"I can't believe Sam told her sister I am a chef,"Cale muttered for probably the sixth time since finding himself bundled into the passenger seat of his rental car, and riding away from the enforcer house with Justin Bricker at the wheel.
"Believe it," Bricker said dryly. "Sam is desperate to see her sister settled with an immortal. She and her sisters are as thick as thieves. She'll do everything and anything she can to ensure that Alex doesn't have to be left behind at some point in the future."
"Hmm." Cale supposed he could understand that. He had often thought it must be hard for mortals to give up their families and friends to claim the immortals they loved. They gained a lot in return, of course: eternal youth and a love and passion most mortals could only dream of. Still, family was important to his clan, and tohis mind it spoke well of Sam and her sisters that they deemed family important as well.
"Still ... a chef? Just the sight of food makes my stomach turn, and the smell ..." He grimaced and shuddered, growing nauseous at just the thought of it. His reaction to food was one of the reasons Cale didn't much bother with mortals anymore. Their very lives seemed to revolve around food or beverages. They did business over coffee or drinks and held feasts to celebrate every event. It was for that reason that Cale had funneled most of his business interests into areas where he need only deal with immortals. Of course, some of them ate too, those who were still young, or were mated. But he ran into the problem much less often when dealing with immortals than he would with mortals.
"This is the first time I've heard of an immortal with that kind of reaction to food," Bricker commented, and then cast him a curious glance, and asked, "Just how old are you?"
Cale scowled. The older he got, the more he detested answering that question and supposed he was starting to feel his age. Not physically, of course, but mentally. The truth was, lately, Cale was bored to tears. It was why he'd agreed to a long visit in Canada. He hadn't had any real change in his life for a very long time. Running companies that catered to immortals' needs and had mostly immortal employees meant he hadn't had to change his name or job for some time. He also lived on a country estate just outside Paris where there were no neighbors to notice his lack of aging. It had allowed him to avoid moving as well.
Cale knew that while doing so had been convenient, it had also allowed him to stagnate. Lately he'd been thinking that a major rearranging of his life was in order. He'd been contemplating leaving his company in the hands of one of his capable senior employees and taking up a different line of work, but he simply hadn't decided on what he wanted to do. He'd considered several things, but most of them necessitated attending university to gain the necessary skills, which meant being around mortals and their ever-present love for food.
Another option he'd considered was hiring himself out as a mercenary. Cale had enjoyed battle in his youth, and while he couldn't become a proper soldier because he couldn't risk daylight, he understood they still hired mercenaries to fight in third-world countries. He supposed it spoke of how low his mood had sunk that the idea of a bloody battlefield appealed to him.
"If you're Martine and Darius's son, you have to have been born before Christ," Bricker said thoughtfully. "Your father died in 300 B.C. or something, didn't he?"
"In 230 B.C.," Cale said tightly. It was not a time he liked to recall. He had lost not only his father but several brothers that year, all in the same battle. Actually, "slaughter" was the better word since they'd been lured into a trap by an immortal who vied for the same mercenary contracts they did and had decided to eliminate the competition. Cale's father, Darius, had been a great warrior and raised his sons with the same skills, and then made a living by hiring himself and his sons out for battle.
Including Cale, his mother had borne eleven children with his father, all sons. The pair had met and become life mates in 1180 B.C., when his father was two hundred years old and his mother three hundred. While they had adhered to the rule of one child every century, they'd also had two sets of twins, and-so far-the council didn't punish parents for having twins by making them wait an extra century to have another child. Of those eleven sons, only three still survived. The rest had died alongside their father on a bloody battlefield in 230 B.C. Cale still ached at the memory of the mammoth loss.
"Well, then maybe your reaction to food is because you're so old," Bricker murmured with concern. Apparently, the idea of having such an extreme distaste for food was bothersome to the younger immortal. Shrugging, he said more cheerfully, "But if Marguerite's right about this-and she always is-once you meet Alex, you're going to find yourself craving food."
When Cale merely peered at him dubiously, he chuckled, and added, "Trust me. By tonight, you're going to be stuffing your face like a mortal after a weeklong fast."
