LITMIR.BIZ

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      He frowned at the fish and chips she put in front of him. “This isn’t the only item I questioned,” he said. “I want to taste the others, too.”

      “Try this first,” she said, making no effort to conceal her certainty. “Taste it and weep. I’m going to step back a little so you’ll have room to come crawling to me.”

      Yeah, right. She’d served fish and chips. How good could it be?

      He was willing to admit she had the presentation nailed. The cream-colored oval plate contained three pieces of fish, waffle-cut fries and brightly colored coleslaw in a cabbage leaf.

      “Got any malt vinegar?” he asked.

      “Not a chance.”

      “The diners may want it.”

      “Not after they taste the fish. I’ll allow them to use it on the waffle fries, if they like.”

      “How generous. Will you be posting a sign explaining that?”

      She grinned. “I thought I’d just put it on the menu. You know, an asterisk by the menu item, then a little note at the bottom explaining the rules.”

      Her confidence grated on him. He cut off a piece of the fish and tasted it.

      Crunchy batter, but he’d expected that. Still, it was surprisingly crisp without being too hard. As he chewed, the flavors exploded on his tongue. The fish was nice and mild, yet fresh. There was also a hint of spice…No, wait. It was more sweet than spicy.

      He took a second bite to try and figure out what she’d put into the batter. Something Thai? No, but chilies of some kind. And what was that tang?

      He swore silently. This was better than good—it was addictive. He had to consciously hold back so he didn’t scarf down the entire plate of fish. Instead he deliberately turned to the fries.

      The waffle cut made them look more elegant than other fries and he could see they’d been seasoned. He bit into one. Crispy on the outside, but soft and potato-y on the inside. And damn if the spices here didn’t add something extraordinary.

      He moved on to the coleslaw and that blew him away. He should have known. Penny loved to experiment until she found exactly the right blend of seasonings. No doubt she’d been working on these recipes for months.

      He looked at her. She stood just off to the side, her arms folded, her expression patient.

      “You win,” he said with a sigh. “It’s great. I don’t know what you’re putting in the fish batter—”

      “I’m not telling,” she said with a self-satisfied smile. “Chef’s secret.”

      “Figures. Put this on the menu, along with everything else I questioned.”

      Her smile turned smug. “I already did. Naomi called the order in to the printer this morning.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “WILL SOMEONE GET the goddamn salmon off the back burner,” Burt growled, his low voice thick with fury.

      “It’s not my salmon, you sonofabitch,” Juan told him, then plunged his knife into a leek and neatly sliced it in two.

      Penny ignored the usual high level of profanity, the male posturing and the jostling as her new kitchen staff learned to work together. Over time they would perfect a delicate dance that provided meals at rapid speed, while maintaining taste and quality, but for the first few nights there would be plenty of mishaps.

      Nothing huge, Penny thought, willing the fates to smile on her. A cocktail party for five hundred was just the warm-up. Tomorrow they would be serving dinner for real.

      Edouard, her sous-chef, whipped up more sauce for the corn cakes. “The salmon is mine,” he said, not bothering to look up as he drizzled in extra-virgin olive oil. “You girls leave it alone.”

      A restaurant kitchen was mostly a man’s world. Penny had learned to deal with it in culinary school. At first she’d been shocked by the insults, pet names that would make a hardened criminal blush and the need for even more creative swearing. In time she’d come to see it as little more than the specialized language of the kitchen. She didn’t usually participate, but if necessary, she could nail every one of her staff with enough profanity to shock them into silence. Still, she preferred to pick her battles.

      Someone dropped a tray of honey-grilled shrimp on the counter. Naomi immediately went to work dressing the plates, first squirting on a dollop of sauce, then adding a sprig of herb and a dusting of green onion. There were demi-cups of lobster bisque, delicately balanced waffle fries with tiny bits of batter-fried fish on top, seared salmon on corn cakes and an assortment of desserts.

      Penny couldn’t hear much over the hiss of the steamer, the roar of the grill and the chatter of the staff, but a glance at the clock told her the cocktail party had been underway at least thirty minutes.

      “I have to go,” she muttered, unbuttoning her coat as she headed to her office.

      “Yes,” Edouard called after her. “If you do not go now, we won’t get any of the credit for the food. Go. Mingle. Come back and tell us we are brilliant.”

      “Sure thing,” Penny said, then slipped into her office. She closed the door behind her and shrugged out of her coat.

      Underneath she wore a low-cut silk sweater and a black jacket that matched her slacks. She’d traded in clogs for high-heeled boots. Her long hair hung loose, which made her a complete disaster for the kitchen, but her job tonight wasn’t about cooking—it was about making nice with Cal’s definition of Seattle’s beautiful people.

      She checked her makeup, then stepped back as her door opened. Naomi stuck her head in.

      “There are two waiters I’m considering,” her friend said. “I need your help in picking. I’ll point them out to you and you can let me know what you think.”

      “Okay.”

      Naomi smiled. “You look nervous. Don’t be. It’s going great.”

      “You’ve been in the kitchen. You can’t know that any more than I do.”

      “I have a feeling.” She paused. “Wasn’t that a song from the movie Flashdance? ” She hummed for second. “Or is it ‘What a Feeling’? I’m dating myself, aren’t I? Would it help if I said I was twelve when I saw the movie?”

      “Were you?”

      “I honestly can’t remember.”

      Naomi had turned forty last December and had celebrated with a long weekend in Mexico and a string of hunky cabana boys. Penny had always admired her friend’s ability to make her own fun.

      “Nice sweater,” Naomi said, nodding at the emerald green fabric.

      “I figure I’ll show off cleavage while I’ve got it.”

      “Good plan. You hardly have any tummy at all, but the jacket hides the little that is there. Come on. You can’t stall here forever.”

      Penny nodded and let Naomi lead her out into the main restaurant. As they walked out of the kitchen, a young blond waiter walked by. Naomi grabbed his arm.

      “What’s your name?” she asked.

      He grinned at her. “Ted.”

      “Good.” She turned to Penny. “That’s candidate number one.”

      Penny was still laughing when she turned to face the crowd.

      Her humor faded as she took in the sheer number of people milling in the main dining room. They’d sent out over five hundred invitations and from the looks of things, everyone had decided to show up.

      Soft music was barely audible over the general din of conversation. People stood in groups, chatting and laughing, while

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