CHAPTER TWO #2
The clock on the wall showed it was ten thirty. My two waitresses were in the dining room, rolling silverware into cloth napkins and refilling salt and pepper shakers. Mondays weren’t typically busy, but they weren’t quiet either.
There was no such thing as quiet these days.
Apparently not even at my own home or kitchen.
“I don’t make the other housekeepers lunch.”
“Knox, please. She just got here. I doubt she’s even had a chance to get to the grocery store.”
“Then let her leave early. You don’t need her cleaning today.”
“No, but we have paperwork to do. And orientation videos. I get the impression that she’d like the hours. Daycare is expensive. Please?”
I sighed. Please. Eloise wielded that single word the way a warrior would a sword. And I was being nice. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” She plucked a tomato cube from the cutting board and popped it into her mouth.
“What’s her story?”
“What do you mean?”
“That baby is the same age as Hudson.” Our nephew was two months old, and Winslow, though she pulled a shift here and there, was still on maternity leave. “Isn’t that young to have a kid in daycare full-time?”
“She’s a single working mother, Knox. Not everyone has the luxury of maternity leave.”
“I get that but . . . what’s the story with the kid’s father?
Why’d she move all the way to Montana from New York?
” And why had she taken that drive alone?
That wasn’t a safe trip, especially with an infant.
She should have had help. How did an educated, gorgeous woman end up traveling across the country alone with a baby and what seemed like every one of her possessions stuffed into a Volvo?
“I don’t know because it’s none of my business. If Memphis wants to talk about it, she will.” Eloise narrowed her gaze. “Why are you asking? I’m usually the curious one. Not you.”
“She’s living at my house.”
“Afraid she’s going to murder you in your sleep?” Eloise teased, stealing another tomato.
“I’d like to know who’s on my property.”
“My new employee, whose personal life is her own. And a mother new to Quincy. Which is why you’re going to make her lunch. Because I’m guessing she hasn’t had anyone make her a meal in weeks. Fast food doesn’t count.”
I frowned and stalked through the kitchen, swiping up a mixing bowl, an onion and a lime.
Once again, Eloise was getting attached to an employee. After the lawsuit, both Mom and Dad had warned her to keep professional boundaries. But where Memphis was concerned, Eloise had already crossed them.
So had I, the day I’d agreed to let a strange woman and her child move onto my property.
Eloise checked the clock. “I’ll be at the front desk for the rest of the day. Memphis is going to work on paperwork in the staff lounge and then go through orientation videos. What time should I send her here for lunch?”
“Eleven.” Memphis could eat with the rest of us before the lunch rush hit. “You need to find out more about her story.”
“If you’re so curious, you ask her when she comes in to eat.” Eloise smiled her victorious smile and disappeared.
Damn. I loved my sister, but along with that big heart, she was naive. Other than her four years away for college, she’d only lived in Quincy. This community loved her. She didn’t realize just how devious and horrible people could be.
Memphis hadn’t done anything worrisome. Yet. But I didn’t like how little we all knew about her story. There were too many unanswered questions.
I shoved the worries aside, focusing on the prep I’d been doing since five this morning.
My days started early, working before we opened the restaurant for hotel guests at seven.
After making a handful of omelets and scrambles this morning, I’d been gearing up for tonight’s meals.
My sous chef, Roxanne, would be cooking dinner tonight so I could have an evening off.
The minutes passed too quickly and when the door opened, I glanced at the clock to see it was exactly eleven.
“Hi.” Memphis gave me a whisper of a smile.
With an actual smile, she’d be more than trouble. She’d be a hurricane leaving devastation in her wake.
“Um . . . Eloise said something about coming in for lunch.”
“Yeah.” I nodded to the opposite side of the table where I kept a few stools. “Have a seat.”
“I don’t need anything. Really. I’m sure you’re busy, and I don’t want to intrude.”
Before I could respond, Eloise breezed through the door with my line cook, Skip, right behind her. “You’re not intruding.”
“Hey, Knox.” Skip glanced at Memphis, his footsteps stuttering as he did his own double take.
Memphis’s beauty turned heads twice.
“We’re making lunch.” I pointed for Skip to put on an apron.
Introductions could wait. At the moment, I just wanted to make this meal and send Eloise and Memphis on their way so I could concentrate without Memphis’s chocolate-brown eyes tracking my every move.
But did Skip get an apron off the row of hooks? No. Because apparently no one was listening to me today.
“I’m Skip.” He held out his hand.
“Memphis.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. What can I make you for lunch?” He held her hand for a moment too long with a stupid grin on his face.
“Tacos,” I snapped, rounding the table to get a package of tortillas. “We’re having tacos. Or we would be if you’d let go of her hand and get to work.”
“Ignore him.” Skip laughed but released her hand and went to pull an apron over his head. Finally. He tied his graying hair out of his face before going to the sink to wash his hands. The entire time he worked the soap into a lather, he stared at Memphis.
