Fortune's Just Desserts by Marie Ferrarella Read Free Book Online Page B

had become saddled with Wendy, it had occurred to Marcos that the chef, whom both his aunt and uncle regarded as a wonderful addition to their restaurant,would ultimately be the perfect solution to his Wendy Fortune problem.
    It was only a matter of time before she would subject the renowned chef to her endless chatter and drive him crazy, Marcos thought. When that happened, he was fairly certain that Enrique would demand that a choice be made—either Wendy would have to go or he would.
    And that, Marcos thought cheerfully, would be no contest.
    So he waited.
    And hoped.
    And, one fateful April afternoon when he walked into the kitchen to check on the menu, for a brief shining moment Marcos thought that he was finally going to get his wish.
    The kitchen was partially empty. A couple of the assistant cooks as well as the dishwasher—a man, not a machine, because his aunt and uncle believed in hiring as many people as they could while still making a reasonable profit—were in the immediate vicinity.
    As was Wendy.
    Rather than working in the dining room or on the patio doing some last-minute set up for dinner, Wendy was standing in front of one of the industrial gas stoves. Her back was to him and at first Marcos couldn’t make out what had caught her attention.
    Crossing over to the massive stove, he circumvented it partway until he could see exactly what the woman was up to.
    The burner’s blue flame was licking the bottom of the three-quart cast iron pot that she was working with. Plumes of steam were rising up from the pot and she was vigorously stirring its contents.
    She seemed oblivious to his presence, although he did see the corners of her mouth curve ever so slightly. For a moment, he just stared at her, at her mouth. And then he roused himself, refocusing his mind.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” he asked her evenly.
    Wendy slanted an amused glance in his direction. “I guess I’m not doing it right if you have to ask.” She flashed a completely unselfconscious smile at him and announced, “I’m cooking.”
    He frowned. Since she’d come to work at Red, he’d been frowning more than he ever had before in his life. “I can see that.”
    Her expression was nothing if not total innocence. It almost drew him in. “Then why did you ask?”
    Mentally, he counted to ten, found it wasn’t high enough to calm him down, so he counted another ten before speaking.
    â€œThere seems to be some confusion here. You were hired to wait on tables. Waitresses do not take it upon themselves to mess around in the kitchen. It’s not part of their job description,” he ended sharply.
    Wendy listened to him patiently, waiting for himto finally stop. When he did, she told him, “I’m on my break.”
    How the hell was that an excuse? “That still doesn’t give you the right to run amok in Enrique’s kitchen. If he saw you—” Marcos did his best to make it sound like a warning and not reveal that he was hoping for a confrontation.
    â€œBut I do see her,” Enrique said, coming out of the huge freezer carrying a vat of cream ready to be whipped. Surprised, Marcos whirled around to look at the man just in time to see him set the vat down on the counter. “I am the one who told her she could experiment.” Coming around to Wendy’s side, Enrique paused to taste a sample of the chicken dish she was working on. Looking pleased, he took another taste, and then a third. Retiring the spoon to the side, the chef nodded his head in approval. “It is good.” He eyed her for a moment. “Are you sure you never cooked before?”
    â€œPerfectly sure,” Wendy answered, pride shining in her eyes. She wasn’t accustomed to real compliments. “Elise, our cook, wouldn’t let me anywhere near the kitchen.”
    The hard-boiled, temperamental chef looked at the man who had hired him away from what Enrique