Читать книгу The Texan's Second Chance - Allie Pleiter - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Tuesday afternoon, Witt looked around at the full trash can and the truck’s empty cupboards. “I think that went pretty well.” They’d set up unannounced outside a group of office buildings at lunch hour, launching a two-hour “test run” to see how things worked.

“It could have gone better.” Jana sat with her legs dangling out of the truck’s open back door, her chef’s coat unbuttoned to reveal a bright orange T-shirt, and a big mug of coffee in her hand. She wore a bright yellow scarf like a headband in a failing attempt to control the wild curls that kept escaping her piled-up hairstyle. Jana’s hair held a troublesome fascination for him—the curls seemed to have a mind of their own, framing her face in a different way every time he looked at her. Right now they were plastered to her neck in a maze of circles that should have looked messy and sweaty but instead looked more mesmerizing than he would like to admit.

“Did you see how those guys ate your food?” Jose asked as he finished loading trash into a plastic bag. “You were a hit, Chef Jana.” While Witt had harbored some doubts about Jose as kitchen help—the kid wasn’t even six months out of high school—the boy had proven a hearty worker. He also spoke Spanish, which ended up being very useful with some of the office workers and many of the landscape workers from the park across the street. “I heard ‘delicioso’ more times than I can count.”

“The lines were too long. We need to streamline the prep process a bit.” Jana squinted one eye in thought, as if already pondering tactics in her mind.

“No, no—the lines were great,” Witt countered as he popped open a soda can and offered a second to Jose. “Lines let people know Blue Thorn Burgers are worth waiting for. Didn’t we agree six people in line was okay?”

“For the first two weeks,” she reminded him. “And we had more than six a lot of the time.”

“That’s not so bad, is it? This is our first real operational test.”

Jana wasn’t convinced. “Any more than six, and a customer’s got too much time to change their mind.” She swirled the last of her coffee and then drained the cup. “I think we can speed things up, though I have to admit, you were pretty fast at the cash register there, cowboy.”

Working the register was the easiest way to track their sales per hour, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “That’s me, master button-pusher.” He sat down next to Jana. “I worked the counter at the local hardware store through high school. I work the counter at the Blue Thorn Store every now and again, too, just to get a feel for the customers. I was watching the customers today.”

“I’d expect no less of you.” It wasn’t quite a jab, but close. “And what did you get a feel for?” She sat back against the door frame, defensive but clearly curious.

“I think we need a few more things to appeal to female customers.”

That brought a look from her. “Watching the ladies, were you?”

“Watching the ladies eat, actually. The burgers seem too big for them. I was thinking maybe we need sliders.”

Her head tilted dubiously to one side. “Sliders are trendy.” It wasn’t a compliment.

“Sliders are smaller, easier to handle. Same basic food, just a slightly different delivery. A plate of three sliders and slaw would sell well. We could play up the low-fat health benefits of bison meat, too. Do a two-slider or one-slider version as a kid’s meal, even.”

“Whatever you do, don’t mess with the fries,” Jose remarked as he leaned against the open door. “Those are awesome. What is that you put on them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jana teased. Hadn’t she said the same thing to Ellie’s inquiry of her coleslaw recipe? “Seasonings are my thing. It’s what makes good, simple food great.”

Jose preened the collar of his shirt. “I like a lady who knows how to be spicy.”

Jana tossed a dishrag at the boy. “Every once in a while I forget you are a teenager—and then you remind me. I’ll have none of that in my kitchen.”

“Okay, okay.” Jose held up his hands.

“Yes, Chef,” Witt corrected.

“Yes, Chef,” Jose relented.

Witt turned to Jana. “You’re all set for tomorrow’s photo shoot?”

Her eyes lost any sparkle. “I suppose.”

“You act like I’m making you go to the dentist.” With Jana’s natural beauty, Witt couldn’t imagine what would make her shy away from cameras.

“It’s not my thing, that’s all. Like I said, I prefer to let my food do the talking.”

“I get that, but people connect to people as much as they do to food. The way you look, the way you talk about food, the connection you make with customers? All that is just as compelling as a great burger. You’re highly promotable, Jana. That’s a good thing. It’s a strength we can use.”

“That’s marketing talk for ‘you’re pretty and guys’ll like you,’” Jose said.

Jana gave Witt a dark look. “Is it?”

Witt knew this was thin ice, but he did want to get his point across. “Not in the way Jose thinks.”

“So how does Witt think?”

Witt searched for the right words to compliment her beauty without insulting her talent. “You’re unique. You don’t look anything like the other guys hawking burgers around here. You are a beautiful woman and I’d like to think we can use that without getting stupid or exploitive about it. The fact is you look as good as you cook. Why can’t that be a strength we can build on?”

“My man’s got a point,” Jose said as he leaned up against the truck door.

My man? Witt threw Jose a “don’t get cocky” glare.

