tapped her pen on the Harper Industries application. Could she fake it? Jeffrey Harper was an infamous critic who publicly destroyed those who didn’t meet his standards. Would he know the difference between passionate cooking and plain old cooking? If he did, he’d annihilate her.
But if he didn’t...
The Harper chef job came with a twenty-thousand-dollar up-front bonus. Twenty thousand! With that kind of money, Cari could continue riding therapy horses. Hippotherapy was supposed to be beneficial for people with Down syndrome but Michele had been amazed at how her sister had come alive the first time she’d touched a pony. Cari’s cognitive, motor, speech and social skills had blossomed. But riding lessons weren’t cheap and neither were housing and medical bills. Michele’s rent was two weeks late and she barely had enough money in her account to pay for Cari’s care.
Her options were slim. If Harper Industries didn’t hire her, the two of them might be living on the streets.
She signed the application and went on to the final step. She had to make a video answering a single question: Why do you want to work for Harper Industries?
Straightening her spine, she looked into the camera on her computer and pressed the record button. “I want to work for Harper Industries because I need to believe good things can happen to good people.” Her voice hitched and she quickly turned the video off.
Shoot. Where’d that come from? She’d almost blurted out what happened at Alfieri’s. “Get it together, Michele. If you spill all the sordid details, they’ll never hire you.”
She scrubbed her cheeks, took a giant inhale and tried again.
“I am Michele Cox, the former chef at a five-star restaurant, Alfieri’s, in Manhattan. I will include articles about my awards and specialties but those highlights are not the most important aspect of being a chef, nor are they why I cook.
“Food, Mr. Harper, is a powerful medicine. Good cuisine can make people feel good. When the dishes are excellent, the patron can ease loneliness with a bite of ricotta cannelloni. That’s what I do. I make patrons feel happy and loved. I can do that for your new restaurant, too. I hope you’ll give me a chance. Thank you.”
Well. That wasn’t so bad. Before she could change her mind, she pressed Send on the video and sealed the application packet to be sent by overnight mail along with the glowing newspaper articles she’d promised. Today was the day she’d put Alfieri’s behind her and search for her cooking mojo.
A good person should catch a break once in a while.
All she needed was one.
Michele ran as fast as she could through the parking lot while trying not to break her neck on her high heels or snap the wheels off her luggage. She’d arrived in Los Angeles yesterday and spent the night at a nearby hotel to be on time for today’s flight to Plunder Cove. The taxi driver had dropped her off in the wrong wing of the airport, making her late. He didn’t seem to believe that a woman like her actually did mean she should be dropped off at the private jet terminal.
Her heart was pounding out of her chest when she arrived at the guarded gate. “Please tell me...I’m not...too late.”
“Name,” the guard said.
“Michele Cox. A jet from Harper Industries is supposed to take me to—”
The gate opened. “You’re expected.”
“Over here.” A woman wearing a blue suit waved to her. “Oh, dear. Your cheeks are pink. Come, there’s ice water inside the private suite but there’s no time for a shower. Mr. Harper is ready to leave.”
Her first thought was A shower in a private suite in the airport? The second was Jeffrey Harper is inside? She could only guess how she looked after her panicked run in the Los Angeles sunshine. No doubt her cheeks were more scarlet than pink. She finger-combed her blond hair and hoped for the best.
A door opened and Michele found herself in a ritzy lounge complete with cream-colored sofas, hardwood floors, recessed lighting, deep navy curtains, game tables and a cherrywood bar. Five women were chatting and drinking champagne.
“Miss Cox?” A deep voice called out from the end of the corridor. “I almost left without you.”
Her heart skipped a beat until she realized it wasn’t Jeffrey Harper. The man was handsome—of the tall, dark, broad-shouldered variety. He was also married, with a shiny new band on his left finger. Other than that, she had no idea who he was or why he knew her name.
“Sorry!” And...there went the wheel on her luggage. She grabbed the suitcase by the handle and kept hustling toward him. “Thanks for waiting. The International Wing was full of people and—” Her heel broke and she nearly twisted her ankle. “Shoot!”
“The International Wing? That’s a good mile. You ran that whole way?”
“Only one?” She struggled to catch her breath. “Felt like two.”
“Let me take that.” He handed her luggage to an agent while she collected her broken heel.
She scanned the room. When she saw a beautiful woman speaking French over by the bar, her heart plummeted. It was Chef Suzette Monteclaire, the queen of French cuisine. What was she doing in the Harpers’ private suite?
“Now that we’re all here.” The man raised his voice above the chatter. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Matt Harper, Jeff’s brother and your pilot to Plunder Cove. Before we get on the jet, do you have any questions?”
The women looked at each other. A bad feeling slithered into her belly. Michele raised her finger.
“Yes, Miss Cox?”
“Are we all applying for the chef job?”
Matt shrugged. “Looks like it.”
“I don’t understand. I thought there was only one position open.”
“Me, too,” another woman agreed. “Why are we all here?”
A woman in the center of the group chuckled. She had thick dark hair and hooded green eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s a contest. The winner gets to work for sexy Jeffrey Harper.” She winked at Matt.
“Is this part of his show? I have not seen this on Secrets and Sheets,” a soft-spoken woman said. Michele thought she was Lily Snow, the chef from Manhattan’s upscale Chinese restaurant—The China Lily.
“He’s creating a cooking show, no?” another woman asked, in a Swedish accent. Her hair was strikingly white-blond. Her large eyes were like sapphires against a milky pale complexion. She was tall, svelte and gorgeous. Everything about her screamed perfection and wealth. Lots of wealth.
Michele tried to inconspicuously wipe the sweat off her upper lip. Jeffrey Harper was going to turn her misery into a cooking show. Would she be able to pretend she was the chef she used to be not just for him but with all of America watching?
Matt
