Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [29]
“The bit will be perfectly safe with me, mate. Count on it.” He grinned, showing his trademark flash of tongue, and Adam scowled so hard his eyes nearly crossed.
“He can’t be more than twenty. And his sister’s right there,” he whispered, trying not to indicate her in a really obvious way.
Miranda leaned over her notebook, oblivious. Adam glanced back at the unfolding drama and barely suppressed a groan at the thunderstruck expression on the kid’s face as he gazed at Frankie.
It was like he’d never seen a punk-rock chef before.
“Ah, to relive my misspent youth,” Frankie breathed, laughter running through his tone.
Adam shook his head. “Far as I can tell, you never left it.”
Frankie snorted, and Grant wrinkled his nose at him as he walked up. Jess bounded over to his sister and started talking a mile a minute.
“I’ve hired Jess on a trial basis,” Grant announced.
Adam could actually feel himself going gray, one hair at a time. “For real? I don’t think that’s such a smoking hot idea.”
“Why not?” Grant had the balls to affect a look of innocent surprise, when Adam was sure the restaurant manager knew damn good and well what had just happened.
“Yeah, Adam, why not?” Frankie added in a wheedling tone.
“The kid’s got potential,” Grant pointed out.
“Fucking hell, does he ever,” Frankie breathed.
Grant shot him a quelling glance. “Bottom line: he has experience, but he’s young enough I can train him to do it the way I want it done. And we need him.”
“Christ, mate, it’s like you’re reading my bloody thoughts.” Frankie snickered.
Grant raised a quick hand to smack him on the side of the head, but Frankie ducked away, cackling.
Adam threw up his arms. How often did Grant and Frankie agree on anything? He was obviously outvoted.
“Fine!” he said. “Hire whoever you want. It’s on your head.” Adam’s gaze slid to the pair of interlopers in his kitchen, chatting away without a care in world, and he brooded quietly for a moment. He was really in the shit. A plague of Wakes descending on Market, Frankie in deep shit, and in about two seconds, Grant was going to start nagging Adam for the finalized menu.
Grant turned to him as if on cue, determination firming his chin, and Adam felt a grin start to tug inescapably at his mouth. Energy zinged under his skin like electric pulses and he soaked up the pandemonium of his kitchen like a damp dishtowel. It was all good.
If he’d wanted a boring life with fewer risks, he would’ve been a lion tamer.
EIGHT
Miranda hung up the phone with a shaking hand and stared sightlessly at her desk. Manic excitement coursed through her so strongly, she had to share it with someone. She picked the phone back up and was already dialing the apartment before she remembered that Jess was at Market, being trained by Grant on server procedures or something.
Crap. She drummed her fingers on her desk, and a memo from her editor caught her eye. Brightening immediately, Miranda pushed back her chair and nearly danced down the hall to Claire’s office, pushing inside without even knocking.
Claire raised her eyebrows at Miranda’s exuberant entrance, but her only verbal response was a mild, “Can I help you?”
“Oh, Claire, don’t go all stiff and proper French right now!” Miranda hugged herself. “I’ve got huge news.”
“Which you are clearly bursting to tell me, so why don’t you have a seat?” Claire said with an amused look.
Miranda shook her head. “Can’t sit, I’m too edgy. Claire, I got the call!”
“What call?”
“The call,” Miranda repeated with emphasis. “From the publisher. About my book!”
“Ah, that call. From your expression, I take it this call was more satisfying than your previous interactions with Empire Publishing?”
“Yes.” Miranda paused, savoring the moment. “They want to publish my book.”
“Darling, that’s wonderful,” Claire said, genuine delight suffusing her voice. “I’m so proud of you. What made them change their minds?”
“The month I’m spending at Market! All the buzz about that, and the in-depth research I’ll be