Free Add Spice to Taste by R.G. Emanuelle Page A

curves. Without being completely solicitous, she was slinky and sultry, and I was suddenly uncomfortable. I had nothing against slinky, sultry women. In fact, I approved of them. And if whatever magic these kinds of women possessed was directed at me, all the better.
    At least, that’s what I used to think. Strangely, it kind of bothered me now.

Brit dropped her things at a table and I went over to sit with her.
    “Hi. Thanks for coming in early,” she said, with no hint of anything unusual.
    “ No problem.” Indeed, I really needed the extra money.
    “So here’s what I was thinking. I’m having a party with about 40 people. It’s for my sister’s twenty-first birthday and I want to make it really nice, you know?”
    “Sure. That sounds good.”
    “I was thinking something really elegant. Like a Champagne theme.”
    “ Champagne? That could run into a lot of money.”
    “That’s okay. Money’s no object. She’s a special girl and I want to make this really memorable for her.”
    Of course money’s no object. “That’s sweet of you. Anything specific in mind for the food?”
    “Mmm . . . help me out. What can you offer?” she purred. Her knee was touching mine and the thought that maybe she wanted a five-finger discount of a different sort made me cringe. But I ignored it, assuming that she was just kind of flirty. Or that I was just out of my mind.
    I coughed, as if it would dispel whatever freaky sexual current was in the air. “Do you want it to be a sit-down dinner, cocktails, or a buffet? If you want dinner, we can do a standard service, or family-style dinner or tapas plates, too. How many courses would you like? Do you want me to actually use Champagne in the food, or do you want me to pair Champagnes with the dishes?”
    “Wow,” she said, her eyes widening. “So many questions. Um, I don’t know.” She looked bewildered and slightly pale.
    I laugh ed to put her at ease. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. You just answer the first question—dinner, cocktails, or buffet—and I’ll handle the rest. I’ll draw up a menu and you can look at it and tell me what you think. How does that sound?”
    She exhaled and relief brought color back to her cheeks. “That sounds good. I think I like the idea of a buffet.”
    “Great. When’s the party?”
    Her eyes became still, making her seem somewhat like a baby bunny seeing a fox for the first time. Her grin had a hint of guilt to it. It took a moment for her to respond and I wondered why the question was so difficult.
    Finally, she said, “Um , well . . . two weeks.” Her features crunched up and she pulled away slightly in a dramatic “don’t kill me” sort of way.
    In response, I gave her a “you’ve got to be kidding” look.
    “I know, I know. I’m sorry for the short notice but this all came about kind of suddenly. Lana gets into these moods sometimes and she got into one a while back and insisted that all she wanted to do for her birthday was go away. She didn’t want a party, she didn’t want to go out. Then, all of a sudden, last week, she informs me that she wants a party. So now, I find myself with a couple of weeks to plan, and I want to strangle her. I’ve got a few things lined up but I wasn’t sure what to do in the way of food. Then I met you and it hit me—I’ll have a personal chef come in and do the food. She’ll absolutely love it!”
    “Two weeks, huh?”
    She batted her eyes innocently.
    “Okay. How about I show you a menu on Monday? I need a few days to plan it.”
    “Perfect. Oh, and I want lots of great food, which I have no doubt you can provide.”
    I inwardly groaned. People have absolutely no idea what’s involved in catering a party.
    She put her hand on my knee and gave it a little squeeze. Oh, geez.
    “I am really amazed at how you master all of this. It must take some brains and a lot o f, um, control.”
    Did her voice go down an octave when she said “control”? My mouth dried up and heat rushed