Into the Fire (12 page)

“So…just breakfast?”

He shook his head. “Breakfast isn’t going to satisfy my appetite.” She was mesmerized by the warmth in his gaze. “There’s a fantastic restaurant in Fort Tryon Park. After lunch, we could take a nap and catch up on our sleep…or maybe some chocolate cake.” He pointed at the container on the counter. “I also have a DVR full of shows I haven’t had time to watch and access to any movie you desire. I would love to have dinner delivered…and eat in bed.”

It was hard to remember this wasn’t real. It was fantasy, seductive yet temporary. She felt some of the old resentment creeping back. “Inferno opens on Friday, Jack. I have a lot of work to do.”

“I know.” He kissed her again, sliding a hand under her shirt to cup her breast. Her nipple hardened under his thumb. “One more night, Lila.”

A chill shot down her spine. He only wanted one more night. “We should talk about the menu,” she insisted, not fooling herself and wondering if she would fool him.

“We will.” He ducked to nibble a trail of cool fire down the side of her neck. “Tomorrow. Let’s take the day off. No shop talk, especially not in bed. It doesn’t work out so well for us, if you remember.”

She flinched and pushed him away. “You mean it didn’t work out so well for me.”

“For either of us. I lost—”

“Don’t.” She placed her hand over his mouth. She didn’t want to hear any convenient lies or excuses. Falling in love with him was a disaster, but she could enjoy it for one more day as long as he didn’t lie to her about his intentions. She would keep from falling into the abyss by holding on to his detachment and remembering their truce wasn’t about love for him.

For a moment, she wavered. The thought of waking up tomorrow, looking into his eyes, and seeing an employer instead of a lover made her want to bolt. There wouldn’t be another reprieve. They both had to work in the morning, and their truce would be over. However, her desire to spend the day with him was too strong to resist. Could she blame her weakness on hunger? The scent of breakfast cooking on the stove was enticing. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against him, breathing deeply. She knew it was hopeless when he smelled better than the bacon.

“I’ll stay.” Re-entry would be rough, but she would figure out what to do in the morning.

Chapter Thirteen

Jack woke to the blaring of his alarm. He struck the snooze button and fell back on the bed, reaching for Lila. The bed was empty beside him. He knew she was gone. Still, he listened, hoping to hear noises that would tell him he wasn’t alone. Silence mocked him.

He glanced at the clock and saw a piece of paper on the nightstand. At least she’d left him a note this time. He didn’t look at it yet. Instead he let his mind run in bits and pieces over the previous day. His delight in Lila’s enjoyment of the tiny bits of bacon and fried potato in her frittata. Her happy smiles at lunch. The way she had snuggled up to him on the couch as they had drowsed the afternoon away. Her reaction to the chocolate cake and his insistence on feeding her the rest of it from his fork. The way she had come apart in his arms afterward…

The note couldn’t say anything good, or she would have stayed to say it in person. He steeled himself and picked it up.

Our truce was very inspiring…I can’t wait to show you the new menu! See you soon, Lila.

Clearly, it hadn’t been inspiring enough to keep her in his bed.

It was silly to be disappointed. The truce had been his idea, after all. They had both known it had an endpoint. She had gotten the inspiration she needed from him and was undoubtedly at Inferno, hard at work creating the menu that would earn her big payoff. He had gotten what he wanted, too, but he hadn’t thought it would make him feel used.

His cell phone began to buzz on the nightstand, and he grabbed it. It wasn’t her. “Hello?”

He was out of bed and grabbing clothes before Emily’s husband finished telling him about the power outage that had thawed every cooler at Breeze last night. They’d have to close for lunch, and his father was due home at noon. Even though Jack had no control over the wiring damaged in the fire last week, his father would find some way to blame him for this and every other disaster that had happened on his watch.

He turned his mind away from Lila and the time they had spent together. Whenever he was around her, he lost sight of his goals, and he couldn’t afford distractions. She had some sort of weird ability to make him want things that had never been on his agenda, like a day off and someone to talk to. She made him feel content, a dangerous emotion for a man who had no guarantee of success. He needed to strive to be better, faster, and more efficient every day. He left the note on the nightstand, grateful she had left him such a pointed reminder that it was time to get back to work.

The coffeemaker beeped just as he finished dressing. He had programmed it last night, thinking they would both need an impetus to get out of bed. He poured a cup into a travel mug, and the scent of the rich brew reminded him of the taste of Lila’s lips before he’d taken her back to bed yesterday morning. Cursing, he left the cup on the counter and slammed out of his apartment, scooping the paper off the mat on his way out the door.

…

Lila walked quickly toward the subway station, trying to convince herself she had done the right thing by leaving before Jack woke up. Would he be glad she’d spared them an awkward ending to their truce? She knew it would be much easier for her to face him again when she was dressed and in the kitchen, hopefully well on her way to presenting him with a perfect Inferno menu.

