Chapter Six

Carter

“This place sucks,” I say, glancing around, looking for a dirty blonde-haired woman. I see the back of one, but she’s carrying a plate of fish shit, so it can’t be her. “Place smells like fish guts.”

“Well, it’s no Armónico,” Reagan says. “But you’d think Dante could’ve come up with a better name than the Mona Lisa.”

I snicker into my drink. If Dante had the balls to come over to this table, I’d spit in his greasy face. “The only good thing about this place was that girl,” I say, frowning. “She was hot as hell. You think she was some kind of booth babe looking for free grub?”

Reagan snickers and holds up his hand, palm out. “No clue. Why didn’t you get her name, dipshit?”

“She literally ran away from me.” I shake my head. I’ve always had a way with the ladies. This is the first time since grade school a woman has fled the scene of the crime, leaving me in her dust.

Reagan’s snickers turn to full out laughter. At my expense. “You have such a way with women. It’s like they can tell you spend all of your time being a knife-wielding hermit in your kitchen.”

“Well, yeah,” I say, puffing out my chest. “There’s a reason why Steakhouse just got two Michelin stars.”

“Stop bragging,” Reagan snaps. “Look, I’m going to see if Taryn needs anything.”

“I need something,” I grumble. Like some real food. “I’m fucking starving to death.”

“Your gut says differently. Besides dude, there’s food everywhere,” Reagan says. “Some of it’s pretty good too.”

I roll my eyes and give a long-suffering sigh because none of this shit constitutes food in my book. “Fish is not food,” I argue, shaking my head. “I could sure sink my teeth into a rare rack of lamb right now. That’s food.”

Reagan snorts. “You’re hopeless.”

I shrug off his insults, thankful they’re not coming with more of his off-color one-liners attached to them. “I’m a red-blooded American male. And men like me need sustenance. When it comes to pussy…when it comes to entrees.”

Reagan doesn’t have a response, he simply shakes his head and laughs as he walks away, looking for his gorgeous wife. When I’m left alone, I glance around the restaurant. Aside from the sexy little blonde, there aren’t too many fuckables here. Most of these ladies are so made over with bad plastic surgery they don’t even resemble human beings. I can’t stop thinking about the way mystery girl felt in my arms, swooning against me like she wanted me. For me. Even the freckles on her nose and her grey eyes set my blood surging through my veins.

I breathe out some regret over opportunity lost, glancing at the screen of my phone for what feels like the hundredth time since I got to Sakana. More like Fucking-fish-o-rama, I think, rolling my eyes as another tray of slimy, unappetizing tuna glides by. Can’t Pepper St. Claire prepare anything but ahi? She’s got a hard-on for the stuff. I imagine her with bulging eyes and scaly skin, chuckling at the gross image I’ve created at her expense.

“Sir? Would you like to try an appetizer?” The server stops in front of me and smiles sweetly. “This is our chef’s specialty. We were recently given a three-star Michelin rating. We’re so proud here at Sakana.”

“It looks like dog food,” I say, turning up my nose in disgust.

Three fucking stars for this shit?

The server frowns, probably sad her little spiel didn’t get the appropriate and expected reaction. “She’s very proud of this dish, sir. It’s an award winner.”

Is it wrong that I delight in making her squirm like a worm on Pepper St. Claire’s sharp hook? “I don’t think anyone from Kansas should have the right to serve fish,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “It’s a land-locked state.”

The server glares daggers at me as if she’s a card-carrying member of the Pepper fan club. “Fine,” she snaps. “I’m sure there are many other guests who will want to sample it.” She whirls around and carries the cancerous-looking tuna off in a hissy fit.

“No fish for you, buddy?”

I look up and see a brawny blond man with tanned skin wearing a Western shirt and worn jeans.

“No,” I say. “Red meat, only.”

The man chuckles, his bright eyes twinkling. “Me, too,” he says in a pronounced drawl. “Shit, I could go for a steak right now. Medium rare.”

“You’re telling me.” My stomach growls. “If you’re not going to eat steak medium rare, have the chicken. Carter Caldwell.” I stick out my hand, and the blond man grips it in a firm, masculine handshake.

I like him already.

“Cody Higginbottom.” Cody throws me a lazy grin.

