Sleigh Bells in the Snow Page 17

  Calm and controlled, Jackson rose to his feet. “It seems I need to visit the kitchen before we eat.”

  Before he could take a step across the restaurant the kitchen door opened and a burly man dressed in chef’s whites blundered out.

  “That’s it.” He ripped off his chef’s hat and thrust it at Jackson. “I’m done being told what to do by a woman half my age and height. Either she goes or I go, O’Neil. Your decision.”

  Tally stood there, frozen with dismay, and Jackson smiled at her. “Thanks, Tally. We’re going to need some time with the menu. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”

  The waitress shot him a grateful look and shot off, relieved to be out of the line of fire, while Jackson squared up to the furious chef.

  “This is not the time or the place for this conversation.” He spoke in a low voice that couldn’t be overheard by the other diners. “Be in my office at nine tomorrow. We’ll talk then. And now I’d like you to return to the kitchen. We’re full tonight and I can’t be a chef down.”

  “You should have thought of that before you hired that French bitch.”

  Jackson’s expression didn’t flicker. “You’ll call her Élise, or Chef. And if you want to be on the team at Snow Crystal, you’ll work with her.”

  “I won’t work with her. One of us has to leave.”

  “If that’s your decision, then of course you must go. I won’t stop you.”

  Darren’s face worked in fury. “Wait a minute—you want me to leave?”

  “I have no use for people who won’t work as a team.”

  The chef blustered for a moment and then stabbed a finger into Jackson’s chest. “Your grandfather hired me. He never had any complaints.”

  “I’m not my grandfather.” Those blue eyes were ice-cold, that same mouth that could deliver a smile both sexy and wicked, hard-set and grim. “Go. Now.” His tone made Kayla wish she’d escaped along with Tally, and apparently Darren felt the same way because the bluster left him in a rush. He deflated like a balloon popped at a child’s party.

  “I’ll reconsider if you’ll talk to her.”

  “You threatened to walk out in the middle of service. I accept your resignation.” The softness of his voice was a contrast to the flint in his eyes, and Darren’s expression was wild.

  “No one can reasonably expect me to work with that woman! Do you know what she said to me? She told me to get out of her kitchen because male chauvinist pig wasn’t on the menu.”

  Kayla kept her head down and focused on her phone. She mustn’t smile. There was nothing to smile about.

  Jackson’s chef was about to walk out and the restaurant was fully booked.

  Darren was still blustering. “If you fire her, I’ll reconsider.”

  “Élise has a job and a home here for as long as she wants.” Something in the way he said it caught Kayla’s attention, leaving her with the feeling that there was more behind his words, but Jackson was already walking the man to the door and she could no longer hear the conversation.

  When he returned, she could sense anger simmering beneath the calm. “You’re going to have to excuse me for a moment while I go and talk to my remaining chef.”

  At that moment a young woman with short dark hair emerged from the kitchen. She walked with the energy and grace of a dancer, head held high, eyes gleaming.

  Assuming this to be Élise, Kayla braced herself for another explosion, but instead, the woman approached a young couple dining at one of the tables by the window. “You wanted to see me, non? You enjoyed my langoustines.” She spoke with only a trace of a French accent, her movements fine and delicate as she used her hands to illustrate her speech. “You will come back again and I will cook you my pot-au-feu. It is perfect for this cold weather. When you ’ave tasted it you will never want to eat anything else.” She beamed at the dazzled couple and then virtually danced across the restaurant to where Jackson and Kayla were sitting.

  “Jack—” She softened the j, turning it into the French Jacques, and he rose to his feet, controlled and professional.

  “Élise. Darren won’t be coming back.”

  “Vraiment?” Something that looked suspiciously like happiness brightened her eyes. “He has decided he can no longer work with ‘that French bitch’?”

  Jackson had clearly decided to be economical with the truth. “I’m going to try to get you some help in the kitchen for tonight.”

  “There is no need. The French bitch can manage perfectly, thank you. You just sit down and enjoy your meal with your beautiful friend.” She beamed at Kayla, but Jackson wasn’t smiling.

  “You can’t manage on your own, Élise. We’re full tonight.”

  “And each person will enjoy the best meal they ’ave ever eaten. I can ’andle it. I will promote Jeff for the night. He is excellent chef de partie. He will be excellent sous-chef. I ’ave—have—” her cheeks dimpled as she corrected herself “—taught him to swear in French so the customers aren’t offended.”

  Kayla gave a choked laugh, and Élise looked at her with that bright, direct gaze. “You have ordered your food?”

  Jackson picked up a menu, but Élise leaned across and removed it from his hand.

  “I will decide. If you want to help me, you could find me one more kitchen assistant. Someone willing, with a good work ethic and strong, because a chef spends long hours on their feet.” She eyed his shoulders and her eyes sparkled. “You are strong. If you are bored being the boss, I can find a use for you.” Without giving them time to respond, she walked back through to the kitchen with that same lithe, catlike stride that made Kayla wonder if she’d had ballet training.

  “I like the ‘French bitch.’” She reached for the water that had been discreetly placed on their table while Élise was talking. “Where did you find her?”

