Into the Fire Page 5

  He had a perpetual knot inside his stomach the size of a grapefruit. Everything he put in his mouth tasted like ashes, and he couldn’t tell his cooks how to fix it. He’d given them notes on the latest versions of the key dishes yesterday and informed them that someone would be coming in to give the final menu an overhaul. Now what was he going to do? Tell them she wasn’t coming? He didn’t want them to lose confidence in him.

  Had he played second fiddle to his father for so long he didn’t know how to lead? No. Never. This was his dream, and he was going to make it happen. His restaurant. His way. And it was going to become the “in” place in New York. There would be no cut corners. High concept all the way. Classic martinis and truly inspired signature drinks. Steaks that would melt in the mouth with a sauce that revolutionized red meat. Chicken that was never boring. Absolutely essential desserts that tasted even better than they looked. He would send one to every table just to show them off.

  What was his problem? His ideas were solid. He had handpicked the best chefs in New York to cook for him. His dream was so close to reality, he could taste it—but something was missing. After seeing Lila again, he’d been reminded there was another level to cuisine, and he wanted it for Inferno. He wanted her for Inferno.

  And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to get her.

  An idea exploded in his brain. He threw off the covers and stood, snagging a pair of sweatpants from the chair next to his bed and sliding into them. He speed dialed his lawyer on the way down the stairs.

  As the phone rang, he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Blair? It’s Jack. I need you to do something for me…”

  …

  As Lila had expected, her friends shrieked with laughter. “Oh my God, that’s priceless,” Betsy gasped. “You have to do it.”

  “Definitely,” Jenna was laughing so hard she could barely get the word out.

  “Are you guys nuts? No way.”

  “How can you resist? Well, make him beg a little more, of course. Don’t you want to see his operation? The Calabreses may be the spawn of Satan, but they know how to launch a restaurant. I’m hearing about Inferno all the way down here. No wonder Jack the Hack wants you in his kitchen. He’s probably got opening night jitters.” Betsy’s voice turned thoughtful. “And you know what they say…payback’s a bitch.”

  Jenna laughed, clearly understanding what Betsy meant, but Lila was still in the dark. “Spell it out, Bets.” It was noon, but working all week had taken its toll. She’d just gotten out of bed and hadn’t made coffee yet.

  Betsy’s voice was all steel. “Work for Jack. Take his money. And when the opportunity presents itself, as it undoubtedly will in the restaurant business…move in for the kill. I don’t mean cut him or burn him—”

  “That’s a relief,” Lila broke in.

  “Don’t steal any money, either. That can get complicated. But there are a dozen ways to ruin someone in this business without leaving a trail. All you need is proximity.”

  Lila shook her head. “You guys are nuts. I told him to shove it, and I hope I never see him again. End of story. So…how’s the flood, Bets? And Jenna, don’t you have an interview coming up?”

  Lila heaved a silent sigh of relief as Betsy began complaining about her new job. She tried to pay attention, but now that she wasn’t racing around a kitchen or collapsed in an exhausted heap, she couldn’t stop thinking about Jack.

  “So, Lila, any new crushes?” Betsy’s sly question got her attention.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, feeling her cheeks heat, caught.

  Her friends both laughed, and Betsy continued, “There’s got to be someone making you stammer and blush. You told us all about that art professor in college. Then there was Jack-off during culinary school, thank God that’s over. I figured you would have found someone to put stars in your eyes and give you some inspiration.”

  “Nope,” Lila said, working to keep her voice light. She hadn’t told them everything about the art professor in college. She’d admitted to researching the papers Adam had published without giving her any credit, but she hadn’t admitted to sleeping with him for an entire semester. Even now, the thought of how she had allowed him to string her along made her seethe. “Just cruising along, making fine hors d’oeuvres.”

  “Well, keep us posted, sweetie,” Betsy said. “There’s more to life than food.”

  “There is?” Jenna asked, sounding shocked.

