Secret Ingredient: Love

“Okay, I’ll get you my résumé and work history.”

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed her a business card. “Here’s the address.”

“Thanks.”

Fran stood before the reception desk at Marchetti’s Inc. the following afternoon. It was late, after five, and she’d spent much of the day debating with herself. Should she play it cool and wait a week before getting Alex Marchetti her résumé? Or appear eager and needy by doing it right away? She finally reasoned that it didn’t matter. The man had seen her want ads. He knew how needy she was.

Stopping at the building’s information desk, she’d explained that she was there to see Alex. The woman had buzzed his office to announce her, and had listened to his response.

“Mr. Marchetti will see you,” she’d said. “Tenth floor,” she’d added with a polite smile.

“Thank you.”

Remembering his deep, resonant tones, Fran wondered how the woman could listen to that wonderful voice and remain impassive. On the phone, there was no distraction to mute the full power of it. Then again, the receptionist looked to be in her late fifties. Not to mention that there were a lot of offices. She probably didn’t talk to him much.

Shaking her head at her silly musing, Fran walked past the reception area to the elevator and took it to his floor. When the doors opened, she walked out and scanned the U-shaped desk and the woman behind it. Alex’s secretary.

That explained it. The information lady probably only talked to his secretary. Hence her demeanor was safe and secure.

“I’m here to see Alex Marchetti,” Fran explained to the gray-haired woman. With her cap of curls, she reminded Fran of one of the flitting fairy godmothers from the classic cartoon fairy tale.

Fran had to conclude that if Alex had had any say in hiring his secretary and the information lady, he had deliberately surrounded himself with females unavailable to him. He wasn’t kidding about not looking for a woman. Fran couldn’t help wondering why. A hunk like him could probably have anyone he wanted, but he’d taken himself out of circulation. She wasn’t the only one with a long, yet interesting story. But she recalled the sadness in his brown eyes and had a suspicion his didn’t have a happy ending.

“He’s expecting you,” the older woman said with a smile. “His office is down the hall to your left.”

“Thanks,” Fran said.

She quickly found his door, and knocked.

“Come in.”

There was the voice. She took a deep, bracing breath, then entered his office. Alex sat behind the desk. Today he had on a tie, a paisley print in shades of brown and gold complementing his tan shirt. The long sleeves were rolled up. She couldn’t suppress one small, appreciative sigh.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”

She clutched her portfolio briefcase tightly. “Here I am, as promised.”

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Anytime this week would have been fine.”

“I thought you were anxious to get started.”

“And I thought you were busy finishing up your current assignment.”

“Just tying up loose ends,” she explained, struggling for perky.

His words made her stomach fall like the sudden drop on a roller coaster. He didn’t want her. The thought flashed through her mind, and disappointment quickly followed. She couldn’t tell whether she was disturbed professionally or personally. That sent her to a whole different level of emotional confusion. She’d been involved with a guy who had dumped her after he got what he wanted. She hadn’t done anything for Alex yet. Her self-esteem would plummet to the basement if she were jettisoned without even being on board.

“Have a seat.” He indicated one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk.

“Thanks.” She sat down and crossed one leg over the other, hearing the whisper of her nylons. She noticed Alex glance in that direction, but was pretty sure his desk blocked his view. And she was glad about that.

On top of her debate about whether or not to show up at all, she’d had a hard time deciding what to wear. It was December in southern California, but unseasonably warm. Should she show up in a suit with a skirt that was businesslike yet feminine, or a pantsuit that was professional and didn’t draw too much attention to her as a woman? Based on their meeting the previous evening, she hadn’t been able to decide whether he was retro or progressive on that last point.

She’d finally chosen an outfit that made her feel professional and confident. Her chocolate-brown suit filled the bill nicely. Its not-too-short skirt and the fitted jacket that hugged her hips and stopped about six inches from her hem made her feel good.

He stared at her for several moments, then finally said, “May I see your résumé?”

“Of course.” She quickly unzipped her briefcase and removed a folder. “I also have letters of recommendation from each of the companies I’ve worked with.”

Alex scanned the sheets, giving her a chance to scan him. As he concentrated, frown lines appeared between his dark brows. He had a well-formed nose and a nice mouth. Very nice, she thought with a little shiver. His cheeks and jaw sported a five o’clock shadow. Incredibly male with just a hint of danger, she decided. But the wire-rimmed glasses debunked that impression pretty quickly. His wrists were wide, dusted with a masculine covering of dark hair, and his hands, with their long fingers, looked lean and strong.

“Very impressive,” he said.

“Yes, indeed.” She gave herself a mental shake and, with an effort, switched gears back to business. She cleared her throat. “They seemed to be happy with my work.”

He set the last letter on top of the folder. “With a health-conscious consumer public, the fat-free muffin mix is very timely. So is the frozen vegetable stir-fry.”

“Not to mention the recipe booklet for the dried soup mix,” she reminded him. “I included hints to cut fat and calories.”

“I see,” he said, looking at her. Was that appreciation in his eyes?

Maybe. But that didn’t dismiss his vague tone. She would bet her double boiler that he had mega-reservations about hiring her.

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in your voice?” she asked.

“You have no experience in entrées.”

“Not as a consultant, that’s true. But as my résumé states, I was trained at a prestigious culinary school. Making entrées was part of the curriculum. I know which ingredients freeze well.”

Alex met her gaze. “I was hoping to find someone with more—”

“Seasoning?” she questioned when he hesitated.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Frankly, yes,” he said.

Tamping down her disappointment, she asked, “How long have you been looking?”

“Awhile now,” he admitted. “Casually at first, because I was fleshing out the idea and brainstorming the ad campaign. I had a verbal agreement with a chef, but he bailed out on me when he got an offer for his own restaurant. So when I found myself back at square one, I started looking at our own personnel in the restaurants, without pressuring anyone.”

“And?”

He shook his head. “No dice.”

“Then what?” she asked.

“I was hoping to land a well-known name in the business, but that went nowhere. I also talked to culinary schools. I interviewed some students who came highly recommended.”