was looking at my poison ivy. See?” He pointed to the side of his neck and she squinted at him. “You can come closer, I don’t bite. Unless I’m asked to.”
In spite of his half smile, Frankie sidled up to him and leaned in. Sure enough, there were the telltale streaks of blisters running up his skin to just under his hairline.
“That must itch terribly,” she said, by way of offering an apology.
“Yeah, it’s no fun.” He turned back to the stove and took out another tin of the most gorgeous, golden-topped muffins she’d ever seen. The smell was something north of heaven.
“You want one?” he asked. “I tried to get your sister to have a go at them but she shut me down.”
He took a muffin out and pulled it apart even though it steamed with heat. Spreading butter on the inside, which quickly melted and glistened, he offered her half.
She paused and then took the piping hot piece. Unlike him, she had to shuffle it around in her hands, and when she put some in her mouth, she had to cool it off by breathing over it.
She chewed a little and then closed her eyes so she could savor the taste.
He laughed with satisfaction. “Not bad, huh?”
He was one hell of cook, she thought. But she was still going to check his references.
“They’re—ah, wonderful.” She paused. “Listen, I’ll need the name and number of your most recent employer. And your last name. I forgot to ask last night.”
“Walker. Last name is Walker.”
Frankie frowned, thinking she’d heard of the name somewhere. And no, not on Court TV.
Before she could ask about it, he said, “And the last joint I worked at was down in New York. La Nuit. Ask for Henri. He’ll give it to you straight.”
Frankie widened her eyes. Now, La Nuit she’d definitely heard of. It was one of those four-star restaurants that got featured in the glossy magazines the guests left behind in their rooms. How had someone like him come to work in a place like that?
“Now, about supplies,” he said. “When do deliveries come?”
“Saturday and Wednesday noontime for veggies and meats. Dairy comes Mondays. Fridays also, if we need them to.”
They hadn’t for the past year.
“Great. What’s the number? Maybe I can catch the produce guy.”
“You want to talk with Stu?”
Nate frowned. “Yeah. Unless he’s a mind reader.”
“I do the ordering. Tell me what you want.”
“I won’t know that until I have a sense of what I can get.”
She gestured sharply over to the walk-ins. “You can get what’s already in there.”
There was a pause and then he crossed his arms over his sizable chest. “I thought you wanted me to be the cook.”
Facing off at him, Frankie found there was plenty of steel behind his laid-back facade—which made it seem a little more plausible that he could have worked in a place like La Nuit. “I do.”
“So let me take care of business.”
She was tempted to ask just whose kitchen he thought he was standing in, but took a deep breath instead.
“As you’ve so graciously pointed out, White Caps isn’t exactly thriving. I have to make sure we stick to the budget and that means I don’t want some guy in the kitchen throwing money out the door indiscriminately.”
Nate pointed to the dining room. “You want to put asses in those chairs? You want those guests to come back? Then you need to set good food on those tables, not serve stuff fit for a nursery school. You’ve got to spend money to make money, sweetheart.”
She laughed and eyed his well-worn clothes. “What would you know about money? Or running a restaurant, for that matter?”
He leaned in close and she stopped smiling. “You might want to dial down the attitude, considering you don’t know much about me. Other than the fact that you really need me over your stove.”
She could feel her eyes widen of their own accord. It was a new experience to have someone stand up to her and she took a step back as she collected herself.
“All I need to know is that you work for me. Which means you do what I say.”
He stared at her long and hard and she thought for a moment he was going to walk out. She had a flash of anxiety as she thought about last night’s chicken fiasco and what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did. Still, she knew if he couldn’t take orders she didn’t want him in the kitchen. His theory about spending money was probably sound in a lot of situations but not when she had less than five thousand dollars in the checking account. Running a business that was teetering on the edge was a balancing act and that meant she had to know where every penny was. He could no doubt blow the whole wad on fancy stuff that would only go to waste, leaving them with nothing to cover the food costs of the following week.
Or the plumber who was coming in an hour.
Frankie blew out her breath and noted his hand was creeping up his neck as he stared at her. “Look, why don’t you pull together a wish list and I’ll see what I can do, okay? And don’t scratch that neck. When I go to town this morning, I’ll get you some calamine lotion.”
Frankie turned away, thinking she had no more time to waste arguing. She had to try and locate some invoices in her damp office. And figure out where she was going to find the money for the plumber.
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