Secret Ingredient: Love Page 5

  “Who said I was nervous?”

  “Afraid then.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said defensively. “You just never mentioned that the recipes I develop will be subject to a family thumbs-up.”

  “We’re not known as the meddling Marchettis for nothing. And anyone who cooks like you has nothing to worry about.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Then we have a deal?” He held out his hand again.

  She hesitated two beats before reaching across the table to put her small hand in his. “Done,” she said, then resumed eating.

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief. All hurdles successfully cleared. But he couldn’t help wondering why it had been so important for her to know the reason he wasn’t actively dating. His answer had obviously swung her pendulum in the direction of an affirmative answer to his job offer. But his curiosity got the better of him.

  “Tell me, Fran, if I had said I was single, available and eagerly looking for someone, would you still have accepted the job?”

  She chewed thoughtfully for several moments. “My answer would have been the same.”

  “But?” he prompted.

  One corner of her full mouth lifted wryly. “I’m not sure how you knew there was a ‘but,’ but you’re right. I need the job. That’s not a national secret. And thank you very much for the offer. But I would have been on pins and needles.”

  “Why?”

  “Waiting for you to hit on me.” She looked taken aback for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud. “Not that you would,” she amended. “You’ve been very professional and I’d expect nothing less. But the possibility could have existed, and I’d have been tense, waiting for the world’s cleverest pickup line.”

  “Like ‘what’s your sign?”’ he asked wryly.

  “That’s ancient history. You really are out of practice.”

  “So what is the current come-on dialogue?”

  She thought for a minute. “I can’t even tell you. It’s been a while for me, too.” Her forehead puckered slightly and her cocoa-colored eyes narrowed, as if she was remembering something unpleasant.

  Why? A woman as attractive, lively and sexy as Fran Carlino should have men waiting in line. Yet not only was that not the case, he wasn’t convinced that she would have taken the job if he’d told her he was available. He had a feeling her wariness was more than just not wanting to follow in her mother’s footsteps with a husband and family. What had happened to make her gun-shy?

  This was none of his business. Their acquaintance had progressed to employment. That didn’t give him the right to her life history. In fact, the less he knew the better. And his parachute had just opened, he realized. Neither he nor Fran was interested in anything personal. There was safety in numbers, or at least in being on the same page in the cookbook.

  “Well, I couldn’t be more delighted that you accepted my offer,” he said, meaning every word. “You’re the right choice for the position. I’m looking forward to seeing what you cook up in the corporate kitchen.”

  “Me, too.” She held up her wineglass. “Here’s to a successful business association.”

  She took a sip of her wine, then tucked a wayward strand of brown hair behind her ear. The glare from the light over her table put a glisten on the moisture clinging to her top lip. He suddenly had an almost overwhelming urge to kiss it away, to know if her mouth was as soft and exciting as it looked.

  “I didn’t know you’d been married,” she said out of the blue.

  The sudden stab of discomfort from her remark almost distracted him enough to keep him from noticing that she’d turned the conversation away from herself and their professional connection, back to him.

  “I wasn’t married,” he answered.

  “But I thought… You said…” She stopped.

  “I said I fell in love. Beth and I never married.”

  He pulled in a deep breath in spite of the guilt and pain that settled in his chest—two old friends that he’d learned to live with.

  “Why not?” Fran asked softly, her brown eyes filled with sympathy.

  “This from a woman who thinks marriage is equivalent to serfdom.”

  She looked sheepish. “But I’m not the average woman.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me about that.”

  “Did you just pay me a compliment or cut me off at the knees?”

  He folded his napkin and set it on the table before leaning back in his chair. “I was merely stating a fact.”

  “So why didn’t you tie the knot with Beth?”

  “I wanted to wait until my career with the company was well established before taking that step. He who hesitates is lost,” he added softly, hoping he’d successfully sifted the bitterness from his tone.

  “So you wish you had?”

  He nodded. “More than anything, Beth wanted to be a wife, mother, homemaker. I could have given that to her for what little time we would have had. But I thought other things were more important.”

  “Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” she said. “Maybe you weren’t sure? About being in love?”

  He shook his head. “I was sure. Just short-sighted,” he said, pushing his glasses up more firmly on his nose. Her fleeting smile at his pun tugged at his heart. “I thought I was being noble. When we married, I wanted to be able to devote more attention to her, our relationship and establishing a home than my job. As it turned out, that’s all I have now.”

  “Seems to me your niche in the business was assured. Even the third son isn’t going to get canned if there’s a spot for him.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Just that I can understand channeling energy into your career if you’ve just been hired by a company. Heaven knows I plan to give it my best shot. In case you were wondering. But you were groomed from childhood for the family business. Your position was secure. You and Beth could have married.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve told myself that a million times?” He didn’t even try to suppress his bitterness. “Maybe I’d have a child now. A part of her still with me.” His voice rose a notch.

  “I’m sorry.” Fran shook her head. “There I go, getting myself into trouble with my mouth again. I’d be better off putting food in it instead of my foot.”

