Love & Curses(14)

Andy had walked into a smoky kitchen, the exhaust fans doing little to diminish the haze. The grill had been charred. Dishes had towered head high in the sink. Bits of burned food had lain strewn along the prep counter. Everything had been covered in soot and muck.

His gut had roiled at all the damage. He’d just hired Antoine two weeks earlier, his resume and references impeccable. But holy shit, it had looked as though the guy had doused everything with cooking oil and lit a match. It’d taken the entire staff two hours of serious scrubbing to get the kitchen in working order again, and they barely finished before the breakfast crowd had arrived.

Andy glanced at his watch again. The day had passed in a blur of cleaning, cooking, and serving. Damn, he was exhausted, but without a head chef, they were shorthanded. He had no choice but to stay and ensure the rest of the evening ran smoothly.

“What’s on the menu, boss?” Rosella grabbed several bowls from the shelf and joined him at the counter.

“The specials are Lobster Creole, Blackened Catfish, and Shrimp with Grits.” He set his armload onto the prep table, thankful the smoke hadn’t tainted the seafood and fish. If it had, he would’ve been forced to close for the night. He glanced at his dark-haired assistant. And if Rosella and the rest of the staff hadn’t rallied to scrub the kitchen clean, he wouldn’t be cooking anything. “Grilled vegetables, tossed salad, and Bananas Foster for dessert.”

“Uh-oh.”

His shoulders slumped. “What now?”

“The peppers got a little singed, but I think I can work around that.” She grimaced. “But the parsley is toast.”

He sighed and glanced at his watch. How the hell had it gotten to quarter to five already? He yanked off his apron. “I’ll run to the corner and buy some. You get the sauces going.” He strode to the kitchen door. “And put Randy on salad prep.”

“Got it under control, boss,” she called back.

Andy walked through the dining room, heading for the front of the restaurant. As he approached, he noted a couple of early diners speaking with the hostess.

“Name please,” Sheila said.

“It’s under Walker,” the guy replied. “Ben Walker.”

“This way, please.” She turned to lead them to their table.

Andy frowned. No way it was the same guy. Unable to stop himself, he tapped the man’s shoulder. “Ben Walker?”

“Yeah.”

“You know Calista Page?”

Ben tilted his head as though trying to remember someone as unforgettable as Calista. “Oh, yeah. Dark hair. Big gold eyes.”

“Right.” Anger balled in his gut. She’d been right. The guy was a bastard.

The asshole snapped his fingers. “Wait. You’re him.”

“What?”

“You’re the guy.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “I heard you saved Calista from getting flattened by a piano.”

“Wow, yeah I did.” With a nod, he imitated the asshole’s action and gestured to the door. “And I heard you got cursed by her aunt. That’s harsh, man.”

Ben blanched for half a second then snorted. He pointed at a leggy blonde with huge tits, who waited for him next to the waitress. “Do I look cursed to you?”

“Honestly? You kinda do.” He walked to the door and shoved it open. “It’s in your eyes. Windows to the soul.”

Andy strode down the sidewalk, an angry sense of satisfaction at getting the last jab in coursing along his nerves. What a fucking prick. What she’d ever seen in—

Oh, shit. Calista!

He dug in his pocket for his cell phone. He’d left her a note telling her he’d call her, and the day was nearly over. God, she must think him an insensitive bastard, too. He tapped the screen to bring up her number, but the lack of bars at the top indicated no service. He frowned. He’d made hundreds of calls while walking down this road to the fresh produce market. As he crossed a side street, he checked again. But when he brought the call screen up, the cell beeped twice and blanked out.

Dead battery. What the fuck? Well, all he could do was plug it into the charger he kept in his office at the restaurant. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be too angry with him. Continuing down the sidewalk, he shoved the useless phone back into his pocket. What the hell else can go wrong today?

Glancing up, he spotted dark smoke curling into the air above the fresh produce market. Flames danced along the edge of the roof, the once white eaves charred black. In the distance, sirens wailed.





Chapter Seven



“Enough.” Calista slammed the refrigerator door, the bottles clanging against each inside, and stomped through the house to her bedroom. Chalk today up as a total failure, beginning with that damn note from Andy.