One More Taste (30 page)

An hour until show time, Shayla breezed into the kitchen. Though she was decked out in a sophisticated turquoise and black knee-length cocktail dress, it was her broad, genuine smile that made her ensemble truly eye-catching.

“Emily! I'm sorry to interrupt.”

Emily wiped her hands on a towel, then hugged Shayla. “No problem. You look fantastic, by the way.”

“Really? I always feel like such an imposter when I wear dresses. I'd rather have my running shoes and a sports bra on.” She took Emily's hand and pulled her into the walk-in pantry just off the auxiliary kitchen in the steakhouse where they were operating tonight. She shut the door, then turned her high-wattage smile back onto Emily. “I just wanted to pop in and tell you how happy I am that things are working out with you and the restaurant you want to open. Knox already has me looking for a publicist to make sure it gets the international hype it deserves when we launch it.”

“Oh, wow.” International hype. Shit. She battled back a shock of fear at the idea of her parents recognizing her, of finding her after all these years and so many precautions taken to prevent them from ever discovering her. What good was a disappearing act if she let a publicist splash her image all over the globe? Guess she'd find out. It was yet another threat to her ever-more-precarious house of cards.

“Knox is really taken with you. I know I'm talking out of turn, but we're all adults here, right? I just hope that even though you got what you wanted, that you give my brother a real chance. I like you two together. You definitely have my blessing. I mean, not that you need it.” She shook her head. “Listen to me ramble. Sorry. Anyway, congratulations again.”

Even though you got what you wanted.
Words that evoked that gnawing sense of dread in Emily's gut because they were exactly what had been on her mind all week. She hated that it appeared as though Emily had slept with Knox to get the restaurant. Check that. It didn't merely appear that way. That was
precisely
what had happened. Knox's decision to give her the restaurant wasn't about Emily's cooking. Not even close.

Emily swayed, dizzy and lightheaded. She didn't want this. She didn't want him like this. She didn't want the appearance that she'd slept her way to the top. If Knox's sister, arguably the person who knew him better than anyone, had drawn that conclusion, then what would the rest of the world think? More importantly, what would the food critics and bloggers and foodies who were merciless to new, overhyped restaurants—to female chefs as a whole—think? Her restaurant could be ruined before it got off the ground.

“It's all right. And thank you for the congratulations,” she said. She even managed a smile.

“Okay, I'd better let you get back to work. I can't wait to eat your food tonight. The menu looks great.”

Emily watched Shayla's retreating form, stunned anew how everything had gone so horribly wrong. She drifted to the prep table where her knife sat and picked it up, chopping parsley in an attempt to soothe her nerves. But she couldn't stop replaying Knox's words in her head from the week before about how she'd wrapped him around her little finger before he'd tasted a single bite of her cooking. She wanted to be with him, but not like this. What happened when their affair ended? What happened if he changed his mind about running Briscoe Ranch?

Or, the better question, why the hell was she hinging her future, her home, and her career on a man?

A zinger of pain shot up her arm and she yelped. She'd sliced the tip of her middle finger. A spray of blood smeared over the chopped herbs and cutting board. Horrified, she stared down at the mess, barely cognizant of the pain. She dropped the whole cutting board into a trashcan, then headed to the sink to flush out the cut. Her hands shook under the hot water as she scrubbed them clean. No wonder she'd cut herself. She was turning hysterical.

Nori, her sous chef, appeared at her side. “You okay, Emily?”

“I think so. I've had worse. Do you mind taking over for a little bit while I get this bandaged up?”

“Take your time.”

If anyone could talk Emily down from her panic, it would be Carina. She stole down the stairs and through the hall, racing to her office. When she stepped inside, she dug into her desk drawer for a bandage, which she applied to her still-dripping cut before pulling her phone from her pocket and dialing Carina's number.

Carina answered on the second ring.

“I can't do this,” Emily said in a quiet voice.

“Do what? Cook for the dinner party? Don't go there, Emily. You know how you have a tendency to sabotage a good thing. Remember?”

