Still, she was right back to her bargaining and manipulation.
“What good would it do you to work at Fusion? You need a master chef to stage with and complete your training, correct?” he reminded her, frustrated by her tenacity over this topic.
“Yes, but I could continue to fill in until you find one. With any luck, the chef you hire will want a stage. Knowing the caliber of chefs you always choose in your restaurants, I’m sure he or she will be acceptable to my school in order to get my degree. I’m very good at what I do, Lucien. I have talent.”
He closed his eyes briefly and glanced away. He hated the note of desperation in her tone. “You needn’t sound so defensive. I know you have talent. Do you think I didn’t sample selections of your lunch?”
“I hadn’t realized,” she said, her surprised tone sounding genuine.
“I wouldn’t serve my patrons anything that wasn’t up to my standards. You surpassed them. You have an innate understanding of the French and Moroccan blend I’m looking for.”
“Aha!”
His fierceness returned like flicking whip at the sight of her smug grin. Perhaps she sensed his knife-sharp lust mingling with anger, because she forced her smile to vanish. For a few seconds, they just regarded one another in silence.
“I agree with what you said. I didn’t have many friends in Paris,” she said softly. “But you were my friend once, Lucien, when we first met in Nice when I was a child. Lend me a hand again. Please.”
She was ruthless. He suspected she knew very well that he’d respond positively to a wide-eyed, sincere plea. Still, respect for her tenacity tempered his irritation.
“I am a fool to even consider it,” he said after a billowing silence. “But I suppose it will allow me to monitor you even more closely.”
She scowled at that. She really did delight him at times. When she noticed his fond smile, she smoothed her expression. “I won’t disappoint you. You’ll see. I will make this work.”
He stepped toward her. “You will not tell your mother and father, or anyone of our common acquaintance in France, that you know of my location. You will not say a word to anyone here in Chicago that we knew each other previously. To everyone else in the world, we just met last night. You aren’t to mention anything about our former acquaintance. Not. One. Thing,” he said succinctly. “Am I making myself clear, Elise?”
“Crystal,” she assured.
“You will follow my instructions in regard to your job without back talk and sass. The second you step out of line or try to manipulate me, you will know a consequence. I will not have you defying me day in and day out. If you can’t agree to that, then you can’t stay at Fusion. Those are my terms. I will put you on a salary until I can find a new chef. If and when you enter your official training again, your salary and official job here will end.”
“I have enough money set aside to get me through the stage. If you pay me a salary until my training begins, I can stretch what I have to make it work.”
He gave her a droll glance, his gaze sticking on the vision of her reddened cheeks and lips. No, it was not his lustful imagination. Little Elise Martin had been aroused by her punishment. Very aroused. It was going to be such a pleasure, training her to his hand. His cock throbbed next to his thigh, as if in protest at being ignored. It only added to the boiling brew of emotion he experienced. He turned away from the intoxicating sight of her, worried that if he inhaled in such close proximity, he might catch her scent. He would snap then, for certain.
“Your papa would not see you starve,” he said sardonically, moving around his desk.
“No. But I would starve myself before slithering back to him for another handout.”
He lowered to his chair, glad the desk blocked his still primed arousal. He found her quiet conviction appealing. Elise had what it took to make a success of whatever she attempted. It was her doubt in her strength, determination, and perseverance—in herself—that was her demon. Whether she could conquer that demon or not, Lucien was unsure.
He forced his mind to the practicalities at hand.
“I’ll have Sharon bring you a job application. I’ll have a contract drawn up for you as an interim chef. Saturday is market day,” he said, picking up an invoice and studying it. “Since you’re so adroit at driving a race car, I assume you can drive a four-wheel-drive truck?”
He glanced up when she didn’t immediately reply. “You might have heard how much I value locally grown food in my restaurants. I want the freshest, most pristine, locally grown ingredients. It’s one of my chef’s duties to shop for the items he or she needs for the week at a farmers’ market. There is more to being a chef than just cooking, Elise,” he added when she continued to look amazed.
“Of course. I know how important marketing is,” she said defensively.
He nodded. “But being new in town—in the country, for that matter—I’m sure you’ll need some guidance through the process. Usually Javier or Evan will go with you to assist, but this Saturday, I will. We should get there early to get the best produce. Can you be ready by six?”
“Yes.”
He studied her through a narrowed gaze, sensing her bewilderment. Good. She’d been throwing him off balance since her arrival last night. It was about time she looked a little tongue-tied. “I’ll need your address in order to pick you up.”
“I’ll just meet you near the market if you tell me where,” she said breathlessly.