pineapple, blueberries and raspberries with a bourbon and chocolate sauce.” Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t tell from the look of concentration on his face whether or not he liked it. She tried not to show how nervous she was. She’d learned to cook from her grandmother, and a childhood spent with globe-trotting parents had introduced her to the flavors of the whole world.
He leaned back in his chair and studied her. She gripped her hands tightly together to keep from shaking.
“Give me your background.”
She wet her lips with her tongue. “My parents own an import-export business and I spent most of my childhood traveling and learning to eat different cuisines. I went to high school in San Francisco where my grandmother taught me to bring all the flavors together in her tea shop. I majored in chemistry in college and since then I’ve worked a number of places—most recently a bakery here in Reno and before that a restaurant in San Francisco and my grandmother’s tea shop.” Her grandmother’s tea shop was named Hippie, Tea and Me. She usually avoided telling people that. Sure, her grandmother was an aging hippie, but her tea shop on Fisherman’s Wharf was still in high demand. Usually standing-room only.
“Wait.” He held up a hand. “Chemistry!”
She shrugged. “I like to blow things up.” In her mind, food was a lot like chemistry with tastes that blew up when the right amounts were put together.
He burst out laughing. “I blew up my grandmother’s kitchen trying to get a high school science project to work right.”
“I blew up the dean’s golf cart. I needed it for an experiment and...well...things happen.” She raised her hands not adding that she’d almost been expelled until her parents replaced the golf cart with a luxury model and added a generous donation to the science department. She had the feeling her father was still chuckling about it.
He burst out laughing again. Then he frowned. “What did you say your name was?”
“Hendrix. Hendrix Beausolie.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You’re hired. You’ll be in charge of the complete dessert menu for two restaurants, one a sit-down, dine-in and the other a diner in the lobby. When can you start?”
“Immediately,” she said, relieved. She’d left her last job at Mitzi’s Cake Magic rather abruptly. Even though she’d given him her references a week ago, she had the feeling he hadn’t checked them. Should she be worried?
He nodded. “Report to Human Resources right away. I’ll call them and let them know you’re on your way. And be here tomorrow morning at four.”
He mentioned a salary that made Hendrix gulp. She almost asked if he really meant to offer her so much money, double what Mitzi paid her, but clamped her mouth tight so it wouldn’t get her into trouble.
She started packing up the uneaten pastries, but he stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Leave them.”
She swallowed and nodded, unable to talk. She picked up her tote and fled. She briefly glanced back to see him digging in to what was left and chewing thoroughly as though trying to guess what was in each of her sample offerings.
* * *
Donovan had been bored. He’d interviewed several pastry chefs and not one had shown him anything interesting. Until Hendrix walked in looking sassy and just plain different. He didn’t know what he’d expected from her, but she’d blown him away.
Donovan ate every last sample left on the little tray, even using his finger to lick up the crumbs. Oh, my God, he thought. He didn’t know what was better, Hendrix or her cake. He could identify the main ingredients, but the subtle, pleasant aftertastes were harder. She’d used more than just bourbon and chocolate in the tart’s sauce. And the tiny pie, which he thought was mainly key lime, had something else, some undertone that had a slightly spicy aftertaste yet was still completely and totally delicious. Better than any samples from previous interviewees and he’d interviewed too many to even keep count.
Just from the way Hendrix walked, he knew she was different with her odd black-and-white dress, black shoes and hair curled like she’d just stepped out of a poster from the 1940s. She was sexy, classy and had a look of fun in her amber-colored eyes. He liked her. He wasn’t sure why, but that combination excited him. The way her food did.
Each one of Hendrix’s samples had contained surprising undertones, and he knew she was never going to give him any more information on the ingredients she used other than the obvious. Yet her samples had been outstanding. Just thinking about them gave him a thrill.
And she was gorgeous. The sight of her heading into his office looking nervous and half terrified had rocked him. He’d gone into despair over the thought of finding just the right person to take over the pastry station after the last pastry chef had so unceremoniously quit. He’d wanted someone surprising and Hendrix was certainly that.
He sat back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the empty tray. He’d been looking for unique and found it, though he already knew she would be a headache. Just from looking at her and eating her samples, he could tell she wasn’t a team player. But if she could deliver quality every time, she’d really help put the restaurants on the map.
Donovan gazed around his combination office and kitchen. He was proud of it. Originally the office had been a small storage room, but he’d knocked out a wall and converted the expanded space into an industrial kitchen where he could experiment. He loved having his own private kitchen designed to his specifications. He loved every gleaming surface from the cabinets to the large worktable in the center with stools along one end so he could easily serve food when he and his brothers had a few food sessions on their guy nights. He’d even given cooking lessons to his new sister-in-law, Lydia, and his soon to be sister-in-law, Nina.
A knock sounded. He opened the door to find a portly man standing in the hallway. The man looked as though he’d just eaten a bowl of prunes. His mouth was pinched and his eyes were tired. He held up an ID wallet. Donovan tried not to groan. He’d been under scrutiny from the health department since his arrival.
“Come in,” Donovan said. “How can I help you?”
The man glanced down at his tablet computer. “I’m Larry Deacon. I’m replacing your last health inspector. I’m just checking to make sure you’re in compliance with the repairs you were ordered to make at the last inspection.”
Donovan nodded. “I don’t think I missed anything.” The last inspection had been meticulous, with the inspector citing him over the most mundane things that had nothing to do with food handling, such as improperly storing dirty towels.
“I’ll take a look around and meet you back here,” Deacon said.
Donovan watched him return to the kitchen. Every time he had an inspection new violations were found. He would correct them, but sometimes he felt the health department was out to crucify him. He was pretty thick-skinned but at times the inspections seemed personal.
His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Donovan Russell.”
“Donovan,” his ex-wife chirped. “How did you manage to keep the linen supplier on schedule? You never had a problem with him.”
He tried not to groan. Even though he and Erica had been divorced for several years, she couldn’t seem to get over no
