Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [40]
“I can’t,” she shot back. “Rob taught me everything I know about making stock just this afternoon. So if it’s not right, I’m very sorry, but I can’t explain why. And I have no idea what you mean about morels.” That pugnacious little chin went up, as if inviting a hit. Damn her, she didn’t back down for even a second, in spite of his blatant intimidation. And damn him, too, for finding that admirable in some corner of his mind. Even at a moment like this.
“You will,” he promised her. “Tomorrow. Right now, I have to go clean up your mess and put the rest of the tickets to bed. I want you gone when I’m done.”
Something, maybe outrage, maybe simple anger, painted rosy flags high on her cheekbones. “I’ll leave when everyone else leaves,” she said, stubborn.
There was that tickle of admiration again, but Adam ignored it. It wasn’t enough to keep him from smiling gently, the smile Frankie could’ve told you meant Danger, Will Robinson, before saying, “Remember our agreement. You’ll leave when I say. And you’ll by damn be back here first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll discuss this further then.”
She pressed her lips together mutinously, but didn’t argue.
“My office. Nine o’clock,” he said over his shoulder as he strode back up to the pass just in time to intercept Milo with a fresh bowl of soup.
If Miranda made any response, he didn’t hear it, and he refused to examine the roiling mix of emotions bubbling just under his skin. If the surging anger he felt was underpinned with a twist of disappointment, Adam didn’t want to know about it.
Shut it down, he thought. Finish the night. Deal with it tomorrow.
Damn it to hell and gone, he’d wanted tonight to be perfect. Was that really so much to fucking ask?
ELEVEN
Miranda’s fingers shook as she unbuttoned the hot, oversized chef’s jacket. She stripped it off quickly, wishing the vehement motion would strip away the raw humiliation and general pissed-offness.
To be talked to like that, in front of the entire kitchen. Miranda’s stomach tightened ominously, reminding her that she should be grateful she hadn’t eaten anything since the meal with the staff nearly six hours ago. None of the people she and Rob (who’d conveniently disappeared before Adam blew a fuse) had served that odd dinner of chicken and artichokes to earlier were looking at her now.
It was as if Adam’s tirade had turned her invisible, and part of Miranda really wished it were true, because she had no idea how she was supposed to just leave the restaurant before it closed. There was a door by the walk-in that led out to the alley behind the restaurant, but one year wasn’t quite enough time in the city to accustom Miranda to the idea of being in a dark Manhattan alley all alone at night.
Besides, she needed to see Jess before she left. She folded the soiled jacket between her hands and looked toward the front of the kitchen, where Adam had returned to cast his eagle eye over the few remaining plates yet to go out. As if he sensed her stare, he turned his head far enough to catch her eye and Miranda had to fight not to drop her gaze. The berserker rage might have left his face, but from the tight line of his mouth and the thunderous look of his brow, he hadn’t cooled off much. Okay, so the guard dog wasn’t about to let her past him and into the dining room. Fine. She’d have to hope Jess figured it out when he couldn’t find her later.
The glower Adam sent her way stiffened her spine enough to get her to move. She’d rather be out back with the crazies and the rats than in here with him!
Miranda threw back her shoulders and marched to the back door. Every second of that walk, she was aware of having to concentrate not to hobble. The vicious ache in her feet and back, a constant throb of painful pressure, ticked her off even more because Adam had predicted it.
She was not going to give him the satisfaction of limping.
With a defiant push, Miranda knocked open the door and stalked out into the alleyway. It would’ve