with the same gray that dusted his mustache. Instead of the traditional white chef’s attire, he wore blue with a white apron tucked under a gut that proclaimed him a man who loved to eat as much as cook.
“I’m Chef Rodriguez,” he greeted, his accent light and musical. “And you must be the woman of excellent taste who enjoyed my food, yes?”
“I am, Chef Rodriguez,” she said with a wide smile, rising from her seat to take his hand in hers. “The meal was delicious. I particularly enjoyed the ceviche tico.”
“Gracias,” he replied, bending so low over her hand that his bushy mustache tickled her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to serve you, senorita.”
“Everything was wonderful. Imaginative, delicious and beautifully plated,” she told him, laying on the flattery thick and widening her smile in a way she knew highlighted her dimples. Professionalism was still the byword, but with his Old World manners, she figured a smile would go further than a crisp handshake. “And your food is exactly why I’m here in Puerto Viejo.”
His dark eyes flashed with curiosity.
“I’m Lila Adrian. We spoke on the phone last week. I’m here on behalf of the Martins.”
The friendly smile disappeared, and something that looked like panic burned away the flirtatious ease on his face. He gaze shifted left, skittered right before returning to her face. His smile reemerged, much stiffer and less friendly.
“This is a bad time, senorita. And the wrong place for a discussion such as the one you’re inviting.”
“Okay,” Lila said agreeably, despite her surprise at his extreme reaction. Especially given that during their phone conversation, he’d been the one to suggest she come to the restaurant to negotiate the employment terms.
Over the years, she’d seen plenty of people who didn’t want their current bosses to know they were being scouted, but most usually used it as a bargaining tool. For better money out of her client if they left, or better conditions from their boss if they stayed. He’d given a different impression over the phone, but she could play the game.
“That’s fine,” she said agreeably. “Would you prefer to meet elsewhere? Perhaps Luca’s, in the Hotel Azure? I’d be happy to take you to dinner and discuss the Martins’ proposal.”
They both glanced over as a party of four came into the restaurant with a woman who stationed herself behind the bar. They all appeared harmless enough to Lila, but Rodriguez looked like he’d seen a group of ghosts. His eyes widened so much that the dark circles beneath almost disappeared. He wet his lips before calling out a command that had the waitress scurrying out to seat the newcomers.
“Excuse me,” the chef murmured, snagging the tray holding her check and credit card off the table and hurrying to the small station by the bar. His eyes kept bouncing between the new diners, the bartender and Lila as he ran her card.
Curious, Lila watched along with Rodriguez as the newcomers were seated, menus handed out, but none of them glanced their way or yelled boo. But Rodriguez sure looked spooked when he came back with her credit card and receipt. He was so focused on watching the new diners, he almost hit her in the face with the tray.
“Chef?” she finally said, drawing his attention back to her. “Would it be convenient to meet at my hotel?”
“No, no. Nowhere else.” Swiping the back of his hand over his sweating upper lip, Rodriguez looked over at the bartender, then at the new diners again, then shook his head. “Here is fine. Here is better. Come back later.”
“Okay...”
“The restaurant closes at 1:00 a.m., but the bar is still open. Meet me then.”
For the first time, Lila hesitated. Traveling around the world to chase down unique employees for eccentric clients might not be considered the safest career ever heard of. But meeting anyone in a strange town in a foreign country in the middle of the night was pure stupidity.
“How about tomorrow morning instead? Perhaps before the restaurant opens, around 8:00 a.m.?”
His jaw worked, the grinding making his mustache flutter. Finally, Rodriguez gave a jerky nod.
“Make it six. We open early. Go to the office, though. Not the kitchen.”
There was something in his voice that sent a shiver up and down her spine. Which was silly. Lila had been traveling—and doing damn near everything else in her life—alone for a decade without any problems.
But spine shivers weren’t to be discounted, so she’d take precautions, she decided. And everything would be fine.
“Tomorrow at six, then. Here’s my number. Please, call my cell if you need to change anything,” she requested, folding the receipt and putting it and her credit card in her bag before handing him an embossed ivory business card.
“Yes, yes, fine.” His face creased with worry, he made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go, now. Go.”
Okay, then.
Lila went.
Right down to the beach in search of Mr. Muscles, the hottie she’d like to get up close and personal with.
Lila wasn’t sure if it was still lingering irritation over word of her father’s nagging, or if it was frustration over Rodriguez playing hard to get.
But she suddenly wanted a drink. And having it with a sexy hard body would have made that all better.
But while there were plenty of hard bodies and bare skin lounging on the sand, riding on the surf, the hottie was nowhere to be found.
Figured.
Stars scattered over the night sky like buckshot against black velvet. Music rolled out of Casa de Rico’s doors, blending with the crickets’ serenade to the fall of night.
Another day over and done with, and not a damned thing to show for it. He hadn’t even come up with a freaking hint of an idea of what to do with the rest of his damned life.
A beer tucked between his thighs, the braided cotton strands of the hammock digging into his flesh, Travis waited for the tension to leave his body. He’d been waiting so long, he considered it a miracle that he still believed it could happen.
Maybe he should have tried a little harder with the blonde on the beach earlier. A bout or three of hot, sweaty sex would have relaxed him a little.
Maybe it was time to give up the beach and head somewhere else. He just couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm to figure out where.
“Yo, Hawk.”
“Yo, Manny,” Travis returned laconically, lifting a hand to greet the beanpole of a man so dark that he blended with the night. All but the brilliant white of that smile he was always flashing.
“You had phone calls. I took messages.”
“Thanks,
