probably not been the smartest action, but Hendrix couldn’t stand the way Lisa and Susan had hovered over her as though worried she’d steal a cup of flour and some raisins. “This way, I’m making double the money and can set something aside to open my own bakery.” Opening her own bakery had been her original goal. Rows of cakes, pies and tarts filed through her mind. Someday, she promised herself.
“Sound’s exciting,” her grandmother said, though she sounded doubtful.
“It does, though I think he’s going to be a little dictator. The executive chef is Cordon Bleu trained and you know how rigid they can be when you breathe around their food. Hopefully, as a pastry chef, our paths won’t be crossing that much. He’s even planning to give me my own kitchen so my desserts don’t get contaminated by the odors in the main kitchen.” Though for the moment, she’d be sharing his kitchen since he wouldn’t have one ready for her just yet.
“That’s good. He won’t be standing over you. I know you work best when left alone.” Her grandmother sounded amused. “I’m proud of you, Hendrix.”
“Thank you.” Hendrix grinned.
“Are you going to keep your experimenting to a minimal?” her grandmother asked.
Hendrix liked to dabble in the kitchen and see what she could come up with. The problem was, she often forgot what she did since she seldom wrote things down and too often couldn’t reproduce what she’d done. “I plan to stick to my established recipes. I know them by heart, and I’ll wait until I’m thoroughly certain he won’t get upset before I start mixing things up.” She tried to be more methodical about what she did, but too often she’d be caught up in the thought of the taste without paying attention to amounts. She liked having little surprises in her cakes. Her champagne cake had a very basic structure to which she added different ingredients in order to create more subtle tastes.
“Give your boss a chance to know you before you go creating things you can’t duplicate,” Olivia advised.
“I’ll rein it in.”
“Hendrix Marie Beausolie,” her grandmother said with an undertone of amusement, “sometimes you just have to play along to get what you want.”
True, Hendrix thought to herself, though she was shocked that her antiestablishment, unconventional grandmother would tell her that. Her grandmother had spent her life doing the unexpected and delighting in the fallout that followed.
Hendrix had to keep her goal of having her own bakery foremost in her mind. She would do anything for her dream.
They disconnected and Hendrix called her mother next. Her parents were world travelers searching for unique items for their import-export business. Currently, they were in Tanzania on a buying trip. She couldn’t reach them, her call going straight to voice mail. She tried to calculate the time and figured her parents must be sleeping. She left a message telling them the good news. Her mother would get back to her when she had time.
* * *
The night manager had given her a white jacket and a toque with the hotel logo on them. She looked odd with the jacket fitting a touch too tightly over her bright yellow dress.
“I know I promised you a kitchen,” he said, when he greeted her at the beginning of her shift, “but I don’t have one ready just yet. I hope you don’t mind sharing my office with me for a month or two while I’m getting yours ready.”
“This is good,” she said her eyes narrowing as she appraised the kitchen.
He was proud of the stainless-steel appliances, walk-in refrigerators with wheeled racks, industrial mixers and a worktable that looked to be ten feet long.
“The fire extinguisher holders are empty,” she said.
Donovan sighed. He opened a closet, pulled out two boxes, opened them and hung the fire extinguishers where they belonged making a mental note to let Scott know that this had happened—again.
He then handed her a recipe box. “These are the recipes I want you to use. The ones in the last divider, I developed to appeal to people on a variety of different diets—they accommodate guests with allergies and diabetes and those on gluten-free diets. The ones in the front are more traditional dessert recipes.”
“Okay,” she said taking the box gingerly. “What about my recipes?”
“I want you to incorporate your recipes, as well.” He opened the box to show her the neat sections of index cards inside. He pulled a few out and spread them over the surface of the work table.
Her lovely lips pursed. “But...but this is Reno. People don’t come here to diet.”
“People who come to Reno want safe fun. They don’t want to die from a nut allergy because you used almond paste and didn’t declare it. We want our guests to come back.” Alive, he added silently.
“I suppose so,” she said with a tiny frown.
He watched her turn his statement around in her head. Her face was as expressive as it was beautiful.
The casino was open twenty-four hours a day, which meant the kitchen was open twenty-four hours a day. The night crowds didn’t eat as much as the day crowds, but they still wanted good food.
She twitched a bit, her shoulders rolling. She scratched at her long neck. Was she nervous? Donovan studied her closely. She didn’t look particularly uncomfortable, but neither did she seem to be at ease. He handed her a clipboard with the day’s needs on it. She glanced at it.
Donovan watched her for a moment and decided she would be fine. He’d already shown her where the baking supplies were stored.
“I have some errands to run,” he said. “If you need anything, here’s my cell phone number. Just give me a call if you have any problems, or...if...you just need to talk.”
She seemed surprised when he handed her a piece of paper with his cell number scrawled across it.
“Thank you,” she said frowning slightly.
As he left, his last glimpse was of her standing in front of the huge table sorting through the recipes in the box with a slight frown on her face.
He headed to his car. He had an appointment with a rancher and then a butcher. As he opened the door, he paused. He’d given her his private cell phone number. No one had it except his family and the restaurant managers. Why did he do that?
He stepped out into the morning air. The sun was just cresting the horizon. The air was cool and crisp. He sat in his car for a moment.
To be honest, she was sort of cute and a little quirky. And she’d looked a little lost when she’d first shown up this morning. She’ll be fine, he told himself as he started the car, backed out of his parking spot and drove out of the parking lot. She’ll be fine.
* * *
For her first day on the job, Hendrix wore her bright yellow vintage 1950s dress fashioned after one of Coco Chanel’s classic chemise dresses. It was her good-luck dress and she’d worn it for her first day on every job since she’d found it in a hidden store a block from her grandmother’s tea shop.
Hendrix