Determination swept away her lingering uncertainty. Jack might only want her body for a few nights, but by God she would give him a menu he wanted to keep forever.

She reached for her phone and dialed quickly, knowing it was too early for a conference call but calling anyway. As soon as they were all on the line, she blurted out, “I slept with Jack.”

Her friends groaned in unison.

“Here we go again,” Jenna yawned. “Spill it.”

“And talk fast, I’ve got customers,” Betsy added.

“What are you doing at work so early?” Lila asked.

Betsy laughed. “The French Quarter never sleeps. Quit stalling.”

Lila started with the paella and ended with the nearly impossible to write note. Silence greeted her confession. Then Jenna asked, “Where are you now?”

“On my way home to change before I go to Personal Chef.”

“And where is Jack?”

“Still sleeping.”

“Oh, honey.” The unexpected sympathy in Jenna’s voice made her eyes sting.

“Did you brainstorm a new menu, at least? Did you get the goods?” Lila envied Betsy’s ability to focus on the next step. That’s why she had called. She needed a new game plan.

“Yes.” Lila could feel the perfect Inferno menu coalescing in her imagination.

The flavors Jack loved, his colors, garnishes, and plate presentations had danced and spun themselves into new combinations while she was making love to him. The menu was uniquely Jack, but it was also her, inspired by the passion between them.

Betsy snorted. “You probably could have just had a long conversation over coffee with him, you know. A twenty-four hour catered sex marathon seems a little excessive. Was it worth it?”

Lila felt her cheeks burn. She was so screwed. She was going to get Jack that four-star New York Times review, and he was going to write her a check, shake her hand, and tell her good luck with Personal Chef. Her heart was going to break. Again. Panic blossomed inside her.

Before she could get control of her emotions, Jenna broke in, scoffing “Are you kidding me? It could never be worth it. He’s a chef, which makes him a bad risk, but even worse, he’s a Calabrese. That means you’ve got a guy who works all the time, stays out late, and drinks too much, crossed with a guy who has more money than sense, buys whatever he wants, and isn’t used to being denied. It’s a recipe for disaster, sister.” Lila was surprised to hear cynicism from her usually sunny friend.

A deep voice traveled across the line and Jenna hurriedly said, “I’ve got to go.”

“Who’s that, Jenna?” Betsy asked. “Are you indulging in a little disaster yourself?”

“It’s complicated. Good luck, Lila. Stay strong.” Jenna hung up.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Betsy giggled.

Lila heard a klaxon sound in the background, and Betsy groaned. “Duty calls. I’ve got to go, too. Please be careful, Lila. Jenna’s right. Jack betrayed you once, and if you get in his way, he’ll do it again.” Betsy had experience on both ends of betrayal. The woman had more skeletons hiding in her closet than a serial killer, and Lila sighed, knowing she was right. “I have a train to catch.”

“Chin up, sweetie. Get cooking.”

“Thanks, Bets.” The train was on time, and she barely made it, but at least rushing around kept her from thinking about anything but work. She blazed through the morning at Personal Chef, eager to get to Inferno and begin work on the new menu. She hoped to have a few of the new dishes made before Jack arrived at work. Having something to discuss would help reestablish the professional dynamic between them. Maybe if she had food in her mouth, she wouldn’t fantasize about having Jack’s tongue in her mouth.

She used the short subway ride to Inferno to jot down a game plan on the back of a receipt she found in her purse. What should she make first? A week of working with Jack’s cooks had been enlightening. Part of the reason they worked so fast and kept the kitchen so clean was because they did every task in the most efficient order, a skill that came with experience. Luis, Roz, and Perry were all at least ten years older and had tons more experience than she did, but she’d learned a lot this week.

The ribs, she decided. She would start with them because they would take the longest to cook. As she walked down the block toward the restaurant, she couldn’t help but think about the last time she’d cooked ribs—the competition. They’d been tough because she hadn’t put them in the oven in time. How much of the blame for her crash and burn belonged to Jack and how much was her own fault? He hadn’t forced her to change her game plan, and he admitted the only reason he’d changed his was to punish her for lying to him. He was right. She’d choked, hard.

The back door was open, so she went straight to the office to get rid of her purse. She found that door open, too, and when she looked inside, a man with silver hair glanced up from the desk. She’d seen pictures of Andrew Calabrese, but he was even better looking in person. Was Jack going to turn into a silver fox, too? Her heart fluttered at the thought.

“Um, hi.” She tucked her purse behind the door. “I’m Lila Grant.”

“Andrew Calabrese.”

She nodded. “Is Jack here yet?”

He shook his head. “He’s at Breeze, up to his eyeballs in electricians.” And Mr. Calabrese did not look happy about it. Lila gave him a brief smile and backed out of the office, wondering why Mr. Calabrese wasn’t at Breeze, too.

