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“A restaurant,” he’d said. “The best in Los Angeles. The best in Southern California.” He’d brought her hand to his lips, just as he had that first night. “And I want you to be my executive chef.”
She’d almost fainted at those words.
Sure, she’d been a sous chef at The Black Pearl. She’d been the sous chef; her responsibilities had been enormous, but executive chef…
It would make her career.
She’d be responsible for absolutely everything that happened in the kitchen, from purchases to creating dishes and planning menus. She’d be able to put her stamp on things.
People would know her name.
It was the opportunity she’d dreamed of. Tough to come by, especially for a woman, a twentysomething, good-looking woman in a town bursting at the seams with good-looking women.
Even Lissa’s agent had been worried about her looks and yes, you needed an agent if you wanted to hit the top.
“Are you serious about a career in the kitchen?” Marcia had asked. “You’re sure you won’t give up cooking if some producer offers you an acting role?”
It had been an honest question. Ninety-nine percent of the female population between the ages of nine and ninety were in La La Land because they wanted to become stars.
“I’m a chef,” Lissa had said. “That’s what I studied to be and what I intend to be.”
Now, thanks to Raoul, the dream she’d had since she’d baked a batch of pretty decent cookies at age seven had been about to come true.
He would not be her lover, he would be her partner. Well, more or less her partner. She wouldn’t have any ownership in the restaurant—he was going to call it Raoul’s—but together, they would create something grand.
Raoul asked for her input in the design of the kitchen and dining room; he shared his long-term plans for the place. In return, she shared what she knew about the best suppliers of fish, of meat, of produce. She shared with him the much-coveted names of artisans who baked breads to die for, crafted chocolates to kill for, made cheeses to send your taste buds to heaven. She contacted kitchen and wait staff that she knew, from experience, would be excellent workers. She gave him a list of influential people who’d been regular patrons at The Black Pearl so he could invite them to their big opening night.
He told her how grateful he was, that he couldn’t have even dreamed of opening a top-notch place without her help and she said no, no, that wasn’t true, except they both knew that it was.
And still, he didn’t make a move on her, but there was something in the way he looked at her that said he liked what he saw.
She liked what she saw, too.
She even had a couple of steamy dreams that starred Raoul. Nothing unusual in that; she had steamy dreams sometimes, dreams that were always better than reality.
Maybe, just maybe, this was her Marco. Her Zach. Maybe Raoul would be the guy who’d make the earth move.
There was more to it than that, though not even torture would have dragged it from her, but lately there were times she felt…
Lonely.
The world seemed full of twosomes and here she was, a onesome.
And so, Lissa did what she had never done before. She played the What if? game. She fantasized, not just about sex but about life.
About—did she dare think it? About love.
The more she thought about Raoul, the more convinced she was that he was too much a gentleman, too committed to their friendship to make the first move. She’d have to do it, nothing elaborate, maybe ask him to have a drink after closing once the restaurant had been open a couple of weeks.
Thinking back, she snorted at her stupidity.
Opening night, everything looking perfect, eighty high-profile patrons out front including two food critics trying to look inconspicuous, her staff moving in harmony, each plate leaving the kitchen looking like a painting. Towards the middle of the evening, her phone rang.
It was Raoul.
“Lissa. I’m in my office. Do you have a minute?”
She didn’t, not really. She told him that.
