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Along Came Trouble

Grand Central Publishing

CHAPTER 1

Despite the restaurant's chaotic sport-themed decor, the waitstaff was efficient, friendly, and brought the entree in a very timely manner. However, I can only assume the reason the food was mediocre is due to the fact that it arrived in less than ten minutes. I'd like to be able to say the appearance made up for the bland, overcooked hamburger and French fries with enough seasoning to set my mouth on fire ...'"

Brody leaned back against his desk as his assistant manager, Charlene, lifted her eyes up to his. "And?" he prompted.

Her tongue darted out along her bare lower lip before she continued reading. " 'But unfortunately the dish looked just as unsatisfying as it tasted. The hamburger, large enough to feed a small horse, sat on a bun much more suited to a silver dollar. Only about a dozen French fries accompanied the burger, and while most fries tend to please my palate, these weren't worth eating more than one.'" Charlene dropped the magazine down to her lap and sent him a desperate look. He knew the feeling. "Do I have to keep reading this?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a bitch of a headache. "Yes."

The magazine trembled when her fingers grasped the pages once again. "'I forced myself to eat as much as I could, hoping to find some redemption, only to get my fifteen ninety-nine worth out of the meal. The only pleasant part was my waitress, who seemed to sense my disdain as she shot me a look of sympathy before carting away my half-eaten meal. The Golden Glove has been a staple of the small town of Trouble, Wyoming, for more than ten years now, but it's hardly worth the price. On the upside, I was able to catch the game from one of the dozen televisions mounted on the walls. Maybe the owner should have taken the money he spent on forty-six-inch LCD televisions and hired a better chef instead.'"

Charlene placed the magazine down with great care on his immaculate desk so as not to add yet another blow to poor Brody's day. "This is the second bad review we've had in six months, Brody."

His assistant manager was four years younger than he and a force to be reckoned with. She also had a tender streak that ran deep, which wasn't something she allowed a lot of people to see. Shortly after his divorce, she'd allowed him to see that side of her when she showed up at his house with a bottle of wine and told him he needed to shave. For one weak moment he indulged himself and broke one of his own cardinal rules by sleeping with her. Almost immediately thereafter, they realized they'd made a huge mistake. Granted, the release had been much needed, but they were far better as friends than lovers. Neither one had mentioned that night since. Both were happy to pretend it had never happened. In addition, they'd mutually agreed that they were better off as friends. Working together, and all that.

"Yeah, no shit." He pushed away from the desk and tried to walk the agitation out of his bones. One bad review was enough to send a restaurant into restaurant hell, but two? He kept reminding himself that these kinds of restaurant reviewers were just freelance writers who couldn't make it as chefs so they spent their time dogging every restaurant they could. But what were the chances of two different reviewers giving his restaurant such a similarly poor report? And, perhaps more important, his two previous chefs possessed more power to bring the restaurant down than a couple of magazine reviews.

When the Golden Glove had opened eleven years ago, the place had had a line wrapped around the building just to get a seat at the bar. Even though he'd known next to nothing about restaurants, his father had placed him in charge. Brody had stepped in and done the best he could, which had been damn good, if he did say so himself. The Golden Glove had thrived under his leadership for several years. Unfortunately, a series of simultaneous events, including losing their chef and RJ, had caused their numbers to dwindle. Despite his efforts, the Golden Glove was on a downward slide in terms of diners and profits.

In fact, the situation was so dire, if they kept up like this, they'd have to close their doors in six months. The thought created a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, something he'd been dealing with a lot lately. If the Golden Glove went under, not only would all his employees be without jobs, but Brody would lose his meal ticket and his means of taking care of Tyler.

No matter what it took, Brody had to save the restaurant.

"Well, the only good thing is this was written when we had Gary. Now we have Travis."

"That doesn't make me feel better." Brody eased into his chair and leaned his head back. Travis was their third executive chef this year. The man had come highly recommended by a manager of another restaurant in town. The fact that said restaurant had recently closed its doors sent tremors of uncertainty through Brody. Michael, the man who'd been the Golden Glove's original chef and a freakin' miracle worker, had left them for the greener pastures of being the executive chef of a major five-star hotel in Los Angeles. Now, Brody wasn't going to lie to himself; Michael's departure had rubbed him the wrong way, mostly because the man had been there longer than anyone, and Brody had expected more loyalty. After the sting had worn off, Brody admitted that Michael needed to do what was best for him and his three kids. Then Gary had come strolling in, promising to outshine Michael and put the Golden Glove on the map of great restaurants. After three short months, Brody had shown his incompetent ass the door.

Charlene stood from the chair, grabbed the magazine, and tossed it in the trash can. "That guy doesn't know what he's talking about. He's probably some loser who has nothing better to do with his time."

"He's right though. Gary was a terrible chef. That's why I fired him."

She placed her hands on her narrow hips. "I'm trying to make you feel better here. Tell me it's helping a little."

Brody stared back at her out of stormy gray eyes. "It's not helping."

She plowed fingers through her chin-length black hair. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. We're going to ignore this stupid review, go forward with the photo shoot today, and pray this relaunch will put this place back on its feet. Then we'll show people like that idiot reviewer we're worth coming back to." Her legs ate up the expanse of his office.

"You're awfully confident," Brody muttered.

"Why wouldn't I be? We've completely redecorated, and the place looks way better than it did when it first opened, plus we have a new chef." Then she added, "With a new menu."

"Are you saying you think Travis can turn this place around?" Brody shifted his thick shoulders around to ease some of the tension that had his muscles coiled.

"Don't you think he can?" Charlene's thin brows shot up her forehead.

Brody swiveled back and forth in his chair and ran a hand along the edge of his desk. "I'm not sure yet. To be honest, I'm not all that impressed with him." But if Travis wasn't the savior this place needed, then who was? Although Brody liked the guy, his future in his own restaurant hinged on the young chef's abilities. The thought sent a tremor of alarm through his already weary body.

"He's a hell of a lot better than Gary was."

A snort popped out of him. "My eleven-year-old son can cook better than Gary."

The corners of Charlene's lips turned up in a smile. She inhaled a deep breath and sat back down in the chair. "Look, I know you're still kind of pissed about Michael leaving and you think you won't find anyone as good as him. But you will."

"I hope you're right." He ran a hand through his midnight dark hair. Man, he needed a haircut. "If not, there's a good chance I'll have to sell my house and find another job." Another thought that had the contents of his breakfast churning like acid in his stomach.

She leaned forward in her chair and propped an elbow on the edge of his desk. "There's no way Martin will fire you." Then she jumped ahead when he opened his mouth to argue. "I think we're taking a step in the right direction today. We've got that photographer coming in to take pictures. And I know Travis is young, but I think he shows a lot of promise."

One of Charlene's best assets was her positive attitude. At times when Brody found himself moping like a moody teenager, Charlene would come in with her Mary Poppins–like persona and pep talk him into straightening his act up. Brody would be the first one to tell anyone he'd been an unbearable hard-ass since his divorce four years ago. Something about separating from Kelly had opened up a side of him even he hadn't known existed. Charlene had never let a moment escape without telling him to get his shit together. Being spoken to like that wasn't something he appreciated, but from Charlene he tolerated it. She didn't put up with his crap anyway, so telling her to stuff it would only be speaking to air.

"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.
(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Along Came Trouble by Erin Kern. Copyright © 2013 Erin Kern. Excerpted by permission of Grand Central Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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