with only the slightest hint of his South American accent.
Patrice drew in a breath. “Yes, I think I’d be interested in dessert.”
He turned to Desiree. “And you, ma’am?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
He gave a short nod to both women. “I’ll bring the dessert menu.”
Patrice returned her attention to her meal.
“How do you do that?”
Patrice glanced across the table. “Do what?”
“That! That thing you do with every man you meet.”
Patrice frowned slightly. “You mean, let them know that they are totally male and I notice it?”
“Is that what you call it?” Desiree took a forkful of food.
Patrice shrugged her right shoulder. “I like men. Plain and simple. All kinds of men. Testing my attraction to them is exciting. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just harmless flirting. You should try it. Let yourself go. It’s very liberating.”
Desiree swallowed slowly. “I don’t want to flirt and tease and play games.” She put down her fork. “I want something real and someone who is real with me. Is that so wrong?”
“Desi, you’re much too serious. I have to tell you, if I wasn’t your best friend and didn’t know that you were this crazy, secret race car driver, I would think that you were really an uptight, reserved, conservative chick. But I know that you’re not, sweetie. The thing is, it doesn’t matter what I think. You have to be who you are.” She raised her glass to her lips. “But you could always put a little more dip in those hips,” she added with a wink and a smile.
Desiree thought about their conversation, one that they’d had on several occasions in the past, as she prepared for work at the city council. She’d always tossed off Patrice’s commentaries about her lack of sustained or even intermittent relationships as Patrice’s way of validating her own lifestyle. But the more she considered it, the more she had to admit that Patrice was probably more right than wrong. Although she’d never told anyone about her thing for Spence, not even Patrice, maybe it was long past time to forget him once and for all. So that she could actually find someone that could light that same spark in her the way Spence did whenever she saw him.
Maybe.
Chapter 2
“Got a delivery, boss,” Jacques, the day manager, said, poking his head into the busy kitchen. All hands were busy preparing for the weekend rush.
Spence glanced over his left shoulder, not missing a beat while whisking his famed cream sauce to simply smooth perfection. “Have Michelle take a look. It should be the new glassware that I ordered.”
“Will do.” The door swung closed behind him.
Spence dipped a spoon into the sauce and took a small taste. His dark chocolate eyes momentarily closed in instant euphoria. “Peter,” he called out with a lift of his cleft chin, peering across the rows of stainless-steel preparation tables, simmering pots and sizzling skillets. “Take over from here.” He wiped his hands on his pristine white apron and began his preinspection of the menu.
As owner and executive chef of Bottoms Up, one of Baton Rouge’s swankiest supper clubs, he was ultimately responsible for each and every thing that happened in his establishment, from the decor to the dessert. His goal was to make each experience for his guests an unforgettable one. Bottoms Up, since its opening five years earlier, had consistently been listed as a must-see destination in restaurant and entertainment magazines. For weekend seating, reservations often had to be made weeks in advance, and when major performers appeared, which was often, the club was packed from front to back.
Spence’s skills in the kitchen were so renowned that he had been offered his own cooking show on more than one occasion and had done a stint on Beyond Top Chefs as one of the celebrated judges.
Much of his notoriety he could attribute to his longtime relationship with Dominique Lawson, who made certain that all her well-connected friends and her father’s associates made it a point of wining and dining at Bottoms Up.
They’d been close for years, and when he’d grown tired of working for someone else and decided to pursue his dream of opening his own supper club, Dominique was behind him, pushing him along on those days when he didn’t think it would work out. She’d even gone so far as to cosign the bank loan, and tossed in some extra cash to cover a few unexpected expenses which he’d since repaid. Even though she insisted that she didn’t want it, Spence refused to be in debt to anyone, even to Dominique, who although was wealthy had her own money management issues due to impulsive spending.
Tonight’s special was seared sea bass, hence the special sauce. He’d been offered money more times than he could count in exchange for sharing the ingredients with the world. He always teased the interviewers, saying that the secret was in the whisk.
He lifted pot covers, checked the refrigerators and pantries. Satisfied that his staff had everything under control, he went up front. Less than three hours remained before the dinner crowd would begin to arrive, and with Harry Connick, Jr., as the guest performer he would not leave anything to chance.
Michelle was just signing off on the shipment when Spence walked into the main dining room. She was giving instructions to one of the staff about the glassware.
Michelle Davis was a transplant from New York who had attended college in Louisiana and had never gone back home. They’d met while he was head chef at what was now his competitor’s restaurant. She was the general manager. After a few drinks and a long night they fell into an on-again, off-again relationship, no strings, no commitment. An agreement that suited them both very well.
When Spence opened Bottoms Up, Michelle asked to work for him, and together they turned it into a showplace. Michelle’s eye for layout and detail, along with her impeccable management skills, allowed Spence to breathe easy. Their sporadic relationship came to a mutual end when Michelle came to work at Bottoms Up.
Michelle tucked the inventory sheet into a folder on her clipboard just as Spence approached.
“Everything in order?”
She pressed the clipboard to her chest. Her brandy-toned eyes sparkled with excitement behind her designer frames. “The glasses are more exquisite than when we first picked them out.”
“You mean when you picked them out.”
Her sandy-brown face heated from beneath, giving it a toasted glow. “It would have been a joint effort if you had come shopping.”
“You stick to shopping and running the club and I’ll stick to cooking.”
“Speaking of running the club.” She lowered the clipboard and tucked a stray lock of shimmering auburn hair behind her ears. “The phone has been ringing off the hook for tonight’s show. Nichole has had to turn folks down all morning. We may need to get extra security.”
Spence nodded. “You’re right. No sense in leaving things to chance. I’ll take care of it. Anything else?”
“I think that covers
