“Graciela, you’re only twenty-three. As much as I would love to accept your experience in cooking at your grandmother’s restaurant, as a lifetime of experience, I just can’t justify hiring a culinary student as a head chef.”
“Give me a chance. I promise I won’t disappoint you, Mr. Moreno.”
Sal frowned, flipping over to the next page in her résumé. “You have a bartender’s certification?”
“Yes.” She sat up again with a sharp arch of her brow. “But that’s not what I’m applying for.”
Sal glanced up at her. She looked so determined—and angry. “Well, I have openings for bartenders. We need them immediately.” He went back to reading her résumé because her dark piercing eyes were beginning to distract him. “You have a lot more experience in that area. I could consider you as a bartender and maybe when things got slow, I could get you in the kitchen to help out.”
“I could cook something for you; so you can see for yourself.” The detail of her eyes was becoming increasingly distracting. She wore no makeup. He was just beginning to take in the mesmerizing way her lashes draped over them, when her eyes suddenly crossed completely, as if to stare at her nose. She took her glasses off and squeezed her eyes shut.
“You okay?”
Her eyebrow lifted again, and she put her glasses back on. “Yes, I’m fine.”
He shook off the distraction. “Ms. Zendajas, I have no doubt by your passion that you’re a good cook. Unfortunately, we need cooks with working experience in a fast paced environment like—”
“Have you ever been to Juarez, Mr. Moreno?” She spoke almost through her teeth. Sal wondered if she’d ever looked into interview etiquette. Did she really think her constant interruptions were going to buy her points?
“Yes, I have, actually.”
“It doesn’t get more fast paced than that, when it comes to preparing Mexican cuisine, Mr. Moreno.”
“Can you stop calling me that?” Unlike his brothers, Sal had never been short on patience, but something about her refusing to call him by his first name had begun to get to him.
Graciela slid out of the booth. Sal hurried to slide out of his side and stood up ready to face off with her.
“Will you be considering me for the position?”
“As a head chef? No. But I do need a bartender.”
If looks could kill, he’d be a stinking corpse. “When can I expect an answer?”
“Well, I’ll have to discuss it with my brother but I’ll get back to you.”
“Thank you.” With that, she spun around and walked away.
Sal tried not to, but he couldn’t help take in her long legs and the behind that swayed just under the soft fabric of her dress. As annoying as she was, he had to admit she’d managed to intrigue him. Aside from her eyes, nothing else really stood out about her looks; in fact he probably wouldn’t have looked twice if he passed her on the street, but in a weird way her spunk had amused him. He sat down to examine her résumé a little further. It didn’t take long to find a small, but significant, inconsistency about her age. He knew it. The disappointment came as a surprise. Strike three.
CHAPTER 2
The bus rolled through the picturesque streets of downtown La Jolla and out into the beat up neighborhood of Chula Vista. Grace stared out the window, mentally going over her last interview. She’d thrown the stupid glasses away as soon as she walked out. Wearing them that whole time had been torture. Her headache had just begun to subside.
She exited the bus two streets before her usual stop. She had to swing by the meat market and pick up a few drumsticks. Chicken soup was on the menu for tonight’s dinner.
She hurried into the small mom-and-pop market, trying to snap out of the mood she’d fallen into during the interview.
“Buena’s tardes senorita Zendejas.” Armando, one of the butchers behind the counter, smiled brightly.
“Buenas tardes.” She didn’t even try to match the smile.
She pointed at what she wanted and let him know how much. Taking deep frustrated breaths, she grabbed an onion and a few carrots while Armando bagged up her drumsticks.
The disappointment weighed heavily—another interview gone south before it even started. Grace had seen the way he looked at her before he even knew anything about her. Only that she was way too young, which meant inexperienced. She was so sick of the assumptions.
So much for younger meaning open minded. The brother she spoke with dismissed her experience as unprofessional. It was infuriating. For him to deem her experience as unprofessional just because it was in her grandmother’s restaurant in Mexico was reprehensible. Where did he think all of his authentic dishes originated anyway? The more she thought about it, the angrier it made her.
The only thing the girls in her class had been right about was his looks. He certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes. But even his heavy lashes and perfectly dimpled smile didn’t erase the fact that he’d been just like all the other presumptuous hiring managers. That unattractive quality alone was enough to ugly any man in her head, no matter how good-looking he was on the outside.
She purchased her items and walked out into the declining sunlight. The damned buses were so undependable. She didn’t bother waiting for one. Instead she hurried along the few blocks to her apartment.
Ruben, her stepfather, was passed out on the sofa when she walked in. She winced, closing the door as quietly as possible. The keys in her hand jingled as she made her way past him. Damn.