Hungry For You(11)

Alex rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for this, Justin. Can he cook or can’t he?”

Bricker glanced to Cale. “Can you read her?”

“Read what?” Alex asked irritably, her gaze shifting back to Cale to see that his expression had become even more concentrated, focusing on a spot in the center of her forehead.

“You can’t, can you? “ Bricker said with what sounded like glee.

“No.” The word was barely breathed, and the deep concentration on his expression faded to be replaced by a slightly stunned expression.

Alex frowned. Cale wasn’t walking away like all the other men had after that look. Instead, he was staring at her as if she was some rare and exotic creature. She would have preferred the walking away, Alex decided as discomfort began to slither through her. Shifting impatiently, she glanced to Bricker again. “What is—?”

“He can cook,” Bricker interrupted cheerfully.

Alex narrowed her eyes, sure there was something here she was missing but completely clueless as to what that could be.

“Ms. Willan?”

Alex glanced to the door with a start. Bev, whom she’d promoted to sous-chef to replace Peter when she’d raised him to head chef, was standing in the doorway, an anxious look on her face. “Yes?”

“The orders are coming in and Peter—I mean Pierre,” she corrected herself with a grimace, “hasn’t come back from wherever he went. Should I—?”

“Peter,” Alex emphasized the name, “isn’t coming back. He only showed up today to quit,” she addedabruptly, recalled to her present problems. “Get started on the orders. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Wide-eyed, Bev nodded and backed out of the office, leaving Alex to glance back to the two men. Cale was still staring as if she were the crown jewels, but Bricker was grinning like the idiot she was beginning to suspect he was.

Sighing with exasperation, she shifted her full attention to Cale. “Where did you train?”

“He’s from Paris,” Bricker announced.

“He is?” she asked with surprise. Sam had said Europe, but Cale’s accent wasn’t exactly French. Actually, she couldn’t place it at all, it held hints of French, with some English intonations and even Germanic ones as well. Realizing that what accent he had wasn’t really relevant, she pointed out, “I didn’t ask where he was from, but where he trained. Was it La Belle Ecole, Le Cordon Bleu, or—”

“Cordon Bleu,” Bricker interrupted, and Alex narrowed her eyes on him briefly. When he merely beamed at her, she glanced to Cale to note that he was still staring at her. For some reason, that stare was starting to wear on her, making her feel like she had a booger hanging out of her nose or a smudge on her face or something … which just annoyed her.

Refusing to give in to the urge to run her hands over her face and nose to check, she ground her teeth together and snapped, “Fine. He trained at Le Cordon Bleu. Where has he worked since then?”

When Bricker hesitated, Cale said, “I work for myself.”

Alex’s eyes widened slightly though it wasn’t at his words so much as the sound of his voice. She hadn’t noticed that sexy, sort of husky tone to his voice the first time he’d spoken, but then perhaps she’d been too upset at the suggestion that her kitchen stank to pay attention then. Irritated with herself for noticing it now, she scowled, and asked, “If you have your own restaurant, why would you want a job here?”

“He doesn’t really,” Bricker spoke up when Cale hesitated. “He’s here visiting in Canada for a while, but offered to help out until you can find a replacement chef.”

“Oui. What he said.” Cale nodded with satisfaction and smiled at her, making Alex catch her breath.

Had she thought he was just interesting and not handsome? What was wrong with her, she asked herself, and then frowned as she noted how hot it was in her office. She would have to check the thermostat before she left and see about turning it down, Alex decided, avoiding the urge to tug her sweater away from her chest and fan herself. She then frowned at that thought. Before she left? She was thinking as if she’d already decided to hire the man. That wasn’t right. While she appreciated that he was willing to help out when he was here on his vacation, for all she knew he couldn’t cook spit.

Forcing herself to regather her thoughts, she cleared her throat, and asked, “Are you any good? Is your restaurant successful?”

“Alex,” Bricker said dryly. “The man’s wearing a designer suit. His watch is diamond-encrusted. He’s very good at what he does.”