Authors: Sophia Knightly
“Oh? How so?” Gil’s rotund belly shook with merriment as he regarded Paolo.
“I tried to be friendly, but she’s not looking forward to doing the show with me. I don’t think she likes me,” he said with a wry grin.
“Maybe you’re losing your touch,” Gil taunted, slapping Paolo on the back.
Paolo snorted. “She might think she’s all that, but I plan to be the next celebrity chef.” He paused for a reflective moment. “I owe it to the family—mostly to Papá.”
“Come on, Paolo. Don’t start feeling guilty. All that’s in the past.” Gil took a drag of the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “You help your mom by being like a father to your four sisters. It’s not an easy job with you here and them in Argentina.”
“Yeah, but if I become
Miami Spice’s
chef, it will be a fine tribute to Papá’s memory.” Paying tribute to his dad’s memory wouldn’t erase the sad regret he felt over the circumstances of his passing, but it might bring him some sort of closure. “If I win, I can stay in the States longer and help Mamá and the girls with their expenses—including my sister Gina’s wedding.”
“I’m sure you’ll win over Michaela,” Gil said loyally. He patted Paolo’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside. I have some questions about tonight’s menu.”
A little under five hundred square feet in size and scrupulously clean, the Sublime restaurant kitchen at The Island Spa had everything Michaela desired, including state-of-the-art appliances and a full staff reporting to her. She usually arrived by nine in the morning to check that the fresh supplies had come in. Whenever possible, she bought locally and in season, ensuring the utmost freshness. It was a luxury to order the best produce, fish, poultry and meat for her clients. Flamingo Island patrons were used to eating only the best, often to excess. It was Michaela’s joy to introduce them to the art of eating for wellness
and
pleasure.
Once she was sure the shipment met her standards, she would plan the day’s featured dishes. By ten in the morning, everyone in her staff, from prep cook to sous chef, was in position and ready to work.
Today’s lunch special would be sesame crusted ahi tuna sliders and citrus slaw. For the daily lunch special, Michaela often took a comfort food and put a healthy twist to it. She prided herself in offering fun food like a slider, where one could still enjoy biting into a little dinner roll, yet the unexpected filling surprised and delighted one’s palate. She discussed the meal prep with Elliot, her sous chef, and then stepped outside to call Paolo.
After meeting the boastful chef yesterday, Michaela planned to take the lead in scheduling to ensure that things were done efficiently. She dialed his number and was about to hang up when he finally answered on the fifth ring.
“
Hola
,” a sleepy male voice intoned.
“Paolo, it’s ten o’clock in the morning. Did I wake you?”
“Ah, it’s you, Maki.” Paolo yawned loudly.
“Michaela,” she corrected automatically. He was still calling her Maki, but this time uttered in Paolo’s deep, slumberous voice and sexy Latin accent, it didn’t sound quite so bad.
“How are you?” he intoned deeply.
“I’m fine, thank you. I’ve been up since bright and early and I already planned the menu list for the pilot episode.”
“Oh, you did, eh?” Paolo’s voice rumbled with amusement. “When do I get to see this list?”
“I’ll email it to you now. We need to get it to the culinary producer as soon as possible.” Hopefully, that would propel him out of bed and into thinking about their show. The careful planner in Michaela had a hunch that Paolo was a seat-of-the-pants kind of guy—in everything.
“I work better in person. What time do you leave work?”
“Around six.”
“
¡Perfecto!
Come to my place after work. I’ll cook dinner for us. I insist.”
“Yesterday we agreed to meet at my place. Aren’t you working tonight?”
“My sous chef, Gil, will cover for me.”
It might not be a bad idea to let Paolo cook for her first. That way she could observe the culinary skills he boasted about. “Fine, we’ll meet at your place. What should I bring? Dessert?” She would be sure to bring one of her light creations, to show him a thing or two.
“Don’t bring anything. My address is on the card. See you at six.
Ciao, linda
.”
Michaela shook her head as she stared at the receiver in her hand before hanging up. He had just called her beautiful in Spanish. Not that she minded the compliment, but it came off as glib since he’d just met her. She looked up and saw one of the salon’s massage therapists, Lisa Grieves, approaching her. Lisa’s compact, petite frame was strong and fit. Her sleek blonde hair was pulled back in a clip, showing off big green eyes and a pretty smile.
