On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [22]
She stiffened visibly, her thick, straight brows drawing down like thunder. “Lilah Jane Tunkle,” she said. “Do not call me Lolly. Ever.”
Oookay.
Devon cleared his throat and turned back to Adam. “Two weeks, that’s what we agreed on.”
“Yup. You man the helm here for fourteen wonderful days while Miranda and I check out the farmhouse cooking in the German countryside.”
A sound exploded from the woman next to him. That sound could most accurately be described as “Eep!”
Lilah Jane Tunkle. Christ, what a name. Devon sent her a questioning look only to find that she was gazing back at him with a shell-shocked expression that suggested she was beginning to understand the scope of her faux pas.
Devon was grimly pleased. That’s right, doll face, he wanted to say. You thought it was an anonymous screw with a guy you’d never have to see again? Not so much.
They glared at each other for a moment, Lilah looking more appalled by the minute.
“That was quick,” Frankie put in. “What did you do to take the piss out of our Miss Lolly within ten minutes of meeting her, then? Grant’s not going to be happy.”
Devon gritted his teeth at the mention of the restaurant manager’s name. Shit, why was he so ticked? “Grant can kiss my ass,” Devon growled.
“Grant,” Lilah replied, recovering her dignity, “who, I believe I’ve told you, Frankie, is the only person allowed to call me by that loathsome nickname, is my friend. He got me the job, bussing tables. I start tonight—”
“What a coincidence,” Frankie cackled. “So does Dev, here.”
Friend. Ha. Wonder if that’s how Grant sees it?
Then the rest of her statement penetrated. “Wait,” Devon said. “Do you mean to tell me you’re fouling up this kitchen with your disgusting jumped-up dog food and you’re not a chef or a line cook? Not even a fucking dishwasher?”
Lilah pinched her lips together in a disapproving way. “No, I’m not a chef, Mr. Potty Mouth,” she said with flagrant disregard for Devon’s authority. “But I had permission to use the stove.”
Devon, who had strong feelings about civilians, superlative kissers or not, infiltrating professional kitchens, was about to respond forcefully when he caught the impatience rolling off of Adam in waves. The guy was all but dancing in place, like a kid in line for the bathroom. He was clearly ready to get his show on the road.
Evidently Lilah recognized the signs as well. “I think I’ll just take my ‘dog food,’ ” she enunciated with offended gravity, “and find Grant. I’m supposed to get him to start showing me the ropes.”
“Good idea,” Adam said heartily. “He’s still down in my office, probably moaning over the sad state of the menus. Miranda always writes the descriptions of each week’s dishes, but she’s been too busy researching her book and packing our bags to take a look at them.”
“Right,” Lilah nodded. “And thank you again, Adam, for the opportunity. I promise, I won’t let you down.” Carefully folding the corners of the oil-soaked paper towels over the still-steaming chicken livers, Lilah scooped up the nasty bundle and said, “Well, I’ll just leave y’all to your little conversation.”
Devon watched her go, torn between annoyance and relief. He didn’t like the feeling of uncertainty about Grant’s prior claim on her, even if Lilah clearly thought of herself as free. Devon controlled his breathing carefully. He detested this type of drama.
Although why he should be so worked up, he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t like it was ever going to be more than a onetime thing with Lilah.
Right?
Lilah seethed with a mixture of sparking nerves, jumpy stomach, and righteous indignation. Along with a healthy dose of dread.
Holy cats, what a mess. Everything was all catawampus. Lilah closed her eyes in distress.
She could just about picture Aunt Bertie laying down the law while deftly rolling out a piecrust. “Lolly,” she’d say, up to her elbows in flour, “Lolly-girl, you’ve gotten yourself in a real pickle this time.”
The I-told-you-so would be heavily implied.
Well, there was no use having a conniption over it