PENNY JACKSON KNEW that it was probably wrong
to be so excited to see her ex-husband come crawling back,
but she was willing to live with the character flaw.
"You know he's going to want to hire you," her friend
Naomi said.
"Oh, yeah. The sweet smell of validation." Penny leaned
back in her chair and considered the possibilities. "I
want him to beg. Not in a vicious, I hate your guts way,
but more as a..."
"Show of support for divorced women everywhere?" Naomi
asked.
Penny laughed. "Exactly. I suppose that makes me petty and
small."
"Maybe, but you're looking especially fabulous today, if
that helps."
"A little." Penny smoothed the front of her loose sweater
and glanced at the clock. "We're meeting for lunch
downtown. A neutral location โ no memories, good or bad."
"Stay away from the good ones," Naomi warned her.
"You always were a sucker where Cal was concerned."
"That was so three years ago. I'm completely over him.
I've moved on."
"Right." Naomi didn't look convinced. "Don't think about
how great he looks in his clothes, or out of them. Instead
remember how he broke your heart, lied about wanting
children and trampled your fragile dreams."
Easy enough, Penny thought, a flicker of annoyance
muscling in on her good mood.
Nearly as bad, four years ago she'd applied for a job as a
cook in Buchanan's, one of Cal's family's restaurants. The
job had been strictly entry-level โ she would have been in
charge of salads. There had been ten other applicants.
Worried she wouldn't make the cut, Penny had asked her
then-husband to put in a good word for her with his
grandmother. He'd refused and she hadn't gotten the job.
"This time the job is coming to me," Penny said.
"I intend to take advantage of that. And him. In a
strictly business way, of course."
"Of course," Naomi echoed, not sounding the least bit
convinced. "He's trouble for you. Always has been. Be
careful."
Penny stood and reached for her purse. "When am I not?"
"Ask for lots of money."
"I promise."
"Don't think about having sex with him." Penny
laughed. "Oh, please. That isn't an issue. You'll see."
PENNY ARRIVED EARLY, then stayed in her car until five
minutes after the appointed time. A small, possibly
insignificant power play on her part, but she figured
she'd earned it.
She walked into the quiet leather-and-linen bistro. Before
she could approach the hostess, she saw Cal standing by a
booth in the back. They might have friends in common, and
live in the same city, but since she'd done her darnedest
to avoid close proximity to him they never ran into each
other. This lunch was going to change that.
"Hi," she said with a breezy smile.
"Penny." He looked her over, then motioned to the other
side of the booth. "Thanks for joining me."
"How could I refuse? You wouldn't say much over the phone,
which made me curious." She slid onto the seat.
Cal looked good. Tall, muscled, the same soulful eyes she
remembered. Just sitting across from him caused her body
to remember what it had been like back when things had
been good and they'd been unable to keep their hands off
each other. Not that she was interested in him in that
way. She'd learned her lesson.
Plus, she couldn't forgive the fact that in the three
years they'd been apart, he hadn't had the common courtesy
to get fat or wrinkled. Nope, he was gorgeous โ which was
just like a man.
Still, he needed her help. Oh, yeah, that part was very
cool. While they'd been married the message had been she
wasn't good enough. Now he wanted her to save the day...or
the restaurant, in this case. While she planned to say
yes, eventually, she was going to enjoy every second of
making him beg.
"The Waterfront is in trouble," he said, then paused as
the waitress came by to take their order.
When the woman left, Penny leaned back in the tufted seat
of the booth and smiled. "I'd heard it was more than in
trouble. I'd heard the place was done for. Hemorrhaging
customers and money."
She blinked, going for an innocent expression. No doubt
Cal would see through her attempt and want to strangle
her. But he couldn't. Because he needed her. Was, in fact,
desperate for her help. How she loved that in a man.
Especially in Cal.
"Things have been better," he admitted, looking as if he
hated every second of the conversation.
"The Waterfront is the oldest restaurant in the infamous
Buchanan dynasty," she said cheerfully.
"The flagship. Or it used to be. Now you have a reputation
for bad food and worse service." She sipped her water. "At
least that's the word on the street."
"Thanks for the update."
His jaw tightened as he spoke. She could tell he was
furious about this meeting. She had an idea of what he was
thinking โ of all the chefs in all of Seattle, why did it
have to be her?
She didn't know either, but sometimes a girl couldn't help
catching a break.
"Your contract is up," he said.
She smiled. "Yes, it is."
"You're looking for a new position."
"Yes, I am."
"I'd like to hire you."