  Betsy giggled. “Yes, there’s alcohol. When are you two going to come for a visit? I’ll take you on a stagger through the French Quarter.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Lila said, even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to scrape together the cash to visit the Big Easy anytime soon. “Gotta go, guys. Have a good week.”

  After ending the call, Lila made a peanut butter and orange marmalade sandwich. Even though it was after noon, she ate it in bed and then slumped into the pillows. God, she was still exhausted, and if she had to face another week like the last one, she’d better rest up.

  As she coasted back toward sleep, thoughts of Jackson went with her. His effect on her now was both more subtle and more profound than it had been back in school. He didn’t make her stammer or blush. Well, he did, but not in the way that sent her fleeing. Instead, she burned in a different way because she knew him. She knew his skin was silky and smelled faintly of a spicy soap. She knew his kisses started slow and went deep. She knew she didn’t feel alone when he was inside her.

  Heat washed over her, and she moved restlessly on the bed. She shouldn’t be thinking about this, but what was the harm? It was just a dream.

  It’s not a dream; it’s a memory. Her conscious mind warned as she descended, but she was too far gone and already feeling his lips slanting over hers, his body pressing her into the bed, his hips driving her toward ecstasy.

  Pleasure, like nothing she had ever known before, rushed through her…now she was in the kitchen and the clock was ticking. God, why on earth was she trying this technique for the first time during a competition? She was running out of time, moving slower every second. She wasn’t going to make it. She was going to lose.

  As her dream morphed into a nightmare, Lila fought her way back to reality and found the pillow wet beneath her cheek. Her body throbbed, and she groaned, fighting lingering arousal and blaming her pumping heart on the too-real nightmare.

  …

  When Lila arrived at work on Monday morning, she was already on edge from a sleepless night. Who knew it was so hard not to dream? She wanted to get straight to work and talk to no one, but her boss was sitting on the bench in the back parking lot, smoking a cigar. She grimaced. Nine o’clock in the morning was too early for a cigar, even for Dennis.

  “What’s up?” she asked, trying to stay upwind.

  “All my hard work is about to pay off.” He beamed at her, looking like the cat that had swallowed the canary—if the cat had a bad case of mange and buckteeth.

  She looked down, wondering if he knew the top view of his comb-over gave him away. Did he ever date tall women? Maybe she should warn him. “Dennis, I haven’t had my coffee yet.” She waved the much-needed cup in her hand. “And as far as I can tell, you make me do all the work.”

  He looked injured. “It isn’t easy being a marketing genius.”

  “Uh-huh.” She made a hurry-up motion with her hand. There were no parties today, but the rest of the week was packed, and she needed to hire a new server. There was no way she’d be wearing heels on her blistered feet this week, no matter how much Dennis paid her. Enough was enough.

  “I sold the business.”

  “Oh, shit,” Lila sank down on the bench next to him, no longer caring about the smoke. “You didn’t. Please tell me you’re kidding.” Dread built inside her. There was no telling what a new owner would do. Would he fire her? Replace her with another chef? “What about the parties this week?”

  “You’ll have to ask him. I wasn’t going to ask too many questions with a deal like
that on the table. He offered three times what the business was worth, as long as I signed the papers this morning.”

  “Did you sign yet?”

  “Nope, waiting for him right now.”

  Maybe there was still time to talk him out of it. She turned to face him, but she didn’t bother begging or pleading. The cigar and his beatific grin told her his mind was made up. Well, that and the fact he wasn’t even waiting in the office. He was celebrating in the damn parking lot. If she knew Dennis, he was going to sign his name on the dotted line and bolt. She swallowed against a bubble of panic in her throat.

  She couldn’t afford to lose this job, not when she was nearing her credit limit. What was she going to do when she hit it? Would anyone give her another card? Of course they would, she told herself, but the thought wasn’t soothing. Some helpful credit card company would give her another card, then another card, until she had fallen so far into credit card debt she’d never get out. She saw her life spiraling into a hole. Did regular Joe citizens like her declare bankruptcy? Would she have to call one of those debt consolidation companies advertised on the radio?

