The Texan's Second Chance. Allie Pleiter

brought a look from her. “Watching the ladies, were you?”

      “Watching the ladies eat, actually. The burgers seem too big for them. I was thinking maybe we need sliders.”

      Her head tilted dubiously to one side. “Sliders are trendy.” It wasn’t a compliment.

      “Sliders are smaller, easier to handle. Same basic food, just a slightly different delivery. A plate of three sliders and slaw would sell well. We could play up the low-fat health benefits of bison meat, too. Do a two-slider or one-slider version as a kid’s meal, even.”

      “Whatever you do, don’t mess with the fries,” Jose remarked as he leaned against the open door. “Those are awesome. What is that you put on them?”

      “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jana teased. Hadn’t she said the same thing to Ellie’s inquiry of her coleslaw recipe? “Seasonings are my thing. It’s what makes good, simple food great.”

      Jose preened the collar of his shirt. “I like a lady who knows how to be spicy.”

      Jana tossed a dishrag at the boy. “Every once in a while I forget you are a teenager—and then you remind me. I’ll have none of that in my kitchen.”

      “Okay, okay.” Jose held up his hands.

      “Yes, Chef,” Witt corrected.

      “Yes, Chef,” Jose relented.

      Witt turned to Jana. “You’re all set for tomorrow’s photo shoot?”

      Her eyes lost any sparkle. “I suppose.”

      “You act like I’m making you go to the dentist.” With Jana’s natural beauty, Witt couldn’t imagine what would make her shy away from cameras.

      “It’s not my thing, that’s all. Like I said, I prefer to let my food do the talking.”

      “I get that, but people connect to people as much as they do to food. The way you look, the way you talk about food, the connection you make with customers? All that is just as compelling as a great burger. You’re highly promotable, Jana. That’s a good thing. It’s a strength we can use.”

      “That’s marketing talk for ‘you’re pretty and guys’ll like you,’” Jose said.

      Jana gave Witt a dark look. “Is it?”

      Witt knew this was thin ice, but he did want to get his point across. “Not in the way Jose thinks.”

      “So how does Witt think?”

      Witt searched for the right words to compliment her beauty without insulting her talent. “You’re unique. You don’t look anything like the other guys hawking burgers around here. You are a beautiful woman and I’d like to think we can use that without getting stupid or exploitive about it. The fact is you look as good as you cook. Why can’t that be a strength we can build on?”

      “My man’s got a point,” Jose said as he leaned up against the truck door.

      My man? Witt threw Jose a “don’t get cocky” glare.

      “Look, I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want to cross any lines here. But the truth is that I can promote you just as easily as I can promote the food—maybe even easier. You make us unique in a way that people can see even before they taste your cooking.”

      He could see she was skeptical. “I promise, you’ll have approval on every promotional shot that goes out,” he went on. “This photographer, Mica? I’ve used her before. She can get shots that really let your personality shine through. We want to promote you for who you are—not just for the way you look. No one wants to turn you into a spokesmodel.”

      “But you could,” Jose offered. “I mean, the whole hot-chef thing could...”

      Witt cut Jose short by yanking the door, nearly sending Jose tumbling. “That’s quite enough of that. You’re done here. Why don’t you head on back to your brother’s and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

      “Hey, sure. I’m gone.” With that, Jose pulled off his apron, hopped on his bike and headed off down the street.

      “Maybe I should have listened to my gut and not hired him,” Witt said as he watched the boy pedal off.

      “He’s fine,” Jana dismissed. “He’ll be good, actually. Hard worker, quick on his feet, and just the right amount of misplaced machismo to appeal to customers. We just need to tamp down the teenage-hormone factor.”

      Witt laughed, then turned to give Jana a serious look. “So we’re okay on the photo thing?”

      She rubbed a spot of sauce off her arm. “I’ll get used to it.”

      “Mica will get it right, I promise you. It’ll be as much about the food as about you.” He paused before he added, “But really, you’ve got nothing to be nervous about for the pictures. You’re...” He stopped short of paying her another compliment. He definitely found her attractive, but if that wasn’t a recipe for bad choices in this setup, he didn’t know what was. He settled on “You’re just what we’re looking for.” Standing up, he retrieved his notebook and files from the truck’s back counter. “You got the email from Mica to bring the chef’s coat and two changes of street clothes? She wants some personal shots as well as some cooking ones.”

      “I got it.” He sensed she still wasn’t totally comfortable, but chose not to press it. Lots of women he knew got weird about having their picture taken, but none of them with less reason than Jana Powers. She was lovely, and Mica was friendly and encouraging. Tomorrow would be fun—Jana just hadn’t realized it yet. He got the feeling that once she got over her needless self-consciousness, she would glow for the camera the same way she glowed behind the grill—vibrant and engaging.

      He changed the subject. “Did you get the parking rental agreement from your building?” To his complete and delighted surprise, Jana had negotiated a great deal on parking the truck in her apartment building’s lot in exchange for opening up on-site the first Saturday of each month. Marketing combined with operational savings—music to a number-cruncher’s ears. Plus, it was much better than having to haul the truck back and forth from an industrial lot by his own apartment farther out of town where Witt had been parking it before.

      “Right here.” Jana pulled an envelope from her bag.

      “This is an amazing deal,” he remarked as he scanned the papers. “I would never have thought of this.”

      She smiled, some of the earlier tension leaving her face. “Makes for a blissfully short commute. And I can fuss around in the kitchen at midnight if I get a new idea.”

      “Night owl?” Most people in the restaurant business were, according to Ellie, who worked with lots of chefs and other food professionals.

      “More like insomniac. I have one of those brains that rarely shuts down when it’s supposed to.”

      There seemed to be a bit of a story behind that remark, but Witt chose not to pursue it. “I know how that goes. I’ve kept a notebook by my bed for years, and another one next to my rowing machine. I seem to get all my best ideas away from my desk.”

      “You crew?” she asked. “Or row just for exercise?”

      “I was on the crew team all four years in college. Despite my height, I was never any good at basketball. Crew was the next-best place for a guy of my size.”

      “I had a friend who rowed in high school, and she got me involved, too.” She met his surprise with a smirk—at her height she clearly wasn’t tall enough to row. Maybe coxswain, though—those people who sat at the back of the boat and called out the strokes and directions were often small. “I got into it as a coxswain, not a rower,” she added, confirming his guess. “That’s where I honed my talent for barking orders.”

      His brain tried to conjure up an image