chef.”
“I will take charge of the kitchen.”
If only that were true. “I need someone I can rely on to be here every day.”
His nod indicated he saw where she was going. “You want me to hire Cole.”
“The last time I was in Chicago I ate at his restaurant. It was excellent. I was looking forward to tasting what he’d created today.”
“You didn’t miss much.”
Harper spent a minute studying Ashton. There was something different about him today. Usually he breezed in, found something wrong with the construction or the fixtures and then stirred up everyone associated with the project before coming up with a fix for whatever he perceived wrong. Working with him had been stressful and invigorating, but in the end the restaurant was far better for his interference.
Today he seemed to be creating trouble for the sake of drama rather than because he had real issues with Chef Cole.
“Is there something going on with you?”
Her abrupt change in topic startled him into a moment of uncertainty. “Not a thing. Why?”
“Because you were on time for a change.”
“I believe I was an hour early.”
She gestured toward the door, making no effort to correct him. “And there’s no go bag.”
“Go bag?” he echoed.
“The black leather bag that you bring with you everywhere.”
“You mean my rolling duffel?” He pointed toward a far corner of the restaurant where the bag sat beside a semicircular corner booth. “Why do you call it a go bag?”
“Because it’s your crutch.”
Amusement narrowed his eyes. “My crutch.”
“When things get too tedious you make some excuse, grab the bag and head off in search of greater excitement.”
“Leaving you behind to clean up after me?”
She let a brief silence answer his question. “You’ve interviewed and rejected seven head chef candidates.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s your point?”
“I need you to hire someone. Chef Cole is that person.”
“You didn’t taste his entrées.” When it came to food, Ashton was a creative genius. She wasn’t surprised he couldn’t find someone who was capable of living up to his demanding criteria. “I found them lacking.”
“He has the experience and the organization to run this kitchen the way I expect it to be run—”
Ashton interrupted. “When you came to me about opening a restaurant in your hotel, I thought you understood that I had the last and final word on all creative.”
“Creative, yes, but this is about the management of the kitchen.” Which was why she was determined to get her way. She’d been able to control costs and manage the construction schedule, working hard to manifest Ashton’s vision for the restaurant without exceeding budget.
In that respect their working relationship meshed.
“But the kitchen is where the magic happens.”
“Except there’s no magic happening because we don’t have a menu or a head chef to work with the kitchen staff.” Pain shot through her head. She winced.
“We will be ready for the opening.” His absolute confidence should have shut down all her worries.
“But—”
“Trust me.” His deep voice broke into her protest, his soothing cadence catching her off guard.
“I do.” That’s not what she’d meant to say.
But she knew it was true. They might have had completely different philosophies on how to accomplish something, but he had proven time and again he was as capable of getting things done as she. Deep down she knew he’d plan a fantastic menu and win the love of customers and critics alike.
That it would happen in the frantic last hours before the door opened was what made her crazy.
Famous dimples flashing, he countered, “No, you don’t. From the minute I showed up here I’ve rubbed you the wrong way.”
Harper stared at him in helpless fascination. This was the Ashton Croft she’d been dying to get to know. The man who charmed smiles from people who’d seen nothing but hardship and violence. The dashing adventurer who’d on occasion gamely hiked into dangerous surroundings to share a meal with locals and educate his viewers about what was unique to the area. It was always intriguing and often stuck with her long after the credits rolled.
“If you knew that, why didn’t you try rubbing me the right way?” Harper regretted the words the instant they left her lips. They sounded like flirtatious banter. “What I meant was...”
Ashton shook his head, stopping her flow of words.
* * *
Not once since they’d first met nine months ago had she given him any hint that her interest in him went beyond his skills in the kitchen. Plagued by unruly flashes of lust for the überprofessional businesswoman and not wanting anything to interfere with the negotiations for the Las Vegas restaurant, he’d ignored his disobedient hormones and kept things strictly business.
But as they neared the date for the restaurant opening, he found it harder and harder to stop seeing her as an attractive—if too serious—woman.
It made him crazy that he couldn’t accept that she wasn’t interested and move on. This was Vegas. There were thousands of women arriving every day looking to have a good time. Perfect for a frequent flier like him. He rarely stayed in the same location for more than a few days. The time he’d spent in Vegas these past few months was the most settled he’d been since leaving New York City ten years earlier.
A low chuckle vibrated his chest. “Please don’t try to explain it,” he said. “I think it’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“That’s not true.” But she went no further.
“I think it is.”
Ashton had watched her walking the line between frustration and diplomacy with finesse and grace these many months. He wasn’t completely oblivious to how hard he’d made her life.
At the beginning of the project he’d been excited to put his creative stamp on Las Vegas. He hadn’t understood until it was too late how difficult his ideas would be to communicate. He’d demanded changes that irritated the designers and caused forward progress to halt. Forced by his filming timeline to oversee the restaurant from thousands of miles away, he’d found few things that met with his approval. The layout of the kitchen wasn’t to his satisfaction. Numerous shipments of lighting and furniture samples didn’t meet his expectations.
Then there were the filming delays caused by the Indonesian weather. Days of rain threw off their schedule. The crew joked that their ratings would skyrocket if they captured him soaked through, his clothes plastered to his body, but no one wanted to venture out into the mud and damp.
“Why don’t I tell Cole he blew the interview and then fix something delicious. You can tell me what’s bothering you while we eat.”
“The lack of a head chef is what’s bothering me.”
“There has to be something else. You’re not usually so testy.”
“I’m not testy. I simply don’t have time to eat with you.”
“Five minutes ago you were ready to sit down and taste everything Cole had prepared.” He crossed his arms and regarded her solemnly. “So I have to ask, what is it about my food you