“I could never be mad at you, Avery,” he said with a quick grin. “I just enjoy giving these two ugly bastards a hard time.”

Noah rolled his eyes and shoved a huge bite of burger into his mouth.

“Are you enjoying being back here? Is it kind of like old times?” she asked him.

RJ’s smile slipped a fraction. Only someone who didn’t know him wouldn’t notice the falter. “I guess you could say it’s like old times. The tips are nice extra spending cash. I’ll just dump the money right back into my cars.”

Noah glanced at RJ. “Speaking of your cars, do you still have that seventy-two Mustang?”

Avery slapped her husband’s arm.

RJ shook his head. “Sorry, bro. Sold it last week for a nice chunk of change.”

“Hey, a guy can dream, right?” Noah muttered.

“Maybe for your birthday I’ll fix up a nice little Corvette for you,” RJ said as he snagged a fry off Noah’s plate.

Noah’s brows flew up his forehead. “Would you really?”

RJ chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then grinned. “Nope.” On that short but sweet note, their younger brother sauntered away with the confident swagger he was so famous for.

“Ass,” Noah muttered.

Brody couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t sulk. You look like a baby.”

“You’re an ass too,” his older brother said.


Several hours later, Brody’s head throbbed like a son of a bitch.

The restaurant had maintained a steady crowd for the rest of the day—not too bustling, but enough to keep the staff on their toes. Brody wasn’t sure what had happened, but an invisible switch had been flipped somewhere inside Anthony, who’d proved himself an indispensable part of the staff. He called out every order with the precision and authority of a seasoned chef. He double- and triple-checked every plate that came to the pass, something Travis had done only half the time. Thus far Anthony had impressed Brody in a way he hadn’t been since Michael had cooked for them. Seems as though the bartender’s time with the sous-chefs was starting to pay off. There were moments when Brody could see Anthony question himself, then he’d snap out of it and get his butt in gear.

Lines of fatigue bracketed Anthony’s mouth after a long day’s work. A few minutes ago, Brody and his father had called Anthony to the back office for an important discussion. Without a word, Anthony had followed Brody out of the kitchen. Now he stood in Brody’s office like a man awaiting execution.

Beads of sweat dotted the chef’s smoothly shaven head. A dirty, bedraggled dishtowel was slung over one of his thick shoulders. Every few seconds, he would grab the towel, run it through his fingers, then sling it over the other shoulder.

“Are you nervous, Anthony?” Martin asked to break the silence.

Brody hadn’t said a word yet, only because his old man had expressed his desire to deliver the message to Anthony himself. At this point, Brody didn’t care who did the talking. He just wanted to get this shit over with so they could get an actual photo shoot done.

Anthony cleared his throat. “Not nervous, sir. Just a bit wired after my day.”

Every time the word “sir” left Anthony’s lips, Martin practically glowed. Brody had repeatedly told Anthony that referring to Brody’s father with such formality was overkill. Anthony’s response had been “He’s my boss. It’s a matter of respect.”

Hell, Brody couldn’t argue with that.

“I can understand that,” Martin answered. “A kitchen is a high-pressure place. Lots of stuff always going on in there. A chef has a lot of people depending on him to get things right. That can be a very stressful thing.”

Anthony gave a jerky nod of his head. “Yes, sir. It can be.”

Brody glanced at his father and wondered where the hell the old man planned on going with this little pep talk.

For hell’s sake, just put the guy out of his misery.

“How’s your experience been in the kitchen so far, Anthony? Are you working well with the other line cooks? Have you been learning much about how the kitchen works?” Martin pressed.

“Ain’t no place I’ve loved more than to be in the kitchen. Gives me peace.” A ghost of a smile played on Anthony’s lips. “You have great sous-chefs, and Vic and Stanley have taught me more than I ever could have learned in my mother’s kitchen.”

Martin nodded his agreement. “Yes, a restaurant kitchen isn’t really like anyplace else. It’s hot, noisy, and chaotic. Which probably isn’t anything you’re used to.”

Anthony shifted from foot to foot and shook his head. “It’s pretty similar to bartending. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ll admit, in the beginning, I didn’t know what I was doing, aside from cooking that is. But I think I’m picking it up pretty quickly.”

