The Christmas Wedding Swap Page 7

  Maybe it was something about Pineville, he mused, this tendency to miss a step. Ever since he’d arrived in town he’d been feeling a touch off-balance. like he was being sucked into some kind of vortex, to a different reality where earning a three-star Michelin rating didn’t matter as much as the local grade school’s bake sale.

  He rubbed his chest and tried to shrug off his unease. It was normal to feel uncertain when a man’s livelihood was under threat. It had nothing to do with Pineville.

  A soft snow fell on his leather jacket, and he turtled his neck, trying to keep his ears warm. He’d packed his saddlebags so quickly, he’d forgotten a few necessary items. But now that his flight had become a permanent residency, at least for a month, he needed to get himself in order.

  After closing the door against a swirl of snowflakes, he turned up the heater in his small room and pulled out his cell phone. It was time to make his daily call back home to see how his restaurant was surviving.

  The music of a first-class kitchen, with the heated shouts between sous chefs and the clattering of pans on the stoves, met his ear. “Keith, it’s Luke. How’s it going?”

  “Fine.” Luke could hear the hesitation in his manager’s voice as he walked toward the office, away from the kitchen noise.

  “But?” Luke asked.

  “Cindy screwed up your pork tenderloin. Sent a couple of plates out to the tables with coriander sprinkled over it instead of cumin.”

  Luke grimaced. He hated serving a meal that wasn’t perfect, but a couple of returned dinners wasn’t the end of the world. “What else?”

  Keith blew out a deep breath. “Two things. Our produce supplier gave me a call. Wants COD instead of our usual thirty days. I think Staghart Brothers is spreading the word. We might get blackballed.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Luke kicked the door and the tiny cabin’s walls shook with the impact. “We can’t afford cash on delivery with all our suppliers.”

  “I know.” Keith’s voice took on the soothing quality that had quieted many a high-strung chef. “Look, we have good relations with all our other suppliers. I’ll make contact with them, try to preemptively put out any fires. We’ll make it through.”

  Putting a palm to his throbbing eye, Luke sighed. “As long as I don’t have to pay what Staghart wants.”

  The silence on the other end of the phone set Luke to pacing. It only took three strides before he had to turn, then turn again. “You think I’m being an asshole with Staghart, don’t you? You think I should pay them.”

  “No.” His manager sighed. “I know you can’t afford it. Le Cygne Noir would go under. And it wasn’t your fault your former manager made promises you couldn’t keep. But…”

  “But?”

  “You signed the contract. They’ve got you by the balls.” Luke heard the squeaking of his executive chair and knew that Keith had seated himself behind Luke’s desk. He waited for his friend to finish his thought. “If they can find you to serve you with the lawsuit, that is.”

  “Yeah.” Luke pulled a green-and-white-checked curtain back from the small window. A dim glow from Main Street illuminated the otherwise dark night. “Well, good luck to them finding me here. I’m holed up good.”

  “You’re still not going to tell me where you are?”

  Luke let the curtain drop. “It’s better I don’t.”

  “More than you know,” Keith muttered.

  “What?”

  Keith didn’t say anything for a moment. “I hate to have to tell you this, but Staghart isn’t the only one looking for you. Laurie came by today.”

  Luke dropped to the single bed, springs squeaking in protest. “What the hell did she want?” he growled. Just hearing his traitorous ex-manager’s name made his whole body tense. The low throb of the tension headache he had behind his eye morphed into a stabbing pain. Laurie Sanchez had screwed him, both in and out of the bedroom. Her schemes were the reason he was in this mess with the Staghart brothers.

  “Huh. She sounded just about as angry as you do now. I had to get her out of the kitchen before she pulled one of our knives on me.” Keith cleared his throat. “She wanted to know where you are. Apparently, she’s named on the lawsuit, too, and the process server found her. Let’s just say she was not pleased.”

