She was so riled that he was able to approach without her noticing him. He wanted to laugh as he watched her pounding on what looked like some type of dough. She had a rolling pin in one hand banging on it, and she flipped it with the other. Definitely not a technique I’ve ever seen before. When he was closer, he saw the name on the jacket, Ricco Gallo. You don’t act like a chef, and you sure as hell don’t look like a Ricco either. What’s going on here?
“Are you Gallo?”
He must have startled her; she held up the rolling pin as though ready to strike. “You can’t be in here. This is restricted to kitchen staff only.”
He looked around and only saw her. “So I’ve been told from your waitress. Are you the cook?” Vincent wasn’t about to use the word chef as that would’ve meant she actually had some skill.
“I am.”
The expression on her face had been priceless. Her chin was up in the air, and she actually sounded as though she was proud of it. Why, he wasn’t sure. If he’d put anything on a plate that looked that horrible, he’d never cook again.
“Then someone should warn Mrs. Barrington.”
“About what?”
Vincent arched a brow and said, “That her guests will have the choice of food poisoning or dying from starvation.”
The fire in her eyes amazed him. Once again she went off rattling something in a language he couldn’t understand. He may be of Italian decent, but his family had been here for five generations, and he knew only a few words he’d pick up over the years.
When she calmed down he said, “Want to try that in English this time?”
“I do not know who you think you are, coming into the kitchen and complaining.”
“I’m a person with taste buds. Obviously you don’t have any or you wouldn’t have served that garbage.” It was so bad he couldn’t even bring himself to call it food.
“Feel free not to eat it.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t.”
“I need you to leave my kitchen. If you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to cook here.”
He laughed. “Trying, yes. Achieving, no.”
Vincent hadn’t meant to upset her. He was only calling it as it was, yet he could see she was flustered.
“I’m glad you feel as though you could do better, but unless you’re here to help, I repeat, you need to leave my kitchen.” Her eyes glistened as she barked at him, yet she held her control.
He had to give her credit, she wasn’t backing down. But that was foolish, because once the word got out about how bad the food was, they’d be out of business. None of this was his concern as he turned and walked out of the kitchen. I have my own business to run. I don’t need to worry about some resort that is mismanaged. I don’t care how charming the place appears to be; without quality food, it’s a ticking time bomb.
As he made his way back to his table, he couldn’t get the picture of her eyes out of his mind. He wasn’t one to let tears persuade him, yet there was something about her that was pulling him to return. Mind your own business, Vincent. Enough has gone wrong already. I’m not here to fix things. Hell, I’m not even sure why I’m here anymore. This is a total fucking waste of my time.
Before he sat down, he overheard a couple complaining about the meal. “This is outrageous. When I tell Sophie about this—”
“Excuse my interruption. I understand you are unhappy with the meal. If you wouldn’t mind giving the chef another hour, I believe you might have a change of mind.” Vincent had no idea what possessed him to interrupt. He was committing to something he knew she couldn’t deliver. At least not without help.
The woman at the table snorted and said, “One hour. But if it isn’t up to my standards, I most definitely will make my call.”
Vincent turned and headed back to the kitchen. He knew she needed his help, but how he could convince her of that, was a different story.
The last time he saw her she was standing strong and confident. Now he found her sobbing, holding her face with her hands. Everything told him to stop and turn around, yet he found himself walking up to her and wrapping her in his arms.
He felt her tense, and she tried to pull away. “It’s okay. It’s just me again.”
“What . . . what are you doing . . . here?” Renita asked between sobs.
I wish I knew. “Let me help.”
“Why are you being so nice?”
Her beautiful brown eyes searched his face for an answer. If you find one, please share it with me. “Because I can, and because you need me to help.”
That seemed to get her temper going all over again, and she pulled away from him with her hands now on her hips and tapping her toes on the floor.
Vincent almost laughed. No one had ever accused him of being nice when it came to managing a kitchen. He ran a tight ship. Even his sous-chefs were the best in the business. If they couldn’t pull their weight, they were cut that same day. Second chances didn’t fly with him.
But, as he looked at her, he saw a passion in her eyes. She might not be able to cook, but at least she had spirit. You, my dear, I might just make an exception for.
He rolled up his sleeves, went to the sink, and scrubbed up. Looks like this is a working event after all.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving your reputation. But if we don’t get some edible food out there quickly, even I won’t be able to help you.”
He opened the refrigerators, amazed at how well-stocked they were. Someone obviously had planned for an elaborate dining experience, but that confused him more. Why have all this and then open a can? Because if you try telling me that soup was freshly made, I’m calling BS.
Filling his arms, he grabbed numerous fresh vegetables and laid them in front of Chef Gallo. “You chop, and I’ll cook.”
He figured letting her attend to the veggies was safe while he searched for ingredients he could pull together quickly and taste as though it was prepared by someone who’s seen a kitchen before.
He found salmon and the fixings for a glaze. He went to the prep station but was caught off guard when he was blown away for the second time. She was chopping the carrots as though she’d never used a knife before. How do you still have fingers?
Vincent didn’t want to shout at her; it was scary enough just watching. Slowly he walked over to her and asked, “Can I show you how?”
She hesitated for a moment then stepped back, nodded, and handed him the knife. It wasn’t the right knife for the job. He laid it down and grabbed a different one, holding it up so she could see the difference.
“Watch the way I hold my hands. The knife never leaves the table.” Quickly he chopped six carrots all sized equally. He continued until they all were chopped.
“Do you want to try the celery?”
She looked reluctant, but she reached for his knife, and her attempt was better than the first.
“I see you have some skill, but I really shouldn’t let you do this. I mean, you’re a guest and it’s not allowed. The health department would never allow this.”
“If they ate what you’d served, you wouldn’t need to worry; they’d pull your license.” He hadn’t meant for the words to be quite so harsh, but he wasn’t one who normally held back either.
“Oh, God. I wasn’t thinking of that. I only wanted to get something out I knew I could make. Do you think anyone is going to call? I mean, it wasn’t that bad, was it? I eat that all the time.”
“Then I feel bad for you. Let me answer your first question. I bought you a bit of time to get out some real food, but if we don’t, then yes, someone will call. Second, the food was that bad. I have no idea where you were trained, but lady, you’re the worse chef I’ve ever encountered. I can’t believe Brice suggested I hire you for one of my restaurants. What did you do, threaten to poison him or something?”
She had a puzzled look on her face and then burst out laughing. “You really believe I’m a chef?”
“You are wearing a chef’s jacket a
nd are in the kitchen. What would you like me to believe?” He arched a brow and waited for her to answer.
“Your taste buds.” Her smile lit up the entire room.
Damn, you’re beautiful, whoever you are. “Then I’d guess dishwasher because your food tastes like you used sink water.”
“Ouch. Please don’t hold back. It’s not like I have any feelings or anything.”
She acted hurt, but somehow not surprised by his comment. “I take it you’re not Ricco Gallo.”
“I might not be able to cook, but at least I have eyes enough to know the difference between a man and a woman.”
Oh trust me. I know the difference. And you are definitely a woman. “Very cute. Where is Ricco?”
“He has the flu and the rest of the staff called out for similar reasons or were unable to travel due to the weather. Even the resort owner, Mr. Prescott, wasn’t able to get here. So that left me and the little waitstaff who had come in to work early. They were here to get in some skiing before the big New Year’s Eve event. I know you might not believe this, but I was the only option.”
He heard her sincerity when she spoke. He expected his staff to step up in a similar situation. However they would’ve been qualified to do so. “So what experience do you have?”
“Besides my father being a world-renowned chef?”
