One More Taste (One and Only Texas #2)(13)
He watched the shift of her weight from one foot to the other, the extra squeeze she gave the folder in her hand. He’d hit a nerve. Good. Turnabout was fair play.
“I’m not holding myself back. All the years I’ve worked here, laboring in obscurity”—she said with a scoff—“I’ve had the freedom to cook what I want, every dish completely original instead of imitations of more prominent chefs or attempts to pander to critics’ fickle tastes. Over the last decade, I’ve risen from a graveyard-shift line cook in the room service kitchen to the executive catering chef, one of the principal roles at the resort.” She spun the folder onto his desk and speared a finger on it. “A few months ago, Ty agreed to my proposal to open a high-concept, signature restaurant at the resort. Subterranean, I’m going to call it. We were in the process of securing funding when you showed up and ruined everything.”
He took a step nearer to her, then another, stopping just short of arm’s length. This close, those freckles on her cheeks came into focus again, as did a faint, hairline scar along her jaw that curved to her chin. He refocused on her furious green eyes. “I did not take this opportunity away from you. Ty did. He was the one who contacted me, looking for investors. My presence here to execute my vision for the resort, as well as the timing of it, was at his invitation. If he let you believe your restaurant would be possible under this new vision, then he was stringing you along. He’s your enemy, not me.”
Emily blanched, but only for a split second before recovering her wits. “He wasn’t stringing me along. I’m sure he was grooming me for your takeover, knowing you’d want to step up the caliber of the resort’s dining options. He’s not my enemy. He’s the employer who gave me a chance. All I need is an open door and a budget and I will give you the restaurant of your vision.”
She’d been dead on about his sixth sense and the rush he got with each thrill of discovery. He felt that familiar rush right now while sparring with her. He couldn’t wait for her to leave so he could read her proposal. He should have eaten the damn soup. Now he’d never know what he’d missed. “You and I aren’t so different in our ambition, you know.”
She sniffed at that, feigning a nonchalance he saw right through. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I possess a patience that you clearly lack.”
Oh, this woman. She wouldn’t stop pushing his buttons. He felt heat rising on his neck. He had to stuff his hand in his pockets so he wouldn’t give in to the discomfort and tug his tie loose. Emily had no idea how much patience it had taken to wait for the right time to make his move against Ty Briscoe. Years of planning and strategy, years of positioning himself in the right business, with the right connections, silently closing in on his prey, waiting to pounce until the time was right—until the prey thought it was his idea and came to him, on the verge of bankruptcy and begging for a bailout.
“Prove it,” he heard himself say, not knowing exactly what he meant by the dare.
Her gaze was unflinching. “How?”
He had to think fast. “I’ll give you four weeks. If you can prove to me in that time that you’re as gifted a chef as you claim, then I’ll hand you the reins of the restaurant along with whatever budget you require for this … Subterranean.”
She was not nearly as grateful as he’d expected, throwing him off yet again. “By taking over at the Chop House? Is that what you mean? Fine. As long as I have your approval to change the menu. Javier will be pissed to be booted from his job, but it’s just a month. He’ll understand.”
He hadn’t thought the challenge through to its details, but it only took a moment to decide what he really wanted from her. “Not taking over the restaurant. Guests have an expectation of the steakhouse that we have to uphold. You’ll cook dinner for me. As my personal chef for the month.”
The laughter she burst into caught him off guard yet again. “As in, cook for the man who thinks that food is nothing but fuel? A man who wouldn’t taste my locally harvested, lovingly created, perfect peach soup? Because I’m not going to agree to this if you expect me to be your personal protein smoothie artist.”
Knox’s blood pounded through his body, saturated with adrenaline. When was the last time anyone tested him like this? When had he last felt so alive? “My food philosophy makes me the perfect candidate for this challenge. Change my mind. If you’re as good as you claim, then that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Her fierce countenance fell away, and he could plainly see the wheels turning in her mind. “Luckily, October is a light wedding month. The menus are done and the food ordered, for the most part. I can supervise during the day, and then my assistant, Nori, can run the kitchen during the events since I’ll be busy in the evenings devoting all my energy to … to…”
“To pleasing me.” Holy shit, that’d come out wrong.
Emily didn’t blink an eye. “No. To bringing you to your knees. In four weeks, you’ll be begging me to run your restaurant.”
Another rush coursed through him. He gritted his teeth against a smile. Emily Ford was stubborn, arrogant, and driven. Just like him. If she really was as extraordinary a chef as she claimed, then maybe he had discovered a diamond in the rough, one that might prove to be a lucrative investment, indeed.
“You’re going to need more than dinners. Breakfast and lunch, too. I can serve them here at your office.”