Into the Fire Read online

  She laughed. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

  “I do not,” he said, mouth already full. She pulled a gallon of milk out of her reach-in and poured him a glass. “This is how I used to keep your father from getting ulcers too.”

  Jack grunted. He didn’t want to talk about his father.

  “Lila seems nice. Smart. Pretty, of course. Seems like she can cook, too.”

  “Don’t start, Emily.”

  “Whatever you say, boss. I’m just wondering why you brought her in here. Seems like a strange time to be rocking the boat.”

  He couldn’t tell this woman who had enough faith in him to follow him to Inferno that he thought the restaurant might fail without Lila. “Stop fishing, Em.” He grabbed his milk and headed for the office. Her laughter followed him. He shut the door.

  After a performance like that, his crew would worship Lila. He almost wished he’d gone to get the pizza like she’d asked instead of sticking around like a dog in the manger and getting his ass kicked on his own line. You asked for it, he reminded himself. In fact, you’re paying for it. He certainly was, in more ways than one, and she clearly didn’t need him around in order to do the job. She’d only rub his nose in what he knew already.

  He might be fast. He might get the job done. But he lacked the one ingredient so essential in a fine-dining kitchen that without it, Inferno was never going to make it—creativity. Creativity she had in truckloads. Creativity he would do anything to gain, to learn, to acquire, but as she had pointed out, he was paying for it. Maybe it wasn’t necessary to stick around while she sharpened her knives on him. After all, he’d spent all afternoon following her around and was no closer to figuring out how she created such memorable combinations. He’d had enough torture for today.

  He downed his milk and took the glass with him as he headed back to the kitchen. Walking up the short hall, he heard Luis say, “Too bad it’s too early for beer.”

  “Shut your yapper. He’s finally happy. We’re going to make it.” Roz’s retort hit him like an icy fist, and he stopped to listen. Had his crew been worried they might not make it, too?

  “Drinks after work to celebrate?” Perry asked.

  “No celebrating until we fix the menu,” Lila said.

  Luis’ cheer turned into a groan. “You’re worse than Jack.”

  “Nope, I’m better than he is,” she shot back.

  Jack stepped into sight, hoping his presence would keep his staff from agreeing with her.

  Lila raised an eyebrow when she saw him. “Back for more, hotshot? Let’s go.”

  Her smart-ass grin made him want to jump behind the line and grab a sauté pan, but he shook his head. “I have things to take care of at the other restaurants. You’re on your own. Keep working. I expect to see a finished menu by the end of the week.”

  Her blue eyes lost their teasing look and turned chilly. “Do you want fries with that?” she asked politely.

  “Only if they’re four-star fries.” He left the kitchen, forcing away thoughts of anything but work and wishing he could feel for her what she felt for him—nothing.

  Chapter Eight

  By Saturday night, Lila was ready to do a swan dive into the fryer. Working at Personal Chef all day and Inferno all night was killing her, and even though Jack’s end-of-the-week deadline had spurred her on, she had zip to show for it. Usually her creative process worked much faster than this. She loved food, and she came up with her best ideas when she was pondering what she would like to have for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Maybe that was the problem. She wasn’t hungry.

  Her stomach growled. Apparently, she could lie to herself, but her body was not going to be her willing accomplice. She left the line and headed for the bakeshop, craving the intense, instant comfort of Emily’s chocolate cake. She’d had a piece every night this week. Why stop now?

  Emily laughed when she saw her. “Right on time. How’s it going?”

  Lila shook her head and groaned. “Better make it a big piece, with lots of caramel.” She could use the sugar rush for inspiration. Where was all of the creativity that had been pumping through her brain earlier in the week? Had it disappeared with Jack?

  After Tuesday’s impromptu cook-off, she had only seen him twice, in passing. At first, she had been glad he was keeping his distance. It had been bad enough to have repressed memories of what happened between them taunting her in her dreams. Now she thought of their kiss every time she walked by the line. Her body tingled to life remembering the tender look in his eyes before he kissed her. She felt weak when she caught a whiff of his spicy scent. No matter how many times she told herself Jack was only looking for another way to use her, her body clamored for his.