“Hey, Lisa,” Michaela said.
“Did I hear you set up a date with the hottie Argentinean chef?”
“It’s not a date. I have to go to Paolo Santos’s apartment tonight and plan the meal we’re going to cook together.”
“Ha, just listen to you. I
have
to go to Paolo Santos’s apartment tonight,” Lisa mimicked. Her eyes sparkled playfully. “As if that’s a hardship. Better watch out. The word is he’s quite the player. Last week when I massaged Bernice Blumenthal, she had just come from having lunch at Bella Luna. She couldn’t stop gushing about Paolo and calling him a stud.” She giggled. “She even described his body in vivid detail.”
Michaela’s feelers went up. “Are you telling me that the producer’s wife knows Paolo?”
“Hello? Every woman on this island knows Paolo…and they lust after him.”
“Not me.” Michaela pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Hmm, I wonder if that’s how he made it to the finals.”
“Probably. Bernice is the one who sponsored him.”
“I didn’t know that.” Michaela tried not to let it worry her. Bernice wouldn’t be picking the winner. Mr. Blumenthal and other culinary producers would be judging their performances. The Island Spa was sponsoring Michaela, and she was grateful for the staff and her spa clients who were enthusiastically pulling for her.
“Paolo doesn’t need inside help from Bernice. He does pretty well on his own. Your Argentinean has become quite a celebrity here.”
“He’s not
my
Argentinean,” Michaela said quickly. “Frankly, he’s infuriating. He flirts and teases…and he is so full of himself. I know his type.”
“I wouldn’t mind flirting with a hottie like Paolo. It would take my mind off of Tommy.”
“More problems?” Michaela asked gently.
Lisa nodded and her green eyes suddenly clouded. “It’s over…we’re over. I asked Tommy to move out this weekend.” Her voice caught and she swallowed hard. “He said he doesn’t feel the ‘passion’ anymore. I think he’s cheating on me.”
“Ugh, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. You deserve better.” Michaela’s insides roiled at the memory of her ex-fiancé, Jeff’s, betrayal. She put her arm around Lisa’s slumped shoulders and gave her a supportive squeeze.
Lisa sniffled and wiped her eyes. “This is silly, I must be PMSing, but I’m beginning to doubt I’ll ever find Mr. Right. I just don’t seem to fall for the good ones.”
“Me neither. Anyway, it’s not worth being with someone who doesn’t respect you, right? Remember what I went through with Jeff.”
“That was different. He asked you to marry him.”
Michaela snorted. “Only because he wanted me to be the ‘respectable
’
cover for the press.”
“What do you mean? Are you telling me Jeff was
gay
?” she asked, shocked.
“Nooo, just the opposite. He was a sex addict—with everyone but me,” Michaela said, still smarting from the memory.
“Ew, you’re better off without him. You never told me about that part.”
It was true. Michaela hadn’t told anyone but her family. But seeing the shock on Lisa’s face, she knew it was time to qualify what she’d just said. “It was too raw for me to tell you about it when it was going on.”
“I understand. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s okay. I know I can trust you.” Michaela took a deep breath and exhaled as she gathered her thoughts. She hadn’t talked about Jeff in so long, it was strangely cathartic now. “Before we started dating, Jeff got a socialite teenager pregnant. He was thirty-two at the time. Ashley was only eighteen and he wouldn’t marry her. He made her get an abortion.”
Lisa’s eyes shot open. “Oh no.”
Michaela nodded, the memories making her feel sick inside all over again. “They managed to keep it out of the tabloids, but Jeff’s dad and his manager ordered him to clean up his act. That’s when he went after me—the nice girl,” she said, making quotation marks with her fingers. “I had no idea about his past, but he was so sexy and confident, different from any guy I’d ever dated. Jeff swept me off my feet and before I knew it we were engaged.” She paused and swallowed hard. “Until the day after our engagement party when I caught him having sex with Ashley.”
Lisa gasped. “No! Was she the one he got pregnant?”
Michaela nodded grimly. “One and the same.”
“What did you do?”
“I dumped his sorry ass. Unfortunately, I found out later that Jeff had been hooking up with other young girls too.” All the old anger and outrage rushed back, hitting her full force. A year ago, she’d gone from crying to raging over what she’d learned about him. Michaela strove to shake off her anger—no sense in reliving past heartache. “I’m stronger and hopefully wiser now. That’s why charismatic players like Paolo are poison to me—he could be as bad as Jeff.”
