‘Kitchen,’ he said, pointing to the door ahead. Despite the closed door, the sounds of a noisy argument in full swing reached them.
Leo felt a stab of annoyance at the tickle of guilt he felt. He could have allowed her to settle in first after the flight, but the fact was he didn’twanther to settle in.
It was irrational to feel guilt. This was the perfect situation to reveal the real Amy who hid under this new persona, the one that would run away when the going got tough. He just hadn’t expected it to bethistough so soon.
Knuckles resting on the door, he pushed it in a couple of inches and was greeted by a particularly crude epithet and winced. Pained frown still in place, he glanced down, only to discover Amy was not looking shocked, more amused by his reaction if the twitching lips were any indication.
‘Relax, Leo, I’ve heard worse. This is a kitchen, after all, although I must admit that is a new one on me. So inventive! I should have asked—who do I report to?’
‘Me.’
She slung him a look. ‘I mean, who is the head chef?’
‘You are. I thought that was understood.’
The way he was watching her reminded her of a cat playing with its prey. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart, which was presumably the plan, she lifted her chin.
‘Oh, I understand totally.’
Displaying a combination of self-possession and determination, she gave the high ponytail she wore in bouncy defiance a determined swish and lifted her chin before stepping into the room. Leo followed her. He had sat through many boardroom battles, but this was different, much more earthy. The blood on the walls in this argument might be tomato-based but it was all a lot morereal.
Despite the fact that a full-scale war appeared to have broken out in the kitchen, Amy immediately felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. This was her world, and she took in at a glance a very well-equipped kitchen that any restaurant would have been proud of, though no kitchen she had ever worked in had ancient beams sitting cheek by jowl with the latest in culinary high-tech.
It was actually a relief to have something to distract her from the things that Leo’s presence did to her. The prickle caused by the man who had guided her was still there, just under her skin, but her stomach had stopped its athletic flips and it was a relief to be able to split her focus and concentrate on something other than his dominating presence and, of course, her reaction to it.
Taking advantage of the fact that no one seemed to have noticed she was there, she allowed herself a few moments of invisibility to absorb the scene of general noisy chaos and diagnosed too many bosses, too many egos and an excess of testosterone. The ratio of male to female accounted for that, though she knew from personal experience that any woman here could give as good as they got.
First one person and then another noticed their visitors, until only the two main swaggering protagonists continued to eyeball each other, the noise now just the insults they were still hurling.
Amy put some extra distance between her and Leo, the action both professional and personal. She didn’t want to be seen as part of the management, acknowledging that while not out of sight or out of mind, it helped her brain function to distance herself from all that undiluted masculinity.
‘Don’t look at him,’ she said, thinking,Excellent advice, Amy, take it yourself, before inserting herself into the centre of the drama and adding in a soft, cool voice that nevertheless carried, ‘I’m in charge.’
A ripple of shock moved through the room like a wave, leaving shocked silence in its wake. A silence broken by the sound of liquid boiling over from a pan, sending plumes of steamy acrid smoke into the air.
Amy strode over to the stove and switched off the gas, directing a frowning stare into the contents of the pan while muttering. She slid a sly sideways glance in Leo’s direction.‘Hewouldn’t know a remoulade from a roulade.’
Someone laughed, which Amy, ever the optimist, took as a good sign.
‘Right.’ She swung back with a smile that gave no hint of the fact that her heart was hammering against her ribs, or the fact that the tall figure she had just mocked had his obsidian stare fixed like a laser on her.
She didn’t wilt. Instead, she channelled the adrenaline.
‘I’m Amy and…well, we can do the introductions later,’ she continued briskly, waving a hand around the room before walking across to a board where a menu was pinned and took it down. ‘So—’ her eyes flashed from the paper to the tall lanky man who had been at the centre of the disagreement ‘—dinner, for how many?’
‘Thirty,’ a voice supplied.
‘And the issue you were arguing over is…?’
‘I ordered lobster and this…’
‘I ordered what you said, and you said crab—’
Because the two men looked ready to face off again, Amy spoke over them.
‘Always annoying when there’s an order mix-up,’ she agreed with abeen there, done thatsigh. ‘I worked with an Italian guy who used to saygranchiowhen he made a mistake—it means crab, doesn’t it?’
There were several nods of agreement and several grins in recognition of the irony.