  Ridiculous.

  She stared mournfully at the enormous cloud-like chocolate confection Emily placed in front of her. The pastry chef had been on fire this week, and the chocolate cake now sported an eye-catching tangle of handmade chocolate ribbons. She took a bite, jealous that Emily had managed to improve an already heavenly dessert while Lila had made zero progress on the dinner menu. The bittersweet chocolate soufflé cake was now intensified by caramel sauce so dark Lila was sure it must be burned, but no whiff of the devil lingered on her tongue. The chocolate curls provided a crunch the dessert had been lacking, and the lightly-sweetened whipped cream eased the decadent richness. In a word, it was perfect.

  Nothing Lila had made this week was perfect. She sighed and shoveled cake into her mouth. After spending the week chatting with his staff, she’d deduced the best way to get to Jack would be to exploit his insecurities. His menu and his father were obvious sore spots, but she couldn’t torture him if she never saw him. If Inferno was so important to him, why hadn’t he spent more time there this week?

  She glanced up at Emily. The pastry chef had dropped several more pro-Jack hints, and Lila didn’t want to encourage her, but enough was enough.

  “Have you talked to Jack?” Lila tried to sound casual.

  “He’s tied up at Breeze—huge fire yesterday. I also heard a rumor about a grease trap leak at Elements. Jack’s been pretty busy taking care of everything while his dad is out of town.”

  “Is everyone okay at Breeze?”

  Emily nodded. “Just a scare and some toasted wiring. It happened before service, and my husband said they got everything cleaned up in time to open the doors.”

  Lila could understand how a fire could pull Jack’s focus, but he could have at least called. Maybe he figured Inferno was her problem now. If so, they were both screwed.

  A wave of frustration killed her appetite. She pushed her half-finished cake away from her. She should have known the minute she’d first seen Jack’s menu there was nothing she could do to improve it. Soon, they’d know she was a fraud. Did she really want to be around when they figured it out?

  No, she decided, getting to her feet. “Thanks for the cake, Emily. Best one yet.” She picked up her plate.

  “You’re not going to finish it?” Emily looked shocked.

  “I just lost my appetite.” She stepped out of the bakeshop.

  Her heart pounded in her throat. All she had to do was walk out that back door and Inferno wouldn’t be her problem anymore. She wouldn’t get the money or Personal Chef, but she also wouldn’t have to face Jack and feel like a failure. That felt like a fair trade right now.

  She set her plate in a bus tub, hoping no one would ask her why she was getting her purse. Maybe they would assume she was taking a smoke break, even though she didn’t smoke. The cooks were working on specials today and didn’t even look at her. She walked through the dish room and out the back door.

  She paused to take a deep breath filled with relief and regret. Jack was going to be furious. Why did she care? She wanted to hurt him, and this would hit him hard. Strangely, the thought inspired sadness, not glee.

  The door opened, and she jumped, startled.

  Emily stepped out, carrying a bag of garbage. “Hey Lila, I’m starving. I don’t s
uppose you’d be willing to make me dinner?” She didn’t notice Lila’s purse, or if she did she didn’t mention it.

  “Uh…I was just going to, uh…get some fresh air,” she finished lamely, unable to admit her true intentions to the woman who had been working so hard this week. “Are you hungry for something in particular?” she asked, surprising herself. For the first time that week, she felt the spark of inspiration and realized she would love to make dinner for Emily.

  “I’d kill for some of the seafood I saw in the walk-in.”

  “You got it. Spicy Asian? Creamy Italian? American regional? What kind of food do you like?” Ideas began to spin in her head. Mentally, she reviewed the contents of the walk-in, reach-ins, and storage room as Emily described her favorite dishes. “I’m all over it.”

  As Emily tossed the garbage into the dumpster at the end of the alley, Lila noticed the bag was light, barely half-full.

  She raised an eyebrow as Emily held the door open for her. The pastry chef’s smile was serene. “After you.”

