More Than Meets the Ink (19 page)

“Hi, princess. These are my associates, Zack and Sean,” he said, pointing behind him. “Don’t mind us; we’re just going to pass by your kitchen,” he added while releasing her and signaling the others to follow him.

She looked totally dumbfounded as the line of parading men greeted her with a nod of their heads. “James? What on earth are you doing? And who are these men with the boxes?”

He’d expected to go with the silent cryptic act for as long as it would carry him, but it seemed it wasn’t meant to carry him too far. “Guys, the kitchen is this way,” James said, signaling to the end of the corridor, where the chef’s head was already poking out. “The owner and I will be there in a sec.”

“Start explaining this minute, mister!” Tate almost shrieked at him once the others weren’t close by. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“My friend Jack runs a biker bar. It isn’t a fancy restaurant, but he also serves some food. He got me in touch with his suppliers.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “James…”

“Don’t fight me, princess. You go in there and see if those goods meet Rosita’s standards. I haven’t promised them anything. They brought along samples so that you can decide whether or not you want to work with them. I’m not running over you, sweetheart, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit with my arms folded while some assholes make your life impossible.” For two days now he’d done just that, sat quietly and observed her breaking her back in that restaurant; damn if he was going to endure another day of that without even trying to make a difference.

“I can find my own suppliers, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure you can, never doubted it for a second,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest too. If she thought he was going to budge, she better think again. “Now go to the kitchen and do your boss thing.”

She glared at him, but he won the staring match.

Her finger tapped at his chest. “You and I will have a talk about doing things behind my back,” she said and turned toward the kitchen.

“Tate, honey, you know I love doing nasty things behind you. And you like them too,” he whispered to her and chuckled. She turned to glare at him, but he offered her his most charming smile, and she just shook her head.

Her chef was ecstatic, and with good reason. The goods were first class, James knew, just as he knew that after going through them and the price lists, Tate would be stupid to let this opportunity pass. And his woman was not stupid. Stubborn to a fault, yes; stupid, no.

“We aren’t taking on any more clients, but Mr. Copeland called and…”

“Jack,” James explained as she turned a questioning glance to him. “He got them out of a tight spot once, and they were more than happy to repay the favor.”

“I don’t need charity,” she all but snarled at him.

“This isn’t charity. Jack owes me a couple of favors, so he made some phone calls for me, that’s all.”

“We’ve checked up on this place, Miss Cooper, and your reputation speaks for itself. This isn’t charity, I assure you; we’d be more than happy to work with you.”

Tate doubted for a second, but then nodded. “Okay, you got yourself a new customer,” she said, shaking his hand.

No sooner had they unloaded the goods than some voices came from the restaurant side. The other suppliers. Perfect, just in time.

“Tate, princess, send them into the kitchen; we’re going to have a chat with them.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Nothing, love, just some talking,” he said as Zack and Sean smiled innocently at her.

“I can also fire those suppliers on my own.”

“And I wouldn’t deprive you from that pleasure. You fire them, just make sure they leave through the back door in the kitchen,” he said.

She was going to complain, but she must have seen something on his face, because after a long second, she threw her arms up.

“Okay, what the hell, let the assholes be intimidated for once.”

Half an hour later, James left Rosita’s with a huge smile. Well, that had gone smoother than he’d expected. Tate had been a bit pissed at the beginning, but she’d soon gotten on board. Plus he’d gotten to deal with her old providers. Huge bonus. One by one, they’d passed by the kitchen, where James, Zack, and Sean had made their point clear—no one was to mess with Rosita’s. His fingers had been twitching the whole time. After all, beating the shit out of them would have been a fitting payment for all the times they’d made Tate cry, but those boys were just employees following orders. So they’d gone verbal and just threatened the hell out of them.

“Lovely woman you got here,” Zack said while they walked to the car. “She’s feisty.”

“Not my woman yet, but I’m working on it,” James answered. He didn’t like that Tate kept her heart guarded from him, but she’d come around.

They went to eat, and then to the office. By six o’clock, there was only one more client to deal with.

“Do you guys mind if you start the Browns’ job without me? I have another errand to run.”

