Room Service

12

Note to Housekeeping:

Refill the sensual massage oils and the condoms in the Haiku Suite.

THE AUDITIONS were worse than the day before, if that was even possible. American Idol rejects had nothing on the people they saw today, and after several hours, Em had her head in her hands and Liza had a drink in hers.

“This isn’t going to work,” Liza said after they’d seen an eighty-year-old woman from Russia, who could indeed cook but couldn’t speak a word of English.

“No, it’s not going to work.” A heavy dread was making itself at home in the pit of Em’s belly. “Well, it’s been fun working with you while it lasted.”

“You could talk to Jacob.”

“No.”

“You could beg Jacob.”

“Double no.”

“Okay, then.” Liza put her drink down and picked up her purse.

“Where are you going?”

“You saved my life. Now I’m going to save yours.”

“What do you mean, I saved your life?”

Liza looked at her. “I wasn’t asleep when Eric called you this morning.”

“You weren’t?”

“I was faking it. I’ve always been good at faking it. I’ve had to fake it with every man I’ve ever been with-except Eric.”

“Oh, Liza.”

“It’s because he loves me. I can believe it because he told you. He has no reason to lie to you.”

“Honey, he has no reason to lie to you, either.”

“I know, but…well, I just couldn’t be sure. Love has never been good to me.”

Em knew that. Liza’s parents hadn’t been warm and fuzzy but cold and impossible to please. Liza had been acting up all her life to prove she didn’t care. “Eric’s the real deal,” Em said quietly.

“I’m getting that.” Liza’s eyes shimmered with emotion. “And that’s my point. I can let go, let myself really love him, you know? No games, just the real thing. And it was you who helped me see it, that this thing between us can really last for the long haul.” She hugged Em tight. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. But I’m going to try like hell. You’ll see. I’m going to fix this for you.”

“You can’t-”

“I’m your assistant. It’s my job to solve your problems, and I’m going to go solve this. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Just come on.” Liza opened the conference door.

Eric stood there with his clipboard monitoring the short line of hopefuls left. There were only two, a girl who looked to be about twelve and an old man who, if she wasn’t mistaken, was napping on his feet.

“We need you,” Liza said to Eric.

Without question, Eric turned to the two candidates left. “I’m sorry, that’s it for today. Thanks for coming.”

Liza looked at him as if bowled over.

“So what do you need?” Eric asked her.

Still looking unbearably touched that he’d blindly follow her simply because she said she needed him, she cleared her throat. “Let’s go. You’ll see when we get there.”

As soon as they hit the lobby and walked toward the main entrance of Amuse Bouche, Em hesitated. “He already said no, Liza.” Her heart tightened at the memories of last night and this morning. Memories he’d sullied when he’d looked at her as if she’d been any of the other women he’d let in, and then out, of his life.

She hadn’t expected that, she could admit, though what she had expected, she couldn’t exactly say. She’d known who he was, what he was. She’d known his past. She’d known he was wildly, fabulously sexy, with an edge, with a wanderlust spirit, a man who rarely settled in one place for long.

And she’d slept with him anyway, just as she’d also begun to fall for him.

That made her the crazy one, not him.

“Let’s just talk to him,” Liza said.

“I can’t.”

Liza frowned. “You look pale.”

“Just tired.”

“Long night?”

Aware that both Liza and Eric were watching her carefully, she lifted a shoulder.

“I knew it,” Liza said. “Oh, honey. Did he break your heart? Because if he did, I can break him. I can-”

“Liza.” Em smiled. What else could she do? “Let’s just fix one thing at a time.”

“Yes. Starting with the show.” Liza looked through the empty dining room toward the kitchen, jaw tight, eyes determined. She was a bulldog when it came to this stuff. “Humor me. Give me five minutes.”

The restaurant wasn’t open yet. No one greeted them so they moved toward the kitchen doors, where they could see lights and hear talking.

Liza knocked.

A pretty brunette poked her head out. Em recognized her as the sommelier from the other night. “Can I help you?” she asked, looking greatly stressed.

“Yes,” Liza said. “I heard both of your assistant chefs were out with the flu and that you’re in a real bind.”

Both Em and Eric looked at Liza in surprise.

The sommelier sighed. “It’s true. But I don’t know how you heard such a thing-”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what I hear.” Liza smiled and offered her business card. “I’m just a guest here, but you can see I’m an assistant producer, so I know how to get things done. Our location director here-” she pointed to Eric “-is an amazing cook. No formal training, but he’s doing research for a show. Maybe he could help you out today. You could call our studio for his references.”

The sommelier looked Eric over with hopeful curiosity. “Really?”

Eric, as confused as Em, nodded.

“Well…” The sommelier glanced down at the card in her hand, then back up into their faces. “You could come in, meet Chef. He’d have to approve this, of course, which, truthfully, he’s not likely to do. He doesn’t work with strangers,” she said, though her gaze turned bemused when she looked over at Em.

“Oh, we’re not strangers to Chef,” Liza said with a smile.

Em added her own weak smile. Nope, not strangers.

“Just a sec.” The sommelier shut the door.

