Secret Ingredient: Love

“Apparently that didn’t go well?”

He shook his head. “Either they were starstruck, with ambitions of working at world-famous restaurants in New York, or their specialties leaned toward froufrou and artsy.”

“Not on the same wavelength?” she asked, adding a dollop of understanding to her tone.

“That’s putting it mildly.” He leaned forward and folded his hands, resting them on his desk.

She tried, but couldn’t summon sincere sympathy. Not when she wanted this job so much. She couldn’t help feeling grateful that he was having a difficult time filling the position. It boded better for her.

“I hate to say this, but it sounds like you don’t have a lot of choices left,” she said.

“You noticed.” He sighed as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Look, Fran, I worked through lunch and I’m starving. What would you say to an early dinner? The very first Marchetti’s Restaurant my father opened is across the street. Would you care to join me?”

Part of her wanted to say, “Lead me to the linguine.” The other part said her presence here at all was the main ingredient in a recipe for trouble. But she needed a job. And this assignment was leaps and bounds better than grill and taco bar positions. Her only concern was Alex Marchetti. He didn’t seem like the type who would turn the project over to even the most experienced chef, which she was not. That meant he would be a hands-on employer. Shivering at the thought, she reminded herself his hands wouldn’t be on her. This was work, not personal. The business of cooking had been personal once and she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t ever let it be again.

This instant and powerful attraction to a man had never happened to her before. She was guessing, but felt it had something to do with the fact that Alex had dropped by without warning last night. She hadn’t had time to erect her defenses. He’d slipped past her fortifications before she could arm herself against his arsenal of looks, laughs and loads of sex appeal.

But she couldn’t let a little thing like that stop her. If she was the type to run from confrontation, she would be a teacher today instead of a chef.

“A business dinner would be fine, Alex. I’d like very much to check out Marchetti’s menu.”

“You’ve never been to one of our restaurants?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

He stood up. “It’s time we rectified that.”

“Hi, Abby.” Alex gave his newest sister-in-law a kiss on the cheek.

He and Fran had just entered the restaurant. As assistant manager, Abby happened to be filling in for the hostess. He didn’t miss the look on Fran’s face. Her expression registered surprise, disapproval and a distinct “Do I really want to work for a guy who kisses his employees?”

“A table for two, Alex?” Abby asked, smiling politely at Fran. Her blue eyes glittered with curiosity.

Alex had always thought the penchant for meddling was an inherited Marchetti trait. Apparently it was passed on through marriage, he realized as his blond sister-in-law gave Fran a thorough once-over. But in all fairness, Abby wasn’t accustomed to seeing him with a woman. And there was something about Fran—a sparkle, a sense of fun humming through her, a subtle sexiness.

He cleared his throat. “A quiet table please, Ab. We have business to discuss,” he added quickly. Squash the rumors before they got started. No sense fueling the family gossip mill. The meddling Marchettis needed no challenge or encouragement.

“I have the perfect table,” Abby answered.

He looked at Fran, the doubtful expression in her eyes reminding him he hadn’t made introductions. “Fran Carlino, I’d like you to meet Abby Marchetti. She and Nick have been married…” He stopped to think how long it had been.

“Six months, and we’re still on our honeymoon,” Abby stated with stars in her eyes. “But who’s counting? It’s nice to meet you, Fran.”

“My pleasure,” Fran said, visibly relaxing.

“I’ve got a corner booth, quiet and secluded.” Abby led the way through the romantically lit, almost empty restaurant. “You picked a good time to come in, Alex. The dinner rush hasn’t started yet.”

“Good.”

His sister-in-law seated them. “I’ll send the waiter over. Enjoy your dinner. Good to see you, Alex,” she said, then she was gone.

He knew she’d wanted to say, “Good to see you with a woman.” He wished his family would get over worrying about him being alone. They would have a field day if he told them that visions of Fran kept popping into his mind. Followed quickly by a nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong. He pushed that thought away. He wished his caring but misguided relatives would find another charity case. He’d been taking care of himself—alone—for a while now. And he’d been doing a pretty good job of it if he did say so himself. That reminded him of something Fran had said that he’d wondered about.

Alex looked at her across the table. “Before we talk business, would you mind explaining the remark you made last night? About being able to take care of yourself?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity. You were a shade defensive.” He shrugged. “I just wondered why you would feel you couldn’t count on your family.”

“I can count on them. I just choose not to. Because I would hear about how if I was married, I wouldn’t have to ask them for help because I’d have a man to take care of me.”

“And you don’t want a man in your life?”

“That’s oversimplifying.”

“How?”

She clasped her hands together and rested her forearms on the table. “My family is big on following in footsteps. My four brothers followed my father into the construction business. A lot like your family. The difference is yours seems to accept Rosie’s decision to be an independent businesswoman.”

“Your family hasn’t accepted your career?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think my father knows what to do with me. He’s never gotten over the fact that I wasn’t a boy. Plus girls can’t work construction. I was supposed to do what my mother did—marry and have babies. He wants me to find a man so he won’t have to worry about me anymore. I feel a lot like the Olympic torch, getting handed off to become someone else’s responsibility.” She sighed. “He would want me in a nunnery if he knew about the jerk in cooking school. But that’s a sad, boring story,” she said, looking as if she would like to call back those words.

Alex laughed. “What’s wrong with allowing someone the privilege of looking after you?”

“I’m not a responsibility. I can take care of myself. A man would quadruple the home-front workload. My career would suffer.”

“And your career is important to you?”

“You bet your corporate office it is. I love what I do. A good thing, since culinary school was no picnic for a woman. I didn’t go through that so I could play second fiddle to a guy and his laundry.”

“So a job with Marchetti’s is important to you?”

She nodded. “You said it yourself. I don’t have experience with entrées. This job would give me that and, with a little luck, put me on a course closer to my ultimate goal.”

“Which is?”

“A restaurant of my own.” She met his gaze. “You’re wondering why I’ve taken a detour from that.”

“Yeah.” She’d read his mind. He hoped she couldn’t read the rest of his thoughts as easily. Or she would know how interested he was in her mouth and how it would feel and taste. He forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying.

“I’m sure you’re aware that there’s a certain prejudice against women in this business.”

“I’ve seen some,” he admitted.

“School was tough, but I was naive and thought when I finished it would be behind me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a position I wanted in the restaurant field. When I was offered a consulting job, I took it, even though it veered away from my objective.”

“So you want me to hire and train my competition?”