“Tell me again why we’re publishing pictures in the same magazine that just gave us a bad review?” he asked Charlene.

She lifted a finger. “First of all, that reviewer isn’t employed by this magazine. Second of all, they’re the only ones who agreed to do this spread. We need the good publicity.”

At this point Brody wasn’t sure the restaurant was capable of generating good publicity. “Are you sure this photographer is any good?”

An exasperated sigh came from Charlene. “What happened to the Brody who never let anything bother him? I miss that guy.”

“So do I,” he muttered to the ceiling. Brody found himself smiling for the first time during their conversation. Yes, Charlene knew when to call his bullshit. His office door creaked open and Travis poked his head in. “The photographer’s here.”

A spread in a magazine that had already trashed them? Would those same readers even give a damn about the Golden Glove’s new, toned-down decor? Or that the new chef had introduced inventive, unique items to the menu? In Brody’s experience, once diners had a bad meal at a restaurant, they weren’t likely to return. Not only that, they’d probably tell everyone within earshot to stay the hell away from the place. His father had already pitched a fit about the first bad review. Even though Brody ran the place, Martin was a perfectionist who took insults to his restaurant personally, although normally he didn’t take reviews too seriously. In the light of the place’s recent dwindling numbers, his old man was paying extra attention to any sort of negativity. Brody’s working relationship with his father had already been on thin ice because of the downturn in business. Once Martin read the latest review, Brody was likely to be exiled. His earlier fear of his and Tyler’s futures returned with a wicked vengeance. How would he pay for his son’s college if he was unemployed?

“Brody?” Charlene asked after he’d failed to move from his chair. “You’re on board with this, right?”

He blinked at her. “On board, right. Yeah.” He pushed himself out of the chair and followed Charlene and Travis downstairs.

Okay, he’d be on board with this.


The dining room, recently redone to be more appealing to families and less to rowdy college students home from school, had been mostly cleared for today’s shoot. The tables and chairs had been pushed aside to make room for the “shooting area,” as Charlene had described it. “It’ll be short and simple,” she said.

Except it wasn’t. The area that used to be the dining room now looked like a professional photographer’s studio. In the middle of the room, surrounded by several tall lights and mirrors, were tables draped in dark brown tablecloths. Travis walked ahead of them and disappeared into the kitchen. Several seconds later he reappeared with plates on each hand. He lowered them carefully to the tables, added garnishes, wiped the rims, and spun them around until satisfied they looked presentable.

After his inspection, he went back into the kitchen.

“Is all this really necessary?” Brody asked Charlene.

Charlene shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You can’t just come in and take a few pictures of the food the way we would normally serve it. You have to doll it up and make it look attractive.”

He lifted a hand toward the shoot area. “But we don’t serve our dishes on brown tablecloths with wineglasses. Isn’t that a bit misleading?”

They stopped next to one of the tall light things. “Brody, do you trust me?” Charlene asked.

His eyebrows pulled together at her question. “I’m not sure.”

She patted him on the arm like one would a small child. “Well, you’re going to have to this time. Besides, this is the way food is photographed. And Elisa knows what she’s doing.”

He shot her a glance. “Elisa?”

“The photographer.”

Bright morning sunshine shone in when the doors to the restaurant opened. A tall woman, with hair the color of a moonless night hanging halfway down her back, floated across the parquet wood floor. Her attention was on a spiral notebook, which was cradled in long, thin arms. A loose-fitting, flower-printed blouse covered petite shoulders and disappeared beneath the waistband of wide-legged, light gray slacks. She was as professionally dressed as any person in a corporate office, yet the gentle sway of her hips exuded a magnetic sexuality that had blood rushing to Brody’s groin.

His eyes followed her every move. “Did we hire a model for this shoot?”

Charlene had started to walk toward the woman. She glanced back at him. “What?”

He jerked his head in the Amazon’s direction.

One corner of Charlene’s mouth curled up. “She’s the photographer.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. The woman who looked like she should be posing in front of the camera was behind it instead?

“Quite sure.” Always-present amusement lit up Charlene’s eyes.