“We know that,” Martin replied with a glance at Brody. “And we feel with time, you could run the place yourself. But that’s not what we need to discuss.”

A look of apprehension crossed Anthony’s face. Shit, Brody almost felt sorry for the guy. But his need to get the ball rolling at a much faster pace than it had been overrode any feelings of pity. He’d already put a hold on the article twice. The magazine wasn’t going to keep holding their advertising space much longer. They had a short window of time to get the job done.

“The bottom line is, Anthony,” Martin said in his no-nonsense tone, which was really the only tone the guy had, “we need to move forward with the photo shoot. And we need you to be in the spotlight.”

“He means the food,” Brody jumped in with in order to ease some of the panic that had dropped Anthony’s jaw. “You personally won’t be featured. We just need you to prepare some of your specialties. You know, the new dishes we’ve added to the menu?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And you remember Elisa, right?” Brody interrupted. “The woman who was with me before? She’ll be the one taking the pictures.”

“Yeah, she was—she was real nice,” Anthony agreed with a nod of his head. The man kept wringing the dirty towel around his hands, then slinging it back over his shoulder. “But I’m no gourmet chef.” The big man lifted his wide shoulders. “I don’t know how to make fancy food like that.”

Brody shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be fancy.”

Martin stepped forward and placed a hand on the bartender’s shoulder. “What we’re looking for is something simple, which is what you’re good at. I’ve seen the way you prepare and plate food. It’s exactly what we want featured for our relaunch.”

Anthony shook his head, an argument already forming on his lips. Why did he have to doubt himself so much? Brady wondered. “I can do that, but…” His Adam’s apple worked up and down in rapid succession. “Man, I can’t afford to lose this job.”

Martin’s brows pinched together. “What do you mean, Anthony? Why would you lose your job?”

“Well…” He shot a nervous glance between Brody and his father. “After what happened to Travis and Gary, I figured I’d be on a pretty short leash.”

Yeah, which was precisely what Brody knew Anthony was going to say. And he didn’t blame the guy. Everyone was pretty much walking on eggshells around there, especially when Martin showed up and started casing the place like some bad imitation of a security guard.

Only the other staff didn’t need to worry. Not like Brody did. He was seriously putting all his eggs in one basket.

A basket named Anthony.

Martin dropped his hand from the bartender’s shoulder, then slid both hands in his pants pockets. “You don’t need to worry about that.” He tossed a look at Brody that said “You’re the one who needs to worry.”

Yeah, he got that.

Martin continued. “All we need you to focus on is continuing to learn the kitchen and getting ready to have your dishes photographed. And, if it’ll make you feel better, you can choose which shots get published. And we won’t send them to the magazine without your approval.”

Brody wasn’t about to go that far, to give the former bartender that much control. But if that’s what it took to get Anthony on board, he was all for it. Anything to get the show on the road.

Both he and his father waited for what seemed like hours while Anthony contemplated their offer. In the meantime, more beads of sweat popped up on the big man’s smooth head, which Brody took as a sign that Anthony was way overthinking the situation. He kept his patience and remained silent, even though what he really wanted to do was smack the guy upside the head.

“Okay,” Anthony finally said.

And Brody felt part of the weight lift off his shoulders.

ELEVEN

IN THE PAST HOUR ELISA had been peed on, spit on, had food thrown at her, and managed to dodge half a dozen flying toys.

This babysitting business wasn’t for the fainthearted, especially with an energetic, outspoken toddler with a shrill set of lungs. Had she known what a hurricane little Mason McDermott was, she might have thought twice before volunteering. About twenty minutes ago, an opportunity for sweet solitude presented itself with Mason’s naptime. However, after ten straight minutes of blood-curdling screaming, Elisa had reached her limit and whisked the boy out of his crib.

Her main objective this morning was to give Lacy some rest. How could Elisa do that if Mason’s ear-piercing shrieks threatened to bring the walls down?

Lacy had said to turn on some cartoons if Mason was driving her insane. That was all fine and dandy, if Elisa could locate the remote control for the television.

She’d just righted the couch cushions, when she spotted Mason trying to shove Ritz crackers into the DVD player. How had he gotten his hands on crackers?