Five little words. Words that weren't significant on their
own, but when joined together, could mean the world to
someone. In this case, her.
"I've had other offers," Penny said calmly.
"Have you accepted any of them?"
"Not yet."
Cal was tall, about six-three, with dark hair. His face
was all sculpted cheekbones and stubborn jaw, and his
mouth frequently betrayed his mood. Right now it was thin
and straight. He was so angry, he practically spouted
steam. She'd never felt better.
"I'm here to offer you a five-year contract. You get
complete control of the kitchen, the standard agreement."
He named a salary that made her blink.
Penny took another sip of her water. In truth she didn't
want just another job. She wanted her own place. But
opening a restaurant took serious money, which she didn't
have. Her choices were to take on more partners than she
wanted or wait. She'd decided to wait.
Her plan was to spend the next three years putting away
money, then open the restaurant of her dreams. So while a
big salary was nice, it wasn't enough.
"Not interested," she said, with a slight smile. Cal's
gaze narrowed. "What do you want? Aside from my head on a
stick."
Her smile turned genuine. "I've never wanted that," she
told him. "Well, not after the divorce was final. It's
been three years, Cal. I've long since moved on. Haven't
you?"
"Of course. Then why aren't you interested? It's a good
job."
"I'm not looking for a job. I want an opportunity."
"Meaning?"
"More than the standard agreement. I want my name out
front and complete creative control in back." She reached
into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a folded
piece of paper. "I have a list."
DOING THE RIGHT THING had always been a pain in the ass,
Cal thought as he took the sheet and unfolded it. This
time was no different.
He scanned the list, then tossed it back to her. Penny
didn't want an opportunity, she wanted his balls sautรฉed
with garlic and a nice cream sauce.
"No," he said flatly, ignoring the way the afternoon
sunlight brought out the different colors of red and brown
in her auburn hair.
"Fine by me." She picked up the sheet and started to slide
out of the booth. "Nice to see you, Cal. Good luck with
the restaurant."
He reached across the table and grabbed her wrist. "Wait."
"But if we have nothing to talk about..."
She looked innocent enough, he thought as he gazed into
her big blue eyes, but he knew better than to believe the
wide-eyed stare.
Penny could be convinced to take the job; otherwise she
wouldn't have bothered with a meeting. Playing him for a
fool wasn't her style. But that didn't mean she wouldn't
enjoy making him beg.
Given their past, he supposed he'd earned it. So he would
bargain with her, giving in where he had to. He would even
have enjoyed the negotiation if only she didn't look so
damn smug.
He rubbed his thumb across her wrist bone, knowing she
would hate that. She'd always lamented her large forearms,
wrists and hands, claiming they were out of proportion
with the rest of her body. He'd thought she was crazy to
obsess about a flaw that didn't exist. Besides, she had
chef's hands โ scarred, nimble and strong. He'd always
liked her hands, whether they were working on food in the
kitchen or working on him in the bedroom.
"Not going to happen," he said, nodding his head at the
paper and releasing his hold on her. "You know that, too.
So where's the real list?"
She grinned and eased back into the booth. "I heard you
were desperate. I had to try."
"Not that desperate. What do you want?"
"Creative freedom on the menus, complete control over the
back half of the store, my name on the menu, ownership of
any specialty items I create, the right to refuse any
general manager you try to stuff down my throat, four
weeks vacation a year and ten percent of the profits."
The waitress appeared with their lunches. He'd ordered a
burger, Penny a salad. But not just any salad. Their
server laid out eight plates with various ingredients in
front of Penny's bowl of four kinds of lettuce.
As he watched, she put olive oil, balsamic vinaigrette and
ground pepper into a coffee cup, then squeezed in half a
lemon. After whisking them with her fork, she dumped the
diced, smoked chicken and feta onto her salad, then
sniffed the candied pecans before adding them. She passed
over walnuts, took only half of the tomato, added red
onions instead of green and then put on her dressing.
After tossing everything, she stacked the plates and took
her first bite of lunch.
"How is it?" he asked.
"Good."
"Why do you bother eating out?"
"I don't usually."
She hadn't before, either. She'd been content to whip up
something incredible in their kitchen and he'd been happy
to let her.
He returned his attention to her demands. He wouldn't give
her everything she wanted on general principle. Plus it
was just plain bad business.
"You can have creative control over the menus and the back
half of the store," he said. "Specialty items stay with
the house."
Anything a chef created while in the employ of a
restaurant was owned by that restaurant.
"I want to be able to take them with me when I go." She
forked a piece of lettuce. "It's a deal-breaker, Cal."
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