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I stood quickly, sidestepped mom, and jogged down the hall clutching the plate of deliciousness.
“Where’s Jo?” I asked my dad.
“I think she’s taking things out to her car. Is there a problem?”
“I want to find out where she got this recipe.” I missed that food, and if she knew where to find the chef, I could fly him here or something. I always knew a good thing when I saw it.
The big outer door opened to a woman in a white chef’s coat.
“Here she is,” Dad said. “Luc, this is Jo.” Dad smiled. The woman beside him did not. Her expression, first startled, then serious, did nothing to mar the beauty of her high cheekbones, deep brown eyes, and thick lashes. Her hair, a little darker than her eyes, was tied back with a pink bandana, adding a sweetness that her expression didn’t match. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I’d seen a lot of pretty women.
I held out my hand. “Lucas Bakker. Nice to meet you, Jo.”
She hesitated a beat before she returned the gesture. “Is there a problem with the food?” Her eyes met mine in a sharp movement.
“A problem? No, nothing like that.”
She paused, looking at me with intensity.
“I wanted to know where you got the recipe for this cake,” I said.
She blinked, then pursed her pouty lips. “It’s mine.”
“You didn’t get it from the chef at Hill & Ocean?”
“No.” Her eyes blazed and not in a sexy way. “What did he tell you?” Her voice rose.
“He said the former pastry chef took it.”
“Ha.” I could almost see steam rising from the mass of thick curls barely contained by the bandana.
“I think he said the guy’s name was Sam. Do you know where I can find Sam?”
“I’m Sam,” she said with fire in her eyes. “I’m the former pastry chef at Hill & Ocean. And Reef, the chef you spoke with, is a son-of-a-bitch.”
Recognition dawned. That was where I saw her. And Cole had been a complete dick to her. He’d come to town for a strategy session, and I took him out to dinner at my favorite place along with a couple other guys. It didn’t go well. That night at Hill & Ocean had been my first sign that the deal was in real trouble with a guy like Cole involved.
She swallowed, and I thought I saw the fire falter a moment.
“That recipe is mine. I brought it with me, and you bet I took it with me when I left. It’s not my fault the new pastry chef couldn’t figure out how to make a decent cake on her own.”
I shook my head to clear it. “I thought your name was Jo.”
“It is. Samantha Jolene. I’m from the south. My mama likes Dolly Parton.” She waved her hand. “I used to go by Sam or Sammy Jo, and now it’s just Jo.”
I noticed a slight Southern drawl, except she didn’t speak cool and sweet like iced tea. She spoke with razor-sharp edges like a blade.
I softened my voice to the one I used when consoling an investor who missed out on a multi-million-dollar deal. “Jo, I’m a big fan of your cooking.”
Her shoulders relaxed some, but her expression remained guarded, and she maintained her stance by the door.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the food.” She folded her arms in front of her. “It tastes good, and it’s good for you, not diet. There’s a difference.”
“I know,” I said, confused. “Look, this almond cake is my favorite thing. I used to buy an entire cake at a time.”
Her eyes grew wide. “That was you?”
“Yes.” I flashed my dimples. They usually got a positive response from the ladies. I hoped that would soften her up more. “And then, in the fall, it changed. That must have been after you left?”
