the warmest of tones, ‘welcome to El Gato Feroz. How nice to see you—’
‘At last?’ he bit out.
Ignoring his ill temper, she smiled. ‘It’s very good of you to drop by early to check on everything. I would do exactly the same.’
‘Would you?’ he challenged sharply.
‘I’m sorry. I haven’t introduced myself,’ she said, not the least bit put off by his frosty manner. ‘Chef Sadie Montgomery, at your service tonight. But, please, call me Sadie.’
‘Alejandro Alegon...’
Ignoring his invitation to drop the professional barrier between them to the extent that she would call him by his first name, she held out her hand for him to shake, and said coolly, ‘A pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face, Don Alegon.’
Remembering the previous night’s snub, he gave her a hard stare. She smiled pleasantly. He grasped her hand briefly, but it was long enough to register a great deal about the young chef. Her hand was cool and dry, and her handshake firm and no-nonsense. It was the grip of a woman in charge. Was he wrong about the fire beneath her contained exterior? For once he doubted his initial verdict. He couldn’t imagine this woman ever losing control.
‘Allow me to reassure you,’ she continued, ‘that, in spite of Chef Sorollo’s absence tonight, the menu remains unchanged, and the food will be as delicious as always at El Gato Feroz.’
‘With you in charge?’ He was at a loss as to how to deal with such straightforward charm and felt bound to take her to task.
‘Yes,’ she stated firmly, holding his stare without flinching.
Her eyes were violet, he saw now, and she used them to good effect, staring directly at him with nothing more in her expression than the desire to please, and a calm determination to soothe him now that it was glaringly obvious he wouldn’t be getting the top chef he’d paid for tonight.
‘I hope you’re pleased with what we’ve done,’ she said as she led the way deeper into the restaurant. ‘The team has worked really hard to make sure everything is perfect for your sister’s party.’
Glancing around, he had to admit that the restaurant did look at its best. He’d requested exotic, fiery blooms to match his sister’s vibrant personality, and florists had certainly worked their magic.
‘We’ll light the candles soon.’ He stared down at the young woman at his side. ‘And then you’ll see how the crystal and silverware sparkles like something out of Aladdin’s cave,’ she added, staring into the middle distance as if picturing the scene.
So, there was a softer side to Sadie. Interesting, he thought, though she snapped out of the reverie almost immediately. As they continued the tour, she remained every inch the professional, from the crown of her chef’s hat to the toes of her ugly, though sensible, shoes. It was when they accidentally brushed against each other when they moved as one to open a door that his body responded with surprising enthusiasm. He was tired of pushovers, he supposed as he took in the line of Sadie’s resolute jaw.
‘You have nothing to worry about, Don Alegon,’ she assured him. ‘We’re always meticulous with planning and preparations at El Gato Feroz, and I’m confident the team has thought of everything.’
She took no praise for herself, he noticed. ‘I’m not worried,’ he said, and with a casual gesture he added, ‘I expect the best, and I’m sure that you and your team will deliver exactly that.’ Strangely, he did have confidence in Sadie.
‘Thank you for putting your trust in us,’ she said, seeming pleased. ‘Would you like a cocktail while you wait for the guests to arrive?’
She gestured towards the famous mirrored bar with its line of deeply upholstered stools in midnight-blue velvet. ‘No, thank you,’ he said crisply, thinking how cold he sounded. This was the effect the city always had on him. It seemed to turn his default setting to tense, and when his sister was added to the mix, his desire for excellence was off the scale.
‘Can’t I tempt you with a glass of champagne?’
She could tempt him with many things, he thought as she stared into his eyes, but not champagne. He wanted a clear head tonight. His doubts on the wisdom of Annalisa’s choice of husband remained, and he needed to keep a watchful eye on the Prince and his friends. They might have grand titles, but a thorough investigation by his security team had proved they didn’t have the money to fund their extravagant lifestyles, and when his sister was in one of her reckless moods, she might not see trouble looming on the horizon as he did.
‘Champagne? No, thank you,’ he told Sadie.
‘Beer, then?’ she suggested with the hint of a mocking light in her eyes.
She was not afraid to tease and test him, which was another point in her favour. ‘A beer would be good. But only if you join me.’
Her polite smile didn’t falter as she told him, ‘I never drink on duty.’
They stared at each other with renewed interest until she said, ‘I believe your sister’s arriving, so I’ll have one of the waiters bring you your beer.’
Before he could say another word, she had gone. Once again, eluding him, he thought, grinding his jaw. Before he had chance to dwell on this, the fleet of stretch limos he’d ordered to accommodate Annalisa and her friends drew up outside the restaurant. He’d be too busy for the rest of the evening to talk to Sadie, but she’d thrown down a gauntlet he wouldn’t forget.
IT WOULD BE a late night before she climbed into bed in the tiny attic above the restaurant, but there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Chef Sorollo, and Sadie was enjoying every moment of being in charge of the kitchen. It was the first time she had been put to the test, and she was determined to shine for her mentor.
‘Service!’ she called out for the umpteenth time, remembering back to when the great man had asked her if she had anywhere to live. From the off Chef Sorollo had shown piercing intuition, understanding so much without her having to say a single word. ‘I have a room,’ he’d said. ‘It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to lay your head.’
Sadie smiled to think she’d lived there ever since. The simple bedsit with its view over the rooftops of Madrid was spotlessly clean and extremely comfortable, and, best of all, it was quiet. There was no shouting, no china crashing to the floor and no violence. There was just the hum of purposeful activity in the restaurant kitchen far below. Some might have thought it a comedown after the brash opulence of her parents’ home, but Sadie had always felt like a clumsy intruder in the huge, echoing mansion, with its screening room, swim-up bar, and regular shouting matches.
‘Everyone loves it, Sadie,’ one of the waiters exclaimed as he swept past her as if on oiled wheels. ‘Your party’s a huge success.’
‘Our party,’ she called after him, smiling.
With a little gentle prompting by Chef Sorollo, her story had come out. The great man had insisted on taking charge of her education, sending her to night school, where she’d formally trained to be a chef. When