  Lila stepped through the doorway, laughing softly as the idea for a rice dish that would make Emily swoon took shape.

  She headed for the line, grabbing cooked saffron rice, seafood, and fresh ginger from the walk-in on her way. She could taste it now, paella, redolent of the earth and the sea, with extra garlic, ginger, and just a kiss of fish sauce. She worked swiftly, filled with a sense of purpose, glad Perry was taking his break so she could have the sauté station to herself.

  Her muse had returned, and she shimmied a bit as she sautéed onions and peppers with the aromatic garlic and ginger. When the vegetables were cooked, she added a swirl of wine, clam sauce, and fish sauce, then the briny seafood, a hefty handful of homemade chorizo, and the rice. Her mouth watered, and she felt a prickle across the surface of her skin that told her she was in the zone, creating something that Emily would love. She savored the feeling, letting it buoy her.

  She tasted it, and grinned. Perfect.

  She poured the steaming paella into a shallow bowl and garnished it with scallions and cilantro. The bright yellow rice looked gorgeous with the small pops of green and red from the peppers. The shrimp tails curled in festive spirals and the plentiful chunks of chorizo and white fish guaranteed satisfaction. She carried it back to the bakeshop. After handing the dish to a delighted Emily, she went down the hall to the office to think about her close call. What had just happened, and how could she make it happen again?

  Slowly, she realized Emily’s appetite had inspired her, and the last time she’d felt that way Jack had been talking about the Chicken Alighieri. He’d looked wistful and passionate and she’d imagined sweet corn, singed on the grill, and the heat of chilies. That dish had been a shoe-in for the new menu.

  The same thing had happened with the beef dish. Jack hadn’t said a word but she’d seen him smile when he cut into the rare meat, and she’d thought of chimichurri. Jack had eaten half her steak before pausing. A spark of joy flickered inside her at the memory. A big part of what she loved about cooking was the happiness it brought others. In fact, each of her Personal Chef hors d’oeuvres had been created based on a request, and she never got tired of trying to please a customer.

  Now she was furious Jack hadn’t been around this week. She could have used him for inspiration and finished the menu by now. Now there were only a few days left to pick his brain. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of spending time with him. She thought of their kiss and the incomprehensible way her body craved him despite his repeated betrayals. After Adam had taken advantage of her abilities in college, she had sworn never to let it happen again, but this was different. She was getting something out of this—financial security and a catering career—but she had almost shot it all to hell. To pay off her debts and take over Personal Chef, she needed to work with Jack.

  Cool certainty settled her nerves, and she walked back to the bakeshop.

  “Save a bite of that for me, okay?” she asked. Emily bared her teeth and growled, making Lila smile.

  She continued up to the line to find Daniel.

  The sous chef had been a blur all week, ordering and organizing. He looked up from his clipboard as she paused beside him.

  She hesitated. Maybe she could talk to Daniel and the other cooks and use them for the inspiration she needed to tweak the menu. Maybe she was making this more difficult than it needed to be. Did she really have to talk to Jack?

  Anticipation sizzled through her.

  When she was in the kitchen with Jack all she had to do was look at him—the tension in his jaw, the heat pouring off him in waves, the way his gaze sharpened right before he laid a pan on the fire—and ideas came pouring out of nowhere. Talking to the crew would give her a reflection of Jack’s vision, but she needed the real deal. In order to have a prayer of pulling this off in the few days she had left, she had to mine the source. Somehow she would find the strength to resist both her treacherous memories and the craving that had been building inside her all week.

  “Something I can do for you?” Daniel prompted, and she realized she’d been standing there trying to get her nerve up while he waited politely.

  She took a deep breath. “I need Jack.”

  …

  Jack stared blearily at the coffee pot, trying to remember whether he was supposed to hit the button once or twice to make it brew. He’d only been in charge of his father’s restaurants for a week and all hell had broken loose—the fire at Breeze had come close to shutting the place down. The Elements dish room had resembled an oil slick earlier in the week. How did the old man do it? Jack was thirty years younger and needed a nap. He grappled with the coffee maker, wondering if there was any way to open up a vein and get an IV drip of caffeine for the rest of the night. Daniel said Lila needed to see him and that couldn’t be good.