Em turned to Liza. “What are you doing?”

“A favor for a favor. We do something for Chef, and then he’ll do something for us.”

“Liza, those are not equivalent favors!” Em cried. “One day of Eric’s services is not going to make Jacob come across the country-”

The kitchen door opened again, and there stood Jacob himself, looking tall, big, and gorgeously rumpled in his battered jeans and boots and a T-shirt that said Smile, It Confuses People.

“Em,” he said in surprise, for one brief beat his face unguarded, allowing her to see the pleasure before it was gone in a blink, carefully masked.

It made her sad to think that what they’d shared last night was going to be just a distant memory.

“Chef,” Liza purred. “Eric’s an amazing chef. He’s offering to help you out today.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But I don’t need-”

“It’s a Friday. We both know what this place is going to look like tonight, and that’s full to the gills. You can’t do it alone.”

Jacob looked at Eric. “You cook?”

“Yes.”

Jacob turned to Em. “What’s the catch?”

Em looked into his eyes and felt her throat tighten. He knew she was here for some reason, and not the goodness of her heart. All his life he’d had to scrap and fight to get by, nothing had ever been handed to him, not friendship, not love, nothing.

She wouldn’t do the same thing. She wouldn’t do this Nathan’s way. “No catch.”

He crossed his arms, disbelieving.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Coming here was a mistake.” And grabbing both Liza and Eric, she turned away.

“Wait.”

She went still, then turned back.

Gaze still inscrutable, he’d relaxed marginally, and she knew with a sudden clarity that he’d lied to her. Last night hadn’t been the norm for him, it had been just as special, just as amazing, as it had been for her.

And he’d pushed her away because of it. It had been his right to do so, and she understood it all too well.

“Help would be welcome,” he said, surprising her.

Eric shoved up his sleeves. “Just tell me where and what.”

Em nodded and took a step back to let Eric through. “Okay, then. Good luck tonight-”

“Where are you going?” Jacob asked.

“Out of your hair.”

Jacob rubbed his nearly hairless head. “No worries there.”

Em stared at him. “What are you saying?”

“I think he already said it,” Liza said, looking at Jacob as she rolled up her sleeves. “He needs help. From all of us.”

EM ENDED UP with a ponytail keeping her hair back and a white jacket over her clothes. But it was the knife in her hands concerning her as she contemplated a stack of vegetables that might as well have been Mt. Everest.

Jacob was moving around, lifting big pots, wielding equipment, working near the hot, open flame, mixing up something that smelled like heaven. Eric was on the other side of the kitchen at the open flame, smiling and joking with Pru, while Liza surreptitiously watched them from her corner, mouth grim.

They’d promised Jacob an hour of prep work. Correction. She and Liza had promised an hour. Eric would stay as long as Jacob was needed, the rest of the night if necessary, because, as he said, the experience would be fun.

From the range, Eric laughed at something Pru said.

Liza pretended not to notice.

Em wasn’t as good at pretending. Ignoring what had happened between her and Jacob last night, even for an hour, was beyond her, but she gave it the ol’ college try as she reached for a carrot and began slicing. How could he look at her and not remember?

Even as she thought it, Jacob glanced across the room at her, nothing showing on his face.

Was he thinking about what they’d been doing only a few hours before? How he’d touched her, kissed her? How when he’d been buried deep in her body he’d met her gaze and had been unable to tear his away?

Eric laughed again.

Liza set down her knife and walked toward them, a look of intent on her face.

Eric turned to her, smiling until he saw her expression. Then his changed, softened, filled with a look of such hope Em wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t.

At the look, Liza suddenly broke into a smile, as if Eric was her everything.

Eric returned it.

Pru moved away, and Eric gently touched Liza’s face, kissing her softly before going back to his station.

Liza brought her hand up to her lips, sighed, then went back to her station, as well.

And Em swallowed the inexplicable urge to cry.

“You trying to lose a finger?”

When she nearly jerked out of her skin, two arms reached around her, hands settling over hers. “Easy,” Jacob murmured.

Easy? Was he kidding? She could feel his warm, hard chest against her back, his heat, his strength. And she could smell him, some complicated mix of soap and man that was so intoxicating she felt dizzy. “What are we making?”

“Spicy Szechuan noodles with grilled Indonesian tiger prawns for the first course, snapper with tamarind-coconut sauce and bamboo rice for the main course. Then tempura bananas with caramel sauce for dessert.”

She didn’t even know what half of that was. “Sounds interesting.”

“Liar.”

Craning her neck, she looked up into his eyes. Despite the tension in his body, his eyes were smiling.

“Do you ever just make burgers?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Burgers tonight would be good,” she said. “I could forgo chopping all these veggies.”

“Would you rather pick cilantro leaves for garnish?” he asked. “It’s easier. Or you could prep spinach leaves for salads.”

She’d had no idea how much work went into being a chef, the long hours, mostly on your feet, lifting heavy pots and pans, working near dangerous appliances at high temperatures. “I can handle this.”

