your nose before I’d kiss you, Hollywood. Get outta my face.”
His gaze dipped once to her mouth then flicked up. “I can’t go anywhere while you’re grabbing onto me.”
“Fine.”
She pried her hand off his arm, and he obligingly stepped back.
What was she supposed to say now? Her brain had disintegrated to mush and her knee joints appeared to have transformed into Jello.
Del stood, hands shoved in the pockets of his running shorts—calm, unruffled, unreadable. They could’ve been discussing the next day’s menu or the weather forecast.
He’d been teasing. So, get it together, girlfriend . She blew out a slow breath and dredged up her most reasonable peace-making voice.
“I’ve given you the wrong impression. You’ve mistaken my friendliness for flirtation—”
“Friendly? You’d put a cleaver in my skull, given half a chance.”
Don’t give the cocky bastard the satisfaction. Just, don’t, do, it.
Shaye straightened to her full five-foot-seven height. “I’ve been cordial and respectful to you in the kitchen; I don’t owe you more than that.”
Del folded his arms. “Hmm.”
Which could mean any damn thing.
“You’ve never had to work with a man you’re attracted to, have you?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.
Blood sizzled under her skin. “No. And it doesn’t apply in this situation.”
“Bullshit. We’ve been ready to burn the moment we stepped in that kitchen together.”
Shaye pushed away from the railing. “Not only are you a jerk, you’re a delusional, self-inflated jerk.”
“Ouch,” he said as she stalked away, her heels clicking on the pavement. “Denial doesn’t change the facts.”
Shaye raised her bent arm, the middle finger popping into a vertical position. The low chuckle behind her signaled nothing was wrong with his night vision.
“Goodnight, princess.”
A voice like melted dark chocolate, her butt. Shaye stomped around the corner of Due South and moved out of his sight.
The man was poison, pure and simple.
Chapter 6
Lani swept into the kitchen, and Del glanced up. Friday night, the front of the house was slammed, all tables full, and they were headed into the weeds. Servers Lani, Charlie, and Helena were ordered to turn and burn the smaller tables, so the booked party of nine could be seated in thirty minutes.
“Need my soups, like yesterday. Table six is getting antsy,” Lani said.
“On it,” Shaye yelled.
Charlie, hot on Lani’s heals, blew in with yet another ticket. “One firehouse pizza, one fish ‘n chips hold the tartar sauce, and a ribeye that’s kissed the fire.”
“Add it to the stack.” Del shot a glance over his shoulder at Vince, who stood stationed at the grill. “Where’s table four’s grilled vege? Pump it out, let’s go.”
As his gaze swung back, it hesitated at the shelf where his little camera recorded the chaos. Thank God they were putting on a good show. With all the mini-disasters the camera’s indifferent eye had caught tonight, he’d have enough footage to get his audition clip ready to e-mail by tomorrow, at the latest.
Helena entered the kitchen at a run. “New bean and pasta for the salad bar, since some little shit just spit in both.” Though Helena was a co-parent with her partner, Sara, Del learned fast the woman had no patience for fools and bratty children.
Goddammit, two ruined salads? He finished plating table two’s mussel starters. “Eighty-six it—we haven’t got time to make more before the party of nine—”
“Got seven vegetarians in that party, Chef. They need salad.” Shaye swooped past him and grabbed a pot. “I’ll get water on for the pasta. Won’t take long to whip up a new batch.”
“Hell. Do it.”
She whirled around to the sink. Water splashed into the pot, and he smothered a grim smile. Helena’s report of a kid spitting into the salad would be gold on his audition. Ethan Ward wanted to see a restaurant failing without his experienced input?
His gaze dipped once to her mouth then flicked up. “I can’t go anywhere while you’re grabbing onto me.”
“Fine.”
She pried her hand off his arm, and he obligingly stepped back.
What was she supposed to say now? Her brain had disintegrated to mush and her knee joints appeared to have transformed into Jello.
Del stood, hands shoved in the pockets of his running shorts—calm, unruffled, unreadable. They could’ve been discussing the next day’s menu or the weather forecast.
He’d been teasing. So, get it together, girlfriend . She blew out a slow breath and dredged up her most reasonable peace-making voice.
“I’ve given you the wrong impression. You’ve mistaken my friendliness for flirtation—”
“Friendly? You’d put a cleaver in my skull, given half a chance.”
Don’t give the cocky bastard the satisfaction. Just, don’t, do, it.
Shaye straightened to her full five-foot-seven height. “I’ve been cordial and respectful to you in the kitchen; I don’t owe you more than that.”
Del folded his arms. “Hmm.”
Which could mean any damn thing.
“You’ve never had to work with a man you’re attracted to, have you?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.
Blood sizzled under her skin. “No. And it doesn’t apply in this situation.”
“Bullshit. We’ve been ready to burn the moment we stepped in that kitchen together.”
Shaye pushed away from the railing. “Not only are you a jerk, you’re a delusional, self-inflated jerk.”
“Ouch,” he said as she stalked away, her heels clicking on the pavement. “Denial doesn’t change the facts.”
Shaye raised her bent arm, the middle finger popping into a vertical position. The low chuckle behind her signaled nothing was wrong with his night vision.
“Goodnight, princess.”
A voice like melted dark chocolate, her butt. Shaye stomped around the corner of Due South and moved out of his sight.
The man was poison, pure and simple.
Chapter 6
Lani swept into the kitchen, and Del glanced up. Friday night, the front of the house was slammed, all tables full, and they were headed into the weeds. Servers Lani, Charlie, and Helena were ordered to turn and burn the smaller tables, so the booked party of nine could be seated in thirty minutes.
“Need my soups, like yesterday. Table six is getting antsy,” Lani said.
“On it,” Shaye yelled.
Charlie, hot on Lani’s heals, blew in with yet another ticket. “One firehouse pizza, one fish ‘n chips hold the tartar sauce, and a ribeye that’s kissed the fire.”
“Add it to the stack.” Del shot a glance over his shoulder at Vince, who stood stationed at the grill. “Where’s table four’s grilled vege? Pump it out, let’s go.”
As his gaze swung back, it hesitated at the shelf where his little camera recorded the chaos. Thank God they were putting on a good show. With all the mini-disasters the camera’s indifferent eye had caught tonight, he’d have enough footage to get his audition clip ready to e-mail by tomorrow, at the latest.
Helena entered the kitchen at a run. “New bean and pasta for the salad bar, since some little shit just spit in both.” Though Helena was a co-parent with her partner, Sara, Del learned fast the woman had no patience for fools and bratty children.
Goddammit, two ruined salads? He finished plating table two’s mussel starters. “Eighty-six it—we haven’t got time to make more before the party of nine—”
“Got seven vegetarians in that party, Chef. They need salad.” Shaye swooped past him and grabbed a pot. “I’ll get water on for the pasta. Won’t take long to whip up a new batch.”
“Hell. Do it.”
She whirled around to the sink. Water splashed into the pot, and he smothered a grim smile. Helena’s report of a kid spitting into the salad would be gold on his audition. Ethan Ward wanted to see a restaurant failing without his experienced input?
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