. I’ve got to eat crow, then humble pie, with a generous helping of I-told-you-so for good measure.”

“Why?”

“She said she had the right woman for me. She said you could make Brussels sprouts taste good and she was right. I would be a fool to lose you. I’d like to offer—”

“Wait.” She held up her hand. “You haven’t had dessert.”

“Fran,” he groaned. “I don’t think I could eat another bite. You’ve convinced me. You know your way around a spice rack. Let’s discuss—”

“Tiramisu.” She lifted one eyebrow.

“That’s not fair,” he groaned.

“All’s fair in love and war.” She shrugged. “Thank
Rosie. She told me tiramisu would be the icing on your cake, so to speak.”

He sighed deeply. “The temptations just keep on coming.”

My sentiments exactly, she thought, noting his broad chest and wide shoulders, which did his white cotton shirt proud. If this were a date, they would probably move to the couch in front of the TV. The next course would be exploratory kisses that would escalate to passionate and demanding. Then, in an apartment as small as hers, it was only a hop, skip and a jump to the bedroom. If Alex decided to focus his considerable charm and attention on her, Fran wasn’t certain she’d have the willpower to put on the brakes.

She had no reason to think he would do that. He’d given her no indication that he even found her attractive. But she felt enough attraction for both of them. And it brought out a peppering of caution. Damn the jerk who had used her and destroyed her trust. But it had happened, and now she couldn’t bring herself to ignore the warning signals.

Fran was fairly certain that Alex had been about to offer her the job. She was this close to what she had worked so hard to achieve. But she couldn’t ignore her reservations about a close working relationship with him. She had hoped her acute attraction to him was a fluke. This was the third time she’d seen him and it most definitely was not the charm. She wanted the job, but she was afraid her feelings would interfere. All she had to do was figure out a way to broach the subject diplomatically.

“No meal is complete without dessert. Afterward, we can talk business.” She watched while he digested her suggestion.

He nodded slowly. “On one condition.”

How she hated conditions. Why couldn’t he just do it her way? “What?” she asked.

“That you fix yourself a plate and sit down and relax.”

“I am relaxed,” she said defensively.

He laughed. “Yeah. And I play ukulele for the Los Angeles Philharmonic.”

“I sense that you don’t believe me.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, Fran. Just an observation. I’d be skeptical if you weren’t nervous. You said yourself that this is a job interview.”

“Yes, but—”

“We can put off business talk. Or you can fix yourself a plate. I’ll have dessert. And we can discuss your reservations while we eat.”

“This isn’t negotiable?” she asked.

“Only whether or not you pick up your fork before you listen to my offer.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy grin. “I don’t want to be accused of being the boss from hell.”

“Not likely,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Not like me to pass up food,” she amended. “A moment on the lips, forever on the hips. A digital scale should be a staple in every chef’s kitchen.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your figure,” he commented.

“Thank you.” It was hardly even a compliment, but he’d put a smile in her heart.

As she lifted a plate from the cupboard, she mentally threw flame retardant chemicals on the internal glow his words produced. Had he really noticed her shape? Did he like what he saw? Was she his type? Did he
have a type? She struggled to put away her curiosity as she took small portions of each entrée and salad that she’d prepared. Then she placed his dessert in front of him. Finally, she took her food and sat down across the table. Suddenly, the forty-two inch diameter didn’t seem nearly wide enough.

She took a bite or two before realizing that she was starved. She’d been running on nerves all day in preparation for this interview, and hadn’t had the time or inclination to eat much. Everything tasted good.

“Now then,” he started. “What’s wrong?”

Fran didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She hadn’t been acting like herself. She owed him an explanation, or at least as much of one as she could give him without making a complete fool of herself.

“Before I answer that question, I think turnabout is fair play. You got to ask me something personal.”

“I did? When? What?”

“At dinner last night. You asked me to explain the remark I’d made about taking care of myself. And I said that I’m trying to live my life on my terms and not the ones my family sets.”

“I remember.” He took a bite of dessert and nodded appreciatively. “This is good enough to eat.”

She laughed. “Praise like that could turn my head.” She moved the food around her plate without taking a bite. “I’d like to ask you something.”

“Okay. Fair is fair.”

