The Rebel (10 page)

Although this time she'd try to hire a guy. Because watching Rachel and Theresa drool over Nate was wearing thin and the girls had only been around for a week. God, the constant giggling and jiggling was driving Frankie nuts.

Although she was not jealous. Or being possessive. Really.

She was on the way back to the hostess stand when a woman reached out and waxed poetic about the chicken she was eating. As the guest insisted her compliments be sent along to the chef, Frankie smiled, nodded and thought that short of slipping Nate a note, she wasn't sure how she was going to do that.

Nate had given her just what she'd asked for. He hadn't looked at her or spoken more than three words to her since he'd left her on the mountain. His inventory reports were on her desk in the morning and he was always busy at the stove whenever she came through the kitchen. When she'd given him his paycheck and tried to thank him for all his hard work, he'd nodded curtly and walked out on her.

Typhoid Mary had gotten more attention from a man.

This was really not what she wanted. They needed to have a good professional relationship and the silent treatment was making work uncomfortable. She also
couldn't really understand the total cold shoulder and wondered if maybe she'd hurt his feelings a little. But that seemed like a really arrogant assumption. Especially considering he had a fan club of nubile twenty-year-olds.

At the end of the night, she went back to her office and added up the business they'd done. Thirty-five meals, plus drinks, plus tips. Over twenty-five hundred dollars. More than they'd brought in over a single night in a long time.

All because of Nate.

She looked up from the receipts. If this continued, she was going to catch up with the mortgage just fine by the end of October. And the timing was great. The meeting with Mike at the bank had been tense, even though he'd assured her that he wasn't going to foreclose. She figured she'd call him in the morning, share a little good news and take some pressure off of him.

Joy stepped into the doorway, looking worn out. “Grand-Em's finally asleep.”

Frankie could imagine how her sister had spent the night. Distraction was the only thing that worked when the delusions got really strong and it was hard to come up with games and tricks for hours straight. Grand-Em might be losing her grasp on reality, but her mind was as quick as it always had been.

“How are you holding up?”

“I'm pooped. She's still obsessed about finding
her ring. She keeps insisting it's in the wall in her old bedroom. We also had more noise than usual downstairs so I think that kept her going, too. We sounded busy.”

“We were.”

“Nate's really wonderful, isn't he? We're so lucky he came by. He's made such a difference.”

Frankie nodded and glanced down at the evidence.

Her sister frowned. “You don't seem to like him much.”

“He's a good chef.” She kept her eyes fixed on the paper.

“You really think so?”

“Of course.”

“Have you told him?”

Frankie looked up. “Sorry?”

“Nate. In case you haven't noticed, he doesn't look real happy. Have you told him how much you appreciate his work?”

“I've tried. But I'll give it another shot.”

“Good. I'm heading up.” Joy lifted her hand and disappeared.

Frankie shuffled papers for a few minutes and then decided to grab the bull by the horns and go talk to him.

But the kitchen was empty. Everything was in its place, the dishwasher was churning over a load, the stainless-steel counters were wiped clean.

She headed upstairs. His door was open, his light was off, his bed empty.

Where was he?

Frankie went back down to the kitchen. The house was quiet, the guests having gone to bed early to sleep off their sunburns and swim-sore muscles. She went outside through the back door, hoping to find him on one of the porches.

The night was a tender one, the breeze off the lake gentle, the moon glowing overhead. But he wasn't in any of the wicker chairs and she was about to turn around when she saw him, twenty yards away, standing on the dock. He had his hands on his hips and was looking down into the water. She started across the lawn.

And stopped when he took off his shirt. He tossed it behind him carelessly. Then shed his pants, too. There were no boxers or briefs for him to remove.

Good God, his backside was fantastic.

She put her hand over her mouth, thinking she really shouldn't wonder what the front of him looked like. But, oh, man, she could just imagine.

What a beautiful, powerful, naked man. He was like something out of a fantasy, drenched in moonlight, the lake sparkling around him.

Nate glanced over his shoulder.

And caught her red-handed. Her heart rate spiked even more, if that was possible, and she wondered how she was going to explain herself. Yeah, see, I
was just out for a little stroll and, ah, damn, you're built like a Greek statue, did you know that?

But he showed no interest in her at all. Just turned back around and dove into the lake with a clean slice.

Frankie frowned, and as tempting as it was to race back to the house, she decided to be a grown-up. She went down to the dock, as if seeing a man who looked as good as he did in his birthday suit happened to her every night.

