Chapter 2

He shut off his motorcycle, got off, and approached the opened doors. Taped to the front window was a Help Wantedsign. He knew they could be after just a waiter or even a dishwasher, but he had to start somewhere here.

A man in his late twenties with sandy hair standing on ends came out of the kitchen area wringing his hands. “We’re closed.”

“Oh, sorry, I was coming about the sign.” Ryan gestured with his thumb.

“Fabulous. We need a chef.”

Ryan blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected it to be this easy. “A…sous chef?”

“No, a head chef.” The guy came close to Ryan and scrutinized him. “The recipes were already pretty much developed by the old chef, so that part should be easy.”

“Easy?”

“Sure, sure. And I’m desperate. What experience do you have?”

Well, here was the hard part. Ryan brought up his most winning smile. “I attended chef school for—”

“Great, you’re hired.”

“Excuse me?”

The man sighed. “Damon Mabry.”

“Uh, hi. Ryan Callahan. You the owner?”

“Nope. His brother. He’s on a vacation in Mexico. Left me in charge and it’s been nothing but headaches. The head chef just up and fucking eloped with the sous chef. And it’s the weekend. We’ll be full up with tourists. Like I said, I’m desperate. So unless you want to argue about having a job, you’re hired.”

“What’s the owner’s name?”

“Christopher Mabry. Chris will be back after the weekend and he can straighten this out then. In the meantime, Ryan, I really need you to start like now.”

Ryan nodded. “Okay.” How hard could it be? He’d had a couple of semesters of chef school. He’d been cooking for his friends all his life. And the guy said the head chef left his recipes. “But wait, no sous chef?”

Damon shrugged. “Not unless one walks in here in the next few hours asking for a job.”

“I think you can do the job.”

“Me? I’m just the gorgeous host that stands out front.”

Ryan laughed. “You know how to chop?”

He scowled. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Look, you’re in a bind, right? Everyone has to pitch in. You got a wife or girlfriend?” At Damon’s nod, Ryan smiled. “Bring her in, too.”

“Hey, I just hired you and you’re taking over?”

“Someone has to.”

Damon closed his mouth.

* * * *

Ryan was dead on his feet by the time he plated the last order for the night. Between Damon, Damon’s wife, Georgina, and a few of the wait staff he managed to have a sous chef at all times, which helped make the frantic night at least bearable.

He’d found himself changing a few of the previous chef’s dishes, and according to Damon there had been no complaints and even a few compliments. Sounded like a win to him.

Ryan surveyed the kitchen and didn’t even know where to start to begin the cleanup. His legs were wobbly and his eyelids at half-mast. Hell, when he’d left home this morning he had not expected to start work and for this many hours. He needed to get home and feed poor Jonesy.

He leaned against the closest counter and closed his eyes, intending to rest them for just a moment.

“Who the hell are you?”

Ryan jumped at the intrusion, his eyelids flying open. Standing just inside the kitchen was a guy in his early to mid-thirties with short-cropped hair and hazel eyes. He looked like he’d recently tanned and had a slight five o’clock shadow. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, his arms were crossed in front of his chest and his expression was less than friendly.

“Huh?” Okay, that was real intelligent. But the guy was hot, pissed off or not.

“I said, who are you? Where’s Frank?”

“No clue who Frank is, but my name is Ryan. Ryan Callahan. And you are?”

“Chris Mabry. I own this place. Why are you in my kitchen, Ryan Callahan?”

“Well, your brother hired me to be your chef.”

“My…what? Where is Frank?” Chris Mabry asked.

“If that’s the chef, apparently he eloped with his sous chef or something. You’ll have to ask Damon.” Ryan shrugged.

Chris stared at him, his jaw clenched. “Where have you worked before?”

Ryan blinked and straightened. “Excuse me?”

“Where have you worked before as a chef?” he asked the question slowly like he thought Ryan might be a moron.

Ryan wasn’t going to lie. “Nowhere. First chef job.”

“Not even as a sous?”

“Nope.”

The guy sighed. “Where’d you go to school? When did you graduate?”

Ryan smiled. “Well, actually, I didn’t. I started chef school but never actually finished it. I knew all the rules and stuff anyway, so I figured I didn’t need their classes.”

“I don’t believe this,” Chris grumbled. “I’m so going to kick Damon’s ass. Look, uh, Ryan, no offense, and thanks for whatever work you did today, but I need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

He nodded. “I see. So, basically, I’m fired, right?”

“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that, just you’re services aren’t needed.”

Ryan removed his apron and tossed it aside. “Okay. But I’m pretty sure I remember reading that by California law you have to pay me when you fire me.” He stuck out his hand, palm up. “Worked eleven hours, no lunch break, which I think means you owe me extra for that.”

Chris sighed. “Fine.” He pulled out his wallet. “Here’s five hundred bucks. That should more than cover for your time today. And thanks again.”

“Yeah.” Ryan pocketed the money. Hot, yeah, but an asshole. He didn’t need another one of those in his life. Good riddance. “See you around.”

He walked out of the kitchen and almost ran straight into Damon.