A Taste of You
Authors: Irene Preston
A Taste of You
A Give Me a Taste Novella
By
Irene Preston
A Taste of You
A Give Me a Taste Novella
By: Irene Preston
Published by Fated Desires Publishing, LLC.
© 2015 Irene Preston
ISBN: 978-1-62322-189-8
Cover Art by Syneca
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person or use proper retail channels to lend a copy. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the publisher at
[email protected]
.
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
A Thank You from Fated Desires
About the Author
DEDICATION
To The Darlings, for the cheese, the encouragement, and listening to me whine. To Rebecca, without whom I never would have met Carlo and Garrett. To Pixie and Viv, my emergency response team. And to Bones, for putting up with it all.
A Taste of You
Hell’s Kitchen has nothing on the flames Giancarlo and Garrett ignite at Restaurant Ransom…
Garrett Ransom is America’s hot chef du jour. He has a Michelin-starred restaurant in New York City, a hit reality TV show, and a new man in his bed every week. Yes, he secretly thinks his business partner, Giancarlo “Carlo” Rotolo, is hotter than a ghost pepper, but he would never jeopardize their friendship with a fling. Then Garrett overhears some juicy gossip among the crew and realizes he’ll have to break Giancarlo’s cardinal rule, no banging the staff – for Carlo’s own good, of course. Just a taste of Carlo should be plenty. Long-term relationships aren’t on Garrett’s menu.
Giancarlo’s been in love with Garrett forever. He’s sure Garrett will eventually realize they are destined to be more than business partners. But when Garrett installs his latest boyfriend as their new chef d’cuisine and announces plans to leave Carlo in New York while he opens a second restaurant on the west coast, Carlo is forced to re-evaluate his life.
Can a high-strung British chef and a nice Italian boy from Brooklyn find the perfect fusion of fine-dining and family-style?
Chapter One
Giancarlo eyed the plate of antipasti sitting on his desk, then the jacket on the hanger next to the office door. Although his personal shopper assured him the trim style suited him, it didn’t allow for any extra pounds. Guests at the restaurant Ransom expected perfection. In Carlo’s mind, this included the appearance of its co-owner and manager, not just the food and service.
He glanced back at the innocuous looking plate of food, wondering if he could tip it into the trash without anyone noticing. He had skipped shift meal in favor of running through his last-minute checklist
again,
and, when he finally made it back to the office, the platter had been waiting for him. Most days it would have been welcome, but today he was hyper-aware of the extra couple pounds he had added in the last few months and the new suit. Today wasn’t just another day.
None of that stopped his mouth from watering at the thought of the food, though. Almost all the ingredients came from Ransom’s kitchen, but none of the bite-sized temptations on his desk were from the restaurant’s menu: salmon on toast points with
crème fraîche
and capers, a ramekin of his favorite almond-stuffed olives, sweet peppers with Hector’s special marinade,
insalada caprese
on skewers, and the
pièce de résistance
—a tiny, elegant cream puff.
Every item had been prepared to Ransom’s exacting standards. But, unlike anything a guest would ever see, the plating was designed for snacking while he worked, not astounding the eye with artistic presentation. Nothing had been chosen to take him on a complex culinary journey where each dish built on the flavor profile of the last. Instead, each item had one thing in common. The plate on his desk represented a sampler of his favorite snacks.
His staff was pampering him.
He gave in and popped a piece of prosciutto-wrapped melon into his mouth. As soon as he swallowed it, his stomach growled. Okay. He was hungry. Plus, he shouldn’t risk offending Hector by trashing his marinated peppers.
Before he knew it, only the cream puff remained. He wasn’t really hungry any more, and it definitely wasn’t on the diet. He also couldn’t skip it. He didn’t
want
to skip it.
The cream puff would never be on Ransom’s dessert menu. No matter how well executed, there was no way to turn the delicate bite of pastry into something arty enough to suit Ransom’s image. Grace, Ransom’s pastry chef, made them only on special occasions. She constantly experimented with new flavor combinations, and he would be expected to comment on her latest effort. A treat and a game all rolled into one.
He picked up the little ball and inhaled, looking for the first clue. The fresh tang of citrus
hit him first, followed by a more subtle hint of aromatic spice. Not ginger or nutmeg, something with a slight floral bouquet. Cardamom. Definitely. Now the citrus—not orange or lemon. Lime? The filling had a beautiful blush tint, but that didn’t mean anything. Grace had been known to cheat and color it.