  He could think of a much better way to keep her mouth out of trouble. The idea flashed into his mind, and he felt even more disloyal to Beth’s memory. “Forget it.”

  “I’ll try. But first I’ve got one more question.”

  Somehow he knew she would ask it no matter what he said.

  “Okay. One more,” he agreed, bracing himself.

  “Why are you so convinced that you get only one shot at love?”

  “Heredity.”

  “There’s a Marchetti gene for being a one-woman man?” she asked.

  “Or a one-man woman. Rosie fell in love with her husband, Steve, when they were just kids. He’d been abandoned at a bus station by his mother and was being raised by his grandmother. Nick took him under his wing, and Steve was sort of unofficially adopted by the family. Rosie believed in him when he didn’t believe in himself.

  “And you can blame my father for us confirmed bachelors,” Alex added.

  “I’m not sure blame is the right word. But why your father?”

  “He’s been chasing my mother around the kitchen—that’s just a figure of speech. Don’t read anything into it on the gene scale, or because you’ll be working in my kitchen,” he clarified at her narrow-eyed look. “Let me rephrase. They’ve been together for thirty-five years.”

  “That’s pretty special in this day and age,” she agreed.

  He nodded. “My brother Joe hinted that they’d had problems at one point when we were small. They separated for a short time. But Tom Marchetti loves Flo—for better or worse.”

  “What about your brothers? Abby is obviously a happy woman with your brother Nick.”

  “He gave her a job in one of the restaurants when she was
just eighteen years old and she’d lost her parents in an auto accident.”

  “That’s awful,” Fran said. “I mean about her parents, not the job.”

  “It took them a long time to get together, but one look at Abby and there was no one else for Nick. He was even secretly married for a short time, before that. When he opened a restaurant in Phoenix, a pregnant waitress was dumped by her boyfriend and Nick thought he loved her and wanted a family.”

  “What happened?”

  “The boyfriend had a change of heart and she had the marriage to Nick annulled. That made him gun-shy. But true love won out for him and Abby.”

  “What about Joe? Isn’t he the one getting married on Valentine’s Day?”

  Alex grinned. “You’re good.”

  “I’ve had training in keeping track of large numbers of brothers. It’s the Carlino curse.”

  He chuckled. “Joe met his fiancée in the hospital when Rosie gave birth. Nurse Liz got his attention when she dragged him out of my sister’s room by his ear. He tried to charm her into letting him stay after visiting hours were over. Up until then, he was pretty vocal about his confirmed bachelor status. They had some things to work through, but once he saw her it was all over but the shouting.”

  “Which will happen at the wedding.”

  “That’s the plan. Luke and I are the last bachelors.”

  “So how does a confirmed bachelor like yourself fill his time?”

  “Work. It saved me after Beth died.” He took in a big breath and waited for the pain to hit. Vaguely surprised when it was dull to nonexistent, he continued. “The family business kept me from giving her the family she wanted, but it was also my salvation.”

  He’d buried himself in work to get through every day without Beth. One day turned into another, then another until somehow the years had passed. He liked what he did for a living and was grateful to have it. But he’d just told Fran about his siblings pairing off and their personal happiness. He felt left behind, lonely and vaguely discontented.

  “I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth again. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

  “It’s not painful.” And to his shock, he realized that was true.

  “So you’re past the pain of losing Beth, and you really do believe that we only get one shot at love?”

  “I do.”

  “Then what’s your excuse? For working so hard now, I mean?”

  “You said it yourself. Second-son syndrome.”

  “I was teasing.”

  He toyed with the fork on his dessert plate. “Maybe. But you made me realize something.”

  “Wow. Maybe I should hang out my shingle for family counseling.”

  “No way. For someone who knows her way around herbs and spices the way you do, it would be a crime.”

  “Thank you. But don’t for a minute believe a compliment will distract me from ferreting out information. What did you realize?” she asked.

  “That a man needs goals. The business is doing extremely well, thanks to my brothers. None of us has to wonder where our next meal is coming from. But I want to make my mark in the company. I’m working for the satisfaction of a job well done. I want this line of frozen cuisine to be an unqualified success.”

  “I still think you’re using frozen foods to warm your bed at night.” She smiled at her metaphoric contradiction.

  “That’s not what this is about. And I thought we agreed no more armchair psychology.”

  “Sorry. I forgot.”

  “I’m beginning to see that it’s a habit of yours to forget when you have every intention of speaking your mind.” He stood up. “Before you get on a roll, I think it’s time for me to go.”

  She stood also and followed him to the door. “So when do you want me to start?”

  “When are you available?”

  “Now. My contract is up. The loose ends are essen tially tied up. I can give two weeks’ notice. That will make it politically correct.”

  “How about two weeks, then? Which will be the middle of December. Do you mind starting before Christmas? We could push back the starting date to the first of the year if—”

  She shook her head. “The sooner we get going on your project the better. I’m committed to helping you overcome second-son syndrome. Together we can show the rest of the Marchettis that third son does more than twiddle his thumbs in that corner office.” She smiled as she opened the door.