Brody sauntered over to focus on the tables with the food only because he didn’t want to stand around looking like he had his thumb up his ass.

Travis had prepared a wide variety of dishes and ones that were more popular with their diners. Chinese chicken salad, minestrone soup, a barbecue bacon cheddar burger, and grilled chicken penne pasta with a garlic breadstick sat on pristine white plates. Charlene may have organized the photo shoot, but Brody had hand-picked the dishes. Two of them were Travis’s signature meals.

“You’re in my light.”

The husky, let-me-seduce-you voice came from directly behind him and danced over his skin. Brody glanced over his shoulder and locked gazes with the willowy Amazon who already had certain parts below his belt stirring. The woman either found time to visit a tanning salon on a regular basis or had a natural olive complexion. Almond-shaped eyes accented by thick, black lashes gazed back at him. The corners of her full, pillowy mouth were turned up ever so slightly.

“Sorry,” he managed. For hell’s sake, he ran a successful business, dealt with servers, chefs, and customers, on a daily basis, and now he could barely manage a two-syllable word. He’d really been out of the dating game too long.

When he stepped aside, she continued adjusting the mirror her ring-adorned fingers were wrapped around. The smooth skin of her forehead furrowed as she concentrated on her task.

“Is this going to be enough light?” he asked her.

Her attention remained on the food as she tried to achieve the right angle with the mirror. “Windows are best, but I can make do with the skylights.” She extended her hand to his. “I’m Elisa, by the way. Cardoso,” she added.

Brody allowed his eyes to drop down to her mouth one more time before wrapping his hand around hers. Her fingers were long and thin, and the silver rings she wore were cool against his palm. His hand lingered in hers, probably longer than necessary, but what the hell. Her hand felt good in his, a perfect fit. And he liked the way her hand felt wrapped up in his, small and feminine. A sudden image of them on his skin, exploring intimate parts of his body, slammed into him and assaulted his senses.

“Brody.” Another two-syllable word he had trouble forcing out of his mouth. What was wrong with him today? He’d always been able to hold a semi-intelligent conversation with an attractive woman before. Then in comes this exotic beauty and his brain ceases to function. “McDermott,” he threw in.

“Nice to meet you,” she replied with a playful gleam in her dark brown eyes. Before he was ready to let go, she slipped her hand from his and continued adjusting all her lights, mirrors, and other props.

Thirty minutes went by before she actually started snapping pictures. The first dish was arranged on the brown cloth-covered table with silverware and napkins placed casually about as if an actual diner had been sitting there. Elisa had picked up and moved the wineglasses half a dozen times before she was satisfied they were in just the right spot. After giving the setup one final glance, she took an expensive-looking camera out of a bag and dropped to her knees directly in front of the table. With her elbows resting on the table, Elisa cradled the camera in her hands and started snapping pictures rapidly, one after the other.

“She sure is thorough,” Brody muttered to Charlene.

“I told you she was good.”

Not only was she good with the camera, her ass looked damn fine in those slacks of hers, round but petite at the same time. The same image of her hands roaming over him continued, only this time her derriere took a front and center role. He bet it would feel damn good cradled in his lap rubbing against his thighs…

Okay, you’re supposed to be saving your restaurant here, and all you can do is admire the photographer’s ass?

Time to be professional.

“You might want to keep your eyes on a place that won’t get you sued for sexual harassment.” Charlene had the nerve to actually smirk.

He tossed her a narrowed-eyed look. “You’re not funny.”

As usual, Charlene ignored his surly remarks. “She could be a while. I’m going to work on next week’s schedule.” And with that, Charlene left him alone with the woman who made him stumble over two-syllable words. And had a great ass. And had soft hands.

Over an hour passed and Elisa had only done two dishes. Her camera would click rapidly, then she’d stop to make an adjustment with one of the mirrors or point the lights in a different direction. Call him ignorant, but Brody had no idea so much went into taking pictures of food. He’d thought Travis would cook some dishes, place them on a table, and he would take some pictures with his digital camera. Charlene had rolled her eyes like a teenage girl when he’d told her that. “Why don’t you let me take care of this?” was what she’d said to him.