Chapter Two: Lena
I’d expected to wake up to the urgent sound of my phone’s alarm, but instead I heard the sounds of birds singing and felt the warmth of the sun kiss my face. It wouldn’t have been a nice way to wake up, if I hadn’t had to be awake before the sun came up.
I sat straight up in bed, my long hair a tangled mess, curling around my face. I cursed as I kicked the blankets off and grabbed my phone to check the time. It was 7:30 and my meeting with Jami was at 8. I cursed to myself and jumped out of bed, running to my suitcase and pulling out the only real professional outfit I owned. I worked in a chef’s uniform and when I wasn’t working I could be found in sweaters and leggings.
I wiggled into the fitted black dress and stumbled into the bathroom, hastily applying the bare minimum amount of makeup. The dress as riding up as I ran through Miguel’s living room, grabbing my purse and waving to him as he told me good luck, seemingly confused by my rush.
By the time I got out of the house, it was 7:50 and I still had a thirty- minute train ride. I ran as quickly as I could in heels, stumbling through the crowds and brushing past people who gave me annoyed looks, but I didn’t really care. I had somewhere I needed to be.
When I finally got on the train I slumped into one of the seats and leaned my head back against the window, closing my eyes and panting as I tried to catch my breath. I had a few moments to relax, even though I knew I’d be stressed until I got to my interview. I knew this wasn’t the only job offer I had, but I just didn’t like being late.
I ran a hand through my hair, tapping my foot impatiently until the train came to a stop. I was the first one off and soon I found myself on the streets of the upper east side, looking for a restaurant called “Jamison’s Place”. The name was unoriginal, bland and said a lot about the man who owned it. How could a playboy be so boring and uncreative?
Finally, I turned the corner and laid eyes on the large, three story stone building. The sandstone was beautiful and the architecture had a touch of old New York, even though the building was brand new. The sign looked like something from an Irish pub and my curiosity was piqued. This certainly didn’t look like the postmodern monstrosity I’d been expecting.
I walked inside, checking my watch as I wandered through a tall archway that led into a dimly lit restaurant. 8:30. Shit. Was I really an hour late? I sighed and looked up, taking in the metal tables and industrial décor. This wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was nice.
“You’re late.”
I jumped and spun around when a voice spoke up from behind me. As I turned I came face to face with a tall man with sandy blonde hair and eyes the color of honey. He smirked and stared down at me as I took in his sculpted jaw, solid frame and fitted suit. He was…Perfect. At first I couldn’t speak. His full lips and well tripped beard made my knees weak and I had to clear my throat, to regain my composure. Maybe I should have been concerned with how familiar he seemed with my name, but then again, he had my full resume so it wasn’t all that alarming.
“Ah…Yes. My plane came in very late last night and I fell asleep without setting my alarm. I’m so sorry, Mr. Whittle” It was only a little lie, right?
He nodded and motioned towards one of the booths in the corner. “That’s perfectly fine. And please, call me Jami. Please, sit.”
I nodded and glanced over my shoulder before going to the booth he’d pointed at and settling in. I glanced at him, chewing my lower lip unconsciously as he slid in across from me. “I’ve read a lot about you.”
“Hopefully good things?”
“Only good things. You’re said to be the world’s best up and coming chef.” He had a light accent, though I couldn’t quite place it.
“Well, that was kind of the publication.”
“Luckily it’s a publication I trust.”
I nodded and sat still, glancing around and waiting for the questions to begin. He didn’t say anything, though. He just sat across from me, his meaty, but well-manicured hands threaded together and his eyes focused as if he were in deep thought.
“Are we going to continue with the interview?” I squirmed a little. I was afraid that if I didn’t say anything, neither would he.
“Oh, this isn’t an interview.”
“What?” I sounded more alarmed than I meant to.
“Well, I suppose it is, but I’m not going to ask you questions. Anyone who can read knows you’re a good manager and a good chef. I trust your reputation, but I wanted to taste your food for myself.”
“Oh?” I was intrigued again. I’d never had an interview where I was asked to cook. “And why have you decided to conduct this kind of interview?”
