Chapter Four
Jameson stared in pure horror at the creature happily trotting in step next to his fill-in waitress. “What in hell’s name is that?”
She barely acknowledged him as she whizzed by. The day was unseasonably warm, and he’d opened up the patio for brunch with the heaters full blast while the weak sun filtered through the drifting clouds. Reservations were full and he was excited to launch the tweaked brunch menu after convincing the chef to try something new. Seems the menu hadn’t been updated in a long time. In Jameson’s view, it wasn’t a good way to run a restaurant. But instead of explaining it to Mac, he’d just show him the proof when his cousin returned.
If he could stay sane until then.
He raised his voice since he was being ignored. “Ms. Pratt—what do you think you’re doing?”
Those gorgeous eyes regarded him like he was an irritation rather than her boss for the morning. “This is Bear. I inherited him until I can find a foster home so I’m tying him up here so he can watch the action and not be alone.”
He almost choked. “Why didn’t you keep him at home where he belongs? He’s a monster. He’ll scare away my customers.”
She snorted. “He’s a big baby and loves people. Just not other animals. I can’t leave him alone because my place is tiny and he cries every time I walk into another room.”
“He can’t stay here. Go take him somewhere else.”
She straightened up and regarded him with iciness. “He’s traumatized and needs some help to heal. He was abandoned on the highway and some serious shit happened in his past. I’m asking you to find a shred of holiday spirit, okay? The customers will love him. Everyone loves dogs.” She paused, narrowing her gaze. “Almost everyone.”
A muttered curse escaped his lips. He studied the drooling, shedding Cujo in front of him, happily sitting on a blanket and giving Devon googly eyes. Of course, the beast was already in love with her. His insides squirmed at the image of the canine alone on the road and exposed to both the elements and other people’s cruelty. He didn’t hate dogs at all. They were just…a lot of responsibility.
The memory flashed before him and Jameson quickly shut it down. The past was past for a reason. He re-focused on the conversation. “Fine. But he better behave or he leaves. Understood?”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure.”
His lips firmed at her obvious snark. “Put on your uniform and let’s get going. You need to look over the new menu and specials.”
With a last pat on the beast’s head, she sauntered over. “Why’d you change the menu? Everyone loved it.”
“Change equals growth. The place needs freshening up and I’m happy to do it.”
“How’d you get Marcus to go along with you?”
The lie about the chef eased from his lips. “He was excited to do something different.”
Her snort said she knew the truth but he refused to spar with her. She finally gave up on arguing and left to change. Jameson glanced at the dog, who suddenly looked fearful of being without his mistress. Those big dark eyes fastened onto him and the beast whimpered.
“Ugh, she’ll be back soon. Just chill.”
Another moan. Sweat broke out on his skin. He couldn’t deal with this now. He was going to kill Devon. Having her fill in wasn’t worth this emotional hostage situation.
Thankfully, she came right out in a snug black t-shirt and skirt. He tried not to stare and freak her out. Her long hair was braided and swinging down her back. The uniform was simple—Mac had refused to make the staff dress universally so he’d taken care of that—but the fabric clung perfectly to all her curves, showing off muscled calves and an ass that made his mouth water. Jameson had a sudden impulse to close the distance, tip that stubborn chin up, and press his lips against hers. He wondered what she’d taste like.
Holy hell, he needed to stop. The woman was irritating and stubborn. He preferred his dates to be amenable, gentle-natured, and easy to please. Working in the restaurant business was too stressful, and he didn’t want to waste his time fighting over why he was so busy or refused to commit. He had a feeling Devon wouldn’t agree to his terms. She’d probably insist on her own.
“I don’t like these uniforms. They’re boring and too tight. I don’t like skirts.”
Jameson grabbed onto his patience. “It’s a traditional uniform and you’re the only one who’s complained.” He refused to share that the rest of the staff had said the same, asking for red and pink and yellow instead of black. And shorts—none of the women liked the skirts.
“Just trying to help.”
He shook his head to clear it and handed her a menu. “Memorize it. Here’s the table chart. Layla is hostessing so she’ll help with any questions.”
He pivoted on his heel.
“Wait! Where’s the pancake charcuterie board?”
