Page 13 of Bake You Mine (Port Fortune #1)
“Do you work here, or are you going to spy on Aubrey all night?”
Liam brought his gaze to Damon, who was plating their house burger. Liam prided himself on sourcing every part of the burger locally. It’d recently finaled in the Best Burger in Virginia competition. It was damn good, so why did he worry she wouldn’t like it?
If she hated it, he’d stop eyeing her up as if she was on the menu and put her back in the right place in his mind: the annoyance wedged between him and his dreams.
When he reached the table, Sasha had returned to the hostess station to manage the chaos at the front. Aubrey had cleaned her plate and returned to sketching.
“It met your approval?”
She was busy drawing something that looked like a sculpture made from cake. Or he assumed it was cake, anyway. She grunted. “It’s good. What’s next?”
“Only good? Come on. You can compliment me, Aubs.” Christ, why did he care? He set the burger and a new glass of wine—a Malbec—on the table, then put a hand on the back of her chair. “It really won’t kill you.”
She huffed out a bull-like breath. “It kills you that I’m not lining up to suck your dick like everyone else, huh?” Her eyes went as wide as houses, and she stuttered a bit. “I mean that metaphorically, of course.”
Now, that was an image. When paired with the filthy dream he’d had about her, that had him backing away from her, maybe because he was a little scared of her or, more importantly, afraid of what the two of them could get up to.
Fuuuck.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll remember that when tasting your food, too.”
“Oh, fine, you win.” She reached for the burger. While she pressed it smaller to fit into her delicate little mouth ( double fuck), Liam worried one hand over the other. Then she let out a little groan (holy fuck).
She set the burger down and wiped her mouth (quadruple fuck). “Okay, I’ll give you that, Linley. That burger is to die for.”
He held a hand to his chest and exhaled. “I’m glad it meets your standards.”
She picked up the burger again. “I hope you’re not going to be peddling out some inferior dessert to cap the evening.”
“Inferior? We don’t create them in-house, but the people who make them for us are the best. ”
She shrugged. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Aware that everyone nearby was watching them, he returned to the kitchen.
The goal was to leave the customers too full for dessert.
He had to offer something or miss out on a profit center.
He’d had his mother and Sasha help him pick a few desserts from Ruga’s Bakery in Woodbridge.
And he may not care for sweets, but Elevation’s desserts were good enough that people often asked for the recipe.
But those people weren’t pastry chefs.
Luckily, the kitchen got slammed, so he didn’t have time to spy on Aubrey.
The next time he looked up, the dining room had thinned out a bit, which wasn’t good. That likely meant they hadn’t turned tables over fast enough to refill them. Liam tried not to think about that as he watched Aubrey, who was one of the two tables left sitting in that section.
She’d cleaned her plate once again, with not even a hand-cut fry remaining. He came out with the last course, a tiramisu paired with prosecco.
He set them both in front of her, then sat in the chair opposite her before he lost his nerve. Why did he feel like he was back in the Michelin-starred restaurant he worked at in London, under the glare of his imposing celebrity chef boss?
She reached for the wine first. “So, you don’t make any desserts here.”
“No room for a pastry chef unless I win. I do use the best bakery in the region.”
She rolled her head to one side and sucked on her teeth. “Let’s be real here; you have one of the best patisseries on the East Coast two doors down from you.”
“You don’t do commercial orders.” He knew because he’d had Sasha ask .
“Well, I do, actually. It’s a bit of a recent development, and one of the reasons I want the space. It’s hard to keep up with stock for the store, cake orders, and commercial orders. Well, maybe I should rephrase that. It’s the reason I will get the space.”
“Bold talk before we’ve started the first challenge.”
She managed a half-shrug. “Perhaps. Although you know I’m right about the desserts. If you want to win any coveted culinary awards, you’ve got to stop buying in desserts.” She reached for her spoon. “Maybe try a chocolate cake since you’ll probably end up eating one anyway?”
He snorted. “Hey, I thought I was the over-confident one?”
She dipped her spoon in the tiramisu. He averted his eyes. He already had a strange enough boner for this woman; watching her eat only made it weirder. After two bites, she set down the glass, her spoon clanging against the side.
“If you want my honest opinion, it’s okay. Not bad, but not the best I’ve had, either. If you’re going for an average dessert, you’ve found it.”
Ouch. He leaned back against the chair. “So average? That’s all you got?”
“I’ve seen your reviews. ‘Come to Elevation for the food. Skip the dessert.’ If you win, will you be adding a pastry chef? Because I don’t see another way around it.”
He ran a hand over his forehead. “I mean, I guess I have to.” He’d always seen himself as a chef who did what he wanted. He’d added a dessert menu after caving to pressure from his older brother.
She reached for her sketchbook and pencil bag. “Don’t be that stubborn chef, thinking you know what’s best for your customers.”
“Okay, I hear you. Although I’m surprised you’re giving your opponent business advice. ”
“I’m not an asshole, Linley.”
“I’m figuring that out. Glad we’ve upgraded from grunting.”
“Were you going to drop the bill off, or what?”
He waved his hand. “It’s on the house.”
She dropped a twenty onto the table. “For your staff, then.”
She tossed her napkin on the table and stood. “Thank you for the lovely dinner. I’ll expect you at Petit Chou tomorrow morning at six a.m. sharp. Maybe you’ll appreciate the intricacies and flavors once you see the work that goes into it.”
“Wait, six o’clock? I never agreed to that!”
She ignored his protests, turned on her heel, and left.
He watched as she moved through the restaurant. He needed to focus more on the first challenge and less on that infuriating woman.