  Mentally, she crunched the numbers again, trying to figure out where she could shave off some expenses. She’d have to move. It’s not like she had enough money to enjoy living in Manhattan anyway. It had been a pipe dream, one she might have been able to live if her father had been able to pay for culinary school as they had originally planned.

  She tensed as a town car with darkened windows pulled up to the curb. Was there any hope the new owner would be an improvement? Hope stirred inside her. It wasn’t impossible that he would have class and good taste. Maybe they would try to reach a new segment of the market, people who didn’t want the wait staff to serve up glimpses of flesh with the food. Maybe she’d never have to answer the phone in a way that made every female caller hang up on her. Maybe she would have the freedom to make great food and keep her dignity intact. Maybe…

  Not.

  Jackson Calabrese got out of the car. Her hope turned to fury, causing a roaring buzz in her ears. Oh, that rat bastard. He couldn’t get her to help him by asking, so he thought he could buy her? She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do. Her jaw tightened, and her hand clenched the paper coffee cup until the lid buckled. Hot coffee scalded her hand.

  “Dennis,” she said helplessly. “Don’t do this.”

  Dennis snorted. “Are you nuts? Don’t worry, Calabrese promised to keep you on staff.”

  She pressed her lips tightly together to contain the hysterical giggle that rose from some traitorous corner of her brain. Of course he had, but she’d have to quit now. Resignation made even the fresh burn on her hand feel cold. Jack didn’t even glance at her as he flipped pages while Dennis scrawled his initials. A wave of dizziness washed over her when he signed and dated the final page. She watched them shake hands.

  “Good luck, Lila.” There must have been something odd in her expression because Dennis stopped himself cheery mid-wave and lowered his cigar from his teeth, peering at her with what might have been concern, if Dennis had been a caring person. “Make sure you ask for a raise,” he suggested.

  She took a deep breath and stood, shaking her head. She wasn’t going to work for Jack, not for a single minute. She turned to walk back down to her subway stop, but Jack caught her hand and squeezed it. Heat shot through her, and she stumbled.

  “A pleasure doing business with you, Dennis,” Jack said, holding her hand tighter.

  Dennis chuckled and stood, grinning at them. “Like that, is it? I should have known, clever girl. Well, you deserve it, kid. Thanks for everything.”

  She ripped her hand out of Jack’s grasp and opened her mouth to tell Dennis it was not at all like that, but Dennis had already turned his back.

  She started walking. A strong arm around her waist hauled her backwards. Seriously? There was no limit to the man’s nerve. “Get your hands off me.” She spun, ripping the lid off her coffee, intending to dump it on him and hoping it was still hot enough to hurt, but he didn’t let her go.

  Reality merged with dreamy memory. His shoulders were broad, and she fit perfectly within the shelter of his frame. He was warm and smelled fresh, like soap and clean skin, and she wanted to press her lips against his neck. The last time they had been this close she had given in to every urge. Now she knew what to expect—betrayal. “Let go of me,” she repeated, and this time he did.

  She stepped back and raised the cup.

  He caught her hand so fast only a dribble slopped onto the blacktop parking lot. “Don’t waste good coffee on me.”

  His quiet tone surprised her. She had expected gloating. She raised her eyes to his face and saw him gazing down at her with an unreadable expression.

  “Stop touching me,” she said, baring her teeth.

  “If I let you go, will the coffee stay in the cup?” he asked.

  “Probably not.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Only the thought of her dwindling resources kept her from showering him with the expensive brew. “Why did you do this, Jackson? I’m not going to work for you.”

  His lips twisted. “I’m prepared to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  There was no cunning in his voice, no cajolery or conceit, and if there was mockery, it seemed to be directed at himself. Why was he behaving so strangely?

  “Not possible.” But she didn’t sound as sure as she would have liked.