Time for a taste, and he would get only one chance. The whole pastry barely made a bite. He let the delicate morsel dissolve slowly on his tongue, enjoying the cool cream and trying to nail down that elusive citrus flavor. He had a good palette, but, among the crew at Ransom, that was like saying he could breathe air. Garrett won this game every time, but Carlo was going to have to guess.
Garrett
.
He tried to ignore the way the name slid into conscious thought despite his efforts to banish it.
Chef Garrett Ransom would be back in the house tonight after months of filming his hit reality show,
Ransom Me
, in California. The show pitted culinary students against each other in a tough cooking competition mentored and judged by Garrett. At the end of the season, the winner received tuition for his or her final year of culinary school and a spot in a top restaurant upon graduation.
Ransom Me
had made Garrett a household name.
On Garrett’s first night back, VIPs would pack the restaurant. His fans always seemed to know the exact date the chef would be back, even before Carlo did.
Of course, Ransom dealt with VIPs every night. The butterflies in his stomach, the triple list checking, and the constant edgy anticipation all had to do with Garrett coming home.
Enough loitering in the office. The pastry had been a good distraction, but now Carlo needed to concentrate on getting ready for the first seating. He should be out front.
He got up and put on the jacket, then took a moment to check his appearance in the mirror installed for exactly that purpose. The jacket felt snug but not enough to mar the clean lines. Hair styled, tie neatly knotted. He was ready.
He picked up the empty plate to drop off in the dish room and headed for the front of the house. He almost ran right into Grace when he stepped out of the office.
“You ate. Good.”
Grace, who looked nothing like her name, was easily the largest person on the staff. Over six feet tall, with warm milk-chocolate skin, a robustly generous figure, and hair that looked like she cut it with a weed-whacker, she looked more like a linebacker than the top pastry chef in the city. Carlo wondered if she had been stationed back here to make sure the plate came out empty.
She nodded at the dish. “What did you think?”
“Cardamom and lime make a beautiful combination.” He made it a statement. No points if she found out he had guessed.
“Hmmmmm.” When her eyes sparkled like that, you didn’t notice the weed-whacked hair. “You think I should have gone with a different lime?”
Madonn’
. “No, the, uh, key lime was perfect.”
She flashed a triumphant grin. “Gotcha, boss. Blood lime. Had to make promises I have no intention of keeping to get them, too.”
“Ah, that’s where the color came from. I thought you cheated. Well, it took my mind off….things. You save one?”
“Yeah, yeah. I saved one for Chef. I’ll fill it when he gets here.” She sighed when Carlo glanced behind her at the clock on the wall. “Make another round if you have to, but we’re ready.”
“Jacket tonight, Grace.”
“Awww, boss, no one sees me.” Then, when he didn’t answer, “Fine, fine. Go on with you. I’ll have it on before service.”
He didn’t intrude behind the line, where the chefs were finishing their final prep, but watched from the service side. After a few minutes, Hector ambled over.
“Best line crew we’ve ever had. Most of them have worked with him before, and the ones who haven’t are steady.”
Carlo wanted to say a dozen things to that, but none of them would change anything. He would just be harassing Hector. At this point, smooth tempers took precedence. He contented himself with, “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” before moving on.
His critical eye hit every surface as he strolled through Ransom’s empty dining room. Polished wood floors and darker, lacquered wood tabletops glowed under soft, recessed lighting. No stuffy starched white tablecloths at Ransom. Garrett had the kind of aversion to white tablecloths that most people reserved for scrubbing toilets or cleaning out grease traps.
He ran his finger along a piece of trim, checking for dust as he made his way toward the bar. He resisted looking at his watch, a gift from Garrett, who tended to be extravagant at Christmas. Garret’s words drifted into memory.
“You should have a watch that’s as anal about keeping time as you are, Carlo. I know a watch is a boring present. You can take it back if you don’t like it.”
Boring. As if everyone wore watches that cost more than the average car. But he hadn’t taken it back, had barely taken it off his wrist. He knew he was compulsive about time, but he didn’t consult his watch now, despite the almost painful urge to do so.
He knew the time. Prep was done, the shift meal over, and, in just a few minutes, the first guests would walk through the doors. He’d done the calculations in his head a million times. Start with the time Garrett’s flight landed, add in collecting luggage, getting a car back into the city, a stop at home to drop off luggage and freshen up. No matter how much he padded the times, the conclusion was obvious.
Garrett was late.
Of course, Garrett was compulsively late. But first day back? Usually he couldn’t wait to get back into the kitchen. Ransom was home, after all. The restaurant was their baby, and Garrett and Carlo lavished as much attention on it as if it were an actual child.