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Synopsis
TROUBLE HAS ARRIVED Elisa Cardoso longs for passion in her life. Though she'd much rather spend her days photographing the stunning Wyoming landscape, food photography is a lucrative, if uninspiring, way to pay her bills. But when her next assignment brings her face to face with sexy restaurant owner Brody McDermott, Elisa can't deny the delicious effect he has on her. From the minute Brody sees Elisa, he's dying to unleash her inner bad girl. He knows there's more to the sophisticated photographer than meets the eye. Now getting the sexy shutterbug into his bed is on his menu, but when she starts making her way into his heart-big problem. Love has been tricky for Brody, and he's not too eager to try his luck again. But when a golden opportunity means Elisa may be leaving Trouble for good, can Brody find the courage to grab on to love . . . before it slips away?
Release date: November 19, 2013
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 426
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Along Came Trouble
Erin Kern
DESPITE THE RESTAURANT’S CHAOTIC SPORT-THEMED decor, the waitstaff was efficient, friendly, and brought the entree in a very timely manner. However, I can only assume the reason the food was mediocre is due to the fact that it arrived in less than ten minutes. I’d like to be able to say the appearance made up for the bland, overcooked hamburger and French fries with enough seasoning to set my mouth on fire…’”
Brody leaned back against his desk as his assistant manager, Charlene, lifted her eyes up to his. “And?” he prompted.
Her tongue darted out along her bare lower lip before she continued reading. “ ‘But unfortunately the dish looked just as unsatisfying as it tasted. The hamburger, large enough to feed a small horse, sat on a bun much more suited to a silver dollar. Only about a dozen French fries accompanied the burger, and while most fries tend to please my palate, these weren’t worth eating more than one.’ ” Charlene dropped the magazine down to her lap and sent him a desperate look. He knew the feeling. “Do I have to keep reading this?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a bitch of a headache. “Yes.”
The magazine trembled when her fingers grasped the pages once again. “ ‘I forced myself to eat as much as I could, hoping to find some redemption, only to get my fifteen ninety-nine worth out of the meal. The only pleasant part was my waitress, who seemed to sense my disdain as she shot me a look of sympathy before carting away my half-eaten meal. The Golden Glove has been a staple of the small town of Trouble, Wyoming, for more than ten years now, but it’s hardly worth the price. On the upside, I was able to catch the game from one of the dozen televisions mounted on the walls. Maybe the owner should have taken the money he spent on forty-six-inch LCD televisions and hired a better chef instead.’ ”
Charlene placed the magazine down with great care on his immaculate desk so as not to add yet another blow to poor Brody’s day. “This is the second bad review we’ve had in six months, Brody.”
His assistant manager was four years younger than he and a force to be reckoned with. She also had a tender streak that ran deep, which wasn’t something she allowed a lot of people to see. Shortly after his divorce, she’d allowed him to see that side of her when she showed up at his house with a bottle of wine and told him he needed to shave. For one weak moment he indulged himself and broke one of his own cardinal rules by sleeping with her. Almost immediately thereafter, they realized they’d made a huge mistake. Granted, the release had been much needed, but they were far better as friends than lovers. Neither one had mentioned that night since. Both were happy to pretend it had never happened. In addition, they’d mutually agreed that they were better off as friends. Working together, and all that.
“Yeah, no shit.” He pushed away from the desk and tried to walk the agitation out of his bones. One bad review was enough to send a restaurant into restaurant hell, but two? He kept reminding himself that these kinds of restaurant reviewers were just freelance writers who couldn’t make it as chefs so they spent their time dogging every restaurant they could. But what were the chances of two different reviewers giving his restaurant such a similarly poor report? And, perhaps more important, his two previous chefs possessed more power to bring the restaurant down than a couple of magazine reviews.
When the Golden Glove had opened eleven years ago, the place had had a line wrapped around the building just to get a seat at the bar. Even though he’d known next to nothing about restaurants, his father had placed him in charge. Brody had stepped in and done the best he could, which had been damn good, if he did say so himself. The Golden Glove had thrived under his leadership for several years. Unfortunately, a series of simultaneous events, including losing their chef and RJ, had caused their numbers to dwindle. Despite his efforts, the Golden Glove was on a downward slide in terms of diners and profits.
In fact, the situation was so dire, if they kept up like this, they’d have to close their doors in six months. The thought created a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, something he’d been dealing with a lot lately. If the Golden Glove went under, not only would all his employees be without jobs, but Brody would lose his meal ticket and his means of taking care of Tyler.
No matter what it took, Brody had to save the restaurant.
“Well, the only good thing is this was written when we had Gary. Now we have Travis.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Brody eased into his chair and leaned his head back. Travis was their third executive chef this year. The man had come highly recommended by a manager of another restaurant in town. The fact that said restaurant had recently closed its doors sent tremors of uncertainty through Brody. Michael, the man who’d been the Golden Glove’s original chef and a freakin’ miracle worker, had left them for the greener pastures of being the executive chef of a major five-star hotel in Los Angeles. Now, Brody wasn’t going to lie to himself; Michael’s departure had rubbed him the wrong way, mostly because the man had been there longer than anyone, and Brody had expected more loyalty. After the sting had worn off, Brody admitted that Michael needed to do what was best for him and his three kids. Then Gary had come strolling in, promising to outshine Michael and put the Golden Glove on the map of great restaurants. After three short months, Brody had shown his incompetent ass the door.
Charlene stood from the chair, grabbed the magazine, and tossed it in the trash can. “That guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s probably some loser who has nothing better to do with his time.”
“He’s right though. Gary was a terrible chef. That’s why I fired him.”
She placed her hands on her narrow hips. “I’m trying to make you feel better here. Tell me it’s helping a little.”
Brody stared back at her out of stormy gray eyes. “It’s not helping.”
She plowed fingers through her chin-length black hair. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to ignore this stupid review, go forward with the photo shoot today, and pray this relaunch will put this place back on its feet. Then we’ll show people like that idiot reviewer we’re worth coming back to.” Her legs ate up the expanse of his office.
“You’re awfully confident,” Brody muttered.