  “In Paris. She was cooking in a tiny restaurant on the Left Bank.” He hesitated, as if about to add something, but then smiled. “Luckily for me it didn’t work out for her so I gave her a job. She cooked for me in one of my hotels in Switzerland and then joined me here six months ago. She’s a genius in the kitchen and very professional. You might not guess it, but she was upset tonight. You can always tell how upset Élise is by how French she sounds. In the right mood, her accent is virtually undetectable.” He reached for his glass. “Bringing her in was the right thing to do, but it’s shaken up a few people.”

  “I don’t see you as a man who would have a problem shaking people up if there was a purpose to it.”

  His gaze held hers. “Then you’d be right.”

  Even in this moment of tension, the chemistry was still there.

  She felt it, pulsing between them, and she knew he did, too.

  “Darren didn’t look too pleased.”

  “His ego is bigger than his talent. And he and Élise don’t share the same vision for the restaurant. His objective is to feed people. Hers is to serve a meal you will always remember. That’s what I want for this place.” He sounded sure. “I want people going back to New York, or Boston or wherever it is they’ve come from and I want them talking about the Inn at Snow Crystal. I want them planning their next visit and sending their friends.”

  Kayla watched him across the table, thinking that he was as comfortable in these elegant surroundings as he was in the wild outdoors.

  He’d chosen to wear a jacket and tie but those outward trappings of sophistication did nothing to disguise the strength and power of those shoulders. Did nothing to detract from that raw masculinity that was part of him.

  “Will your grandfather be upset about losing Darren?”

  “Probably. He wants me to go back to Switzerland and stop meddling.” He seemed relaxed, but she knew he had to be feeling the pressure. The future of this place, the future of his family, rested on his shoulders.

  She wondered how he coped with it. Just one meeting with Walter had been enough to send her running. The fact that the reasons for that had been personal didn’t change the fact tha
t Walter had been difficult, abrasive and combative.

  It didn’t make sense to her. “Without you, Snow Crystal would definitely go under. Surely he’s pleased you’re back to help.”

  “He’s not pleased.”

  “Why? It isn’t as if you’re inexperienced. You have an impressive track record. I would have thought he would have been relieved to hand it all over to you.”

  He stared into his glass and then gave a humorless laugh. “I guess to understand that, you have to understand what this place means to my grandfather. His father, my great-grandfather, built Snow Crystal. Met my great-grandmother on a ski slope, and they decided that was what they wanted to do. And it was a tough life. They built it from nothing. Walter was born right here, in the house. Lived here all his life.”

  “Which should mean he wants to protect it.”

  “I guess it’s hard to hand something over that means as much as this place means to him. He wants it to stay as it was. He resents the changes I make.”

  “But you’re here anyway.”

  “They need me.”

  And that, she thought, said everything about him. He was a man who believed in family, and stuck by them even when things were difficult.

  Something tightened in the pit of her stomach. “There’s no way he can argue that what you’ve done here isn’t a good thing.” Glancing to her right, she saw elegance, polished silver and a room full of happy diners.

  “I expect he credits Darren.” Jackson picked up his wineglass. “If you hear an explosion tomorrow, it won’t be avalanche blasting. And I am going to have to find more staff for the kitchen because, no matter what Élise says, she can’t manage the holiday season on her own.”

  Kayla thought about Elizabeth, trying to fill the gap in her life with cooking. “Could your mother help? She obviously loves feeding people.”

  Jackson lowered his glass. “That,” he said slowly, “is a great idea.”

  “Maybe she wouldn’t like working with Élise.”

  “She loves Élise. They talk recipes all the time. Élise is always popping over there to sample whatever my mother has in the oven. And you’re right—feeding people keeps her happy. Cooking relaxes her, which is why your idea is such a good one. She needs something new to focus on. I’ll talk to them both tomorrow.” He sat back as lobster ravioli was placed in front of them, and Kayla noticed how much attention Tally paid Jackson.

  “Some people are pleased you’re here.” She waited until the girl had walked away to make the observation, and Jackson smiled.

  “That will be the people who are terrified of Walter. And maybe the people who can do basic math and understand that this place needs paying guests.” He played it down but Kayla had already seen enough to know the staff worshipped Jackson. She suspected it wasn’t just because he was the one standing between them and unemployment.

  She picked up her fork and looked at her plate. “This looks amazing.”

  “Élise insists on using as many fresh, local ingredients as possible, and she changes the menu on the fly depending on what’s available.” He waited while she took a mouthful. “Is it good?”

  “It’s sublime—” She closed her eyes as flavor exploded on her tongue, and when she opened them again he was watching her, lids half-lowered in a way that took her right back to that moment in the forest.

  “Jackson—”

  “You must eat out all the time in New York.” His voice was level and steady, as if they hadn’t just generated enough heat to light the candle in the center of the table without the use of a naked flame.

  Kayla relaxed slightly. If he could ignore it then she could ignore it, too.

  “I’m usually paying attention to the client, not the food.” She took another mouthful, wondering why this felt more like a date than a dinner meeting. “So Élise is your star?”

  “Not my only star. We’re building up a good team here. Brenna is awesome. Not just a talented skier, but a gifted teacher. She’s a PSIA level 3 coach.”

