Soft laughter and a tinkling of glasses drew her attention toward a table on the far side of the main dining room. A group of four was having some sort of celebratory gathering, and they looked happy as they toasted with champagne. At ease and on top of the world. A promotion perhaps or the landing of a big account. An engagement or a pregnancy. Whatever the occasion, Anna couldn’t help but feel proud that they’d chosen her restaurant for their celebration. On the way to her own table, Anna had welcomed them and told them so.
But as she watched, a sense of melancholy stole over her. Nobody had ever really celebrated Anna’s accomplishments. Even her own mother didn’t “get” her, didn’t understand what drove Anna to succeed, especially in the restaurant business. Margaret Claire was set in her ways and her thinking and never minced words. Like many parents, she had the power to make Anna bleed from hundreds of tiny invisible cuts, even if she didn’t realize it.
Her mother stared at her incredulously. “Let me get this straight—you worked hard to make that little café of yours a success, and now you’re going to just throw it away . . . spend a ton of money to open a fancy restaurant in New York City.” The older woman sighed. “Honey, you were doing well as a manager, and then you went out on a limb with the café and did all right. But this? I don’t understand why you need to take a risk this big.”
Anna’s heart froze. Was she kidding? “This restaurant has been my goal for as long as I can remember! You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said!”
So unbending, her mother. Such a product of her own upbringing as the daughter of a steelworker and a teacher. The Claires were good, salt-of-the-earth people who worked hard and loved harder. But the fact remained that they were also narrow-minded in their view of what equaled success—and that typically involved punching a clock nine to five and earning a retirement after forty years or so of working for someone else.
She tried again. “Mom, did it ever occur to you that employees have to work for somebody? Someone intelligent who knows their business? And that the boss might as well be me?”
Margaret Claire just stared at her daughter as though she’d spoken in tongues and sacrificed a chicken in the front yard.
“Miss Claire?”
Anna snapped to the present and blinked at the man standing in front of her table. She’d expected to see one of her waiters but instead was greeted by a tall man dressed in kitchen whites. In the dim lighting, it took her a moment to focus on his features.
He was a big man, fit and broad-shouldered, and she could only guess at the muscles hiding under the drab required uniform. His short golden brown hair was mussed in that sexy just-rolled-out-of-bed look that turned her on when a man knew how to pull it off—and this one did. His full lips quirked upward, and she found herself wondering, not for the first time, how he would taste. Brows that were a bit darker than his hair arched over expressive blue eyes, which conveyed a very male interest he couldn’t quite hide, or hadn’t bothered to, from day one.
The last idea intrigued her in spite of herself—what kind of man would hit on his boss? One who was either very stupid or very confident.
Anna had always found confident men to be extremely sexy.
“Mr. James? What can I do for you?” She made it a point to know the name of every single employee, so his came effortlessly—and the question emerged more flirty than she’d intended.
Grayson James, the new prep chef, was one rung on the ladder above the janitor of this building. At age thirty-three, he was a bit long in the tooth if he hoped to make head chef one day, but he’d come highly recommended from Le Cordon Bleu, one of the most prestigious cooking schools around. That, and his letters of recommendation from the senior partners at his former law firm, had been enough for Anna. She’d hired him on the spot, despite a few reservations Ethan had voiced.
Who was she to hold back someone determined to follow his dream?
“Chef sent me to see if you wanted anything special for your dinner,” he said in a smooth, deep voice.
A “radio voice,” her mother would say if she were here. Anna toyed with her martini glass, trying to ignore the warmth that pooled in her middle at the sound and traveled south. The man was an employee and she had no business drooling over him, much less playing this flirtatious cat-and-mouse game with him for the past few weeks. But she supposed what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone.
She cocked her head, lips curving upward. “I highly doubt Ethan did any such thing.”
He made a face. “Busted. But how else was I supposed to get away to talk to the most beautiful woman in the whole place?”
Pleasure curled through her insides. “You’ve got a big, steely pair, Mr. James. I like that.”
Something hungry, predatory, flared in his eyes and he leaned over slightly. His voice was husky as he parried her thrust. “Do you? That’s good, because I happen to like a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to grab it.”
“I’m afraid of very little,” she said, eyeing him in appreciation and not bothering to hide it.
“And yet I sense you holding back with me.”
“I’m careful in every aspect of my life. A little common sense is a good thing.”
“Not when it interferes with the fun of living, I think. I guess I’ll have to make it my mission to loosen you up, boss lady.” Her brows shot up, but he didn’t wait for a response. “Would you like to order something?”
You. Naked on a platter with an apple in your mouth. “What’s Ethan’s special tonight?”
“The duck over a bed of sautéed greens, with a mushroom wine sauce drizzled on top.”
“Sounds fantastic. I’ll have that.”
“Wise choice.” The man actually winked at her and grinned. “Ethan does get testy when the patrons don’t follow his recommendations.”
Damn the man for having the most alluring dimple on the left side of his mouth.
“Everything he creates is beyond compare. Our diners can’t go wrong, no matter what they order.”
“True. I’ll let him know your choice.” He waved a hand at her glass. “Another?”
She debated, then nodded. “I think I will.”
He laughed. “So long as you’re able to walk at the end of the evening, that’s fine.”
She barely managed to keep her mouth from falling open at his forwardness. If any other employee had made that remark, she would’ve reprimanded him. When it came to Gray, however, she couldn’t be upset when his playfulness was edged with genuine concern. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I won’t be behind the wheel and I only live five blocks away.”
“But you could stagger in front of a tour bus,” he said innocently. “Then who would sign my paychecks?”
As she opened her mouth to retort that he wouldn’t have to worry about that if he was no longer working here, she was shocked when he turned his back and simply walked away. The arrogant bastard just left her sitting there, his carriage and attitude screaming that he wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her position as owner. Any of the others, save Ethan, would bow, scrape, and stammer in her presence. But not this man.
That damned confidence she couldn’t resist. Somehow, in the space of a couple of weeks, the prep chef had honed in on her weakness and filleted it like a sea bass in Ethan’s kitchen.
The second drink and her duck were delivered with a flourish, but with no further sign of Mr. James. It surprised her to realize she was disappointed. That small exchange had left her feeling more charged than she had in a while. Almost like she’d been awakened from a deep sleep.