“Why wouldn’t I be? We’ve completely redecorated, and the place looks way better than it did when it first opened, plus we have new chef.” Then she added, “With a new menu.”
“Are you saying you think Travis can turn this place around?” Brody shifted his thick shoulders around to ease some of the tension that had his muscles coiled.
“Don’t you think he can?” Charlene’s thin brows shot up her forehead.
Brody swiveled back and forth in his chair and ran a hand along the edge of his desk. “I’m not sure yet. To be honest, I’m not all that impressed with him.” But if Travis wasn’t the savior this place needed, then who was? Although Brody liked the guy, his future in his own restaurant hinged on the young chef’s abilities. The thought sent a tremor of alarm through his already weary body.
“He’s a hell of a lot better than Gary was.”
A snort popped out of him. “My eleven-year-old son can cook better than Gary.”
The corners of Charlene’s lips turned up in a smile. She inhaled a deep breath and sat back down in the chair. “Look, I know you’re still kind of pissed about Michael leaving and you think you won’t find anyone as good as him. But you will.”
“I hope you’re right.” He ran a hand through his midnight dark hair. Man, he needed a haircut. “If not, there’s a good chance I’ll have to sell my house and find another job.” Another thought that had the contents of his breakfast churning like acid in his stomach.
She leaned forward in her chair and propped an elbow on the edge of his desk. “There’s no way Martin will fire you.” Then she jumped ahead when he opened his mouth to argue. “I think we’re taking a step in the right direction today. We’ve got that photographer coming in to take pictures. And I know Travis is young, but I think he shows a lot of promise.”
One of Charlene’s best assets was her positive attitude. At times when Brody found himself moping like a moody teenager, Charlene would come in with her Mary Poppins–like persona and pep talk him into straightening his act up. Brody would be the first one to tell anyone he’d been an unbearable hard-ass since his divorce four years ago. Something about separating from Kelly had opened up a side of him even he hadn’t known existed. Charlene had never let a moment escape without telling him to get his shit together. Being spoken to like that wasn’t something he appreciated, but from Charlene he tolerated it. She didn’t put up with his crap anyway, so telling her to stuff it would only be speaking to air.
“Tell me again why we’re publishing pictures in the same magazine that just gave us a bad review?” he asked Charlene.
She lifted a finger. “First of all, that reviewer isn’t employed by this magazine. Second of all, they’re the only ones who agreed to do this spread. We need the good publicity.”
At this point Brody wasn’t sure the restaurant was capable of generating good publicity. “Are you sure this photographer is any good?”
An exasperated sigh came from Charlene. “What happened to the Brody who never let anything bother him? I miss that guy.”
“So do I,” he muttered to the ceiling. Brody found himself smiling for the first time during their conversation. Yes, Charlene knew when to call his bullshit. His office door creaked open and Travis poked his head in. “The photographer’s here.”
A spread in a magazine that had already trashed them? Would those same readers even give a damn about the Golden Glove’s new, toned-down decor? Or that the new chef had introduced inventive, unique items to the menu? In Brody’s experience, once diners had a bad meal at a restaurant, they weren’t likely to return. Not only that, they’d probably tell everyone within earshot to stay the hell away from the place. His father had already pitched a fit about the first bad review. Even though Brody ran the place, Martin was a perfectionist who took insults to his restaurant personally, although normally he didn’t take reviews too seriously. In the light of the place’s recent dwindling numbers, his old man was paying extra attention to any sort of negativity. Brody’s working relationship with his father had already been on thin ice because of the downturn in business. Once Martin read the latest review, Brody was likely to be exiled. His earlier fear of his and Tyler’s futures returned with a wicked vengeance. How would he pay for his son’s college if he was unemployed?
“Brody?” Charlene asked after he’d failed to move from his chair. “You’re on board with this, right?”
He blinked at her. “On board, right. Yeah.” He pushed himself out of the chair and followed Charlene and Travis downstairs.
Okay, he’d be on board with this.
The dining room, recently redone to be more appealing to families and less to rowdy college students home from school, had been mostly cleared for today’s shoot. The tables and chairs had been pushed aside to make room for the “shooting area,” as Charlene had described it. “It’ll be short and simple,” she said.
Except it wasn’t. The area that used to be the dining room now looked like a professional photographer’s studio. In the middle of the room, surrounded by several tall lights and mirrors, were tables draped in dark brown tablecloths. Travis walked ahead of them and disappeared into the kitchen. Several seconds later he reappeared with plates on each hand. He lowered them carefully to the tables, added garnishes, wiped the rims, and spun them around until satisfied they looked presentable.
After his inspection, he went back into the kitchen.
“Is all this really necessary?” Brody asked Charlene.
Charlene shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You can’t just come in and take a few pictures of the food the way we would normally serve it. You have to doll it up and make it look attractive.”
He lifted a hand toward the shoot area. “But we don’t serve our dishes on brown tablecloths with wineglasses. Isn’t that a bit misleading?”
They stopped next to one of the tall light things. “Brody, do you trust me?” Charlene asked.
His eyebrows pulled together at her question. “I’m not sure.”
She patted him on the arm like one would a small child. “Well, you’re going to have to this time. Besides, this is the way food is photographed. And Elisa knows what she’s doing.”
He shot her a glance. “Elisa?”
“The photographer.”
Bright morning sunshine shone in when the doors to the restaurant opened. A tall woman, with hair the color of a moonless night hanging halfway down her back, floated across the parquet wood floor. Her attention was on a spiral notebook, which was cradled in long, thin arms. A loose-fitting, flower-printed blouse covered petite shoulders and disappeared beneath the waistband of wide-legged, light gray slacks. She was as professionally dressed as any person in a corporate office, yet the gentle sway of her hips exuded a magnetic sexuality that had blood rushing to Brody’s groin.
His eyes followed her every move. “Did we hire a model for this shoot?”
Charlene had started to walk toward the woman. She glanced back at him. “What?”
He jerked his head in the Amazon’s direction.
One corner of Charlene’s mouth curled up. “She’s the photographer.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. The woman who looked like she should be posing in front of the camera was behind it instead?