“I bet you can.” His arms were still alongside hers, his hands guiding her fingers into the right position on the knife. “This way, Em, so you’ll keep all your fingers, see? Nothing wrong with your way, other than I don’t like blood in my kitchen.” He spoke casually, showing her exactly how he meant for it all to be done, making it look easy. And having him surround her like that was, well…nirvana. It brought it all back, what it had felt like to be skin-to-skin with him, face-to-face, sharing their bodies, and more. Wanting to see him, to gauge if he was feeling any of the overwhelming emotions she was, she tipped her head up to look at him.

His eyes were on the knife and the carrot but they swiveled to meet hers. “You going to watch what you’re doing? Or me?”

“You.”

His eyes swirled with heat. “Em.”

“The things you said to me this morning.” She took a quick peek at the others. No one was paying them the slightest bit of attention. “I don’t think you meant them.”

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

“Jacob.” She pushed the carrots away and turned to face him directly. “We made love. We fell asleep together. And it was out of this world. I might not be all that experienced, but I know that much.” He didn’t say anything, and the first bits of doubt crept in. “Or I thought I knew that much,” she muttered.

Beneath his breath, he swore. “You did know that much.” She just looked at him, and he swore again. “It was insane how perfect it was,” he said tightly. “How’s that?”

She felt the smile split her face.

With a groan at the sight, he grabbed the knife and started slicing without her, his hands and fingers moving so quickly and efficiently they were a blur. “It doesn’t matter, Em. It’s not going anywhere, you know that. You’re heading back to L.A., and I’m…”

“You’re what?”

“I’m not sure. I’m never sure.”

“Because you like to be free to walk when it suits you.”

“That’s right.” He finished the huge stack of carrots and started in on the celery.

“Because contracts, even short-term television contracts for huge amounts of money, don’t interest you any more than planning for the future interests you.”

He set down the knife. “Thank you for your help.”

She’d been dismissed. Well, didn’t that suit her. She turned away from him, and suddenly realized they were all alone. “Hey, where did everyone go?”

Equally bewildered, Jacob looked around. “You’re stressing out my kitchen.”

Em put her hands on her hips. “I’m stressing out your kitchen? Are you kidding me? You’re the one giving me heart failure-”

“When did I give you heart failure?”

She shook her head and bit her lip so the rest couldn’t come out.

He merely hauled her up on her toes and put them nose-to-nose. “Tell me.”

“Every time you made me come,” she whispered.

Still holding her, he stared at her. Annoyance faded, replaced by emotions that made her swallow hard.

“Is that right?” he asked in that silky voice that last night had driven her over the edge too many times to count.

“Yes.”

He set her down. His hands left her. “Flour,” he said.

“What?”

He gestured behind her, to what looked like a pantry door. “I need flour.”

She narrowed her eyes. Was this yet another test? Or his way of changing the subject?

He just waited.

Fine. She’d get him the damn flour. And then they’d talk. She opened the double doors. Inside were shelves stocked with cans and dry goods.

And Eric and Liza. Eric’s hair was wild from Liza’s fingers, his shirt gaping, his belt open. He had Liza backed to a shelf, one hand up her shirt, the other down her pants.

As Em’s mouth fell open, they jerked apart.

“Sorry,” Eric said.

Liza smiled apologetically. “Make-up sex…well, you know.”

No, Em didn’t know. But suddenly she wished she did.

Jacob shut the door.

“Oh, my,” she finally said.

Jacob looked into her hot face, then without a word, took her hand and pulled her back through the kitchen, down an employee hallway and through yet another door.

It was a beautiful room, quite obviously his office, with a black lacquer desk and matching shelving unit, and a large window looking out to the busy city.

A black cat sat on the desk, the cat from the elevator on her first day here. At the sight of them, she gave a soft “meow,” rubbed around each of their ankles, and began to purr.

Jacob scooped her up, scratched behind her ears, and then set her down outside the office door.

“Yours?” she asked.

“Eartha Kitty belongs to Piper, the owner of the hotel. Sort of a mascot.”

She tried a smile. “You have a nice view here.”

“I guess. I look at you and I can’t see anything else.”

The words stunned her. Thrilled her.

“Em, I want to finish what we started in the kitchen.”

“The fight?”

“We were discussing, not fighting. I believe you were telling me how it felt when I made you come-”

More heat flooded her body. “I don’t feel like talking about that anymore.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Um…” She broke off when he took a step toward her. She took one back, but came up against the windowsill. She gripped it tight at her sides to steady herself.

He arched a brow.

She returned the gesture. “Because,” she said, feeling immature as she crossed her arms.

And aware. Let’s not forget extremely aware.

“Because isn’t a complete sentence, or a reason,” he pointed out.

“I don’t feel like talking about it,” she repeated a little shakily when he slid his body to hers, sandwiching her between the sill and his hard form.

“So what do you feel like doing?” His voice was amused, but looking into his eyes, he was anything but.

She bit her lip harder this time. No more blurting anything out! There was no point to it, no point in hashing this out.

“Then maybe we shouldn’t talk at all,” he decided, and slid his muscled thigh between hers, bringing it up high, making all her happy spots zing to life. While she was still absorbing that, he slid his hands in her hair, tugged her face close and kissed her.