  Luke could well imagine. Laurie’s temper could rival any top chef in the business. Her passion had been fun in bed for a while, but the relationship had been exhausting. And when he’d discovered that she’d locked him into an untenable contract, one where she’d taken a “finder’s fee,” he’d been happy to kick her to the curb.

  “What did you tell her?”

  Keith snorted. “That you’re backpacking through Europe with your new model girlfriend. I don’t think she believed either part of my story. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was sitting in her car on a stakeout of Le Cygne as we speak.”

  “I hope she freezes to death,” Luke bit out. Digging his palm into his eye socket, he took a deep breath. “Thanks, Keith. Any other problems?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ve got it covered here.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks,” he said and meant it. He tossed his phone on the bed. After firing Laurie, Luke had literally run into Keith on a jogging trail by Lake Michigan. He learned Keith’s background as they ran the path together, and hired him two miles later. It was the best business decision Luke had ever made.

  The list of good business decisions was fairly short, however. When Luke was at the Institute of Culinary Education, he couldn’t wait to open his own restaurant. Make a name for himself. After leaving his apprenticeship in Manhattan, success had quickly followed. The first bistro he’d opened had shot to the top of Chicago’s rated restaurants. When he’d sold it, he’d been able to open his dream, an establishment that melded the traditions of fine dining with his experimental flair for French cuisine. He’d created a name for himself with Le Cygne Noir. And he liked being well known in his circle, liked the accolades, and loved seeing the look on a person’s face after taking a bite of one of his creations.

  But he didn’t like running a business.

  Le Cygne was his baby, but it felt more and more like Rosemary’s baby, sucking the life right out of him. Instead of spending his time creating new recipes and playing with flavors, the majority of his day was spent implementing marketing campaigns, talking with his accountant, having his picture taken with customers when he should be in the kitchen.

  The joy was gone. He hadn’t even realized that until he’d started working in Allison’s diner. Not bearing the responsibility of running that restaurant, he had been able to reconnect with his passion, transforming basic raw ingredients into delicious meals. Allison’s recipes were too common to challenge him, but they were tasty and hearty and right for a place like Pineville.

  His stomach rumbled, and he rubbed a hand across it idly. Not knowing if it was worth the energy to grab some dinner, he stared at the ceiling. It was colder than a witch’s tit, and his feet were tingling in gratitude for being off them. His stomach loudly protested that argument, the noise level of the growling growing to embarrassing levels.

  “All right, I hear you.” With a groan, he pushed to his feet, out of the cabin, and headed back toward Main Street. There was a hole in the wall Italian joint he’d wanted to try, and this was as good a time as any.

  The interior was dim, intimate. The dark wood paneling of the walls was brightened by three large green wreaths, red ribbon dangling from bows at their centers. Multicolored Christmas lights framed the ceiling. The hostess showed him to a small table along the wall. The spindly wooden chair rocked on its uneven legs when he sat.

  Christ, that would drive him nuts all through dinner. Standing up to switch chairs with another table, Luke’s mood flipped in an instant. Not caring that one of his chair legs seemed to have been filed down an inch shorter
than its siblings, he sank back and stared at the corner of the restaurant, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

  Because there, tucked in a booth, sat Allison, a cream-colored dress hiked up nicely on her crossed legs, one red cowboy boot bobbing furiously under the tablecloth.

  She shredded a slice of bread into tiny pieces and reached for another, a tight smile plastered on her face. Her interview mustn’t be going well. Her Richard wasn’t up to the job.

  Crossing one leg over the other, Luke settled back. Dinner and a show. What more could a guy ask for?

  Chapter Six

  Brushing crumbs off her fingers, Allison sank back into the upholstered booth and tried to pinpoint when her date had taken a turn for the worse.

  It had started out just as uncomfortable as all first dates; the awkward handshake, the should-she-or-shouldn’t-she lean in for a cheek-kiss greeting. Richard had picked her up right on time at her house, always a point in a man’s favor. After her conversation with her sister, she’d spent more time than she wanted to admit staring into her closet wondering what to wear. In the end, she’d stuck with her go-to outfit for a night out, a long-sleeved, belted sweater dress paired with her red Lucchese boots.