“Quite sure.” Always-present amusement lit up Charlene’s eyes.
Brody sauntered over to focus on the tables with the food only because he didn’t want to stand around looking like he had his thumb up his ass.
Travis had prepared a wide variety of dishes and ones that were more popular with their diners. Chinese chicken salad, minestrone soup, a barbecue bacon cheddar burger, and grilled chicken penne pasta with a garlic breadstick sat on pristine white plates. Charlene may have organized the photo shoot, but Brody had hand-picked the dishes. Two of them were Travis’s signature meals.
“You’re in my light.”
The husky, let-me-seduce-you voice came from directly behind him and danced over his skin. Brody glanced over his shoulder and locked gazes with the willowy Amazon who already had certain parts below his belt stirring. The woman either found time to visit a tanning salon on a regular basis or had a natural olive complexion. Almond-shaped eyes accented by thick, black lashes gazed back at him. The corners of her full, pillowy mouth were turned up ever so slightly.
“Sorry,” he managed. For hell’s sake, he ran a successful business, dealt with servers, chefs, and customers, on a daily basis, and now he could barely manage a two-syllable word. He’d really been out of the dating game too long.
When he stepped aside, she continued adjusting the mirror her ring-adorned fingers were wrapped around. The smooth skin of her forehead furrowed as she concentrated on her task.
“Is this going to be enough light?” he asked her.
Her attention remained on the food as she tried to achieve the right angle with the mirror. “Windows are best, but I can make do with the skylights.” She extended her hand to his. “I’m Elisa, by the way. Cardoso,” she added.
Brody allowed his eyes to drop down to her mouth one more time before wrapping his hand around hers. Her fingers were long and thin, and the silver rings she wore were cool against his palm. His hand lingered in hers, probably longer than necessary, but what the hell. Her hand felt good in his, a perfect fit. And he liked the way her hand felt wrapped up in his, small and feminine. A sudden image of them on his skin, exploring intimate parts of his body, slammed into him and assaulted his senses.
“Brody.” Another two-syllable word he had trouble forcing out of his mouth. What was wrong with him today? He’d always been able to hold a semi-intelligent conversation with an attractive woman before. Then in comes this exotic beauty and his brain ceases to function. “McDermott,” he threw in.
“Nice to meet you,” she replied with a playful gleam in her dark brown eyes. Before he was ready to let go, she slipped her hand from his and continued adjusting all her lights, mirrors, and other props.
Thirty minutes went by before she actually started snapping pictures. The first dish was arranged on the brown cloth-covered table with silverware and napkins placed casually about as if an actual diner had been sitting there. Elisa had picked up and moved the wineglasses half a dozen times before she was satisfied they were in just the right spot. After giving the setup one final glance, she took an expensive-looking camera out of a bag and dropped to her knees directly in front of the table. With her elbows resting on the table, Elisa cradled the camera in her hands and started snapping pictures rapidly, one after the other.
“She sure is thorough,” Brody muttered to Charlene.
“I told you she was good.”
Not only was she good with the camera, her ass looked damn fine in those slacks of hers, round but petite at the same time. The same image of her hands roaming over him continued, only this time her derriere took a front and center role. He bet it would feel damn good cradled in his lap rubbing against his thighs…
Okay, you’re supposed to be saving your restaurant here, and all you can do is admire the photographer’s ass?
Time to be professional.
“You might want to keep your eyes on a place that won’t get you sued for sexual harassment.” Charlene had the nerve to actually smirk.
He tossed her a narrowed-eyed look. “You’re not funny.”
As usual, Charlene ignored his surly remarks. “She could be a while. I’m going to work on next week’s schedule.” And with that, Charlene left him alone with the woman who made him stumble over two-syllable words. And had a great ass. And had soft hands.
Over an hour passed and Elisa had only done two dishes. Her camera would click rapidly, then she’d stop to make an adjustment with one of the mirrors or point the lights in a different direction. Call him ignorant, but Brody had no idea so much went into taking pictures of food. He’d thought Travis would cook some dishes, place them on a table, and he would take some pictures with his digital camera. Charlene had rolled her eyes like a teenage girl when he’d told her that. “Why don’t you let me take care of this?” was what she’d said to him.
Gladly. He’d had enough on his plate at the time, with having to decide which employees had to take fewer hours in order to cut back on costs.
Elisa lowered her camera and rolled her head from side to side.
“Do you need a break?” he asked her.
She craned her head over her neck and then stood. “No, I’m fine. If I stop I might lose momentum.”
“I was thinking the soup would look better with some steam coming out of it.”
Elisa set her camera down, then pulled her hair back in a high ponytail, revealing a long neck. One that was perfect for dropping light kisses. “I always digitally add steam in later. If you want it.”
His eyes danced over her neck. He’d never paid attention to such a thing before, so why was he starting now? “Won’t digital steam look fake?”
“Charlene said you’d never done this before,” she said with an alluring smile. “Digital steam looks just as good as the real stuff. Besides, real steam is too much of a variable. The slightest breeze can make it curl in an unattractive shape.”
Suddenly he found himself interested in the art of photographing food. Who knew? “And all the mirrors? What are those for?”
She planted her hands on her slim hips and ran her tongue along her lower lip. It was full and looked good enough to nibble. “They deflect the light in different directions. Different foods need light coming from different angles.” She gestured to the table. “Like with the salad, I had the light coming from behind so you can see the veins in the lettuce. But the soup needed light coming from above so you can see the reflection on the surface of the liquid. With the hamburger, I’ll probably have the light coming from behind so we’ll have some cool reflections on the plate and also have some translucency in the tomato…” Her deep eyes lit on his. “Sorry. I tend to get carried away when people ask me about taking pictures. Most people don’t realize how technical this all is.” Her laugh was melodious and sent blood rushing down to his groin.
He barely managed not to adjust himself around her and glanced at the staging area. “Very technical, I can tell.”
Her teeth nibbled her lower lip.
If she didn’t stop that, he’d do something to seriously embarrass himself.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” she said. “It’s just that you’re the first client to ask me questions. Most don’t care about the process, only the end result.”