“I got rid of it. Do you know it’s been on the menu since the place opened? Too basic.”
He kept walking but she trotted after him. “Wait! That’s everyone’s favorite. You never take away a signature dish.”
He tamped down an impatient sigh. “Anyone can get pancakes, bacon, and sausage.”
“Not two kinds of bacon with fresh fruit and Nutella!”
He lifted a brow. “You can purchase each of those ingredients at any supermarket. Vintage is better than that.”
“No one wants a fancy lobster taco that costs fifty dollars. And what’s up with the cocktail menu? There’s a big ass sign saying all BYOB requests will be denied, and you’re pushing blood orange mimosas and jalapeno margaritas? People want to bring their own alcohol to save money. Or buy a Cape May White and call it a day.”
He gave her a good hard glare. “Everyone loves lobster and a specialty cocktail. We’re at the beach. It’s expected.”
“Breakfast platters and BYOB is expected at Vintage. It was built on traditional favorites. You’re ruining it.”
He leaned in. “I guarantee the lobster breakfast tacos and drinks will be a hit.”
“And I guarantee your customers will complain about the pancakes.”
“Wanna bet?”
He didn’t know what made him say it. Maybe the smug expression on her beautiful face, or the way she was constantly trying to challenge him on anything he did. All of his testosterone exploded and he only knew he wanted to win. Her moss green eyes lit up with interest. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “We see what the guests prefer.”
The woman actually rubbed her hands together with glee. “This is awesome! What do I get when I win?”
“I’ve been in the restaurant industry for years,” he said almost gently. “You should be asking what I get when I win.”
“You may know the industry, but you don’t know your customer, restaurant boy.”
Jameson tried to keep civil. “When I win, you stop giving me a hard time about everything. No more questioning my decisions. I will expect not only your full support, but for you to spread the word about town that Vintage has never been better under my direction.”
He tried not to grin at her horrified expression. “I have to lie?”
“No, you have to tell the truth.”
She ignored him and gave a suffering sigh. “Fine. Thank goodness, I won’t lose.”
“Keep dreaming, flower girl.” He began to walk away but her lilting, velvety voice stroked his ears and made him still.
“When I win, you take Bear.”
Slowly, he cranked his head around. “Excuse me?”
A big ass grin curved her lips. Hands crossed in front of her chest, she practically vibrated with glee. “You heard me. You foster Bear until I can find a home for him.”
He blinked. “I’m in Mac’s house. That’s impossible.”
“No, it’s not. Mac always helps out with fostering animals. In fact, six months ago, he fostered a golden retriever for a few weeks and loved it. He’ll be fully on board.”
The idea was so impossible, he refused to consider it. There was no way he’d be stuck with a slobbering, shedding, giant whining baby who refused to be left alone. He needed his quiet and peace when he left the restaurant. No, it would never happen.
He believed in himself and his skills.
It took all of his expertise not to show his concern. “Fine. It won’t matter anyway.”
She began laughing, and Jameson tried not to shudder. The sound reminded him of victory.
He hurried off with the echoes in his ears.
* * * *
“Hi, folks. Welcome to Vintage. My name is Devon. What can I get you?”
The couple glanced at each other warily. The man wore a reindeer Christmas sweater and a red ball cap that said Let the Festivus Begin! His wife was dressed in black pants, a green blouse, and a brightly colored scarf stitched with wreaths. Her smart gray bob curved under her chin and showed off her dangly silver earrings. They looked like an upper-class couple in for the weekend to see the holiday lights and enjoy the beach town. “Well, we must’ve been mistaken about the bar. We brought our own champagne but I see they’re serving cocktails?” the woman asked.
She swallowed her grin. This was the fourth table disappointed they couldn’t drink the bottle of booze they brought. “That’s right, we got our liquor license. There’s a delicious blood orange mimosa you may enjoy.”
A frown knit the woman’s brow. “I guess. Okay.”
The man gave a smile that deepened the creases around his eyes. “I’ll just have pineapple juice, please. Oh, and can we get the pancake charcuterie platter? We’ll split it.”
Now, she had to try hard not to giggle. The first hour was filled with confused repeat customers who couldn’t understand why the pancakes were gone and two had mentioned the high price of the lobster tacos. “I’m sorry, that’s no longer on the menu.”