“I know.” That was exactly what Emily had done. She'd sabotaged her success by sleeping with Knox. She'd let herself down. She thought about her crew of dedicated, talented sous chefs. She'd let them down, too.

“If this is out of loyalty to my dad about his retirement, then I'm going to stop you right there. It was his idea to retire early. He told us that this was for the best, so Knox could run the resort without feeling like my dad was looking over his shoulder all the time. He said it was to right the wrong from the rift so our family can move forward.”

To right the wrong from the rift.

Emily knew the next step in Knox's plan to right the injustices that were done to his dad. She knew he was going to sell the resort as soon as it started turning a profit again, and then Emily would have to either find another location to move her restaurant or put her fate in the hands of the resort's new owner. One thing was certain, she may never live down the reputation that she'd gotten this break because she was banging the boss. The restaurant world was cutthroat, and every perceived weakness—especially with female chefs—was exploited accordingly.

“Look, Carina. I need to tell you something. I did something—”

A knock on the glass interrupted her. Emily whirled around and nearly dropped the phone at the sight of Knox, dressed handsomely in a black suit with his lucky black Stetson secure on his head.

So much for Emily's grand confession. “Carina? I'm going to have to tell you later. I've got to go.”

“Okay. I'll be home all night, if you want to talk after the dinner party. Try to have fun. This new direction for the resort is a good thing, remember?”

Emily was trying to believe that, even though her success had come at the expense of her professional integrity.
Jesus.
When she thought about it like that, the situation felt even worse.

Knox gave her a sweet, lingering kiss. But even though none of her employees were likely to discover them, the display of affection still made her heart sink.

“Hey, there,” he said. “Nori told me you might be down here patching up a wound. Are you okay?”

She held up her bandaged finger. “Just a slice. You're looking mighty fine,” she said as she straightened his tie.

“You're looking mighty fine, yourself,” he crooned, tipping his hat to her like a good and proper cowboy. “Would now be a good time for me to whisk you out to the dinner party to meet my partners? I'd love for them to put a face with the chef before the meal begins.”

She was way too wound up at the moment to cope with vacuous small talk and artificial smiles. “You know small talk isn't my thing. I'm the noodle maker, remember?”

“How could I forget? But listen, it would be great to have my partners' support about your restaurant. I'm asking you to do this for me.”

She hesitated. “I thought the choice was yours, as the controlling partner.”

He shrugged. “It is, and I could overrule them if necessary. But their backing would be infinitely helpful to both our causes.”

She swallowed back a groan. She was going to have to do this. Shaking hands and kissing babies like a friggin' politician. “Can't my food speak for itself?”

He raised an eyebrow, then took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “I'll be right there next to you. And I'll make a deal with you. Do this, and then I'll take you fishing in the dark after the party breaks up tonight.”

She let him tug her towards the double doors leading to the stairs. “Is that a euphemism?”

A rakish grin spread on his lips. “I guess you'll have to wait and see.”

The private dining room in the steakhouse had been designed with the charm of an old hotel lounge, complete with brass fixtures, and elegant wood paneling. Lush velvet curtains were drawn back to allow access to a veranda that looked out over the gardens, with their strolling resort guests, and boasted a breathtaking view of the golf course and Lake Bandit. It was the perfect setting for Knox's business partners to experience firsthand the magic of Briscoe Ranch after dark.

As they moved toward the nearest cluster of guests, Emily ruminated on the impressive wealth represented in the room, as she'd done so many times as a teenager at the dinner parties her parents dragged her to. No wonder Knox had had the confidence to sweep into Briscoe Ranch and assume control. This was the world he lived in, a world Emily had shed when she'd left her parents' cavernous penthouse at sixteen. No doubt Knox could have privately financed Emily's dream restaurant as easily as he'd arranged their dinner at The Smoking Gun. He could have rejected her proposal just as easily. No doubt about it, she was at the mercy of a powerful, wealthy man—a position she'd vowed to never find herself in again.