“Skip,” I barked.
“What?” He smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing.
Skip had worked in my kitchen since I’d moved home five years ago. This was the first time I’d ever wanted to fire him.
“So Knox owns the restaurant,” Eloise said, getting both her and Memphis a glass of water. “My parents own the hotel. There might be times when we ask you to help run room service deliveries, just depending on how busy we are. It’s sort of an all-hands-on-deck approach around here.”
“I’m happy to help with whatever is needed. Do you also run a bar service? Or just have the in-room fridges?” Memphis asked.
“What’s a bar service?” Eloise asked.
“Oh, it’s a newer trend,” she said. “Most upscale hotels in the major cities offer a bar service, like Bloody Mary carts delivered to individual rooms or an on-call service to the hotel’s bar.”
Eloise’s face lit up.
Shit. “No bar service.” I squashed that brainchild before it grew legs. “We don’t have a full bar here. All I serve are beer and wine. Both are included on the room service menu, which is different than the restaurant’s menu.”
“Got it.” Memphis took a sip of her water, her gaze darting to my hands as I began plating.
Skip made short work of grilling the shrimp I’d had in a quick marinade.
Memphis’s eyes widened as he placed six on her plate, like this was the first real meal she’d had in a while. “So, um . . . how does Chief Eden fit into your family?”
“She’s married to our oldest brother, Griffin,” Eloise explained. “There are six of us. How about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“One sister. One brother.”
“Maybe they’ll come out to visit. We give employees a ten-percent discount.”
Memphis shook her head, her gaze dropping to the table. “We’re not, um . . . close.”
That explained why her sister or brother hadn’t come to Montana with her. My siblings drove me bat-shit crazy, but I couldn’t imagine life without them. But what about her parents? Memphis didn’t offer anything else, and Eloise, who I could normally count on to be nosy as hell, didn’t ask.
My hands moved automatically to assemble two plates, and when they were ready, I slid them across the table.
“Thank you.” Memphis inched the plate closer, carefully folding a taco before taking a bite.
Some chefs didn’t like watching people eat their food. They feared the raw reaction. Not me. I loved watching that first bite. In my early days at culinary school, I’d learned from expressions, both good and bad.
Except I should have looked away.
Memphis moaned. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Any other person and I’d give myself a pat on the back and take it as a job well done.
With Memphis, my heart thumped and a surge of blood raced to my groin. Watching her eat was erotic. Only one other woman had had the same impact. And she’d fucked me over ruthlessly.
Trouble. Goddamn trouble. I needed Memphis out of my kitchen and, before long, out of my loft.
“This is amazing,” she said.
“It’s just tacos,” I grumbled, focusing on the other plates. I didn’t want her compliments. I’d rather she hate the food.
“Knox is the best,” Eloise said, taking her own bite.
“It’s been a long time since anyone has cooked for me.” Memphis scooped a spoonful of my fresh pico, readying her next bite. “Unless you count Ronald McDonald.”
Eloise’s mouth was too full for her to speak but that didn’t matter.
I told you so was written all over her face.
Her phone rang and she plucked it up from the table, muffling a groan as she swallowed.
“I’ve got to take this. Come find me when you’re done,” she told Memphis before picking up her plate and scurrying out of the room.
The doorbell at the alley door buzzed. Our food supplier came every Monday. Bless him for being three hours early. It was the perfect excuse to escape this kitchen, but before I could make a move, Skip shut off the flat top and untied his apron. “I’ll get it. You eat.”
“Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.
I didn’t take my plate to the stool beside Memphis. I inhaled a taco while standing beside the prep table. The sound of our chewing mixed with Skip’s muted voice as he chatted with the delivery driver.
Then a phone rang.
Memphis put her food down and dug her phone from her pocket. She frowned at the screen, then silenced the call. Not two seconds later, it rang again. She declined it too. “Sorry.”
“Do you need to get that?”
“No, it’s fine.” Except the strain on her face said it wasn’t fine. And she didn’t touch her food again. What the hell? “Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”
I waved her off when she stood to clear her plate. “Just leave it.”
“Oh, okay.” She wiped her hands on her gray slacks. Her black sweater hung on her shoulders, like it had once fit but now was too loose. Then she was gone, rushing out of the kitchen with her phone clutched in her grip.
Skip came down the hallway with a box, setting it on the table. The delivery guy followed with a dolly.
I signed for the order, then began putting my produce away in the walk-in.
“So who was that?” Skip asked. “New front desk clerk?”
“Housekeeper.”
He grinned. “She’s a looker. You interested?”
“No,” I lied, picking up an apple to run my thumb across the taut, waxy skin. “Once the lunch rush is over, let’s make an apple pie or two for the dinner dessert menu.”
In another life, another world, I’d chase a woman like Memphis. But I’d spent the last five years in reality.
She was a hotel employee. My temporary tenant. Nothing more.
Memphis Ward was none of my damn business.