Fortune's Just Desserts (13 page)

Marcos knew trouble when he saw it and this woman was trouble with a capital T. He had a feel
ing that she always had been, which was undoubtedly why her family had sent her here to Texas.

“No,” he told her firmly, “we don't.” And with that, he circumvented her, walked into his office and closed the door.

His mistake was in not locking the door once he'd closed it. He hadn't even reached his desk, located only a few feet away, before the door flew open and she was right there in the office beside him.

And then, just like that, she was in front of him. In his face.

“Yes,” she insisted firmly, “we do.”

His eyes were dark, cautioning her to drop this subject that had no future.

“What we
have
to do is get ready to open in half an hour. If you have a special dessert to offer for today's menu, I suggest you get to it.
Now,
” he underscored. “Because if you don't have anything ready—and approved—by the time we're ready to open our doors, that space on the menu remains empty for the day.” He issued his ultimatum. “The choice is yours.”

She looked at him, her mouth filled with words begging to be released.

But arguing with him here and now would lead nowhere and she knew it.

And besides, he was right, she did have to get something ready for today's menu. She wasn't about to shirk her duty or drop the ball, but neither was she going to allow herself to get distracted from having
it out with him. She was just going to have to pick another time.

Pressing her lips tighter to keep from saying something that might lead to yet another dead-end discussion, Wendy nodded.

“All right, I'll get right on it,” she promised.

And silently, she made him another promise, one she intended to keep.

But we are going to have this out, one way or another. You're going to have to face me—and yourself. Soon,
she added with feeling as she walked out.

Very, very soon.

I
t wound up being one of those days that felt as if it was never going to end.

Today Wendy had come up with not just one new dessert but two. She did it not because she was an overachiever, but because she felt that if she did, it would show Marcos that she was dedicated. That she took her job just as seriously as she took the thought of the two of them finally and, in her estimation inevitably, coming together.

But had Marcos said anything to her when she'd managed to top her lunch creation with the one that she offered for dinner? No, he hadn't.

It was like working for a sphinx. Except for the
fact that he
did
talk to the rest of the staff as well as the patrons.

It was just her he ignored.

Enrique had been generous with his accolades, raving about the new taste sensation she seemed to have uncovered, bringing together ingredients that had heretofore not been thought of in the same context. She'd mixed together a smattering of pomegranate seeds with fresh ginger, lemon curd, cream cheese and drizzled chocolate sprinkles over the mixture as it sat atop tiny phyllo dough shells. The man actually had seconds, something he rarely, if ever, did.

At any other time, she would have been more than flattered.

But it wasn't Enrique's approval she was interested in, even though she had accepted it politely, forcing a pleased smile to her lips. All the while she had done her best not to let anyone see just how much Marcos Mendoza's silence bothered her.

She'd thought, with Enrique having a difficult time keeping the kitchen staff from sneaking off with samples of her dessert, Marcos would have said
something
that even remotely sounded like a compliment. But when she'd presented him with a serving, he'd barely tasted it, just nodding his head and muttering something that sounded like, “It'll do,” before walking out of the kitchen to take an incoming call.

Probably from his newest bimbo of the day—or night, Wendy thought darkly.

She had been so angry that she could have scratched his eyes out. But that would have shown him that she cared, that he'd affected her, and she'd be damned if she would give him the satisfaction. So when he left without saying an actual, audible word, she'd pretended not to notice and made herself busy with something else.

That had been right before Eva had suddenly turned very pale and became rather unsteady on her feet. Forcing the senior waitress to sit down, Wendy had offered to take over her tables for the day, or at least until Eva began feeling better.

For the next hour or so, Wendy had divided herself between taking orders in the dining area, and the kitchen, where she prepared the desserts to fill the incoming orders. Mercifully, her dual life came to an abrupt end when María Mendoza stopped by to get an early lunch. Seeing Eva's pallor, the woman had whipped up something involving a heavy dose of ginger and bubbles and stood over Eva until she had drunk it down to the very last drop. At which point Eva shivered. A lot.

And then, just like that, the ginger-and-bubbles concoction had soothed Eva's queasy, rebellious stomach. Only then did Mrs. Mendoza indulge her self and accept the serving of Wendy's dessert that Enrique offered her. Two bites into it, she made a comment about having died and gone to heaven.