Knox still held her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, so she pulled it away. Tonight, in front of the equity firm investors and resort executives, they were nothing but boss and employee, despite the wicked, wonderful things he'd done to her body that very morning. Oh God, what a terrible corner she'd painted herself into.

She wiped her clammy palms on her chef's jacket. “I can't do this.”

It felt like she was saying that a lot that week. And every time she did, she was struck by the terrible sensation of being on a runaway horse, clinging to it by only her fingertips.

Knox stopped short of the guests and gave her a studying look. “You're really nervous, aren't you?”

He had no idea. All she could do was nod.

“I'll tell you what. Let's scrap this idea. I can make your grand introduction when you serve dessert. How does that sound?”

“Divine,” she choked out.

He leaned in as though in preparation for a kiss. Emily stopped him with a hand to his chest. “We can't.”

“They'll know soon enough,” he countered.

And that, right there, was the whole problem. “I'm going to get back to work. Enjoy the evening. I'll see you at dessert.”

The dinner service and the dishes she'd crafted for the party were flawless, just as she'd known they'd be. Between her and Nori and the rest of her top-notch staff, there wasn't a menu she could design that they wouldn't master. The trouble was, the night was flying by. Every course served brought Emily closer to dessert, and to facing the crowd of all of Knox's business partners to announce that she'd been tapped by Knox to open a restaurant.

Well, maybe
tapped
was the wrong word. “Damn double entendres,” she grumbled as she pulled a cart of individually crafted desserts from the refrigerator.

Dessert was a riff on another dish she'd served Knox, and that, in itself, only dog-piled onto her stress. When she'd originally designed tonight's menu, it had seemed the perfect gesture to show him how taken she was with him—but that was before she'd gotten an extreme case of cold feet. Or self-sabotage, as Carina would tell her.

But it was too late to change course, and so, at eight-thirty on the nose, she and Nori plated thirty chocolate bombes filled with chilled peach soup.

“Go ahead,” she told the servers. “I'll be right out. I'll make a grand entrance.”

When she walked into the dining room, the crowd applauded. All except Knox, who was staring at the bomb in front of him as though it were an actual bomb.

When she reached his side, she whispered, “Is something wrong?”

The question seemed to shake him from his trace. He refocused his eyes on her, and in them, she read tenderness and heat. “It's peach soup,” he said almost reverently.

She nearly stroked his cheek before thinking better of it. “I thought that might be a nice touch. Kind of brings everything full circle, you know?”

“It's more than a nice touch. It's perfect.” He stood and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. Then he leaned in close to her ear. “Thank you for giving me a second chance to try the peach soup.”

Grinning, Knox faced the crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen. I'd like you to meet Emily Ford, the mastermind behind tonight's fantastic dinner and the chef of a future five-star restaurant here at the resort that we're installing as part of the resort's renovations. Didn't she do a fantastic job tonight?”

Shayla led the room in another round of applause. Emily smiled and nodded her appreciation, but only until she noticed one of the dinner guests leaning back in her chair, her eyes on Knox's and Emily's joined hands.

Panic struck, swifter and harder than ever before. They'd basically just told all of Knox's investors exactly how intimate she and the company CEO were. Her eyes flashed wide as she pulled away from him, but the damage was done. She read it on enough faces in the crowd.

What a pretzel she'd contorted herself into for this job—for this man. He'd dared her to prove her worth and she'd tried. Like a mindless drone. He'd snapped his fingers and she'd performed for him. And now she was falling in love with him on top of it all. He held too much power over her. Her career, her heart. He knew her deepest secret and her greatest weaknesses. He controlled every aspect of her life.

Because she'd let him.

That wasn't love, not in any way that would last. If she ever hoped for a future with Knox, if she ever wanted them to have a chance at something real, then they'd have to come together as equals. Not boss and employee. The power differential was too great. There was no way for her to consider what to do, much less breathe, with Knox right there by her side clouding her judgment, even as he signed her paychecks. Instead of bending to another's will, instead of living in fear of discovery by her parents, timid in the face of the unknown, it was time for her to rise, secure in her bones. The only person she should have been trying to prove her worthiness to was herself.