The gentleman looked upset. “But it’s our favorite. This is the second time we’ve been here. Can the chef prepare it anyway?”
“I’m very sorry but we can only do what’s on the menu. May I suggest the lobster tacos? It’s a new special and quite popular.”
The woman’s face fell. “Oh. Well, I guess. What do you think, Martin?”
“Did they take away the flatbread too?” he asked with a touch of irritation.
“No, that’s still here.”
“Fine, I’ll have that. Thank you.”
She smiled and walked away, stopping by Bear to check on him. The family at the table was pointing and smiling at him, while the little girl with pigtails called him a magical creature from the book she was reading. Bear loved the attention, giving them a goofy, drooly grin and cocking his gigantic ears as if he knew they were talking about him.
That table had wanted the pancakes, too.
Devon checked in with Layla. “Table four asked for the charcuterie board,” she whispered.
Layla noted it on the pad of paper. “Got it. He’s going to be pissed.”
“Probably. By the way, what do you think of the uniforms?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Hate ‘em. I asked for pink. The guys wanted it, too.”
“I hear you.”
“When is Mac coming back?”
Devon patted Layla on the shoulder. “When his sister is ready to let him go. Hang in.”
She kept careful tally of the orders and comments, while keeping an eye on Jameson. He seemed to be doing his own survey, stopping at each of the tables before they left to chat, looking distinguished in a black suit with a silver blue tie. She wondered what his body looked like underneath all those designer fabrics. She wondered if he had tats anywhere else. She wondered if those lips could dazzle in bed as much as they pricked in speech. She wondered—
No. She would not think about him like that. Since the moment he got into town, he’d tried to wrestle control of Vintage, cancel the Fur Gala, force her to work for him, and challenge her to a bet he believed was impossible for her to win. It was rare her body craved someone her mind didn’t. Her past relationships had always been in sync with no hesitation regarding what she wanted. This odd interest in Jameson had thrown her off.
Devon reminded herself she just needed to teach him a good old-fashioned lesson. If she won the bet, he’d be taken down a notch, and maybe it would slow down his roll with trying to change Vintage.
The rest of her shift flew by, and finally they reached the dead zone between brunch and dinner. Her feet and arms ached but a sense of satisfaction buzzed through her. Another reminder of how her energy surged when she was helping people.
She pressed her lips together at Jameson’s usual frown. Seems like he didn’t share the same buzz. Why would he have gone into the restaurant industry if he didn’t like customer service? Devon imagined he’d be better suited to research, where he was contained in a back room and could rule his own world, on his terms.
He strolled toward her with a purpose that made her wonder what it would be like once he claimed a woman. Was he possessive? Direct? Would he approach seduction as a goal to be met, or did he ever let go during the journey? He stopped a few inches from her and she caught his scent—clean and crisp, with a hint of lemon. Those cool pewter colored eyes flared with a hint of smoke and threw her a tiny bit off balance. “Did you cajole them?”
She blinked. “Cajole who?”
He cut a hand through the air. “The customers. Did you cajole them to order the charcuterie so you could say it’s off the menu?”
Oh, this was priceless. His face tightened with annoyance. “Cajole, huh?” she drawled. “Bringing out the big words, restaurant boy?”
“No, I just happen to read.”
She ignored his biting comment. “Are you pissed off you lost the bet and looking for excuses?”
He practically spluttered with outrage. “I don’t welch on bets, flower girl. But I wouldn’t put it past you to flirt to get your way.”
This time, she spluttered. “Flirt? With who? There weren’t even single men here for brunch!”
He snorted. “You don’t need a single man to flirt. You do it with everyone.”
“That’s called being nice. Maybe you should try it sometime. You may get what you want.”
They glared at each other. His nostrils flared. She watched with fascination as he got himself back under control, and the smoke in his eyes turned to burnt charcoal. “Bring the beast to Mac’s place tonight.”
Devon knew her smile dazzled. She couldn’t help leaning close and lowering her voice to a sexy whisper. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
She didn’t wait to relish his reaction. Just spun on her heel and walked away.
Her encounters with Jameson Franklin should not be this much fun.