  If she was looking for something long term with a man, it was best that he understand who she was from the get-go. Pretense only wasted time.

  Richard had seemed to approve. But as their salads came and went, a seed had begun to take root in her mind, a knowledge born of instinct and years of reading men.

  He thought she was a sure thing—and not for a long-term relationship.

  She read it in the way he tapped the back of her hand when he wanted to get her attention, his patronizing laughs, how with every sip of chianti he more openly undressed her with his eyes.

  Unlike when her hot-shot chef looked her up and down, this left her feeling like she needed to take a shower—and really ticked her off.

  “And that’s why I tell my clients—”

  “What did my sister tell you about me?” she asked.

  His mouth snapped shut. Narrowing his eyes, he took a sip of wine. “Not much.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, a habit Allison was beginning to despise. “Just that you were a lovely woman who owned her own restaurant.”

  “Uh-huh.” Men only acted this way when they thought a woman was desperate, or when their egos were so bloated they thought every woman should feel lucky to be with them. Blood pounded at her temples. Yes, she wanted to get married. But that didn’t mean she was either desperate or pathetic. And she didn’t think she sent out that message—which left Camilla. “She didn’t say anything else about her one remaining single sister?”

  “Just that you’ve been cooped up at your restaurant and would appreciate a night out. She wanted me to show you a good time.” He drummed his fingers on the white tablecloth. “Anything wrong with that?”

  Nothing, except that Camilla thought she was kindly throwing a bone to her sister, and Richard thought that meant he got to bone her sister. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples, exhausted. When did finding the one become so hard?

  She opened her eyes and caught Richard ogling her chest. He was using his tongue as a toothbrush again, and his incisors gleamed in the light. “Okay, that’s it,” she said, tossing her napkin down and scooching her way out of the booth. “This obviously isn’t working, and I don’t think we need to waste any more time pretending.” She grabbed her coat and purse. “Can’t say it was lovely to meet you, but thanks anyway.”

  He shot up, hitting his hip on the table. “Hold on. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  A flush mottled his cheekbones. “Look. You’re lonely. I get that. No need to be scared.”

  It felt like a cluster of spiders crawled along her spine, and she shuddered. He thought she was some skittish spinster, and that he was the man to—No. She was too grossed out to even finish that thought.

  He picked up her hand and stroked it as though he was some weird cat lady and she was one of his thirty pets. Her disgust turned into outright revolt. Wishing she could vomit on demand, right on his patent leather shoes, she tugged at her hand instead.

  He gripped her wrist tighter, pulling her forward.

  Okay, that was it. Rolling her shoulders, she prepared for a scene of epic proportions. She might suck at dating, but she did excel at two things: cooking and raising hell. “If you don’t take your slimy hand off me right now, I am going to take my fork and serve up my own version of Rocky Mountain oysters. Do you understand me?”

  Richard blinked in confusion. Whether at the strange combination of her threat of bodily harm delivered in a honey-sweet voice or at the idea that his sure thing wasn’t acting like a done deal, she didn’t know. But when the muddle in his brain cleared, she saw that he wasn’t going to take her rejection gracefully. His eyes narrowed into slits, and his fingers dug like sharp little knives into her wrist.

  With her free hand, she reached for a fork.

  The color leached from his face, and a surge of adrenalin rushed through Allison. That’s right. He’d better be scared.

  The hair on the back of her neck lifted. Above the smell of marinara, she caught the scent of cocoa and cardamom. Richard stared over her shoulder, and she knew it wasn’t her fork-wielding skills that had scared the piss out of him.

  “Take your hand off her, or you’ll never use it again.” All the charm in Luke’s voice was gone, deadly seriousness taking its place.

  For a dumbass, Richard wasn’t a stupid man. He dropped her hand like a hot potato.