“Or maybe not. Paolo might be different.”
“I doubt it. Players are selfish and they usually end up breaking some poor girl’s heart. I don’t want to ever be that girl again.”
“I don’t either. I was just teasing.” Lisa looked wistful. “I want to get married and start a family.”
“Me too—some day.” Michaela chuckled and hugged Lisa. “Just look at us, moping about men. I hope we both find the right one some day. I know you will, at least. You’re pretty and fun—and you give a great massage.”
Lisa managed a wobbly smile. “Aw, you’re sweet. I needed that. I still want a full report on Paolo tomorrow.”
“Hmph, well he’s coming across as a bit of a chauvinist. The type who thinks the little woman should cater to him and be kept barefoot and pregnant.”
Lisa’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Most women
love
him. Paolo must have some good qualities.”
“He might, but I need to keep my guard up. There’s too much at stake. Remember, I’m self-pubbing my cookbook. If I get chosen for
Miami Spice
, my book sales will be off the charts and I won’t have to hear one more ‘I-told-you-so’ from my parents about all the rejections from the New York publishers.”
Lisa gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. “I’m rooting for you to win.” She was as loyal as they came. That’s why it was doubly rotten of Tommy to tell Lisa he didn’t feel the “passion” with her anymore. The jerk.
“Thanks. Paolo is very ambitious and overly confident. I’m setting some ground rules tonight.”
“Good for you! If anyone can handle him, it’s you.”
Michaela felt a surge of sly anticipation as she smiled back. “I plan on deflating the Latin lover’s puffed up ego.” She made a stabbing motion with her pointer finger. “I’m going to flatten the air out of that Argentinean soufflé.”
Lisa eyes popped open. “Wow,” she breathed.
“I am not kidding. I will slice and dice him until I’ve made mincemeat out of his oversized conceit. By the time I’m finished with Paolo, he’ll be reduced to
petits pois
size.”
Lisa took a step backward and giggled nervously. “Your eyes look a little scary, Michaela. What are you planning to do to him?”
“I’m still deciding. But one thing’s for sure. I’m going to be the new host of
Miami Spice
!”
Chapter Three
At five minutes to six, Michaela stood outside Paolo’s door and rang the doorbell. Was that him singing inside? Intrigued, she leaned in to listen and almost fell forward when the door was flung open. Looking ruggedly handsome and freshly shaven, Paolo grasped her shoulders and greeted her with a kiss on each cheek.
“
¡Querida!
” he boomed. “You’re early.”
“I’m on time,” she corrected, caught off guard by the intoxicating whiff of his subtle citrus cologne mingled with the mouth-watering scents wafting from the kitchen. Oh God. She was famished—not just for food, but also evidenced by her racing pulse, for male company. Unfortunately, her work schedule left little time for dating.
Who was she kidding? This was no date and there was nothing ordinary about the hot Argentine. Michaela raised her hand to her cheek where his lips had been only seconds earlier. Most social kisses were air kisses. Not Paolo’s…he made sure his lips touched skin.
Whoa, calm down,
she told herself firmly.
He’s your opponent.
Paolo took her wrist in his big hand and glanced at her watch. “I’m running a little late.”
“Do you want me to come back later?” She snatched her wrist out of his warm grasp.
“No, of course not. Come in, come in.” He cocked his head and sized up her starched turquoise chef’s tunic. “Did you come over straight from work?”
“Yes, I didn’t have time to go home and change.”
Michaela sized him up too, taking in the white cotton shirt rolled up on his brawny forearms and casually tucked into a pair of snug jeans. Glancing down at his feet, she noted he was barefoot. A little too comfy for a business meeting. His black, deep-set eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched her checking him out.
“I can lend you a blouse if you want to change into something less stiff.” He waved his hand at her eloquently.
She arched a brow. “Oh? You keep women’s clothes here?”
His dimples deepened. “My mistake,
querida
. I translated wrong. I should have said shirt. One of my shirts.”
Michaela’s fingers fiddled with the top button of her tunic chef’s apron. “No, thanks. I’m comfortable.” She squared her shoulders and pulled a paper out of her briefcase. This was a business meeting, nothing more. “Why don’t we get down to business? Here’s the menu that I…”