His eyes stayed on her white teeth, which were still worrying that delectable lower lip. “It’s not boring at all.” Well, he wouldn’t go that far. It was a little boring. But the light in her eyes alone was reason enough to keep asking her questions. “This is all new to me. I just thought I’d be able to take pictures with my camera and send them to the magazine.”
“That’s what most people think. But you would have ended up with yellow food.” When he lifted a brow, she continued. “Light is very important to photographing food. If you don’t have enough light, the food in the picture will look yellow. Not very attractive to potential customers.”
He nodded his understanding even though the science of it still eluded him. “That makes sense.”
Elisa’s eyes roamed down to his mouth before she cleared her throat and picked up her camera again. Was she checking him out? Could he possibly be having the same effect on her that she was having on him?
“After you’re done, you should stay for something to eat.” Now, why would you go and say that? Isn’t it bad enough you’ve been staring at her ass, now you have to come on to her? “You’re taking pictures for us. The least you could let me do is feed you.” Okay, that sounded much more reasonable; not like you’re trying to hit on her while she’s doing a job for you.
She gazed at him over her slender shoulder. “I’ll have a Caesar salad with grilled chicken.”
ELISA SCOOPED HER FORK BENEATH a piece of soggy lettuce and tried not to stare at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t even hungry, but the fact that an attractive man asked her to stay for a meal had her agreeing. Well, he was more than attractive. He was downright otherworldly. During her modeling days, she’d been up close and personal with some of the most handsome men on the planet. Had any of them made her heart go all pitter patter and her mind conjure up images it shouldn’t have? That would be a negative.
Brody was what Elisa considered a double threat. Not only did he have devastating looks, but he had an engaging personality to go along with it. When the chef had dropped off her salad, Brody had eyed it like it had worms and said she should be adventurous and eat a burger. Then she said she’d been adventurous enough that morning with the cinnamon roll she’d eaten. The comment had earned her a wicked grin, causing a shallow dimple to appear in his left cheek.
Brody could do some major damage if a woman wasn’t paying attention. Fortunately for her, she had both her eyes wide open.
“So, why food?” he asked after taking a sip of his water.
She paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. “Because you asked me to stay for a meal.”
Another slow grin broke across his face. “Why photograph food?”
Before answering, she slid the fork in her mouth and tried not to wince at the amount of dressing weighing down the lettuce. “I started off photographing landscapes, which is my real passion. If I could, I’d be out there right now taking pictures of anything in nature. Then I realized the world does not need another generic landscape photographer. So I got into food. It’s more lucrative.”
“When you say you’d rather be out taking pictures of nature, what does that mean exactly?”
She pursed her lips and thought about her answer. “Spending time indoors and taking pictures of food was never my ultimate dream.” She gestured toward where she’d snapped pictures earlier. “I mean, I love being behind a camera no matter what, but…” She lifted her shoulders. “It’s just not what I imagined myself doing.”
“So, what happened? Why aren’t you out there taking pictures of sunsets, or whatever?”
His question made her grin. “When I first got into the field, I was. But landscape photography is extremely competitive. And although I loved what I was doing, I wasn’t making enough money. I needed to switch my focus to something more practical.”
Brody tilted his head to one side. “So, if you could you’d be out traveling the world with your camera?”
Was that disappointment she heard in his voice? And if so, why did that make her happy? “Absolutely. When I first got started I traveled the U.S. to build my portfolio. My ultimate dream is to photograph a collapsing ice shelf in Alaska or a migrating heard in Africa. If I could get my photos published in Time Magazine or National Geographic, I would die a happy woman.” She pushed her food around her plate before stabbing a piece of uncharred chicken with her fork.
He stared back at her with admiration coloring his spectacular eyes. “You sound like you’re a woman who knows what she wants.”
“I am.”
When he shifted in the booth, his leg brushed hers. The heat coming off him was palpable.
“If you’re half as good out in nature as you were in here, I’d say you could make a good career for yourself.”
His compliment warmed her in a way nothing had in a long time. Why did his approval mean so much to her? “Most people don’t realize how scientific and professional photography is. It can take hours to get one good shot.”
Brody glanced at the dining room, now put back together. “Yeah, I noticed that.”
The dry humor in his deep voice didn’t go unnoticed on her part.
As he took a sip of his water, his stormy-gray eyes burned into her over the rim of the glass. Something close to butterflies skittered around her stomach at the way he looked at her, as though his mind had conjured a naughty fantasy involving the two of them. Damn, she’d just met the man, and already he had her hormones in disarray.
And Elisa had never seen eyes quite that shade before. They couldn’t really be considered blue; they were too light. The penetrating gaze accompanied by hair as black as her own made for a knee-weakening effect she wasn’t used to, nor was she comfortable with. She’d only met the man a few hours ago, and she already felt like she wanted to come out of her skin.
With his eyes still on hers, he lowered the glass and wiped a bead of moisture off his lip.
His gaze ran over her face, then dropped down to her plate. “You’re not eating much of your salad. Is part of being a health freak not eating a whole meal?”
Elisa followed his attention to her meal. Let’s see, drenched lettuce, overcooked chicken, and questionable tomatoes? She’d done the salad more justice than it deserved, which was a shame considering the one she took a picture of had been damn near immaculate. This one looked like it’d been thrown together by a six-year-old.
“Well,” she started, not sure how to tell Brody the meal was subpar. “Would you like me to be honest?”
He lifted a hand off the back of the booth in a please-do gesture.
“The salad’s not that good. There’s way too much dressing and the chicken is overcooked. Quite frankly, it’s almost inedible.”
One of his large hands pressed against his chest. “Wow. Don’t tiptoe over my feelings or anything.”
She picked up her water glass. “You asked me to be honest. I didn’t think I’d be doing you any favors by lying.”
Something darkened those beautiful gray eyes. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be. Believe it or not, I appreciate the honesty.”
Elisa pulled in a breath and pursed her lips. “I didn’t want to say anything at first, but the food he brought out for the shoot looked amazing.” She picked up her fork and pushed at the lettuce. “Not at all like this.”