  “You’re broke. You said so yourself. And I have more money than I know what to do with. I will pay a fortune for a menu consultant. I cannot, will not, let this restaurant fail. It means everything to me. I know you hate me, and frankly, I don’t like you very much either, but that doesn’t make me blind to your talent. I will pay you a mutually agreed upon, absolutely obscene amount of money if you help me launch Inferno.”

  He was serious. In fact, she had never seen him look so grim. There wasn’t a trace of laughter on his lips, and his eyes were so dark, they looked gray, not green. She frowned, wanting to ask him why he was so sure he would fail, but he held up a hand. “I’m not finished. I just bought Personal Chef, but at the conclusion of our contract, I’ll sign it over to you.” She saw a muscle jump in his jaw. “It’s a good deal, Lila. I hope you’ll accept my offer.”

  She wanted to say no. Hell, no. She struggled to tap into the fury that had filled her when he made his first offer, but she couldn’t find it. Instead, she was flattered, almost tempted, and it was a dangerous feeling. Any bargain made with Jackson Calabrese was a deal with the devil, but curiosity sparked in her brain. She had to admit she was dying to see his menu.

  He stepped closer to her, probably smelling blood in the water. “My lawyer will draw up a legal agreement. The money and the business will be yours, fair and square, in three weeks.”

  “Three weeks? I thought you opened in two.”

  “Our agreement will be contingent on a good review from the New York Times.”

  And there was the catch. Naturally Jack would expect to rate an immediate review in the Times. “Why the conditions?” she asked. “Isn’t my working for you enough, Jack?”

  His expression was hard, eyes dark. “You need to have a stake in this too. There’s no trust between us, and you aren’t exactly famous for sticking to the job. You didn’t finish your art degree, and you didn’t bother coming to the Culinary Academy graduation ceremony. I can’t have you creating a menu we can’t reproduce under normal working conditions and then disappearing. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to screw me, Lila, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let it happen.”

  She looked up at him, trying not to betray her hurt. How dare he use her past against her? And who was he to throw stones? He’d seduced her and stolen her ideas. Now he was manipulating her into working for him. His character wasn’t flawless either.

  “You will work for me,” he continued. “You will fix my menu, and document every change in e
ach dish, down to the very last ingredient. You will make sure my chefs can cook each dish in their sleep before you leave. And I will pay you.”

  Of course he would think she would screw him. That was how his brain worked. Unfortunately, her mind worked the opposite way. She was too honest and upfront for her own good, but that was going to change. She wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away twice. She thought of what Betsy had said about proximity and wished she’d accepted his offer yesterday. Then he might not have drawn up a pesky contact.

  “Well?” he asked. “How much do you want?”

  “Hang on.” She wished she could phone a friend—or two. Or at least someone with a calculator. She solved that problem by pulling her cell phone out of her purse and sitting down on the bench. She took a sip of coffee then set it aside, wondering if he would sweeten the deal and throw in a car, a house—heck, maybe a small country or two—if she stalled long enough.

  She began to add it up: the competition money, the balance of her school loans, her credit card, her rent for a year, a few thousand for her Dad because he kept sending her money even though he didn’t have any, plus a generous dining allowance because, damn it, she lived in an amazing food city and she was hungry. Jack could afford it. The greedy thoughts running through her head reminded her of game shows she had watched as a child where panicked shoppers rushed through grocery stores, trying to get all the big ticket items before the timer ticked down to zero.

  She couldn’t look at him as she named a ridiculous sum.

  “Done.” His reply was instant, making her think she had asked for too little.

  “I’m not finished yet,” she added, mimicking the peremptory tone he had used earlier. “That’s what I want at the end of the three weeks. You just eighty-sixed my weekly paycheck. Some of us depend on those to live, you know. I want a hundred dollars an hour, with time-and-a-half for anything over forty hours a week.”

  “Fifty hours,” he countered, with the first smile she’d seen out of him this morning. “We work in the restaurant business. There are no forty-hour weeks.”