  For several moments, they stared at each other. Alex realized he was strangely reluctant to leave. Partly because he’d enjoyed her company, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to say goodbye.

  Oh, he knew the word. Goodbye. Two syllables. But should he shake her hand? After all, this was business. But it felt cold. So wrong for a woman with Fran’s verve, animation and friendliness. Kiss her on the cheek? Warmer. But not his first choice. On the mouth? Bingo. Hot. Boiling, in fact. But inappropriate, not to mention unprofessional. Unfortunately, it was very much what he wanted to do. This was the damnedest job interview he’d ever conducted.

  He decided it would be best not to touch her at all.

  “Good night, Alex,” she prompted.

  “Good night. I’ll see you in two weeks, Frannie.”

  He was out the door before she could say “Smile when you call me that.” But he couldn’t help smiling with anticipation.

  It just seemed a long time until he would see her again.

  Waiting to start her new job had been the longest two weeks of Fran’s life. Although not nearly enough time to forget the timbre of Alex’s voice when he’d called her “Frannie.” The hated nickname wrapped in seduction had rendered her speechless. And then she couldn’t seem to get it out of her mind. Ever since accepting the job, she’d agonized over whether or not she’d made the right decision.

  Now it was her first day of work at Marchetti’s. Alex had introduced her to his three brothers and given her the tour of the corporate offices. Not once had he used the husky tone that sent shivers through her. But he had saved the best for last: the first-floor kitchen used for research and development.

  It was large, probably as big as her apartment, with an island work center in the middle. There was a stainless steel refrigerator and a matching freezer, both walk-ins, no less. She glanced inside a well-stocked pantry that would hold her queen-size bed with enough space left to walk around it. The rest of the room had cupboards, lots and lots, covered with countertops tough enough to chop and dice on. There were several ovens and microwaves.

  “This is terrific,” she said. “And that adjective doesn’t do it justice. It’s really awesome.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” He pointed to a door on one side. “Through there is the employee lounge.”

  “Handy.”

  “We try to think of everything. Even guinea pigs—I mean loyal, committed employees eager to test our latest concoctions.”

  He grinned and her world tilted until she wanted to grab on to something—preferably him—to steady her self. Alex stood beside her, hands on hips. His red tie was loosened and the long sleeves of his powder blue shirt were rolled up. In navy slacks and black leather loafers, he appeared the successful executive he was.

  Her culinary training had taught her to use all her senses—taste, touch, sight, sound and smell. Unfortunately, that training spilled over into the rest of her life, including sensory data regarding Alex. He was good-looking, with a wonderfully rich, deep voice that burrowed inside her and made her stomach quiver. And he smelled so good, a combination of some masculine, spicy aftershave and soap that made her want to snuggle against him. She hadn’t touched or tasted him. But with little or no effort she could imagine how it could be akin to a religious experience. Her susceptible heart went pitter-pat.

  She didn’t know what to say next, and with luck her self-consciousness didn’t show. She hoped he would assume that she was impressed, and just looking around the corporate kitchen had rendered her speechless.

  “Feel f
ree to explore the cupboards,” he offered. “They’re loaded with all kinds of gadgets. But you should take inventory and let me know if there’s something else you need.”

  “I’d love to snoop,” she agreed. That would give her an excuse to move away from his side without looking like an army in full retreat.

  Fran spent the next few minutes opening drawers and cupboard doors, investigating all the nooks and crannies. There was an impressive array of knives in all sizes, a food processor, blender, two graters—hand and electric—peelers, choppers, dicers and slicers. This kitchen had all the bells and whistles she could imagine.

  After a hands-on exploration of everything in the room, with the exception of her boss, she took a deep breath and leaned against the white countertop. “If there’s anything missing, I don’t see it.”

  “Good.” He pointed to the far side of the room and a built-in desk that matched the birch cabinets. “There’s a computer set up. You can keep recipes, records, notes on it if you’d like. I’m not sure how you work and track results. But I would be happy to give you an orientation on the programs if you’d like.”

  “Great.” She nodded with satisfaction. “I take hard copy notes about everything I work on—ingredients, prep time, cook time, level of success based on certain criteria. Nutrients, food value, that sort of thing. Entering the results into the computer is the last thing I do. It keeps me organized. But I like to maintain the scrap paper, too.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Whatever works.”

  “Okay,” she said, nodding with satisfaction. “It’s time to talk turkey. Or should I say linguine.”

  “Translation?” he asked, lifting one dark eyebrow.

  “We need to discuss what entrées you want in the launch campaign.”

  “Right. Let’s go back up to my office.”

  “I’m right behind you, fearless leader.”

  He shook his head as he led the way to the elevator. “Is it too much to ask that for the duration of our professional collaboration you could give me some respect?”

  Fran knew he was kidding. “I thought that’s what I just did. Is there another form of address that would work better for you? Like Emperor or Pharaoh, or your exalted highness?”