“Look, I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want to cross any lines here. But the truth is that I can promote you just as easily as I can promote the food—maybe even easier. You make us unique in a way that people can see even before they taste your cooking.”

He could see she was skeptical. “I promise, you’ll have approval on every promotional shot that goes out,” he went on. “This photographer, Mica? I’ve used her before. She can get shots that really let your personality shine through. We want to promote you for who you are—not just for the way you look. No one wants to turn you into a spokesmodel.”

“But you could,” Jose offered. “I mean, the whole hot-chef thing could...”

Witt cut Jose short by yanking the door, nearly sending Jose tumbling. “That’s quite enough of that. You’re done here. Why don’t you head on back to your brother’s and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hey, sure. I’m gone.” With that, Jose pulled off his apron, hopped on his bike and headed off down the street.

“Maybe I should have listened to my gut and not hired him,” Witt said as he watched the boy pedal off.

“He’s fine,” Jana dismissed. “He’ll be good, actually. Hard worker, quick on his feet, and just the right amount of misplaced machismo to appeal to customers. We just need to tamp down the teenage-hormone factor.”

Witt laughed, then turned to give Jana a serious look. “So we’re okay on the photo thing?”

She rubbed a spot of sauce off her arm. “I’ll get used to it.”

“Mica will get it right, I promise you. It’ll be as much about the food as about you.” He paused before he added, “But really, you’ve got nothing to be nervous about for the pictures. You’re...” He stopped short of paying her another compliment. He definitely found her attractive, but if that wasn’t a recipe for bad choices in this setup, he didn’t know what was. He settled on “You’re just what we’re looking for.” Standing up, he retrieved his notebook and files from the truck’s back counter. “You got the email from Mica to bring the chef’s coat and two changes of street clothes? She wants some personal shots as well as some cooking ones.”

“I got it.” He sensed she still wasn’t totally comfortable, but chose not to press it. Lots of women he knew got weird about having their picture taken, but none of them with less reason than Jana Powers. She was lovely, and Mica was friendly and encouraging. Tomorrow would be fun—Jana just hadn’t realized it yet. He got the feeling that once she got over her needless self-consciousness, she would glow for the camera the same way she glowed behind the grill—vibrant and engaging.

He changed the subject. “Did you get the parking rental agreement from your building?” To his complete and delighted surprise, Jana had negotiated a great deal on parking the truck in her apartment building’s lot in exchange for opening up on-site the first Saturday of each month. Marketing combined with operational savings—music to a number-cruncher’s ears. Plus, it was much better than having to haul the truck back and forth from an industrial lot by his own apartment farther out of town where Witt had been parking it before.

“Right here.” Jana pulled an envelope from her bag.

“This is an amazing deal,” he remarked as he scanned the papers. “I would never have thought of this.”

She smiled, some of the earlier tension leaving her face. “Makes for a blissfully short commute. And I can fuss around in the kitchen at midnight if I get a new idea.”

“Night owl?” Most people in the restaurant business were, according to Ellie, who worked with lots of chefs and other food professionals.

“More like insomniac. I have one of those brains that rarely shuts down when it’s supposed to.”

There seemed to be a bit of a story behind that remark, but Witt chose not to pursue it. “I know how that goes. I’ve kept a notebook by my bed for years, and another one next to my rowing machine. I seem to get all my best ideas away from my desk.”

“You crew?” she asked. “Or row just for exercise?”

“I was on the crew team all four years in college. Despite my height, I was never any good at basketball. Crew was the next-best place for a guy of my size.”

“I had a friend who rowed in high school, and she got me involved, too.” She met his surprise with a smirk—at her height she clearly wasn’t tall enough to row. Maybe coxswain, though—those people who sat at the back of the boat and called out the strokes and directions were often small. “I got into it as a coxswain, not a rower,” she added, confirming his guess. “That’s where I honed my talent for barking orders.”

His brain tried to conjure up an image of Jana perched on the edge of a rowing shell, gliding through the water on a misty morning, but he shut that attempt down as quickly as possible. Instead, he offered “Something else we have in common,” then wanted to swallow back the remark. Time to leave before you say something else stupid. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

Get your head in the right place, Buckton, Witt scolded himself as he walked to his SUV. He needed to make this food truck a success, to show his family—both at Blue Thorn and at Star Beef—that he could do this. An attraction to Jana put that goal at risk. He’d had employees before. He knew how to manage a staff without getting too attached. He had a feeling, however, that managing someone as strong-willed, attractive and off-limits as Jana Powers was going to be a whole new challenge.

* * *

Jana pulled in a deep breath Wednesday morning as she turned the truck into the parking lot of the address Mica had given her. It wasn’t the turn that made her stomach tighten—she’d been surprised at how easily she’d picked up maneuvering the large truck—it was the task ahead of her.