Seeking her out, the restaurant owner's wife had
raved about Wendy's dessert for a good five minutes—longer than it had taken her to consume it.

Wendy
knew
that Marcos had heard his aunt, but he'd made absolutely no comment. Again he'd cocooned himself in a blanket of silence like some damn noncommunicative robot.

That's what he was, she decided heatedly. A robot. He had to be. Only a robot wouldn't have melted in the heat that had been created between the two of them in the storeroom this morning. And only a robot would have walked away without so much as a second glance because he'd so completely divorced himself from the situation.

Muttering a few choice words under her breath about pig-headed, stubborn jackasses, Wendy walked into the women's locker room. As the door closed behind her, leaving her isolated and all alone, she made up her mind.

She was going to have to stop beating her head against the wall. Stop filling that same head with endless questions about Marcos.

She was going to have to stop
thinking
about him, period, Wendy upbraided herself. There were a lot more men in the world, better-looking men, more interesting men and a hell of a lot friendlier men than this walking enigma who was her ill-tempered boss.

The sooner she stopped concentrating exclusively on Marcos, the faster she was going to get over this. Whatever
this
was.

Desperate to leave, she ran through her locker combination. She needed to open the stationery-store lock mounted on her locker in order to get at her civilian clothes.

Just as the last tumbler clicked into place, she heard her cell phone ringing inside the narrow storage space. The call was on its third insistent ring by the time she got to her cell.

Exasperated, Wendy opened it and pressed it against her ear without bothering to look at the caller ID first. “Hello?”

“So how's it going, Wendy-bird?”

Even if she hadn't recognized the deep, jovial baritone that vibrated against her ear, she would have known who was calling. Only one person called her by the name uttered by one of Peter Pan's Lost Boys, just before Tinker Bell convinced him to shoot down a flying Wendy.

“Blake,” she cried as mixed feelings stormed through her. She hadn't heard from her brother in ages, not since Christmas, when they'd all gathered at the house where they'd grown up. “Is anything wrong?”

“Ah, you still know who I am. Good.” Pleasure filled his voice. “I haven't heard from you in so long, I thought maybe you forgot all about me and the others.”

The phone worked two ways, she thought. But there was an even more salient point to drive
home. “
I'm
not the one who shipped
you
out,” she pointed out.

“Neither am I,” he reminded her. “You know Mom and Dad just did it because they were concerned about you.”

Because there were only six years separating them, she was closer to Blake than she was to her other siblings. They had a shorthand all their own. But it still took a second for her to realize that Blake had used the past tense when making a reference to their parents.

“They're not concerned anymore?” she asked, afraid she was misinterpreting his meaning.

She wasn't.

“Not since María Mendoza called to tell Mom what a great job Marcos said you were doing.” He paused, then asked, “Marcos, that's the restaurant manager, right?”

“Right,” she muttered, hardly hearing the last question as she tried to absorb what Blake had just told her. It was safer just to have him repeat it in case she
had
gotten it wrong. “Run that by me again?”

“What, hearing a compliment once isn't enough for you?” he teased.

That wasn't it at all. “Mrs. Mendoza talked to Mom?” It was something she hadn't considered.

“Yeah.” She could almost hear the grin in his voice—or maybe it was a smirk. There were times with Blake that she couldn't know for sure. “You
know, it's this universal thing all mothers have got going on. Keeping tabs on each other's kids.”

Wendy could have sworn that her brain was moving in slow motion, the words her brother was saying bouncing off her head as if her skull was made of trampoline material.

Finally, Blake's words sank in and registered. “And she said that her nephew said I was doing a good job?” Why the hell hadn't anyone—meaning Marcos—told her this?

“The exact words Mom used was that the woman told her this Marcos guy was raving about how creative you were, and how business has actually gotten even better since you started making these fancy little mouthwatering desserts of yours. Just how long have you been able to do that?” Blake wanted to know.

Wendy shrugged in response even though her brother couldn't see her. “It's just something that seemed to come to me.”

“Well, make sure it keeps on coming because I've never seen Mom and Dad happier with you. Both of them are
really
relieved that you're not going to turn into one of those self-centered, entitled heiresses.”

The image stung. Granted, she hadn't exactly been an eager beaver before this, but that was because she'd thought her lot in life was to marry Channing and live happily ever after. Surprise.

“Mom and Dad actually thought I was going to be
come like that?” she asked in disbelief. “How could they?”