“Sure,” Zack replied. “Anything to do with the sweet piece of ass you introduced us to today?”

“Her name is Tate, and you better keep your eyes away from her ass. From any part of her, actually.”

Sean laughed. “What happened with the ‘women come and go, no need to sweat about it’ attitude?”

James didn’t answer; he just grunted. “Got it, chick’s off limits. Fucking assholes, those suppliers, by the way. Good you got that all straightened out.”

“Yeah well, there are other matters there that need addressing too.” Like the kitchen assistant’s constant Houdini stunts, for example.

“Take your time, man; we have everything under control. Go to your woman.”

Not yet, but soon, he thought. First he had some things to do. He’d dealt with the providers, now it was time for Tim. For a couple of days now, he’d observed the chef’s assistant at Rosita’s. He was barely twenty and, as far as James could see, not a bad boy if one could overlook the fact that he was showing up to work whenever it suited him, which was causing a huge strain on the other kitchen staff, especially the chef. And the place needed Tate outside, greeting people and making them feel at home, instead of having her grounded in the kitchen, stressed-out and grouchy.

After a short ride, he parked in a mall and headed for Technogeeks, where Tim not only worked in the mornings, repairing computers, but—as far as James could tell—also spent all those evenings that he’d been dead sick with European swine flu or whatever. Today was no different. It was already six o’clock; he should have been in the restaurant doing prep with the others, yet he was in the back, hands deep in the desecrated bowels of some computer.

The second he saw James, the kid flushed a bright red. To his benefit, he didn’t try to lie.

“I need this job, man. I can’t not stay and do overtime when I’m asked.”

“Yet you can lie to Tate,” James stated coldly.

“Come on, man, I already feel like shit about it, but there’s nothing I can do. Rosita’s only opens in the afternoons, and I need this job too; I can’t afford to lose it. I actually can’t afford to lose either of the jobs.”

Yeah, James knew that; Tim came from a dysfunctional family and was taking care of his two siblings. That was probably why Tate put up with all that crap about weird illnesses and never-heard-of allergies.

“I know you can’t, but this isn’t working, kiddo. Tate needs you there.”

“In a month or two, this place will quiet down. I may not have to come in the evenings to deal with the difficult computer meltdowns.”

Maybe, but James wasn’t ready to wait for that.

“Tell me, do you like working with these gadgets?”

The kid shrugged. “I’m good with them, and it pays well.”

“What do you know about security systems?”

“Plenty. Arming or disarming?” he asked casually.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” James warned him. The last thing he wanted on his hands was a lawbreaking punk. Although he knew Tim was clean, just a good kid in a shitty family situation.

“Just kidding,” he said, holding his hands up. “I can’t risk getting caught. I have…people depending on me, so I stay out of trouble.”

“What if I were to make you an offer? Would you be available?”

Tim threw him a casual glance. “Sorry, old man, you’re cute, but I don’t swing that way.”

James snorted. Just what he needed, a mouthy smart-ass. “Very funny. You better start taking me seriously, or this old man is going to kick your lily ass to kingdom come. Now let’s talk business. We’re swamped, and we need help installing security alarms. I was thinking about hiring someone. Are you interested?”

Tim’s eyes lit; then he tried to play it cool and damp down his growing enthusiasm. “Don’t know. You pay well?”

James looked around. “I’m sure much better than what you’re getting here. There’s one condition, though: you’ll work from ten to three p.m.—hard work, I’m warning you—but you’ll never stay overtime, so you don’t have any reason not to go to the restaurant. If you miss even one day at Rosita’s without being really sick, and I mean really, really sick, puke your guts out sick, your ass is fired. Are we clear?”

Tim assented right away. “I really didn’t mean any harm to Tate…”

James nodded curtly. “And that’s the only reason you’re getting this chance. Now call your employer and get him to find a replacement for you right away because you’re heading to the restaurant.”

Tim worked fast, and in fifteen minutes, everything was arranged. His employer wasn’t too happy about his hasty departure, but well, he didn’t have the boy contracted, so there was really nothing he could do about it. And James’s attitude didn’t leave room for compromise, much less bickering.

