Read Feel the Heat (Hot In the Kitchen) for Free Online Page A

the fall of Rome that just screamed “waste” and “where the hell do I start?”—he supposed an opinion or two wasn’t such a bad thing. Rather than wade through the tome before him, he made an executive decision. “Just bring us one each of the specials and a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino. And make the steak medium rare.”
    Once the server had bounced off, Laurent cleared his throat. “I thought after Ashley you had sworn off women.”
    Sworn off? Nah, he’d just encased his dick in concrete, that’s all. Ashley had left Jack feeling contaminated and in need of a full-scale mind and body bleach. He had thought they had a connection, but in reality, he was just another tool in her quest for celebrity dominance. And once Jack became better known for his sex life than his kitchen expertise, he realized he had a problem. Casual hookups were no longer on the menu.
    “You mean the busty munchkin? No chance.” His traitorous eyes sought out Lili, who was busy showing a statuesque redhead and her plainly undeserving oaf of a date to a table. Finally, some diners under the age of forty.
    “I’m talking about ma chérie , Lili.”
    Jack snapped his head back so sharply he winced. “Oh, she’s your chérie now? She’s far too young. She must be the same age as my sister.”
    “But she’s not your sister,” Laurent countered quickly, because no one wanted to dwell on a friend’s sister when the potential of a mind-blowing lay was on the table. Jack silently agreed, not wanting to think about his sister either. Where Jules, ten years his junior, was scatter-brained and likely to lose her job at the drop of a hat, Lili projected a calm responsibility beyond her years. He had been watching her closely ever since he arrived, enjoying the ease with which she managed everyone, customers and staff alike.
    Laurent coughed again. It was really annoying. “So if you are truly not interested, you won’t mind if I take a shot?”
    “You’re asking permission? You never ask permission.” A muscle clenched in Jack’s midsection, but he chose to ignore it. Not trusting his instincts seemed to be the safest option these days.
    Laurent smiled and, not for the first time in their fifteen-year friendship, Jack wanted to pummel him. “You saw her first.”
    Jack laughed off his discomfort, forcing his fists to cooperate. “That’s awfully gallant of you. Have at it. Maybe you can bag the chatty cousin too.”
    A few minutes later, Cara was back and Gina was struggling with the bottle of Brunello as if it were an enemy combatant. Following a quick sniff, Jack put the glass down on the table. The smell was akin to wet dog, indicating that the cork, and by extension, the wine, had been contaminated by a chemical compound.
    “It’s corked.”
    Her eyes grew wide in clear confusion.
    “Bad. Appalling. Wretched.” He tried not to sound too irritated, but come on.
    Gina stole a peek at the bar before turning back to face them. “Are you sure you don’t want to taste it first?”
    Now it was Jack’s turn for the wide eyes. If a guest—an expert—said the wine was undrinkable, then his word should be accepted without question. Laurent smirked, probably anticipating the reaming that inevitably followed when some sassy piece challenged the boss’s authority, but before Jack could reply, Cara chimed in.
    “Gina, you know that saying ‘the customer is always right’? Well, it’s a load of crap. But you know who is right? The chef with several fine dining establishments in three countries and six Michelin stars.”
    “Seven,” Jack corrected instinctively. It should have been eight; that two-star rating for New York still rankled. And no matter how many times he told Cara that the restaurants received the ratings, not the chef, she always got it wrong.
    Cara continued her defense of his superior nose. “And if Jack says the wine is corked, then it’s corked. So toddle off and bring us another one.” With a mutinous