Brody drummed his fingers on the leather booth. “Travis has a bit of a problem with consistency. It’s something we’re working on.”
“I’ve photographed a lot of food over the past few years, and he definitely shows some promise. It might be an age thing. How old is he?”
“I think he’s a few years younger than me.” Brody ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. “Twenty-seven, twenty-eight maybe.”
So Brody was older than she was. He looked about her age, but she was twenty-eight so he had to be at least thirty or thirty-one. “He’ll get there,” she said. “Maybe he just needs some more experience.”
“Maybe,” Brody mut
Brody leaned back against his desk as his assistant manager, Charlene, lifted her eyes up to his. “And?” he prompted.
Her tongue darted out along her bare lower lip before she continued reading. “ ‘But unfortunately the dish looked just as unsatisfying as it tasted. The hamburger, large enough to feed a small horse, sat on a bun much more suited to a silver dollar. Only about a dozen French fries accompanied the burger, and while most fries tend to please my palate, these weren’t worth eating more than one.’ ” Charlene dropped the magazine down to her lap and sent him a desperate look. He knew the feeling. “Do I have to keep reading this?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a bitch of a headache. “Yes.”
The magazine trembled when her fingers grasped the pages once again. “ ‘I forced myself to eat as much as I could, hoping to find some redemption, only to get my fifteen ninety-nine worth out of the meal. The only pleasant part was my waitress, who seemed to sense my disdain as she shot me a look of sympathy before carting away my half-eaten meal. The Golden Glove has been a staple of the small town of Trouble, Wyoming, for more than ten years now, but it’s hardly worth the price. On the upside, I was able to catch the game from one of the dozen televisions mounted on the walls. Maybe the owner should have taken the money he spent on forty-six-inch LCD televisions and hired a better chef instead.’ ”
Charlene placed the magazine down with great care on his immaculate desk so as not to add yet another blow to poor Brody’s day. “This is the second bad review we’ve had in six months, Brody.”
His assistant manager was four years younger than he and a force to be reckoned with. She also had a tender streak that ran deep, which wasn’t something she allowed a lot of people to see. Shortly after his divorce, she’d allowed him to see that side of her when she showed up at his house with a bottle of wine and told him he needed to shave. For one weak moment he indulged himself and broke one of his own cardinal rules by sleeping with her. Almost immediately thereafter, they realized they’d made a huge mistake. Granted, the release had been much needed, but they were far better as friends than lovers. Neither one had mentioned that night since. Both were happy to pretend it had never happened. In addition, they’d mutually agreed that they were better off as friends. Working together, and all that.
“Yeah, no shit.” He pushed away from the desk and tried to walk the agitation out of his bones. One bad review was enough to send a restaurant into restaurant hell, but two? He kept reminding himself that these kinds of restaurant reviewers were just freelance writers who couldn’t make it as chefs so they spent their time dogging every restaurant they could. But what were the chances of two different reviewers giving his restaurant such a similarly poor report? And, perhaps more important, his two previous chefs possessed more power to bring the restaurant down than a couple of magazine reviews.
When the Golden Glove had opened eleven years ago, the place had had a line wrapped around the building just to get a seat at the bar. Even though he’d known next to nothing about restaurants, his father had placed him in charge. Brody had stepped in and done the best he could, which had been damn good, if he did say so himself. The Golden Glove had thrived under his leadership for several years. Unfortunately, a series of simultaneous events, including losing their chef and RJ, had caused their numbers to dwindle. Despite his efforts, the Golden Glove was on a downward slide in terms of diners and profits.
In fact, the situation was so dire, if they kept up like this, they’d have to close their doors in six months. The thought created a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, something he’d been dealing with a lot lately. If the Golden Glove went under, not only would all his employees be without jobs, but Brody would lose his meal ticket and his means of taking care of Tyler.
No matter what it took, Brody had to save the restaurant.
“Well, the only good thing is this was written when we had Gary. Now we have Travis.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Brody eased into his chair and leaned his head back. Travis was their third executive chef this year. The man had come highly recommended by a manager of another restaurant in town. The fact that said restaurant had recently closed its doors sent tremors of uncertainty through Brody. Michael, the man who’d been the Golden Glove’s original chef and a freakin’ miracle worker, had left them for the greener pastures of being the executive chef of a major five-star hotel in Los Angeles. Now, Brody wasn’t going to lie to himself; Michael’s departure had rubbed him the wrong way, mostly because the man had been there longer than anyone, and Brody had expected more loyalty. After the sting had worn off, Brody admitted that Michael needed to do what was best for him and his three kids. Then Gary had come strolling in, promising to outshine Michael and put the Golden Glove on the map of great restaurants. After three short months, Brody had shown his incompetent ass the door.
Charlene stood from the chair, grabbed the magazine, and tossed it in the trash can. “That guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s probably some loser who has nothing better to do with his time.”
“He’s right though. Gary was a terrible chef. That’s why I fired him.”
She placed her hands on her narrow hips. “I’m trying to make you feel better here. Tell me it’s helping a little.”
Brody stared back at her out of stormy gray eyes. “It’s not helping.”
She plowed fingers through her chin-length black hair. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to ignore this stupid review, go forward with the photo shoot today, and pray this relaunch will put this place back on its feet. Then we’ll show people like that idiot reviewer we’re worth coming back to.” Her legs ate up the expanse of his office.
“You’re awfully confident,” Brody muttered.
“Why wouldn’t I be? We’ve completely redecorated, and the place looks way better than it did when it first opened, plus we have new chef.” Then she added, “With a new menu.”
“Are you saying you think Travis can turn this place around?” Brody shifted his thick shoulders around to ease some of the tension that had his muscles coiled.
“Don’t you think he can?” Charlene’s thin brows shot up her forehead.
Brody swiveled back and forth in his chair and ran a hand along the edge of his desk. “I’m not sure yet. To be honest, I’m not all that impressed with him.” But if Travis wasn’t the savior this place needed, then who was? Although Brody liked the guy, his future in his own restaurant hinged on the young chef’s abilities. The thought sent a tremor of alarm through his already weary body.