Cale scowled, not pleased at the suggestion. Really, he wasn't any more pleased to find himself trapped in a vehicle with the younger immortal. Food eaters always had a similar stench. Normally that smell didn't bother him so much, but then he wasn't normally trapped in an airless car with one. Wrinkling his nose, he sighed, and asked, "Why are you driving me there again?"
"Because you don't know your way around Toronto,and Sam didn't want to take the chance of your getting lost," Bricker reminded him with amusement. "She also worried you might crack up your car on the icy roads and didn't want to risk that either. Since Mortimer wanted to discuss her turning and wouldn't let her drive you herself, she reluctantly decided I should deliver you to Alex. I'm to report back to her on every word that passes between you," he announced with amusement.
"Right," Cale muttered, beginning to wonder what he'd gotten himself into here. Perhaps it really wasn't worth it to humor Marguerite after all. Not if it meant going to a restaurant where he would be surrounded by the stench of mortal food ... and this Alex woman thought he was a chef for God's sake! What on earth had possessed Sam to claim he could cook? He didn't know the first damned thing about cooking and didn't want to. On the other hand, if it turned out Marguerite was right, and this woman was his life mate ... Well, he supposed that might make it worth it ... and he really might start to like food again then.
"Here." Bricker reached blindly into the backseat to retrieve a book. He offered the large volume to Cale, saying, "Sam thought it might help if you gave this a quick once-over on the way."
"Cooking for Dummies?" Cale read with something akin to horror as his gaze moved with distaste over the picture of the dead, headless, featherless, and trussed-up roasted chicken on the plate next to a bunch of equally roasted vegetables.
"Well, it can't hurt," Bricker said with amusement. "Alex is expecting a world-class chef."
Cale tossed the book back on the seat behind him with disgust. "I have no intention of cooking. I'll just go there, meet the woman, see if I can read her, and leave when I can."
"Or," Bricker drawled, "you're going to go there, discover Marguerite was on the mark again, that you can't read Alex, and you'll be desperate for an excuse to stay close to her as you try to lay claim to her as a life mate."
Cale snorted. "If I can't read her, and she is my life mate, I won't need an excuse to stay close to her. She'll want me there."
"Oh, man, do you have a lot to learn about mortal women," Bricker said dryly.
Cale glanced at him sharply. "Surely, if she is my life mate, she will-"
"What? Drop into your palm like a plum, ripe for the picking? " Bricker tore his gaze from the road to glance at him with obvious amusement. When Cale merely scowled, he shook his head and turned his attention back to the road. "You weren't paying attention back there at the house, were you? Didn't you catch the fact that Mortimer and Sam are life mates, have been together for eight months, and yet she's only now agreeing to the turn? Mortal women do have free will, you know."
Cale's eyes widened as he realized that was true.
"And contrary to what the movie claims, Earth girls aren't easy."
"What?" Cale asked, completely bewildered by the reference.
"Never mind," Bricker muttered with disgust. "Thepoint is, while we grow up with the knowledge that someday we will meet that special someone who can't read us and whom we can't read and so will, therefore, be our perfect life mate, mortal women don't. They grow up being taught that men are cheating, lying bastards and being told that they will have to kiss a lot of toads before they find the one who will be their prince. And then they're taught to be cautious because some princes are actually wolves in princely clothing."
Cale peered at the younger immortal with dismay. "Are you serious?"
"You don't watch much TV, do you?" Bricker asked dryly, and then suggested, "Get a clue, watch a movie or two tonight. It will bring you up to date on the state of the war of the sexes."
"War?"
"Yes, war," Bricker said solemnly. "Women aren't the sweet little biddable gals pleased just to have a bit of attention anymore. If they have a man in their lives, it's because they want him there, not because they need him to take care of them. Today's women can take care of themselves. At least a lot of them can. And as a successful businesswoman, Alex is one of the ones who can. In fact, dragging her attention away from her business is most likely going to be more of a struggle than anything. Especially right now," he added grimly.
"Why especially right now?" Cale asked.
"She's in the midst of opening a second restaurant," Bricker informed him. "She started with this little hole-in-the-wall. It was fancy," he added, in case Cale got the wrong impression. "But small. Only she's onehell of a cook, and it was a raging success. You had to book months ahead to get a table. So she decided she needed a larger venue, only from what Sam has said, that's been one problem after another, and Alex has been running in circles trying to get it together in time for opening night."