Once she reached the line, she forgot about everything but the new menu. She had the ribs in the oven, soup at a simmer, and three different things on the grill by the time she heard the back door open. She glanced at the clock. Too early for the line cooks. Her pulse picked up speed, and she busied herself at the grill.

Jack came in the door, and the sight of him sent a frisson of excitement through her. He was in whites already with his sleeves rolled up, and he looked every inch the working chef.
Down, girl.
She eyed him cautiously, recognizing barely leashed fury in his eyes.

He flung a newspaper down on her cutting board and pointed to a picture, scowling.

“Oh, shit.” She caught her breath, leaning down to read the caption.
Chef Jackson Calabrese escapes the heat of his soon-to-open restaurant to enjoy cool treats at Drink Your Dessert. Drowning his jitters, perhaps?

Not good, but not catastrophic. “At least they didn’t mention my name. All publicity is good publicity?”

“Small consolation. Now we’ll be under more scrutiny than ever.”

She tossed the paper back at him. “From whom? New York gossip column addicts? At least you aren’t the one with your mouth hanging open in the picture.” The photographer had caught her mid-bite, and it was everything she had feared and worse on D-6 of the New York Times. She would have given the photo a different caption, something along the lines of
Jackson Calabrese has Lila Grant eating out of his hand.
Thank God Jack was too annoyed by the real caption to notice the way she was looking at him in the picture.

Jack’s eyes were cold as winter. “Fix the menu. Now. Today. Make it perfect.” He swept down the hall toward the office.

She stared after him, doing a slow burn. Clearly it was back to business as usual for him. The last vestige of guilt she felt over not waking him up to say good-bye this morning disappeared. “Truce over.”

She wondered if he knew his father was waiting for him in the office. If not, it served him right. She certainly wasn’t going to warn him. She kept cooking, hiding a grin when he strode back up the hall even faster than he’d left.

Jack headed for the stove, and she glanced sideways. “What are you making?”

“Lunch for my father.” His voice was clipped.

Apparently, his dad wasn’t watching his weight. Her mouth watered as Jack breaded a thinly pounded veal cutlet and heated oil in a sauté pan. In another pan, he fried onions and bacon. She’d been so busy cooking today, she hadn’t eaten anything.

When he added heavy cream to the pan, she almost moaned. Was he trying to drive her crazy? She peeked at his expression, but didn’t see any humor there, just tight concentration. He dropped green beans in boiling water then drained them and tossed them with butter. She hoped he didn’t hear her stomach rumble. As soon as he left, she was going to make the exact same thing for herself. Classic comfort food.

Jack plated up the schnitzel and carried it toward the office. She reached for the veal, but her timer went off, telling her to check the ribs. She realized she’d better check the grill while she was at it. Then after she got the meat under control, her soup had come to a boil and needed skimming. No schnitzel for her, at least not yet.

While she was working, she saw Jack head into the dining room. A minute later, his father emerged from the back, holding a full plate. He looked around and then tipped it toward the garbage can.

“Hold it right there,” Lila exclaimed.

Mr. Calabrese ignored her and dumped the food into the can. He set the plate in the bus tub and went back the way he came. A split-second later, the doors from the dining room swung open, and she quickly turned back to the soup. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack look in the bus tub. A faint smile lifted his lips. Then he glanced into the trash, and his face fell so fast, her heart ripped in two.

Jack turned on his heel and stormed back into the dining room.

She might be pissed at him, but no one deserved to be treated that way. Jack’s hurt had been palpable, and she never wanted to see that shattered look on his face again. She cut the heat under the soup and headed for the office.

The door was closed, so she knocked sharply. She didn’t wait for a response before she opened the door. Mr. Calabrese frowned as he looked up from the computer screen.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she demanded, shutting the door behind her.

“Starving.” He turned his attention back to the screen.

“So you’re just being an asshole?”

“What?” He jerked around to look at her again, but she doubted it was because of her coarse language. The man owned restaurants. He’d heard it before and had probably said worse.

“Your son made you lunch. He idolizes you, if you haven’t noticed. You all but tossed the plate back in his face. Why didn’t you at least pretend to eat it? I’m guessing it’s because you’re a heartless bastard who doesn’t give a shit about his son’s feelings.”

He raised one eyebrow, looking amused. “Jack’s tough. Tougher than his old man, apparently.”

“What makes you say that?”

Mr. Calabrese gave a self-deprecating laugh and sat back in his chair. “I wasn’t in Fiji last week. I was in the Cleveland Clinic. Bad heart. Ticking time bomb. Without angioplasty, you will be absolutely right—I’ll be a heartless bastard. The damn thing will explode. All of the foods I love are conspiring to kill me, but don’t tell Jack. He’s got enough on his mind right now with the opening.”