Feel the Heat (Hot In the Kitchen) by Kate Meader Read Free Book Online Page B

hostess.”
    I’m the manager, you clod. Heart still slamming, she plastered on a bored smile. “Oh, please don’t raise your standards for me, Kilroy. Just like I won’t be lowering my standards to a fame-hungry megawhore like you.”
    Bingo. A flash of something flared in his eyes. Nothing so mundane as disappointment, more likely the annoyance that accompanies a bruised ego. Men like Jack Kilroy weren’t used to being told they weren’t good enough, especially by a member of the hoi polloi.
    “So you believe everything you read online? Pity, you might have enjoyed a visit to the lower depths.” With a theatrical turn, he strode to the end of the bar and took a seat.
    Well, she sure showed him, but why didn’t she feel better about it? Instead of the rush of empowerment she expected, she was left feeling like a nitwit. A turned-on nitwit. Who needed contraception when they had a mouth as big as hers?
    Tad held up the keys to his Harley and jiggled them. “Poor Lili. Looks like you won’t be feeling anything hot and hard between your legs anytime soon.”
    Chapter Three
     
    Jack leaned his elbows on the bar and steepled his fingers. He had reached a point where it was easier to take the hits than disabuse people of their precious preconceptions. Hack. Sellout. Whore . Since Ashley’s post-breakup media blitzkrieg, he refused to read anything written about him, but tuning out an in-your-face insult like that required a different level of fortitude.
    The less time he spent in his restaurants, the more he found himself on the receiving end of the snide, the smug, and the outright scornful. There was nothing he’d prefer than to be working the line at his New York kitchen, Thyme on 47th, instead of traipsing all over the country like a glorified carnival barker. Damn, he was tired. An unsettlingly soul-deep tired that had little to do with his road-warrior status. Keeping Jack Kilroy front and center had turned into the biggest challenge of his life, and not for the first time in the last six months, he questioned whether he was up for it any longer.
    But the new show would be different. Less travel, studio-based, and a chance to take his brand to the next level. He didn’t want to recommend a particular skillet; he wanted his name on the box. He didn’t want one cookbook; he wanted twenty with translations in thirty languages. Mostly he wanted to show people how to make a restaurant-quality meal for a quarter of the price.
    Preferably with Jack Kilroy–branded cookware.
    Like any enterprise that required a public face and hard work, there were pitfalls. Lack of privacy for one. Bloodsuckers who made a living off gleefully reporting his mistakes and grabbing compromising pictures of him. Or the people he loved. His sister’s face, scared and hunted, flashed before him. It was bad enough he continued to fail her every damn day; he couldn’t even treat her to an unmolested dinner in public. What a cliché he had become. The brilliantly successful professional who couldn’t negotiate the thorny path of his personal life. The notorious celebrity afraid to trust any woman who piqued his interest.
    And we’re back. That Cara’s sister held him in such low esteem should have been enough to dismiss her as just another member of his know-it-all public, fond of regurgitating the crap spewed by every lurid tabloid outlet. Why, then, was his body zinging and every nerve on fire?
    He had forgotten that feeling, that excitement when something new was starting. A new recipe. A new restaurant. A new woman. It galvanized him, helping him overcome the fatigue. Then he remembered his agent’s admonishments and his bones ached, weary again.
    Do not engage the local talent.
    He risked a glance in Lili’s direction. If only the local talent weren’t so damn engaging.
    The bartender tossed a coaster down and asked him what he needed. Some peace and quiet and a six-month holiday to sort out his life. Not that there was a chance