"When is that?" Cale asked.
"In two weeks," Bricker said dryly. "Trust me, she'll be running around like a chicken with her head cut off and-life mate or no life mate-you'll be lucky if she gives you the time of day if she finds out you're not a chef."
Cale was silent for a moment, and then undid his seat belt and shifted around to reach in the back for the cookbook. It seemed to him it was better to be safe than sorry.
"There's absolutely no one you can think of who's even a halfway-decent cook and presently unemployed?" Alex asked unhappily, and then listened to the voice over the phone as Gina, a dear friend who was also a chef, told her no. Alex grimaced, and murmured, "Well, thanks for trying, anyway."
Alex set the phone back in its cradle with a weary sigh. She'd spent the last forty-five minutes since talking to Sam making calls, but there didn't appear to be any chefs out there in search of a position ... which was just ridiculous considering the state of the economy, but it was also just her luck lately.
Growling with frustration, Alex scrubbed her hands over her face, and then dropped onto her desk chairwith a groan. She'd continued with her calls in case the chef whom Sam was sending over was completely unsuitable, but it seemed he was her only hope at this point. If he wasn't up to scratch, she would have to cook here herself tonight, which meant she couldn't see to the things she needed to do to get the larger restaurant opened on time at the new location.
Why on earth had she set herself up for this hell? Alex wondered miserably. It had seemed such a simple and easy plan at the time. This restaurant had been going like gangbusters, always full, the money rolling in. She'd been the fat, happy cat enjoying the cream of her success ... and then some little devil had whispered in her ear that she should expand and, like an idiot, she'd rushed impulsively forward with the idea.
Originally, Alex had hoped to purchase the storefront next door and simply knock down the wall between and make this restaurant larger. But then she'd realized it meant canceling several bookings to get the work done, and then someone suggested simply opening another restaurant at the other end of the city. She might bring in a whole new clientele.
With visions of a chain of La Bonne Vie restaurants dancing through her head, Alex had set out to find the perfect building in the perfect location. Then she'd settled down to decorate and market the opening of the second La Bonne Vie. Everything had gone smoothly at first, and then bad luck had begun to plague her. The perfect spot had been an old Victorian house at the edge of a busy shopping area. It was newly renovated, charming, and perfect-until an electrical firehad broken out late one night shortly after she'd started decorating it.
Fortunately, Alex had already had an alarm system put in, and the fire department had gotten there quickly. Unfortunately, while the fire itself hadn't spread far, there had been smoke damage throughout the entire building. Suddenly, instead of some light redecorating, Alex had found herself faced with the necessity of gutting the interior and fully restoring it.
Her luck hadn't gotten any better from there. The last few months had been spent putting out fires of a different sort: chasing down shipments that were delayed or just seemed to have disappeared, workmen who suddenly quit or simply didn't show up, orders that had somehow gotten confused so that the wrong products arrived. In a couple of instances, the workmen had started to install the wrong items before she got there, and the companies refused to reimburse her for "used" products.
Soon the money had started to run out, and she'd had to dig into her private savings. That was when Alex had begun to panic. With the opening date already set and promoted, she'd fired the project manager who had been overseeing the redecorating and promoted Peter from sous-chef to head chef at the original La Bonne Vie, so that she could be on site at the new building all the time to ensure that there were no more foul-ups ... which had apparently convinced the little weasel that he was a world-class chef worthy of scads of money.
"The ass," she muttered to herself, her glance sliding unhappily to the clock on the wall. Dinner bookings started at five, and it was nearly that now. If Sam'schef didn't show up, she'd have to start cooking herself. Not that she minded. Cooking was Alex's first love, all she'd ever wanted to do. It had been a terrible wrench to her when she'd had to pass the head-chef hat to Peter so that she could oversee the renovations at the new restaurant. But she'd had no choice.
Normally, Alex wouldn't even have been here today when Peter arrived with his announcement. She'd only popped by the restaurant to check on things and grab some paperwork she was hoping to go over later tonight. Her intention had been to head back over to the new restaurant in time for the delivery of paint the painters were supposed to get on the walls before the diningroom tables and chairs arrived tomorrow. At least that had been the plan before Peter had turned up with his announcement that he'd been offered that ridiculous sum of money to go to work for Chez Joie.
