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She’d stormed into his office, eyes blazing, cell phone held out like a weapon.
“What is this, Gentry?”
Nick had peered at the screen. “Your checking account?”
“My checking account. A new entry in it from you. For two thousand dollars more than what you’re supposed to pay me.”
“Well, yeah. Sure. I mean, now that I know you really can cook—”
“Don’t you mean, now that I’m sleeping with you?”
“No,” he said quickly, “of course not.”
“We did not agree on this amount of money.”
“Hey.” He smiled, held out his arms. “C’mere.”
“No. You pay me what you’re supposed to pay me. That’s the amount I agree to and that’s what you’ll give me.”
She wanted to play hardball? Fine. Nick had folded his arms, narrowed his eyes and given her the same kind of look she was giving him.
“I thought I hired a cook. I didn’t. I hired a chef.”
“Your agreement with Marcia—”
“What would I pay you if I owned one of those chichi places in L.A. and you were my executive chef?”
“This isn’t like one of those places.”
“You thought it was, when you came here.”
“Yes. And I still agreed to less than I’d have made if it were.”
“Because?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! I needed the job, OK?”
Nick had risen to his feet. “And I need you,” he’d said softly. “You think I want you hired out from under my nose by some la-di-da lodge?”
“That’s crazy. I’m not applying for jobs at…” Her eyebrows rose. “Did you actually say, ‘la-di-da’?”
He’d known she was fighting against a smile. Excellent, he’d thought, and before she could move away from him, he gathered her into his arms.
“The Triple G isn’t anybody’s idea of a la-di-da lodge.”
She laughed. He felt his heart lift.
“But it deserves the best. And now it has the best. Would you really want me to underpay its chef? Well, would you?”
“That’s completely illogical,” she’d said, but she’d let him draw her closer into his embrace.
“It’s completely logical, and Marcia will agree when we tell her your salary has gone up.”
“Marcia will be your slave for life,” Lissa had said softly.
“I don’t want Marcia to be my anything,” Nick had murmured. “I only want you.”
The discussion, the argument, whatever it was, had ended with the office door shut and the old couch against the far wall put to good use.
