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The first time he’d done this she’d been flattered that he wanted her opinion. After the third candidate had been rejected, she’d realized he was merely using her to drive home a point. If someone with no culinary experience could taste the inferior quality of the entrées, the chef who’d prepared the dish had failed.
Harper made no move to do as he’d asked. “May I speak to you privately for a moment?”
“Can it wait?” Ashton never took his eyes off Chef Cole.
She fought to keep her frustration on a tight leash. How would it play out on social media if the general manager of Fontaine Ciel was recorded shrieking empty threats at the famous Chef Croft?
“No.”
Her conviction came through loud and clear, snagging Ashton’s complete attention. His laser-sharp blue eyes scanned her expression. Sexual interest flared low in her belly. It traveled upward, leaving every nerve it touched sizzling with anticipation. She cursed silently. Her body’s tendency to overreact to the man’s rakish good looks and raw masculinity had distracted her all too often. She was not her professional best around him.
Once again Harper reminded herself that the flesh and blood man standing before her was unreliable and unconcerned with how his priorities impacted those around him. The dashing adventurer he portrayed on television was entertaining to watch as he charmed locals by listening attentively to their stories and sampling the regional specialties. But when it came to the routine matters necessary to start a restaurant, he easily became distracted.
Lips tightening, Ashton nodded. “Excuse us,” he said to Chef Cole, and gestured for Harper to return to the dining room. “What’s so important?” he demanded as soon as they’d exited the kitchen.
“The restaurant opens in two weeks.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“The press releases have gone out. There will be no further postponement.”
“Understood.”
She tamped down her irritation. “We need a head chef.”
“I will take charge of the kitchen.”
If only that were true. “I need someone I can rely on to be here every day.”
His nod indicated he saw where she was going. “You want me to hire Cole.”
“The last time I was in Chicago I ate at his restaurant. It was excellent. I was looking forward to tasting what he’d created today.”
“You didn’t miss much.”
Harper spent a minute studying Ashton. There was something different about him today. Usually he breezed in, found something wrong with the construction or the fixtures and then stirred up everyone associated with the project before coming up with a fix for whatever he perceived wrong. Working with him had been stressful and invigorating, but in the end the restaurant was far better for his interference.
Today he seemed to be creating trouble for the sake of drama rather than because he had real issues with Chef Cole.
“Is there something going on with you?”
Her abrupt change in topic startled him into a moment of uncertainty. “Not a thing. Why?”
“Because you were on time for a change.”
“I believe I was an hour early.”
She gestured toward the door, making no effort to correct him. “And there’s
no go bag.”
“Go bag?” he echoed.
“The black leather bag that you bring with you everywhere.”
“You mean my rolling duffel?” He pointed toward a far corner of the restaurant where the bag sat beside a semicircular corner booth. “Why do you call it a go bag?”
“Because it’s your crutch.”