“He’s a hell of a lot better than Gary was.”
A snort popped out of him. “My eleven-year-old son can cook better than Gary.”
The corners of Charlene’s lips turned up in a smile. She inhaled a deep breath and sat back down in the chair. “Look, I know you’re still kind of pissed about Michael leaving and you think you won’t find anyone as good as him. But you will.”
“I hope you’re right.” He ran a hand through his midnight dark hair. Man, he needed a haircut. “If not, there’s a good chance I’ll have to sell my house and find another job.” Another thought that had the contents of his breakfast churning like acid in his stomach.
She leaned forward in her chair and propped an elbow on the edge of his desk. “There’s no way Martin will fire you.” Then she jumped ahead when he opened his mouth to argue. “I think we’re taking a step in the right direction today. We’ve got that photographer coming in to take pictures. And I know Travis is young, but I think he shows a lot of promise.”
One of Charlene’s best assets was her positive attitude. At times when Brody found himself moping like a moody teenager, Charlene would come in with her Mary Poppins–like persona and pep talk him into straightening his act up. Brody would be the first one to tell anyone he’d been an unbearable hard-ass since his divorce four years ago. Something about separating from Kelly had opened up a side of him even he hadn’t known existed. Charlene had never let a moment escape without telling him to get his shit together. Being spoken to like that wasn’t something he appreciated, but from Charlene he tolerated it. She didn’t put up with his crap anyway, so telling her to stuff it would only be speaking to air.
“Tell me again why we’re publishing pictures in the same magazine that just gave us a bad review?” he asked Charlene.
She lifted a finger. “First of all, that reviewer isn’t employed by this magazine. Second of all, they’re the only ones who agreed to do this spread. We need the good publicity.”
At this point Brody wasn’t sure the restaurant was capable of generating good publicity. “Are you sure this photographer is any good?”
An exasperated sigh came from Charlene. “What happened to the Brody who never let anything bother him? I miss that guy.”
“So do I,” he muttered to the ceiling. Brody found himself smiling for the first time during their conversation. Yes, Charlene knew when to call his bullshit. His office door creaked open and Travis poked his head in. “The photographer’s here.”
A spread in a magazine that had already trashed them? Would those same readers even give a damn about the Golden Glove’s new, toned-down decor? Or that the new chef had introduced inventive, unique items to the menu? In Brody’s experience, once diners had a bad meal at a restaurant, they weren’t likely to return. Not only that, they’d probably tell everyone within earshot to stay the hell away from the place. His father had already pitched a fit about the first bad review. Even though Brody ran the place, Martin was a perfectionist who took insults to his restaurant personally, although normally he didn’t take reviews too seriously. In the light of the place’s recent dwindling numbers, his old man was paying extra attention to any sort of negativity. Brody’s working relationship with his father had already been on thin ice because of the downturn in business. Once Martin read the latest review, Brody was likely to be exiled. His earlier fear of his and Tyler’s futures returned with a wicked vengeance. How would he pay for his son’s college if he was unemployed?
“Brody?” Charlene asked after he’d failed to move from his chair. “You’re on board with this, right?”
He blinked at her. “On board, right. Yeah.” He pushed himself out of the chair and followed Charlene and Travis downstairs.
Okay, he’d be on board with this.
The dining room, recently redone to be more appealing to families and less to rowdy college students home from school, had been mostly cleared for today’s shoot. The tables and chairs had been pushed aside to make room for the “shooting area,” as Charlene had described it. “It’ll be short and simple,” she said.
Except it wasn’t. The area that used to be the dining room now looked like a professional photographer’s studio. In the middle of the room, surrounded by several tall lights and mirrors, were tables draped in dark brown tablecloths. Travis walked ahead of them and disappeared into the kitchen. Several seconds later he reappeared with plates on each hand. He lowered them carefully to the tables, added garnishes, wiped the rims, and spun them around until satisfied they looked presentable.
After his inspection, he went back into the kitchen.
“Is all this really necessary?” Brody asked Charlene.
Charlene shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You can’t just come in and take a few pictures of the food the way we would normally serve it. You have to doll it up and make it look attractive.”
He lifted a hand toward the shoot area. “But we don’t serve our dishes on brown tablecloths with wineglasses. Isn’t that a bit misleading?”
They stopped next to one of the tall light things. “Brody, do you trust me?” Charlene asked.
His eyebrows pulled together at her question. “I’m not sure.”
She patted him on the arm like one would a small child. “Well, you’re going to have to this time. Besides, this is the way food is photographed. And Elisa knows what she’s doing.”
He shot her a glance. “Elisa?”
“The photographer.”
Bright morning sunshine shone in when the doors to the restaurant opened. A tall woman, with hair the color of a moonless night hanging halfway down her back, floated across the parquet wood floor. Her attention was on a spiral notebook, which was cradled in long, thin arms. A loose-fitting, flower-printed blouse covered petite shoulders and disappeared beneath the waistband of wide-legged, light gray slacks. She was as professionally dressed as any person in a corporate office, yet the gentle sway of her hips exuded a magnetic sexuality that had blood rushing to Brody’s groin.
His eyes followed her every move. “Did we hire a model for this shoot?”
Charlene had started to walk toward the woman. She glanced back at him. “What?”
He jerked his head in the Amazon’s direction.
One corner of Charlene’s mouth curled up. “She’s the photographer.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. The woman who looked like she should be posing in front of the camera was behind it instead?
“Quite sure.” Always-present amusement lit up Charlene’s eyes.
Brody sauntered over to focus on the tables with the food only because he didn’t want to stand around looking like he had his thumb up his ass.
Travis had prepared a wide variety of dishes and ones that were more popular with their diners. Chinese chicken salad, minestrone soup, a barbecue bacon cheddar burger, and grilled chicken penne pasta with a garlic breadstick sat on pristine white plates. Charlene may have organized the photo shoot, but Brody had hand-picked the dishes. Two of them were Travis’s signature meals.
“You’re in my light.”