  Allison sniffed. Her threat had been much more creative and ultimately, more painful than Luke’s. Richard should have feared her more. She turned, saw Luke’s face, and understood. The heavy-lidded eyes she’d always found so welcoming were as dark and unblinking as a shark’s. An unnatural stillness blanketed him, the proverbial calm before the storm.

  She thought about the Harley he’d come into town on, how he wanted to be paid in cash, and a sliver of doubt about her drifter crept into her heart. His past was a mystery to her. Had she hired a felon? A thug?

  Subtly, he moved between Allison and Richard.

  She bit her lip. Unless all her instincts had gone haywire, Luke wasn’t a violent man, not by nature. But he was willing to step up to help her.

  He clenched his fists, and all the muscles in his arm, from his wrists to his shoulders, bulged.

  Allison shifted in her boots, rubbing her thighs together. She clenched her fist and pounded it against her leg. No. No way, no how. This wasn’t going to happen. Allison Stuart, a respectable business owner, wasn’t going to be attracted to the bad boy. Not again, and not anymore.

  Richard grabbed his coat from the back of the booth, pulling it on with quick, jerky movements. “You can tell Camilla things didn’t work out?”

  She nodded but didn’t take her eyes off Luke. Neither man looked at her, and a thread of irritation slid down her back, cooling her lust. She should be considered a threat too, damn it. It was the twenty-first century after all, and she was wearing pointy red boots, power boots that should have made her look like she could kick some serious butt.

  It must be the hair. Men didn’t take blondes seriously.

  Luke’s eyes tracked Richard until the front door shut behind him. Like an air mattress with a slow leak, the bunched muscles on his frame slowly relaxed. Instead of the brooding drifter, her cocky cook stood before her.

  “So…fun date?”

  She started to shrug on her own coat, jerking away when he tried to help. He raised his hands in surrender. “I did have that under control, just so you know,” she told him, waving to the waitress and miming the shape of a box. The woman nodded and went into the kitchen.

  Lounging against the side of the booth, Luke shrugged, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Never said you di
dn’t. But if I’ve learned anything living in Chicago, the best way to avoid a fight is to look as if you’d like nothing better than a chance to rip the other guy’s head off. And for that, sorry, sweet cheeks,” he said, looking anything but, “you don’t have the stuff.”

  “I told him I was going to serve his balls up with a fork! You can’t get more vicious than that.”

  He all but patted her on the head before going for his wallet. He took the bag holding both her and Richard’s meals and handed the waitress a large bill. “That should cover the drink I ordered, too,” he said to the server. “The rest is for you.”

  The girl’s eyes lit up. “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing?” Allison huffed. “That’s my dinner and my bill.”

  Placing a hand on the small of her back, he guided her to the door. “I haven’t eaten yet either. I’ll take your date’s meal.”

  The aroma of spicy arrabiata coming from the bag was awfully tempting. “Just so you know, that was a blind date. I didn’t choose to go out with him.” She stepped through the door he held for her and buttoned her coat. “I’m going to kill Camilla.”

  “Relax. I’m not judging your taste in men by that guy.” He smiled down at her, his breath clouding in front of his face. “I already know you have excellent taste.”

  She waited for him to explain. When they reached the corner of the block without his doing so, she elbowed him. “How do you know that?”

  He shrugged. “Because you’re attracted to me.”

  She stopped in the middle of the street, jaw dropping open. Luke reached the curb, saw she wasn’t behind him, and walked back to her. Taking her hand, he tugged her across to the other side.

  She pulled her arm free. “You’re an arrogant ass. And I’m not attracted to those.” If she repeated that enough times, eventually she’d have to believe it.

  “Keep telling yourself that. Your place or mine?”

  Her mouth dropped open again.

  Luke pushed it closed. “To eat. Whose place do you want to eat dinner at? God, you have a dirty mind,” he teased. “But I have to warn you, there’s only one chair in my cabin so we’d have to eat on the bed.” His eyes lit up, and he tugged on her sleeve. “Let’s go eat at my cabin.”