What Love Tastes Like. Zuri Day

professional résumé. But it wasn’t just about the job, it was about the fact that no matter how she tried, she couldn’t get that night of ecstasy with Nick out of her mind. He’d awakened a part of her that she didn’t even know existed, a part that begged for a culmination to what had begun in a foreign country’s penthouse suite. The truth was, Tiffany was extremely attracted to Nick and at the same time afraid of what being attracted to him might cost her. He was a driven businessman, like her father, and she knew that often personal relationships suffered with men like him. She guessed he was at least thirty-five years old. That he was so driven in business was probably why he wasn’t already married. Tiffany had another thought. Maybe he was married. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t tried contacting her anymore while she was in Rome. He knew she was working with Chef Riatoli, knew how to reach her if he’d really wanted to. She said as much to Joy.

      “He’s probably married, anyway, or at the very least has some lady living with him. A man like that isn’t sitting at home twiddling his thumbs every night.”

      “You don’t know what a man like that is doing. The only way you’re going to find out is to get in touch with him. It’s one simple phone call about a job offer. He has the restaurant and you’re looking for work. What do you have to lose, Tiffany?”

      Tiffany didn’t answer, but rather continued eating. She knew that with a man like Nick…she could lose a lot.

      13

      Two weeks and ten restaurants later, Tiffany walked into the lobby of Le Sol. Instead of e-mailing her résumé to Nick, she’d decided to call the number on the ad she’d seen in the Sunday edition of the LA Times. She’d talked with human resources, e-mailed her résumé, and gotten a call back from the chef’s assistant. If she got the job as sous chef, it would be on her own merit, not because of anything Nick did for her. She already owed him twenty-five hundred dollars for the hotel suite. She didn’t want to owe him anything else.

      By the time Tiffany finished the interview with Chef Wang, she was praying she’d get the job. What he had in mind for the menu was exactly the type of quality and variety of cuisine Tiffany wanted to work with. She was sure that Nick had had a say in the menu selections, which boasted pasta and Italian breads made on the premises and a healthy selection of seafood dishes, including scallops used both as appetizers and for a couple of main-course dishes. She’d toured the state-of-the-art kitchen furnished with professional kitchen supplier Citisco classics: dual-flame stoves, double-deck ovens, prep tables, warming units, food wells, and every other industry-strength appliance imaginable. The pasta machine was exactly like the one she’d trained on in Rome. The kitchen was stunning, a cook’s dream.

      “Do you think you could handle the pressure of a fast-paced environment?” Chef asked. “The owners plan for this to be an award-winning establishment, the draw of the property, besides the views of the rooms facing the ocean. We’ll probably be full most nights, and in addition, be responsible for catering private parties and meetings that take place here in the hotel. You’re short on experience but long on enthusiasm. Plus, you’ve worked with Emilio Riatoli which, frankly, is the reason we’re thinking to hire you.”

      Tiffany turned to the chef and looked him straight in the eye. “I want this job more than anything I’ve ever wanted, and I’ll work my heart out for you. I’ll work long hours, weekends, and holidays. I’ll help with the catering. I’ll do it all! This job would be everything I could ever dream of, and I can tell just by talking with you that just like with Chef Riatoli, I would be working with a master.” Tiffany didn’t quite believe this last statement but was hoping that in this case, flattery would get her everywhere.

      “If we do decide to hire you, when could you start?”

      “The same day you call me.”

      Chef Wang laughed. “Well, in that case, stay by the phone.”

      Tiffany was beaming as she left the offices by the kitchen. She was almost positive she’d be getting a phone call and was already dreaming about perfecting a scallop creation to hopefully become her signature dish. Chef Riatoli’s scallop and asparagus masterpiece was definitely the inspiration for her love of this particular seafood, and in time, after she’d proven herself, she hoped to add a piece of her imagination to the menu at Taste, the name Chef Wang said one of the owners had chosen for the restaurant inside Le Sol. Probably Nick, Tiffany thought, which was one of the reasons she tried not to like it. But she couldn’t help it. The name was perfect for this eating establishment—from the décor to the menu. Nick was the last person Tiffany wanted to think about, so she pulled out her BlackBerry and began typing in the ingredients she’d need from the store, to experiment with various scallop recipes. Chef Wang had gotten her excited. She was ready to cook!

      Tiffany hurried down the hallway, quickly crossed the lobby, and was almost to the revolving doors when she heard it. The voice she’d know anywhere. Firm and commanding, much like its owner. Tiffany stopped in her tracks, her thoughts quickly vacillating between running away and running into his arms. But since this was the owner of the establishment where she longed to work, there was only one choice.

      Tiffany turned around. It took everything she could do to place a casual smile on her face. Nick was looking finer than she remembered, dressed in fitted black dress pants paired with a stark white shirt. He wore no tie, and the first couple buttons of the shirt were undone. She knew what that chest felt like, but Tiffany reined in her thoughts before they could continue. It wasn’t time to think about that night, about how it felt with his arms around her. That incident was in her past and Tiffany was focused solely on her future. She waited patiently for Nick to cross the room with his sure, languid swagger. Inside, she was a bundle of nerves.

      A smile lit up Nick’s face when he finally reached her side. “Hello, Tiffany,” he said softly, his voice belying the formalness of his businesslike handshake. “Were you going to come into my establishment and not say hello?”

      14

      Tiffany hid her disappointment at this formal greeting, even as the moment brought clarity to their polar-opposite positions. Nick was part owner of a luxury hotel and probably other establishments. She, on the other hand, was an out-of-work ex-intern seeking a job as a cook. What did I expect? His tongue down my throat in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of his lobby?

      Nick had acted business-like and professional, just the way Tiffany had told Joy she wanted their interactions to be. Yet even as she thought this, an image, one of Nick’s head between her legs, popped into her mind. She willed the picture away, straightened her shoulders and held out her hand, hiding desire and nervousness behind dark sunglasses. “Hello, Mr. Rollins.”

      Nick’s brows rose slightly at the use of his last name. “I would think my, um, late night dessert at the penthouse in Rome put us on a first-name basis, don’t you think?”

      Nick’s reference to the mental image she’d just erased almost caused her to shudder, but Tiffany remained as still as stone. Now was not the time for daydreams, fairy tales and lost control. You’re an out-of-work cook with bills and a mortgage, she reminded herself. This man is your potential employer. Keep your eye on the prize!

      “We’re no longer in Rome,” she said after a pause. “And as I am very much hoping that you will soon be my employer, I should probably follow the protocol of the others who are working for you.”

      “I see.” Nick’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out whether Tiffany’s obvious discomfort was due to nerves, true dislike, or hidden desire. Sooner or later, he determined, he would definitely find out.

      “Excuse me, Mr. Rollins.” The hotel manager stopped several feet from where Tiffany and Nick were standing.

      “Yes?” Nick answered him, but kept his eyes on Tiffany.

      “You have a phone call. It’s Mr. Price.”

      Nick turned to the manager. “I’ll be right there.” He turned back to Tiffany, his voice strictly business even as his eyes darkened when quickly scanning her body from head to toe.