He was lost in clear, hazel eyes and the determination that shone in them. Damn the woman. He didn’t want to eat her food. Not because it wasn’t absolutely delicious, that small taste had ensured he knew it would be, he didn’t want to go back there again. He’d managed to forget about it for more than twenty years, and he didn’t want to start again now. Once buried it should remain forgotten.

A hand on his shoulder took him by surprise, as did the strength in it that very effectively shoved him into the chair. If she kept on man-handling him like this, there’d be no telling how much more his suit would suffer. With a despairing thought, he realized his suit was probably ruined now. To top it off, he wasn’t earning anything in this meeting. It was a freebie and he never did freebies. He silently sent a sarcastic thank you to Andrew for wasting his time.

At least Andrew was one happy man. David had never seen anyone do such a turnabout in his life. It was amazing what the right woman and love could do to a man. Not that it would happen to him. He was too much of an unfeeling bastard for any woman to fall in love with. What had he been called that time by some teacher or other? A lost cause. He remembered now. Turned out, she hadn’t been far wrong.

He’d long ago written off love with the reality of earning money. It was something he could do and he was good at it. No one was better at buying, disassembling and selling off separate parts of a business than he was. He always made a hefty profit. No love involved. Why waste heartache on something he’d never have. Better to stick to your strengths.

He watched her, what was her name again – Marlowe, that’s right – he watched Marlowe move about the kitchen. He was surprised she didn’t spill a drop as she expertly spooned some pasta into a bowl and topped it off with the doomed sauce.

“Can’t create a silk purse from a sow’s ear, you know?” she said.

“I’ve never heard that phrase before and why did you say that?” he said.

She tipped her head to the side and tapped the spoon against that pursed, highly pillowed bottom lip of hers. She glanced out of the corner of her eye for a moment, “Hmmm. Might be an Aussie saying then. It’s something mum said all the time. It means you can’t create something worthwhile from rubbish. You can’t scrimp on ingredients to make your meal delicious and nutritious, which is what we’re selling here.” She passed him a fork, handle side towards him.

He took it, sliding the end into the delicious smelling pasta. He knew it tasted as good as it smelled. “Why would your mother tell you something that doesn’t make sense? You’d never use the ear of a pig to make something you’d put money into.”

“Quit stalling. You know exactly what it means. Now eat while I serve out the rest. The lunch crowd will be here soon and I’ve got to finish this up before my shift at the restaurant.”

He frowned, looking at the amount of food she’d cooked. It should be enough for at least fifty meals. That made for a lot of work. “Where do you work?”

She paused and faced him. Her eyes slid from the end of his fork to his face. She pursed her lips, obviously waiting. There was no way she was going to let him leave, or say much of anything if he didn't eat her damned meal. With a grunt, he shoved the food into his mouth.

As he expected, flavor exploded over his tongue. He closed his eyes, but instead of the rush of sadness he expected, he saw his mother laughing in his mind. Funny, he hadn’t remembered what a happy person she’d been. How she’d loved to cook and everything that meant. Close family dinners, comfort, safety. His old man had even smiled back then too. It was a vast difference to the sour-faced old coot he was today.

“At Sophia’s.”

“Huh?” His eyes snapped open. He’d forgotten where he was, lost somewhere back in his childhood when his mother was still alive.

“You asked me where I worked. I’m a chef at Sophia’s.” She’d already filled twenty odd containers and had them stacked neatly to the side. No mess where she stacked them, he noted. He also noted he’d already eaten half his bowl.

“You’re going to go to a full shift after doing all this?” He didn’t know why he was so concerned. It didn’t matter what she did in her free time, only that he’d been asked to cut costs when she did it.

Marlowe sighed and picked up the now empty pot and settling it into hot, soapy water, “Well, it’s not my normal shift. Just helping someone out. You know how it is. And I’d already told Charlotte I’d be here to cook some more lunches this morning. She was relying on me.”

No, he didn't know how it was. He didn't do anything without thinking things through and he certainly didn't do anything that didn't earn him a dollar. He shuffled in his seat. A touch of embarrassment flirted with his logical brain. With that, also the knowledge he shouldn't be sitting here while she did all the washing up after she'd done all the cooking.

“Here, give me the cloth. I’ll wash. You clean up all…” he glanced at the mess on the workbench, “…that. I’m not sure where I’d start, anyway.”

“That would be great. Thank you.” Her smile was quick and genuine. Her lips were a beautiful dusky rose colour, matching eyes that danced with warmth and humor. Her fingers brushed his as she handed him the washcloth, her skin wet and warm and sudsy.

He sunk his hands into the water, hating to think a subordinate might see him doing a task like this. Didn't go with the business hard-ass image he'd worked at building.

“So you didn’t tell me what you thought,” Marlowe said.

For the second time that morning, he’d been lost in through. This time about rosy lips and smiling eyes, “Huh?”

She laughed a clear musical sound. “About your lunch.”

He grit his teeth. His senses were getting a battering this morning. He usually didn’t go for plain, dewy-faced red-heads, even if they did have a kissable mouth and laughter that got him right in the gut. He really had to wonder if the food had upset him or if he was more worried about the business he was thinking of buying in the same building the soup kitchen was in. It was his next meeting, after all.

“I can see why the meals are taking off around here, but I’m concerned about the waste, and the profits. Or lack of them. I need to work everything out before Christmas.” He scrubbed the bottom of the pot.

She grabbed an armful of products from the bench and took it to the refrigerator, “One of the things they train you when you’re learning to become a chef is how to create meals from leftovers. It’s a trick of the restaurant trade. Ever wonder why they have daily specials? Leftovers. I’m planning on using these ingredients in the dish I’m cooking next time I’m in.”

“This is a soup kitchen, though. The food is cheap, not like your restaurant,” he said.

“So you do know Sophia’s?” She flicked him a glance over her shoulder.

Everyone knew Sophia’s. One of the hottest little restaurants in town. He’d even taken a client there to seduce her with a business deal. The good food had paid off. She’d signed the deal. “The soup kitchen doesn’t have a budget like Sophia’s,” he said.

“You don’t know the owner,” she murmured. She wiped the bench clean and folded the tea towel over the tap.

David frowned at her words, sensing there was more behind them than she’d said. “What I’m trying to suggest, is that we reduce the cost of the meals, and one of those ways is to use cheaper ingredients.”

“Like the salt you suggested?”

He nodded, his stomach tightening. He didn’t like the gleam that had entered her eye as she strummed her fingers on her bottom lip and regarded him, “Yes. Like the salt.”

“Uh huh. And you said…we?”

He pursed his lips and said slowly, wondering where this conversation was going, “I did suggest we look at costs, yes.”

“Okay then.” She picked up her bag, slung the strap over her shoulder and took her coat from the stand, “I’m cooking here again in two days. I pick all my groceries fresh at the Wholesale Greenmarket. Meet me there at four. I’ll send you the details where you can meet me.”

“In the afternoon?” he called at her retreating back.

She turned framed in the doorway. The brisk breeze blew strands of her strawberry hair over her face but didn't mask the mischievous, yet the cheerful glint in her eyes. He wondered what he'd be in for, "That's four. In the morning. I might listen to you about cutting costs but only if you come see how you might cut them for yourself. Without cutting the quality, of course.”

With a wink, she disappeared and left him with wet sleeves and a stained jacket staring at the back of a door.