The husky, let-me-seduce-you voice came from directly behind him and danced over his skin. Brody glanced over his shoulder and locked gazes with the willowy Amazon who already had certain parts below his belt stirring. The woman either found time to visit a tanning salon on a regular basis or had a natural olive complexion. Almond-shaped eyes accented by thick, black lashes gazed back at him. The corners of her full, pillowy mouth were turned up ever so slightly.
“Sorry,” he managed. For hell’s sake, he ran a successful business, dealt with servers, chefs, and customers, on a daily basis, and now he could barely manage a two-syllable word. He’d really been out of the dating game too long.
When he stepped aside, she continued adjusting the mirror her ring-adorned fingers were wrapped around. The smooth skin of her forehead furrowed as she concentrated on her task.
“Is this going to be enough light?” he asked her.
Her attention remained on the food as she tried to achieve the right angle with the mirror. “Windows are best, but I can make do with the skylights.” She extended her hand to his. “I’m Elisa, by the way. Cardoso,” she added.
Brody allowed his eyes to drop down to her mouth one more time before wrapping his hand around hers. Her fingers were long and thin, and the silver rings she wore were cool against his palm. His hand lingered in hers, probably longer than necessary, but what the hell. Her hand felt good in his, a perfect fit. And he liked the way her hand felt wrapped up in his, small and feminine. A sudden image of them on his skin, exploring intimate parts of his body, slammed into him and assaulted his senses.
“Brody.” Another two-syllable word he had trouble forcing out of his mouth. What was wrong with him today? He’d always been able to hold a semi-intelligent conversation with an attractive woman before. Then in comes this exotic beauty and his brain ceases to function. “McDermott,” he threw in.
“Nice to meet you,” she replied with a playful gleam in her dark brown eyes. Before he was ready to let go, she slipped her hand from his and continued adjusting all her lights, mirrors, and other props.
Thirty minutes went by before she actually started snapping pictures. The first dish was arranged on the brown cloth-covered table with silverware and napkins placed casually about as if an actual diner had been sitting there. Elisa had picked up and moved the wineglasses half a dozen times before she was satisfied they were in just the right spot. After giving the setup one final glance, she took an expensive-looking camera out of a bag and dropped to her knees directly in front of the table. With her elbows resting on the table, Elisa cradled the camera in her hands and started snapping pictures rapidly, one after the other.
“She sure is thorough,” Brody muttered to Charlene.
“I told you she was good.”
Not only was she good with the camera, her ass looked damn fine in those slacks of hers, round but petite at the same time. The same image of her hands roaming over him continued, only this time her derriere took a front and center role. He bet it would feel damn good cradled in his lap rubbing against his thighs…
Okay, you’re supposed to be saving your restaurant here, and all you can do is admire the photographer’s ass?
Time to be professional.
“You might want to keep your eyes on a place that won’t get you sued for sexual harassment.” Charlene had the nerve to actually smirk.
He tossed her a narrowed-eyed look. “You’re not funny.”
As usual, Charlene ignored his surly remarks. “She could be a while. I’m going to work on next week’s schedule.” And with that, Charlene left him alone with the woman who made him stumble over two-syllable words. And had a great ass. And had soft hands.
Over an hour passed and Elisa had only done two dishes. Her camera would click rapidly, then she’d stop to make an adjustment with one of the mirrors or point the lights in a different direction. Call him ignorant, but Brody had no idea so much went into taking pictures of food. He’d thought Travis would cook some dishes, place them on a table, and he would take some pictures with his digital camera. Charlene had rolled her eyes like a teenage girl when he’d told her that. “Why don’t you let me take care of this?” was what she’d said to him.
Gladly. He’d had enough on his plate at the time, with having to decide which employees had to take fewer hours in order to cut back on costs.
Elisa lowered her camera and rolled her head from side to side.
“Do you need a break?” he asked her.
She craned her head over her neck and then stood. “No, I’m fine. If I stop I might lose momentum.”
“I was thinking the soup would look better with some steam coming out of it.”
Elisa set her camera down, then pulled her hair back in a high ponytail, revealing a long neck. One that was perfect for dropping light kisses. “I always digitally add steam in later. If you want it.”
His eyes danced over her neck. He’d never paid attention to such a thing before, so why was he starting now? “Won’t digital steam look fake?”
“Charlene said you’d never done this before,” she said with an alluring smile. “Digital steam looks just as good as the real stuff. Besides, real steam is too much of a variable. The slightest breeze can make it curl in an unattractive shape.”
Suddenly he found himself interested in the art of photographing food. Who knew? “And all the mirrors? What are those for?”
She planted her hands on her slim hips and ran her tongue along her lower lip. It was full and looked good enough to nibble. “They deflect the light in different directions. Different foods need light coming from different angles.” She gestured to the table. “Like with the salad, I had the light coming from behind so you can see the veins in the lettuce. But the soup needed light coming from above so you can see the reflection on the surface of the liquid. With the hamburger, I’ll probably have the light coming from behind so we’ll have some cool reflections on the plate and also have some translucency in the tomato…” Her deep eyes lit on his. “Sorry. I tend to get carried away when people ask me about taking pictures. Most people don’t realize how technical this all is.” Her laugh was melodious and sent blood rushing down to his groin.
He barely managed not to adjust himself around her and glanced at the staging area. “Very technical, I can tell.”
Her teeth nibbled her lower lip.
If she didn’t stop that, he’d do something to seriously embarrass himself.
“I’m boring you, aren’t I?” she said. “It’s just that you’re the first client to ask me questions. Most don’t care about the process, only the end result.”
His eyes stayed on her white teeth, which were still worrying that delectable lower lip. “It’s not boring at all.” Well, he wouldn’t go that far. It was a little boring. But the light in her eyes alone was reason enough to keep asking her questions. “This is all new to me. I just thought I’d be able to take pictures with my camera and send them to the magazine.”
“That’s what most people think. But you would have ended up with yellow food.” When he lifted a brow, she continued. “Light is very important to photographing food. If you don’t have enough light, the food in the picture will look yellow. Not very attractive to potential customers.”