He stroked out some distance and then rolled over on his back. If he was surprised that she'd taken a seat on the dock, he didn't show it.

“Something wrong?” he drawled. As if that would be the only reason she'd seek him out.

Nothing's wrong, she thought. Other than the fact that the image of his butt was now tattooed onto the backs of her eyelids. Every time she blinked, she kept seeing that tight—

“In a manner of speaking,” she said huskily.

Yup, tonight was going to be such fun. Lying in the dark. Seeing his bare ass on her ceiling.

“Let's hear it then.” He swam to the dock and hefted his upper body out of the water. His forearms supported his weight while the bottom half of him stayed in the lake.

This she could deal with. All she had to do was forget he didn't have a bathing suit on. It wasn't like she could see anything.

Although, jeez, his shoulders were magnificent, the muscles straining under his skin. His hair was slicked back from his face, making his eyes seem fierce and his jaw especially hard. Or maybe that was all because of his mood.

She cleared her throat. “I want to thank you for all your hard work. I can't believe how business has picked up.”

“You're welcome.”

There was a long silence. She glanced down at her hands. “And I want to apologize for how defensive I got up on the mountain. Even though we have to keep things professional, you really were just trying to be nice and I basically bit your head off.”

“No problem.” His tone was bored.

“I should have handled that better.”

“Forget it. I have.”

He dropped back into the water, pushed off the dock and floated backwards.

Now why did that have to sting, she thought.

“Yeah. Well.” She pulled the scrunchie out of her hair and played with it.

“There anything else you have to say?”

“Ah, no.”

“Then you better head up to the house. I'm about to get out of this water and I can't imagine you're going to want to be sitting there when I do.”

She closed her eyes, picturing him emerging from the lake, water droplets clinging to his skin. He would
come over to her and urge her down onto the dock, getting her clothes wet as he laid on top of her and kissed her—

“Good night, Frankie,” he muttered.

She nodded, stood up and walked back to the house. Looking at the sky, she thought the night didn't feel the same. She wrapped her arms around herself. It wasn't quite so warm anymore.

W
HEN
N
ATE WENT DOWN
to the kitchen at five o'clock the next morning, he was thinking about whipping up some mousseline sauce. He wanted to cook something tricky. He wanted to get caught up in deftly manipulating temperature, in coaxing egg yolks and butter and flour into a sublime accompaniment for veal.

Because in the last couple of days, he'd lost his sense of humor, his ability to sleep through the night, and any semblance of equilibrium.

Damn it, but he couldn't get that woman out of his head. He vacillated between wanting to yell at her, needing to beg, or thanking the Lord she had the sense to put a wall up between them. And her little visit last night when he'd been skinny-dipping had been the kicker.

Because water, when running over naked skin, felt a lot like a woman's hands. Especially when the female you wanted was sitting on the dock in front of you.

As if he needed the flipping reminder that he was desperate for her. Even though she was resolute about
keeping them apart, he just couldn't seem to let the attraction go. First of all, he saw her every day. And even though he pretended to be busy as hell whenever she passed through the kitchen, he always watched her out of the corner of his eye. Talk about a recipe for disaster. He'd almost cut off his pinkie last night with a butcher's knife. And making things worse, he was sharing a bathroom with her. So every time he went in to take a shower, he thought about her naked, soaping herself down with the same bar he was using on his own body.

Man, if he didn't snap out of it, he was going to cut something off that wouldn't grow back. And have to start bathing in the lake.

At least this wouldn't last forever, he thought, opening the walk-in. Spike was on his way back to New York to scout out another place. And whether it was the right one or not, Labor Day would eventually come.

As Nate stepped into the cool, his eye caught a tomato that had rolled into a far corner. When he picked it up, the skin broke and the insides oozed all over his hand. The thing was rotted out, had probably been there for weeks.

This was totally unacceptable. One thing CIA had drilled into him was the importance of a clean kitchen. He should have done a complete scrub on the damn thing the moment he took over, but he'd been busy dealing with other stuff.

Like his fixation on his boss.

It took him close to a half hour to empty the walk-in, and when he was done, the kitchen looked like a farmer's market. There were squash and zucchini sticking out of pasta pots, corn still in the husks lined up on the table, heads of cauliflower and broccoli seated in chairs. He took the crates and steel bins the vegetables had been sitting in and hit them with the industrial spray nozzle that hung on the side of the dishwasher. Inside the walk-in, he disinfected the floor and every shelf with a bleach and lemon solution.