He’d dealt with the providers and Tim. Old Vito was on his standby list of unresolved matters should he ever try to fuck with Tate’s business again. Although he seriously doubted it, judging by the way the providers trembled when they’d left Rosita’s; the message had gotten through loud and clear. Should Old Vito dare to come up with new tricks, he’d reassess the situation, but until then he’d consider that matter settled. There was one more thing disrupting the atmosphere at Rosita’s, and that was Clint, who occupied the first position in that list of shit to come, not that James planned to do anything about him just yet.

It was evident to anyone with eyes in their head that Clint had the hots for Tate and, by the way he behaved, that his ego was too bruised to keep waiting for her to fall at his feet. He was in punishment mode. Although he was an asshole with as much interest in the girl as in being the boss and calling all the shots, putting him in line was something Tate should do by herself. Besides, James didn’t want her thinking he couldn’t handle a little competition. James had made clear without words that Tate was his, and he could get awfully territorial about her. As long as Clint kept his hands to himself and his shitty behavior inside the minimum bitching decibels range, James would do his damn best to tolerate him, even if that meant gritting his teeth at the sight of the guy. If Clint didn’t get the hint about how precarious his situation was and got disrespectful or more contemptuous and confrontational with Tate, then all bets were off and James was going to start talking with his fists first. He wanted Tate to stand up for herself, but he wasn’t going to let anyone manhandle her, not even verbally.

After dropping Tim at Rosita’s, he headed back to work. There was still some paperwork to do for the Browns, but he could hardly wait for the evening to be over and get to Tate. He knew he would have to appease his little woman, and he was looking forward to it.

* * *

Tate couldn’t bring herself to be pissed at James; she was too happy for that. Nils, her temperamental chef prone to drama queen outbursts, was whistling. Whistling, of all things, and joking. Unheard of! He was more than pleased with the goods they’d got, and the promise they’d keep coming. On top of that, Tim had appeared for work, apparently fully recovered. She didn’t know if that last thing had anything to do with James; Tim wasn’t talking, but she had her suspicions.

For several days now, James had gently but unstoppably steamrolled over her every time she’d tried to tell him their…whatever…was going nowhere. He’d just smile at her and melt her with one of his sweet comments or one of his I-am-in-charge stunts. He came to her every evening after work, waited for her to finish, intently watching everything and everyone around him, listening in silence, never interfering. She knew he was assessing the restaurant, but he hadn’t said a word about it. If the suppliers’ trick was anything to go by, then he was done sitting on the sidelines. She should be raving mad for his interfering, bitch about boundaries and how he was supposed to not overstep them, how she could take care of herself and the restaurant, how she didn’t need help. But damn if it didn’t feel nice to be taken care of for once.

With the kitchen personnel happy and in no need of immediate help, she was free to be outside, where she was supposed to have been all along. The downside was that she had to deal with Clint’s moodiness firsthand. Or assholeness, as James had eloquently put it more than once. He was right, of course, but Tate wasn’t ready yet to part with people her own father had hired. This continuity gave her a small measure of comfort, and that was why she kept putting up with his shit. Although she had to admit, her father had never meant for him to be the maître d’; Clint had been just a waiter, a fairly new one at that when her father and Jonah had died, and it was just the mess resulting from the accident that had put him in the position of running the dining area, especially as she was swamped with problems or stuck in the kitchen almost all the time.

Seeing how he behaved with Tina and Kelly, the way he was fast to snap at them, she doubted her father would have kept him around very long; he was just too mean, more so now that he was pissed at her. Clint seemed to have a thing for her, not that she’d ever thought about reciprocating. For a while after Aidan left her, he’d been very nice, but she’d kept her distance and his true nature had popped up. James’s appearance had worsened the situation. Clint had gone from not talking to her to sneering at her. In front of James, he somehow refrained, but not so much when he wasn’t around. In spite of all that, and when he wasn’t being a moody, spiteful asshole, he was an excellent waiter, fast and clean, and he probably deserved the benefit of the doubt—for a while longer at least.