“Why are you not looking for a woman?”

He put his fork down, his carefree demeanor vanishing. His expression turned dark and he looked pained. “I suppose it’s pointless to do a ten-minute monologue on why it’s perfectly acceptable to be a confirmed bachelor. There doesn’t have to be a reason, et cetera.”

“I agree.” He didn’t play games. How refreshing was that?

“I fell in love in college.”

“I hear a ‘but.’ And I have one for you—but I can’t believe any woman in her right mind would dump you.”

“She didn’t,” he said sadly. “Her name was Beth and she died.”

“Oh, Alex.” Fran wished the earth would swallow her whole, right then and there. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? “I’m so sorry.”

Ignoring her consoling words, he continued. “It’s very simple, really. Everyone gets a single shot at love, and I had mine. I’m perfectly content with being alone. There’s no point in looking for anyone.”

She nodded. “I appreciate the clarification.”

Fran found his pronouncement profoundly sad. And she hated being proved right about his story having an unhappy ending. Still, it put her at ease with him. She wasn’t looking and neither was he, which she found vaguely disappointing. But things got weird when coworkers cozied up. Now she had a guarantee that the work environment would be safe. That left the oven door open to cook up something special—professionally speaking.

“I think it’s time to talk business now.” She put her fork down and leaned forward eagerly. “So, do I get the nod? The assignment? The job?”

“I’d like to offer you a three-month contract with Marchetti’s Inc. At the end of that time, if either party is dissatisfied, we can terminate the association. If not, we can renegotiate. Assuming there’s still work to be done.” He looked at her. “It’s not love or war, but do you think it’s fair?”

“I do.”

Because it wasn’t love and never could be. He’d made that quite clear. So in spite of her attraction, accepting his offer was perfectly safe.

Chapter Four

“Y ou do?” Alex watched Fran nod.

His reply to her question about his love life had obviously allayed whatever misgivings she’d had. The sparkle was back in her eyes.

And he felt as if he was skydiving without a chute. He almost wished this interview had been a disaster. Although it would seriously upset his timetable for the project, he could search for a chef who didn’t make him think about soul-stirring kisses instead of stirring marinara sauce. But he would be lying to himself if he said her cooking wasn’t among the best he’d ever had.

“Welcome to Marchetti’s,” he said to Fran. “I’ll have the company attorney draw up the contract. You’ll receive a call tomorrow for a signature.” He held out his hand. “So it’s official. You are the new chef for Marchetti’s frozen foods—for a minimum of three months and subject to family approval. Let’s shake on the deal. Gentleman’s agreement.”

The way her breasts filled out her hunter-green
sweater put the lie to that statement. As well as the gold hoop earrings dangling daintily from earlobes that he wanted to examine with the tip of his tongue. There was nothing remotely gentlemanly about Fran Carlino. She was all-woman. And he was still free-falling.

She huffed out a breath and the movement did some interesting, downright mouthwatering things to her bosom beneath that sweater. But his brain cleared slightly and he focused enough to realize that something he’d said had put a kink in her wire whisk.

“What?” he asked, dropping his hand.

“You never said anything about family approval.”

“It’s a family business. I value input from my brothers. The more critical evaluation we can withstand, the better. But I suppose it’s normal to be nervous.”

“Who said I was nervous?”

“Afraid then.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said defensively. “You just never mentioned that the recipes I develop will be subject to a family thumbs-up.”

“We’re not known as the meddling Marchettis for nothing. And anyone who cooks like you has nothing to worry about.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Then we have a deal?” He held out his hand again.

She hesitated two beats before reaching across the table to put her small hand in his. “Done,” she said, then resumed eating.

Alex breathed a sigh of relief. All hurdles successfully cleared. But he couldn’t help wondering why it had been so important for her to know the reason he wasn’t actively dating. His answer had obviously swung her pendulum in the direction of an affirmative answer to his job offer. But his curiosity got the better of him.

“Tell me, Fran, if I had said I was single, available and eagerly looking for someone, would you still have accepted the job?”

She chewed thoughtfully for several moments. “My answer would have been the same.”

“But?” he prompted.