Then he started to tackle the kitchen floor. He was down on his hands and knees, his head wedged between the stove and the counter, his arm pushed back as far as he could force it, when he heard Joy's voice.

“My God, what brought this on?”

Your sister and her asinine need to be left alone, he thought.

Nate straightened, dragging the cloth towards him on the tile. It was black with filth when he picked it up. “I'm surprised you made it through state inspection. This place needs to be hosed down.”

Joy leaned a hip against the island. “Can I help?”

“Go out and say good morning to Stu.” He nodded at the window, to the truck that had just pulled up. “He's way early.”

Stu and Joy did their best to arrange the new produce on what remained of the counter space and then Joy went into the office to get a check, while Nate told the man what they'd need for the next delivery. Stu had just taken off when frantic footsteps were heard from overhead.

“Frankie must be up,” Joy said, glancing to the ceiling.

Nate was swallowing a curse when a man in a bathrobe burst into the kitchen from the dining room.

“There is an old woman in our bedroom! And she's cornered my wife!”

“Oh, no, Grand-Em.” Joy rushed over. “I'm so sorry. She's utterly harmless.”

“She has a hammer!”

Nate started to run after them, but Joy stopped him. “It's better if I deal with it.”

She was so sure of herself that he deferred to her command, overriding his instinct to help by getting back on his knees and rinsing out the rag. He was reaching behind the stove again when he heard a hiss that brought his head up. Frankie stood at the foot of the stairs, staring in disbelief at the chaos. Her hair was damp and she'd frozen in the process of tying it back.

“Tell me the walk-in didn't die,” she said.

“Walk-in's fine.”

“Did Stu come already?”

“Just left.”

“My God, what have you done?” He frowned as she marched up to the vegetables that were choking the island. The helpless, panicked look on her face quickly changed into anger. “Was Stu paid?”

“Of course.”

“With what?” she demanded.

Their eyes clashed as he got off the floor. “Rubles.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Not in the slightest.”

She jabbed a finger at him. “I thought you and I agreed you would submit orders through me.”

“And. I. Did,” he said through gritted teeth, not appreciating her tone.

“So what's all this? You don't have the authority to place orders or accept deliveries. You're way out of line.”

“Excuse me?”
He put his palms flat on the stainless steel and leaned over a thicket of romaine.

“What the hell do you think we're going to do with all this food? The walk-in is full already.”

Trying not to explode, Nate looked down at the floor that he'd been prepared to spend the next hour scrubbing.

“Screw this,” he muttered and went for the door. He wasn't sure where he was headed. As long as it was away from her, he didn't care if he ended up walking to Canada.

“Where are you going?”

“I can't deal with you right now.”

“But what about this mess?”

He threw the back door open. “Clean it up yourself or let it rot. I don't give a damn.”

 

F
RANKIE'S HEART WAS GOING
like a snare drum as Nate walked out on her. She looked around the kitchen, taking in a fortune in produce that was gradually wilting, and almost burst into tears. She could only imagine how much it had all cost and confronting the mammoth order was like being sucker punched.

This was precisely what she'd wanted to avoid. Some hotshot chef thinking he was the second coming and overdoing it. Still, she was surprised. Somehow she'd thought Nate understood the kind of financial constraints they were operating under. Especially after what she'd told him on the mountain.

Maybe he was getting back at her. Although that didn't seem like him.

Yeah, but just how well did she know the man?

Frankie picked up a sack of potatoes and muscled it over to the walk-in. Cracking the handle and propping the heavy door open with her hip, she tugged the weight inside and looked up. Her breath left in a rush.

The walk-in was spotless. And empty as the day it'd been installed.

She looked over her shoulder. There was a bucket of suds and some rags on the floor behind the island. The milk crates that held the lettuce and the broccoli as well as the six-and eight-quart stainless steel drop-ins that corralled the tomatoes, mushrooms and celery were almost dry next to the dishwasher.

“Oh…hell.” She put her hand on her forehead.

Twenty minutes later she had all the vegetables back in the cold and a pretty good idea of what she was going to say to him.

She headed for the barn and wasn't surprised she'd guessed right. Nate's lower body was sticking out from underneath the Saab, and given the urgent clanking noises, it sounded like he was being rough with his hands. No doubt he wished the car was in working order so he could put it to good use.

“Nate?”

The banging stopped. When he didn't say anything, she hitched up her pants and put down her pride.

“I'm sorry.”

The noises started up again, softer now.

“Nate, I totally jumped to the wrong conclusion. I should have known you wouldn't do something so irresponsible.” She waited for a response. When none came, she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know how badly I feel.”

