Free On the Steamy Side by Louisa Edwards Page B

cry.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Devon felt a smile tugging at his mouth. Damn, that Lilah Jane was a sassy little piece.

    “Oi, she had you sussed with one glance, didn’t she? Clever as a cat. Honestly, if it weren’t for Jess, I’d be right tempted. Adam? Have a ball in Deutschland, mate. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Frankie palmed his cigarettes and tapped one out of the pack, grinning cheekily over his shoulder as he headed for the back alley.

    Devon gave the departing Brit an irritable glance. The punked-out chef had recently gotten involved with a young photography student/waiter who also happened to be Miranda’s brother.

    The staff at Market evidently conducted business as if they were running a soap opera rather than a restaurant. It made his head pound to think about navigating the swamp of high emotion and illicit love affairs.

    He deliberately avoided thinking about the fact that he was personally responsible for the latest daytime drama at Market. That was over and done with; they’d both expected never to see one another again. The fact that they were working together changed nothing.

    There was no reason to refer to what happened last night, and lots of reasons to pretend it never happened at all.

    “What just happened?” Adam looked bewildered for a second, then brightened. “Oh, hey! Never mind.
    You know where everything is, right? Or Frankie and Grant can show you. But you’ll be okay?” And there went Devon’s palms again, clammy and cold. In the heat of every moment in Lilah’s presence, he’d forgotten his nauseating stress over tonight.

    It had been a while—okay, years—since he ran the same kitchen night after night.

    Summoning the bravado that had gotten him through countless disastrous filming sessions, Devon said, “We’ll manage to muddle through while you’re busy on your phoneymoon. Why the hell is it just a vacation again?”

    “Please, like I haven’t asked Miranda to marry me a dozen times. But she says until it’s legal for Jess to marry the man he loves, she’s boycotting the whole institution.” He shrugged, one corner of his mouth curled down. “It’s freaking impossible to argue with sisterly devotion, man. I’ve stopped trying.”

    “And after all my fine work getting you two paired up, too,” Devon said. When that failed to brighten Adam’s expression, Devon gritted his teeth and made an awkward stab at being reassuring. “It’ll work itself out, I’m sure. Go on, get out of here. Don’t worry about a thing. Market will still be standing when you get back.”

    Adam nodded, eyes downcast. “I’m looking forward to the trip. To some time alone with Miranda, seeing new places and trying new foods, getting new ideas for the menu—but . . .”

    “But it’s hard to leave your baby,” Devon finished. “Look. Nothing will change. You built this place from the ground up; it’s your philosophy, your ridiculous idealism, your staff, your food. I’m only here for a short stint, like a stage in reverse.”

    In restaurant terms, a stage was like an apprenticeship. A young, up-and-coming cook would work in the kitchen of an established chef, soaking up knowledge and techniques, gaining valuable experience, padding his resume, and generally working like a dog doing all the kitchen’s scut work.

    Adam’s lips quirked into a smile. “I suppose I can live with that. Man.” He shook his head. “What I wouldn’t give for a good PR guy right about now. Devon Sparks, the Cooking Channel’s brightest star, doing a stage in my kitchen.”

    “Don’t look at me,” Devon said. “I fired Simon Woolf last night. I’m going to have to take care of spinning my own life for a while.”

    “Dude.” Adam sounded impressed. “Out of the blue? And he didn’t keel over with some kind of cardiac episode?”

    “Simon’s still alive and kicking, as far as I know.” Devon smirked. “Although he might be feeling a bit bruised this morning—your new