One corner of her full mouth lifted wryly. “I’m not sure how you knew there was a ‘but,’ but you’re right. I need the job. That’s not a national secret. And thank you very much for the offer. But I would have been on pins and needles.”

“Why?”

“Waiting for you to hit on me.” She looked taken aback for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud. “Not that you would,” she amended. “You’ve been very professional and I’d expect nothing less. But the possibility could have existed, and I’d have been tense, waiting for the world’s cleverest pickup line.”

“Like ‘what’s your sign?”’ he asked wryly.

“That’s ancient history. You really are out of practice.”

“So what is the current come-on dialogue?”

She thought for a minute. “I can’t even tell you. It’s been a while for me, too.” Her forehead puckered slightly and her cocoa-colored eyes narrowed, as if she was remembering something unpleasant.

Why? A woman as attractive, lively and sexy as Fran Carlino should have men waiting in line. Yet not only was that not the case, he wasn’t convinced that she would have taken the job if he’d told her he was available. He had a feeling her wariness was more than just not wanting to follow in her mother’s footsteps with a
husband and family. What had happened to make her gun-shy?

This was none of his business. Their acquaintance had progressed to employment. That didn’t give him the right to her life history. In fact, the less he knew the better. And his parachute had just opened, he realized. Neither he nor Fran was interested in anything personal. There was safety in numbers, or at least in being on the same page in the cookbook.

“Well, I couldn’t be more delighted that you accepted my offer,” he said, meaning every word. “You’re the right choice for the position. I’m looking forward to seeing what you cook up in the corporate kitchen.”

“Me, too.” She held up her wineglass. “Here’s to a successful business association.”

She took a sip of her wine, then tucked a wayward strand of brown hair behind her ear. The glare from the light over her table put a glisten on the moisture clinging to her top lip. He suddenly had an almost overwhelming urge to kiss it away, to know if her mouth was as soft and exciting as it looked.

“I didn’t know you’d been married,” she said out of the blue.

The sudden stab of discomfort from her remark almost distracted him enough to keep him from noticing that she’d turned the conversation away from herself and their professional connection, back to him.

“I wasn’t married,” he answered.

“But I thought… You said…” She stopped.

“I said I fell in love. Beth and I never married.”

He pulled in a deep breath in spite of the guilt and pain that settled in his chest—two old friends that he’d learned to live with.

“Why not?” Fran asked softly, her brown eyes filled with sympathy.

“This from a woman who thinks marriage is equivalent to serfdom.”

She looked sheepish. “But I’m not the average woman.”

“You’ll get no argument from me about that.”

“Did you just pay me a compliment or cut me off at the knees?”

He folded his napkin and set it on the table before leaning back in his chair. “I was merely stating a fact.”

“So why didn’t you tie the knot with Beth?”

“I wanted to wait until my career with the company was well established before taking that step. He who hesitates is lost,” he added softly, hoping he’d successfully sifted the bitterness from his tone.

“So you wish you had?”

He nodded. “More than anything, Beth wanted to be a wife, mother, homemaker. I could have given that to her for what little time we would have had. But I thought other things were more important.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” she said. “Maybe you weren’t sure? About being in love?”

He shook his head. “I was sure. Just short-sighted,” he said, pushing his glasses up more firmly on his nose. Her fleeting smile at his pun tugged at his heart. “I thought I was being noble. When we married, I wanted to be able to devote more attention to her, our relationship and establishing a home than my job. As it turned out, that’s all I have now.”

“Seems to me your niche in the business was assured. Even the third son isn’t going to get canned if there’s a spot for him.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just that I can understand channeling energy into your career if you’ve just been hired by a company. Heaven knows I plan to give it my best shot. In case you were wondering. But you were groomed from childhood for the family business. Your position was secure. You and Beth could have married.”

“Don’t you think I’ve told myself that a million times?” He didn’t even try to suppress his bitterness. “Maybe I’d have a child now. A part of her still with me.” His voice rose a notch.

“I’m sorry.” Fran shook her head. “There I go, getting myself into trouble with my mouth again. I’d be better off putting food in it instead of my foot.”

He could think of a much better way to keep her mouth out of trouble. The idea flashed into his mind, and he felt even more disloyal to Beth’s memory. “Forget it.”

“I’ll try. But first I’ve got one more question.”