Man, she was getting damn handy with the apolo
gies. Two in less than twenty-four hours. The only problem was, they didn't seem to work.

She turned away.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” he said.

Frankie wheeled around as he wriggled his body out and sat up, dangling his hands on his knees. His fingers were black with grime, and when he scratched his forehead, he left a smudge over his eyebrow.

“You didn't even give me a chance to explain.”

She closed her eyes. “I know. I was wrong. I over-slept, came downstairs and saw all that food and…I totally panicked. I've been running this place on a shoestring for so long. I figured you'd forgotten you weren't down in the city.”

“Trust me. I know where I am.” And the tone of his voice suggested he'd rather be in New York.

She didn't blame him. God, he must miss the excitement, the pace. He'd been here…more than two weeks, she thought. And even though she'd promised him he wouldn't have much to do, he'd been busy in the kitchen as well as working on the house.

“Why don't you take Tuesday night off?” she suggested. “I can even loan you my car if you want to go into town.”

“You trying to make it up to me?”

“I am.” She offered him a small smile. “And I want you to know that I really do appreciate the work
you've done. That walk-in is positively sparkling and your cooking is wonderful. You've done so much.”

He got to his feet and stared down at her. Didn't seem to be too open to anything she was saying.

“I—ah, I hope that you don't leave.”

“Because business is up, right?”

She nodded and thought he looked annoyed.

“Tell you what.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'll take the night off if you do, too. We'll go into town together.”

He shot her a sardonic smile as she started back-pedaling. “Oh, I don't—”

“Think about it in terms of business.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“Six weeks is a hell of a long time. You and I need to figure out how to work together or one of us isn't going to be standing at the end of the summer.”

“Why don't we just talk about it now?”

“Because I'm still pissed at you.” She hesitated and he picked up an Allen wrench. “You can take my offer or not. But if you don't, I'm not going to be here tomorrow morning.”

“That's one hell of an ultimatum.”

“And I don't play games. So what's it going to be?”

Frankie looked deeply into his eyes. “Is seven good for you?”

“Perfect,” he muttered as he got down on the floor and inched back under the car.

 

O
N
T
UESDAY NIGHT,
N
ATE
got out of the shower and toweled off, thinking that he'd never before had to coerce a woman into having dinner with him. Threatening to quit a job was a new addition to his dating repertoire and he couldn't say he was happy with the fresh approach.

Damn that woman. She'd pushed him away, refused his friendship and then insulted him. Not once, but twice. And he still wanted her. What the hell was it going to take to turn him off? Having her knock him upside the head with a two-by-four? He was a man who thrived on challenges, but this was ridiculous.

And no matter how many times he reminded himself that they weren't going on a date, he supposed on some deep level he was hoping she'd be dazzled by him and come around. But no doubt that wouldn't happen unless something hit
her
on the head.

So this was desperation. God, what a drag.

Nate left his room wearing clean everything. Socks and boxers were just out of the wash. Khakis and the faded polo shirt were fresh from the duffel. He looked as presentable as he ever got.

He tried to remember the last time he'd been in a suit. Years, probably. Ties irritated the hell out of him and the only jackets he could stand were the top half of chef's whites. And the
GQ
rebellion stuff wasn't a new trend. He and his mother had always fought over his wardrobe and she'd given up only
when he'd moved away from home and she didn't see him anymore.

So it felt a little odd for him to be wondering what Frankie would think if he were a sharp dresser.

She was waiting for him in the kitchen and he clamped his mouth shut so he didn't blurt out how good she looked. She was wearing a long, loose skirt and she'd left her hair down. Her blouse was just tight enough so that the curve of her breasts showed.

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodded as she picked up her bag and her keys. “George? We're going.”

The man came in from the pantry. “Where you guys headed?”

“Nowhere special and we'll be home soon.”

Nate wanted to shake his head. Yup, this was a woman looking forward to being alone with him, all right. Man, she kept at it and his ego was going to be the size of a cherry tomato at the end of the summer.

“Joy's going to heat up some dinner for you all,” she said to George.

“I can do that. She's busy with Grand-Em.”

Frankie smiled at the man. “You're thoughtful. We'll see you later.”

“So where are we going?” Nate asked as they stepped out the back door and walked over to the Honda. The night was coming on and the temperature cooling.

“The Silver Dollar Diner. The only other choices are tourist joints that are more bar than restaurant. They're noisy, full of college kids out for the summer. It would be hard to talk business in them.”