  “PSIA?”

  “Professional Ski Instructors of America. Level 3 is the most advanced qualification. Brenna grew up here, but she spent four years working with me in Switzerland and another two in Jackson Hole, so she’s an experienced and gifted teacher. She can teach anything from a three-year-old who can’t stand on skis to a teenager who wants to ski deep powder. Now Tyler is back, he is going to help her. Were your earrings a gift from a lover?”

  The shift from professional to personal gave her whiplash. “I bought them for myself when I got my last promotion.”

  “A woman who buys diamonds for herself.” He reached for his wine. “I wonder what that says about her.”

  “It says she knows what she wants and doesn’t wait around for someone else to buy it for her.”

  “You got something against a man buying you gifts, Kayla?”

  “Not in principle.” She stabbed her fork into another delicious mouthful. “But in practice a man buying a woman gifts usually means they’re in some sort of relationship, and I don’t do relationships.”

  “Relationship is a broad term. Covers a lot of possibilities.”

  “Mmm—” she chewed “—and I’m equally bad at all of them. How is your langoustine?”

  “Delicious. What makes you think you’re bad?”

  “Evidence and experience. Why are we talking about this and not Snow Crystal?”

  “Because for five minutes of my life I’d like to think about something other than Snow Crystal.”

  She realized how utterly all-consuming it must be, trying to haul this place back from the edge, especially with Walter standing in his way.

  “You have a difficult task. Which makes what you’ve accomplished all the more admirable.” She glanced sideways. “Not a single empty table.”

  “Élise will be having a nervous breakdown.”

  Kayla thought of the fire she’d sensed in the other girl. “One person’s nervous breakdown is another’s opportunity. It’s exciting. I think she’ll fly.” By the time she’d cleared her plate, she was sure of it. “That was incredible. What you’ve created here—” She tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “You need a different strategy for the restaurant than you do for the rest of Snow Crystal.” When he raised his eyebrows, she continued. “The Inn should have its own identity.”

  He leaned back, listening. “Go on.”

  She outlined her thoughts, relieved to focus on work because the alternative was focusing on him. When she paused to gauge his reaction he was watching her with those dangerous blue eyes that drew her in.

  Her mind blanked.

  The people around her faded.

  She forgot the restaurant and the other diners. Forgot everyone except him. And still he looked at her until her heart kicked her chest like the hooves of a wild horse trying to escape captivity.

  The silence was agonizing. The tension, torture.

  And she knew he felt it, too, because when he spoke his voice was thickened and rough.

  “When you’re passionate about something, your whole face lights up. I love that. I love your energy and drive.”

  Her hands were shaking, so she put down her wineglass. “I’m passionate about making this work for you.”

  “Why?”

  It shouldn’t have been a difficult question to answer. He was a client. But those weren’t the words on her lips. “Because I can see how much it matters. I can see what you have riding on it.” Forcing herself to focus, she outlined more suggestions, checked her hands weren’t still shaking and reached for her phone so that she could make some notes. “What do you think?”

  “What I think,” he said slowly, “is that no matter what the situation or the conversation, you always bring it back to work.”

  “Work is the reason I’m here. I think we need to make dining here as personal an experience as possible. Maybe Élise could give away some kitchen secrets, offer recipes that diners can re-create at home. We can post photos of the f
ood and maybe the occasional one of the chefs at work.” She was talking too fast and too much.

  She knew it.

  He knew it.

  He leaned forward, still watching her. “What happens if you don’t talk about work?”

  “You’re paying me to talk about work.”

  “Your light was on at 2:00 a.m. and you were up again at five. Why don’t you sleep, Kayla?”

  The knowledge that he could see her cabin from his barn gave her a jolt. “If you saw that, you must have been awake, too.”

  “I was working on budgets and forecasts. Not my favorite occupation for two in the morning. And now I want to forget about work.”

  She didn’t want to forget about work. It was vitally important to her that she didn’t forget about work or she’d start thinking about him and the chemistry. And that kiss. Oh, God, that kiss.

  He was a client and she wasn’t used to blurring the lines.

  “Tell me about growing up at Snow Crystal.”

  “I’d rather talk about you.”

  “I’m boring.”

  “Most people who work hard, play hard.” He sat back as Tally removed their plates. “You don’t seem to be one of those.”

  “I have fun doing what I do. My clients are beneficiaries of that.”

  “I can think of at least ten minutes earlier today when you weren’t thinking about work.”

  That moment had been simmering between them all day.

  “What happened earlier was a mistake, Jackson.”

  “You think so?” His gaze flicked to hers. “Generally I know when I’m making a mistake. Coming back here sometimes feels like one. Working at 2:00 a.m. always feels like one. Kissing you, didn’t.”

  Desperate, she latched on to the one part of the conversation that wasn’t personal. “Why does it feel like a mistake to have come back?”

  “I’m not going to let you do that. I’m not going to let you shift this conversation.” His gaze was locked on hers. He didn’t look away. Not even when Tally delivered the main course to the table—rack of lamb served with baby vegetables and crushed herbed potatoes. “Tell me why you were willing to work over Christmas.”