Somehow he knew she would ask it no matter what he said.

“Okay. One more,” he agreed, bracing himself.

“Why are you so convinced that you get only one shot at love?”

“Heredity.”

“There’s a Marchetti gene for being a one-woman man?” she asked.

“Or a one-man woman. Rosie fell in love with her husband, Steve, when they were just kids. He’d been abandoned at a bus station by his mother and was being raised by his grandmother. Nick took him under his wing, and Steve was sort of unofficially adopted by the family. Rosie believed in him when he didn’t believe in himself.

“And you can blame my father for us confirmed bachelors,” Alex added.

“I’m not sure blame is the right word. But why your father?”

“He’s been chasing my mother around the kitchen—that’s just a figure of speech. Don’t read anything into it on the gene scale, or because you’ll be working in my kitchen,” he clarified at her narrow-eyed look. “Let me rephrase. They’ve been together for thirty-five years.”

“That’s pretty special in this day and age,” she agreed.

He nodded. “My brother Joe hinted that they’d had problems at one point when we were small. They separated for a short time. But Tom Marchetti loves Flo—for better or worse.”

“What about your brothers? Abby is obviously a happy woman with your brother Nick.”

“He gave her a job in one of the restaurants when she was just eighteen years old and she’d lost her parents in an auto accident.”

“That’s awful,” Fran said. “I mean about her parents, not the job.”

“It took them a long time to get together, but one look at Abby and there was no one else for Nick. He was even secretly married for a short time, before that. When he opened a restaurant in Phoenix, a pregnant waitress was dumped by her boyfriend and Nick thought he loved her and wanted a family.”

“What happened?”

“The boyfriend had a change of heart and she had the marriage to Nick annulled. That made him gun-shy. But true love won out for him and Abby.”

“What about Joe? Isn’t he the one getting married on Valentine’s Day?”

Alex grinned. “You’re good.”

“I’ve had training in keeping track of large numbers of brothers. It’s the Carlino curse.”

He chuckled. “Joe met his fiancée in the hospital when Rosie gave birth. Nurse Liz got his attention when she dragged him out of my sister’s room by his ear. He tried to charm her into letting him stay after visiting hours were over. Up until then, he was pretty vocal about his confirmed bachelor status. They had some things to work through, but once he saw her it was all over but the shouting.”

“Which will happen at the wedding.”

“That’s the plan. Luke and I are the last bachelors.”

“So how does a confirmed bachelor like yourself fill his time?”

“Work. It saved me after Beth died.” He took in a big breath and waited for the pain to hit. Vaguely surprised when it was dull to nonexistent, he continued. “The family business kept me from giving her the family she wanted, but it was also my salvation.”

He’d buried himself in work to get through every day without Beth. One day turned into another, then another until somehow the years had passed. He liked what he did for a living and was grateful to have it. But he’d just told Fran about his siblings pairing off and their personal happiness. He felt left behind, lonely and vaguely discontented.

“I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth again. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

“It’s not painful.” And to his shock, he realized that was true.

“So you’re past the pain of losing Beth, and you really do believe that we only get one shot at love?”

“I do.”

“Then what’s your excuse? For working so hard now, I mean?”

“You said it yourself. Second-son syndrome.”

“I was teasing.”

He toyed with the fork on his dessert plate. “Maybe. But you made me realize something.”

“Wow. Maybe I should hang out my shingle for family counseling.”

“No way. For someone who knows her way around herbs and spices the way you do, it would be a crime.”

“Thank you. But don’t for a minute believe a compliment will distract me from ferreting out information. What did you realize?” she asked.

“That a man needs goals. The business is doing extremely well, thanks to my brothers. None of us has to wonder where our next meal is coming from. But I want to make my mark in the company. I’m working for the satisfaction of a job well done. I want this line of frozen cuisine to be an unqualified success.”

“I still think you’re using frozen foods to warm your bed at night.” She smiled at her metaphoric contradiction.

“That’s not what this is about. And I thought we agreed no more armchair psychology.”

“Sorry. I forgot.”

“I’m beginning to see that it’s a habit of yours to forget when you have every intention of speaking your mind.” He stood up. “Before you get on a roll, I think it’s time for me to go.”