“Holy shit.” I feel my eyes bulge. “Not the Cody Higginbottom? Man, I saw you ride Chuckin’ Charlie last year. That ride was epic!”

Cody throws his head back and brays with laughter. “Hell yeah, it was,” he says, shaking his head. “Damn, it feels good bein’ famous! I’m back in town for the NFR.”

“Man, that’s awesome. I used to work over at Mandalay Bay. The NFR was one of my favorite events in Vegas. I haven’t missed a year since I graduated high school. I guess every guy born in a desert secretly longs to be a cowboy.”

“Alrighty, then,” he says, smiling that lopsided grin of his that sends all of the cowgirls into a frenzy of denim skirts. “I was startin’ to think I wouldn’t make any friends in town, but here I am. And I don’t give a good god damn about all this fish shit! You know anywhere a man can get a real piece of meat around here? Prime, Grade A cow’s ass?”

“Yeah,” I say. “My restaurant, Steakhouse.”

“Shit, man!” Cody says with a low whistle. “You own a restaurant?”

“I’m the head chef,” I explain. “And there’s no fish on the menu. Unless you count lobster, but I had to give in since my high rollers always want it. Anything for my customers.”

Cody smirks and rubs his belly. “Good news, my man. I could sure use somethin’ bloody right in front of men to ease this infernal ache in my belly.”

The idea hits me like a ton of bricks. Staring at Cody – his folksy charm, his rugged looks that women fall all over themselves for, his love for meat – I know what the next big thing in the culinary world could be.

“Hey…” No risk; no reward. “This sounds crazy, I know, but how would you feel about discussing a little business opportunity?”

“Man, I ain’t no chef,” he says, rearing back in surprise. “About all I can do is ride bulls. Well, and knock back some whiskey.” He smirks. “And don’t even get me started on how I can make a pussy purr.”

“I believe it. You’re the top bull rider in the country. Don’t you think your name and face could sell things? Michael Jordan didn’t make most of his money from basketball. He made it from endorsement deals. Same with Tiger Woods. Hell, with your good looks and charm, we could sell milk to vegans if we wanted to.”

“What were ya thinkin’?” he asks. I can tell he’s mulling it over and he’s intrigued.

“Barbecue sauce. You’re from the Midwest, right? We should do a line of sauces. I’ve won grilling competitions, and the judges always rave about my secret recipe sauces.”

“Holy hell, man, I think ya might be onto somethin’.” The cowboy nods his head so vigorously that, for a second, I think his Stetson is going to fly off like a western UFO and land in the ever-present tuna tower. “I’m Kansas born and raised. God damn, that head of yours is just filled with good thoughts. I like you, Carter Caldwell. Yer good people.”

I breathe a sigh of relief that he doesn’t think I’m a weirdo psycho. It’s the first time I’ve gotten such a compliment. Most of the time, such adoring words are said to my brothers, not to me. As a result, I take a beat to drink it in and savor it.

“Yeah,” I say, the wheels in my head churning. Dollar signs appear before my eyes. “And rubs, like spice rubs. We’ll do a line of sauces and marinades and rubs. We could even name the recipes after the toughest bulls in the business. Your face, my face – it’ll be a huge hit. I can already see the commercials. They’ll be the only ones you don’t fast forward through on your DVR.”

Cody nods slowly. “Damn. I came to Vegas to ride bulls, but this is gonna be even better. Hells bells, my dad’s always talkin’ about hows I’m a gonna support myself after my career ends. It’s tough on the body, bein’ a cowboy.”

I nod, rubbing my hands together. I can just see it now, spread out in grocery stores all over the country. My name, Cody’s rugged face, maybe a little silhouette of a bucking bronco in the background. It’s going to be perfect. Not to mention, it’s going to make me a ton of money. And give me fame. Fame that will be completely mine…and not my family’s.

“So, what do you say?” I raise an eyebrow at Cody and hold out my hand for a shake. “Partners?”

Cody grins and slams his hand against mine, shaking it so hard I feel like I’m a human pogo stick. “Hell yeah. Partners!”

Maybe it’s lucky this charity event was held here at Sakana, after all. I look around. It doesn’t look nearly as second-rate as I thought it did when I first walked in.

Seems like there really is a silver lining to everything.