  He looked to his left and saw her in the bakeshop, standing at the stove talking with Emily. The glass-front reach-in was full of spectacular desserts and Daniel had texted him pictures and glowing descriptions of every item Lila had made this week. He’d been right to hire her, and he should be ecstatic she had made so much progress on the menu.

  Instead, jealousy ate at his gut. Immediately, he pictured Lila naked.

  It had begun as a way to control his resentment, but it had turned into a full-time obsession. Every time he saw her, he wanted to strip her down. Her red-gold hair twisted on top of her head made him want to pull out the pins. Her bulky chef coat made him imagine the curves that lay beneath it. His gaze traveled the length of her body and hit her shoes, and a vision of her in her chef coat, clogs, and nothing else popped into his head, making his cock stir.

  Lila turned from the stove and caught him staring. Hot coffee spilled on his thigh. He righted his cup, then cursed as he overcompensated for the tilt and spilled coffee on his other leg.

  Lila stalked toward him, calling over her shoulder, “No cookies for him.”

  He blinked, trying to clear the image from his mind before she stopped in front of him. He failed. Fortunately, she kept her eyes on his face. “I hope you aren’t talking about me. I’m starving. I want cookies.” He heard a snort from the bakeshop. Was Emily laughing at him?

  Lila shrugged. “As my grandmother would say, it’s okay to want.” She held up a spoon and he realized she was also carrying a nearly empty bowl. “I have something better than cookies. Open wide.”

  Cautiously, he opened his mouth. The rice was cold, but robust flavors exploded in his mouth. Shrimp, sausage, saffron and… “Ginger?” he asked, astonished.

  She nodded, looking smug, but he didn’t blame her. He reached for the spoon and took another bite, snagging a scallop this time. If the rest of her offerings were this good, Inferno was going to take New York by storm. The thought should have filled him with glee, but all he felt was resignation. Maybe he was just too tired. He scraped the last bite from the bowl. “What’s next?”

  Lila cleared her throat. “Nothing. I don’t have a new menu t
o show you yet.”

  “What do you mean? Daniel’s been sending me glowing reports all week.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing is good enough to put on the menu. I’m glad you like the paella, but I just came up with that today.”

  “Lila, Inferno opens in a week. We need a finished menu. What on earth have you been doing with your time?”

  “Cooking, but I had an epiphany today…I can’t do it.”

  “Don’t even think about backing out of our deal. I’ll make sure no chef in New York will hire you.” Panic made his words sound harsh, but why the hell had she waited until now to tell him she couldn’t do it? She had to do it.

  She had the nerve to laugh in his face. “I appreciate you making this easier for me by being a dick, but I meant I can’t do it alone. I need to pick your brain, Jack. It’s your restaurant. The food has to be yours, but you haven’t been around long enough this week for me to find out whether you like rice or potatoes, green vegetables or root vegetables, steak or fish.”

  “I like them all,” he said. “Why does it matter?”

  “Because I’ve been killing myself trying to make improvements and I can’t do it alone.” Her expression was as sour as the coffee curdling his stomach. “If you want a new menu, you’re going to have to help me.”

  He glared down at her, seething. Was she fucking with him? Rubbing his nose in his failure again? “I gave it my best shot, Lila. And it wasn’t good enough. I thought I made that clear. I don’t know how you expect me to help.”

  “Talk to me about food.” She nearly spit the words. “Believe me—I don’t like the idea any more than you do.”

  Talk to her?

  He couldn’t even lay eyes on her without wanting to rip her clothes off, and she wanted to have a conversation? Fat chance. He’d stayed away from Inferno partly because the other restaurants needed him but also because it flat-out pissed him off that he couldn’t control his reaction to her. It was humiliating that she’d taken over his kitchen and was succeeding where he had failed. He refused to completely abase himself by following her around the kitchen begging for her attention. Not when all she wanted from him was a paycheck.