“Hey, nobody ever starts out thinking that their kid is going to wind up wasting their life and amounting to nothing, but I can tell you that they had some real moments of uneasiness when you dropped out of college, and then again when you messed up at Uncle Ryan's foundation.”

She supposed, as she listened, that she hadn't exactly done anything to reassure her parents that she would amount to something, the way they all had.

“But now they're smiling again,” Blake was saying, “and you're their little golden child, just like you were when you were little.”

Yeah, right. Blake was clearly rewriting history. “Oh, please. I was an afterthought.”

For a second, there was silence on the other end, as if her brother was trying to untangle the meaning behind her words. And then he said, “That's not the way I remember it. You were their little princess. Later, when you messed up and then dropped out of college, both of them were afraid that they'd spoiled you to the point of no return.”

This was all news to her. Had she been that wrong? Had she actually remembered things out of their proper perspective? She'd explore that later. Right now she was more interested in something else her brother had said. “And Mrs. Mendoza actually told Mom that Marcos told her I was going a great job?”

“Yes,” he replied patiently. “How many different ways would you like me to say it?”

She knew Blake probably thought she was milking this, so she explained why she was finding all this so incredulous. “It's just that Marcos never said anything to me.”

“Maybe he's afraid you'll get a swelled head,” Blake speculated, then laughed. “Been known to happen.”

Suddenly, Wendy didn't feel exhausted and drained anymore. Instead, she felt energized. “Thanks for calling and letting me know—about Mom and Dad,” she added as an afterthought. After all, her brother hadn't called to discuss Marcos with her.

“I just thought you'd be glad to know that the folks are proud of you.” And then he said with another laugh, “Sure took you long enough.”

She took no offense. Blake could always tease her without hurting her feelings. “It's just more dramatic that way,” she replied.

All the while, her mind was elsewhere.

Why hadn't Marcos told her that he was happy with her work? Why hadn't he thrown even one decent word her way, instead of making her feel so inadequate?

“So the next time that we're both in the same city,” Blake was saying, “do I get to sample one of these heavenly creations of yours?”

“All depends if you play your cards right, big brother,” she countered.

Blake fell back on his standard, years-old threat. “Hey, remember, I've got those naked picture of you in the bathtub—with those dissolving bubbles.”

“I was two, Blake,” she reminded him.

Blake sighed. “Can't blame a guy for trying. Take care of yourself, Wendy-bird. You done good.”

She thought she detected a hint of pride in his voice, as well. It made her happy. She hadn't thought that it would matter, having her brother proud of her, but it did.

“I'll talk to you soon,” she promised as she terminated the call.

The moment she snapped the phone shut, her face clouded over. All this time, she'd been trying to get a positive response from Marcos. Except for that first time, when he'd assumed that Enrique had created the dessert, she hadn't had so much as a hint that he even remotely
liked
her desserts, although everyone else did, including Enrique.

It wasn't everyone else she was trying to please. It was Marcos.

Wendy changed quickly, shedding her uniform and slipping on a slim, thigh-high navy-blue skirt, a fitted, light gray sweater and her beloved four-inch strappy heels. She'd always gone for style rather than comfort.

Running her hand through her hair, Wendy took a quick survey of herself in the mirror she had taped to the inside of her locker door.

Satisfied with what she saw, she closed the door again and spun the dial on the lock to secure it.

With a determined look, Wendy walked out of the locker room.

Wendy Fortune was loaded for bear. A bear named Marcos Mendoza.

 

To avoid the temptation of “accidentally” running into Wendy, Marcos had left the restaurant and gone home half an hour earlier. He'd left the task of locking up to Enrique. It wasn't as if he was putting the man out. The chef usually stayed behind a lot longer than the rest of the staff.

Marcos thought darkly if he couldn't conquer his temptation, he could at least avoid it a while longer.

Rather than his getting used to having Wendy around, those insistent urges that kept badgering him were getting worse with each passing day. He actually found himself wanting the woman at completely improbable times. Found himself trying to purge thoughts of her from his head when they popped up out of nowhere.

And if that wasn't bad enough, no matter how much control he exercised over himself during his waking hours, he had absolutely no control over his thoughts when he was asleep. Which was why he caught himself dreaming about her every night. Sometimes more than once a night.

It was getting to the point that he was afraid to go to bed and close his eyes.