Alex scowled at the very thought of the nasty trick being used by her biggest competitor, Jacques Tournier. They had always been competitive, their respective restaurants vying for the same upscale clientele, but this was going too far. Not only could he ruin her, but he was definitely going to do Peter and his career some damage. But then Jacques had always been a jerk.
She glanced to the clock to find that while she'd sat fretting, time had continued to crawl forward. Alex could no longer put it off; she had to get out there and get to work. The first guests would have arrived by now, and their orders were no doubt already appearing in the kitchen. She would just call the painters at the other restaurant and-
A tap at the door sounded as Alex reached for the phone. Calling out for whoever it was to enter, she started to punch in the number to the new restaurant but paused as the door opened, and Justin Bricker appeared, his usual cheerful smile in place as he stepped into her office.
"Hey, Alex. How are tricks?" he greeted easily.
Alex stared at him nonplussed, and then groaned. "Dear God, surely you aren't the chef Sam was talking about?"
"No," he said with a laugh, and gestured behind him with a thumb. "Cale here is."
"Kale?" Alex echoed blankly, her eyes sliding to the still half-closed door. She didn't see any evidence of a second man. Frowning, she set the phone back in its receiver and leaned to the side, trying to see out into the kitchen as she muttered, "Kale is a vegetable."
"Not kale. Cale ... with a C," Bricker explained, and then glanced around and frowned when he saw that the second man hadn't entered. Scowling, Bricker stepped out of the room briefly, and she heard him mutter, "What are you doing, man? Get in here and try to read her."
Alex's eyebrows rose at the words, and she briefly wondered what they meant, but then Bricker reappeared, dragging a man in a charcoal-colored suit into the room as the fellow said, "I was looking for something to cover my nose and mouth with. Dear God, how anyone can work around all this food is beyond me. The stench is unbearable. I-"
Alex arched one eyebrow as the man spotted her and came to an abrupt halt just inside the door. She'dopened her mouth to snap that her kitchen did not stink, but the words never made it past her lips. She found herself simply staring at the man. He was ... interesting. Not handsome in the classical sense, but definitely interesting, she decided and GQ worthy in that suit. Her gaze quickly slid over his tall, muscular build, clothed in what she was sure was a designer original. Then her eyes paused at his face to take in the strong, angular features, silver-blue eyes, and clear complexion.
What was it with all these friends of Mortimer's? she wondered with a frown. Every single one had perfect skin and arresting eyes.
"Well? Can you read her?" Bricker asked impatiently.
"What?" Cale glanced toward him with a confusion that seemed to clear quickly. "Oh, right."
His gaze shifted back to her, and Alex found herself sighing as he focused on her with a concentration she recognized from every other male Sam had introduced her to since hooking up with Mortimer. It was the look that usually preceded the man's then completely ignoring her or even walking away, the look that was giving her a complex.
"Great! Another one of your and Mortimer's weirdo friends," she muttered with disgust, and turned an angry glare on Bricker as she asked, "Are they all crackheads, or has listening to your music too loud made them all mentally deficient? "
"I know they don't do crack, so it must be the music thing," Bricker said with amusement.
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."
Alex blinked and glanced from the suit-which reallylooked very nice on him-to the watch he now appeared to be trying to hide by tugging his sleeve down over it. Despite the discomfitted reaction to Bricker's pointing out his outer signs of success, she caught a glimpse of the sparkling watch face and acknowledged that the man had money, which suggested some level of success at what he did.
A curse and the crash of shattering glass from the kitchen made up Alex's mind for her. She would test him out, and if he could cook, she would accept his help. It would at least give her some more time to find a replacement for Peter while allowing her to make sure the renovations to the new restaurant didn't run off course again.
"He can cook something to reassure you if you like," Bricker announced suddenly.
Alex nodded at once, and then raised her eyebrows in surprise as she noted the horror on Cale's face and the sharp way he turned on the other man.
"You can," Bricker said insistently, then in tones that suggested a meaning that she didn't understand, he added, "Trust me."