He smirked and leaned forward. “Because I want someone who can make good, southern comfort food.” His accent was stronger now, and I suddenly realized it was the same accent I’d fought so hard to get rid of.
“Comfort food?”
“Sure. This place doesn’t have anything like that. You ever try and get chicken and waffles in New York? It’s impossible.”
I was shocked at the request, but nodded. I could make comfort food. Hell, I’d been cooking it since I was a kid, but I’d never had anyone ask me to do it, especially not since I’d become a professional chef.
“Can you do that?”
“I could do it in my sleep.”
He slapped the table and grinned, standing and offering me his hand. “Let’s get crackin’ then.”
I paused but took his hand, my face heating up when he pressed a tender kiss to the back of it. What was this? Some kind of romantic comedy? I brushed the gesture off as a quirk and followed him back to the kitchen. It was one of the largest I’d ever been in and I couldn’t help but whistle as I walked through the swinging doors.
“This is swanky. You don’t see Southern food restaurants with kitchen like this.”
“If I’m going to bring Southern food to New York, I’m going to do it in a big way. Go big or go home?”
After doing some research about Jami on the train ride, I’d quickly learned that was his mantra. Everything he did big. He owned the biggest properties, the biggest stock shares and the biggest night clubs in New York. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume that he had something to prove.
“Do you have everything I need to make a full country breakfast?” I could see all the utensils, but I wasn’t sure about his food stock.
“I sure do.” He motioned towards the walk-in freezer and fridge and I grinned, ready to start.
It didn’t take much time for me to find everything I needed to make biscuits, gravy, eggs and pancakes. It was probably a bit much, but I wasn’t worried about calorie count. I wanted to show him some of my specialties. Now that I’d met him, I was suddenly very interested in working for Jami. I wondered if it had something to do with his beautiful, golden eyes.
I went to work right away, working with the same skill and finesse that I used when making French or Italian cuisine. My skill was not limited to exotic dishes and I put just as much love and effort into pancakes as I did in beef wellington.
It took me less than an hour to finish the meal from scratch, which should have been impressive since everything from the biscuits to the syrup was made from scratch. I put everything on a plate and turned to present it to Jami, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me through the entire process.
“Very good.” He hummed, taking the plate. He cut off a piece of the pancake and put it in his mouth, groaning softly. “This is heavenly.”
I grinned brightly, opening my mouth to thank him, but before words could come out, he pressed a bite of pancake to my lips. My eyes darted up to his, but I took the offered bite, my body flushing. Somehow, this seemed incredibly intimate.
“Ah…Thank you,” I murmured behind my hand as I chewed the sweet, maple covered treat.
“If all your meals are this good, I don’t see why we can’t work together.”
My heart leapt with joy and a grin pulled at my lips. “Really?!”
He chuckled and nodded, taking a bite of the biscuits. “Really.” He turned and set the plate on the table behind him, stepping forward. “But before you go, I have one last question.” He moved towards me until I was pressed up against the prep table, my hands resting on the metal surface.
I laughed nervously, looking away, unable to hold his intense gaze. “And what is that?”
His fingers rested on my jaw and he guided my gaze to his meet his. “I want to take you out.”
“Out?”
“On a date.”
I laughed and put a hand on his chest, slowly pushing him away. “I don’t think so.”
I knew my answer was a lie, but he didn’t have to know that. I could hear Miguel’s warning loud and clear in my mind. I’d just gotten home. The last thing I wanted to do was mix myself up in some kind of whirlwind romance with my boss.
Jami seemed shocked, but stepped back. “You’re saying no?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He smirked and wrapped his arm around my waist, but I managed to sneak out of his hold. “I could show you this city in ways you’ve never dreamed.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes at the cheesy line. “You’ll have to try harder than that.” Sure, he was my future boss, but if he was going to hit on me like this, I felt like I had a reason to be a little snarky.
He smirked and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Is that a challenge?”
“I suppose it is.”
He shrugged casually and started to walk by me, heading for the doors. He paused beside me, leaning in, his warm breath tickling my ear.
“I accept.”
With that simple declaration, he left me flushed and strangely aroused, only pausing at the door to offer one last comment.
“You start work on Monday. I’ll see you at noon.”