He nodded his understanding even though the science of it still eluded him. “That makes sense.”
Elisa’s eyes roamed down to his mouth before she cleared her throat and picked up her camera again. Was she checking him out? Could he possibly be having the same effect on her that she was having on him?
“After you’re done, you should stay for something to eat.” Now, why would you go and say that? Isn’t it bad enough you’ve been staring at her ass, now you have to come on to her? “You’re taking pictures for us. The least you could let me do is feed you.” Okay, that sounded much more reasonable; not like you’re trying to hit on her while she’s doing a job for you.
She gazed at him over her slender shoulder. “I’ll have a Caesar salad with grilled chicken.”
ELISA SCOOPED HER FORK BENEATH a piece of soggy lettuce and tried not to stare at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t even hungry, but the fact that an attractive man asked her to stay for a meal had her agreeing. Well, he was more than attractive. He was downright otherworldly. During her modeling days, she’d been up close and personal with some of the most handsome men on the planet. Had any of them made her heart go all pitter patter and her mind conjure up images it shouldn’t have? That would be a negative.
Brody was what Elisa considered a double threat. Not only did he have devastating looks, but he had an engaging personality to go along with it. When the chef had dropped off her salad, Brody had eyed it like it had worms and said she should be adventurous and eat a burger. Then she said she’d been adventurous enough that morning with the cinnamon roll she’d eaten. The comment had earned her a wicked grin, causing a shallow dimple to appear in his left cheek.
Brody could do some major damage if a woman wasn’t paying attention. Fortunately for her, she had both her eyes wide open.
“So, why food?” he asked after taking a sip of his water.
She paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. “Because you asked me to stay for a meal.”
Another slow grin broke across his face. “Why photograph food?”
Before answering, she slid the fork in her mouth and tried not to wince at the amount of dressing weighing down the lettuce. “I started off photographing landscapes, which is my real passion. If I could, I’d be out there right now taking pictures of anything in nature. Then I realized the world does not need another generic landscape photographer. So I got into food. It’s more lucrative.”
“When you say you’d rather be out taking pictures of nature, what does that mean exactly?”
She pursed her lips and thought about her answer. “Spending time indoors and taking pictures of food was never my ultimate dream.” She gestured toward where she’d snapped pictures earlier. “I mean, I love being behind a camera no matter what, but…” She lifted her shoulders. “It’s just not what I imagined myself doing.”
“So, what happened? Why aren’t you out there taking pictures of sunsets, or whatever?”
His question made her grin. “When I first got into the field, I was. But landscape photography is extremely competitive. And although I loved what I was doing, I wasn’t making enough money. I needed to switch my focus to something more practical.”
Brody tilted his head to one side. “So, if you could you’d be out traveling the world with your camera?”
Was that disappointment she heard in his voice? And if so, why did that make her happy? “Absolutely. When I first got started I traveled the U.S. to build my portfolio. My ultimate dream is to photograph a collapsing ice shelf in Alaska or a migrating heard in Africa. If I could get my photos published in Time Magazine or National Geographic, I would die a happy woman.” She pushed her food around her plate before stabbing a piece of uncharred chicken with her fork.
He stared back at her with admiration coloring his spectacular eyes. “You sound like you’re a woman who knows what she wants.”
“I am.”
When he shifted in the booth, his leg brushed hers. The heat coming off him was palpable.
“If you’re half as good out in nature as you were in here, I’d say you could make a good career for yourself.”
His compliment warmed her in a way nothing had in a long time. Why did his approval mean so much to her? “Most people don’t realize how scientific and professional photography is. It can take hours to get one good shot.”
Brody glanced at the dining room, now put back together. “Yeah, I noticed that.”
The dry humor in his deep voice didn’t go unnoticed on her part.
As he took a sip of his water, his stormy-gray eyes burned into her over the rim of the glass. Something close to butterflies skittered around her stomach at the way he looked at her, as though his mind had conjured a naughty fantasy involving the two of them. Damn, she’d just met the man, and already he had her hormones in disarray.
And Elisa had never seen eyes quite that shade before. They couldn’t really be considered blue; they were too light. The penetrating gaze accompanied by hair as black as her own made for a knee-weakening effect she wasn’t used to, nor was she comfortable with. She’d only met the man a few hours ago, and she already felt like she wanted to come out of her skin.
With his eyes still on hers, he lowered the glass and wiped a bead of moisture off his lip.
His gaze ran over her face, then dropped down to her plate. “You’re not eating much of your salad. Is part of being a health freak not eating a whole meal?”
Elisa followed his attention to her meal. Let’s see, drenched lettuce, overcooked chicken, and questionable tomatoes? She’d done the salad more justice than it deserved, which was a shame considering the one she took a picture of had been damn near immaculate. This one looked like it’d been thrown together by a six-year-old.
“Well,” she started, not sure how to tell Brody the meal was subpar. “Would you like me to be honest?”
He lifted a hand off the back of the booth in a please-do gesture.
“The salad’s not that good. There’s way too much dressing and the chicken is overcooked. Quite frankly, it’s almost inedible.”
One of his large hands pressed against his chest. “Wow. Don’t tiptoe over my feelings or anything.”
She picked up her water glass. “You asked me to be honest. I didn’t think I’d be doing you any favors by lying.”
Something darkened those beautiful gray eyes. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be. Believe it or not, I appreciate the honesty.”
Elisa pulled in a breath and pursed her lips. “I didn’t want to say anything at first, but the food he brought out for the shoot looked amazing.” She picked up her fork and pushed at the lettuce. “Not at all like this.”
Brody drummed his fingers on the leather booth. “Travis has a bit of a problem with consistency. It’s something we’re working on.”
“I’ve photographed a lot of food over the past few years, and he definitely shows some promise. It might be an age thing. How old is he?”
“I think he’s a few years younger than me.” Brody ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. “Twenty-seven, twenty-eight maybe.”
So Brody was older than she was. He looked about her age, but she was twenty-eight so he had to be at least thirty or thirty-one. “He’ll get there,” she said. “Maybe he just needs some more experience.”
“Maybe,” Brody mut
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