Mica’s studio was in a more industrial part of town, a renovated loft space that made for the perfect interior and exterior shots Jana knew Witt wanted. Witt was right; Mica sounded warm and artistic even in her emails. Someone she might even come to call a friend in this new city. So it wasn’t the photographer that made her uneasy. In fact, it wasn’t even the photographs. It was the prospect of publicity. Of being known by strangers. Coming back up out of the shadows where she’d hidden herself for years—that felt hard. Maybe she should have told Witt—or at least Ellie—about all the Ronnie business when they’d first talked about this job.

Why? It’s not part of your work life. It’s personal. And anyway, it’s all in the past. You can do this. You need to do this, she told herself as she grabbed the extra clothing and opened the truck’s back door. Promoting is a huge part of Witt’s overall plan, and you don’t want start off messing things up with the new boss. She’d paid her dues for years making boring food or pandering to owners who jumped on the latest food fad—this truck could be her chance to truly establish herself and her own personal style. It was worth a trip outside her comfort zone. You’ve let Ronnie keep you in hiding long enough, she chided herself as she stepped out of the truck. I know You laid this opportunity at my feet, Lord, she prayed. Help me trust You with all of it. I don’t believe You want me to live in fear any more than I want to keep looking over my shoulder.

“Hey there!”

Jana jumped a foot before realizing it was Jose that had come around the corner of the truck. She’d been so startled she’d almost dropped her clothes onto the dirty asphalt.

Jose caught her bag just as it slipped from her shoulder. “Whoa, there. Didn’t mean to freak you out. Witt told me to meet you here at 10:30 to wash the truck.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Hey.” Jose grinned. “It’s only 10:28. I’m shocked that I’m early, too.”

Jana tried to paste a casual smile on her face. “Good for you.” She tossed him the truck keys. “There’s a bucket and some sponges under the sink, and a ladder behind the door. Get her all ready for her close-up and come up to Mica’s loft on the third floor when you’re done, okay?”

Jose caught the keys in one hand. “Sure thing, Chef.” Witt had insisted Jose use classic kitchen protocol and reply “Yes, Chef” when responding to all her requests. It came out lots of different ways—things like “Sí, Chef,” “Gotcha, Chef,” and “Yep, Chef,” which continually amused her. Sure, she’d been a bit put off by his wild-guy look with crazy long hair, and a large tattoo down one arm, but the truth was the kid had a sweet nature and a soft heart. He loved being here. He worked hard, too. She’d been startled at Ellie’s recommendation of kitchen help at first, but could truly grow to like the guy.

“Go stun ’em in there,” he called, waggling his eyebrows and even adding a wolf whistle as she turned toward the loft.

Jose’s teasing struck an already raw nerve. She had to get over the way she dreaded this photo shoot. Restaurants were a PR-driven business—through advertising, social media, word of mouth, or hopefully all three. It was clear Witt expected her to give interviews, and pose for photos with her burgers and the bright blue truck. Witt had every right to expect her to be ready and eager to do all those things. And really, what was there to be so upset about? She was about to get her hair and makeup done by a professional stylist and enjoy the glamor of a photo shoot—most woman would relish this experience.

You’re not shy, she told herself as she pulled open the large metal doors to Mica’s building. You were scared once, but that’s not the same thing. And you don’t have to be scared anymore. Ronnie Taylor is hundreds of miles from here and years in your past. Don’t you dare let that that creep steal your present or your future. You walk in that room as Chef Jana, Austin’s next food sensation.

As the metal box of an elevator groaned its way to the third floor, Jana straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and inhaled all the way to her toes. I will live in fierce expectation of all God has planned for me, she recited, a favorite quote her mom had sent her in card after card during cooking school and beyond. Right along with the verse from Jeremiah 29:11—“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Jana’s hope and future were waiting up there on the third floor, and in the bright blue truck that stuck out like an aqua sunbeam in the parking lot below. She yanked open the elevator’s cage door with a deliberate gusto and let herself feel excited at the scene before her.

Mica’s loft looked exactly as Jana had imagined—a huge industrial space strewn with equipment, drapes, fans and props as well as an artfully decorated living space tucked in one corner. Swingy, energetic Americana jazz filled the sunlit space. Mica looked up from a tripod to wave eagerly at Jana.

“And there she is,” Witt called out from a counter where coffee and some bagels were set out. “Our star.”

“Her and the dozen burgers she’s going to make me,” Mica offered. “Oh, I do love the jobs where I can eat the props when we’re done.” She walked up to Jana. “Hang those clothes on the rack and grab yourself some coffee. Linda’s just getting set up over there.” The stylist looked up from her bag and waved just as Mica had done. “That woman’s a wonder,” Mica said as she leaned in. “I’d give anything to have her in my bathroom every morning doing my hair and makeup.” She winked. “I’d probably be on my fourteenth wedding proposal by now if I did. Not that you need much primping, sugar. Witt wasn’t lying when he said you were the whole package. That hair...” She ran her eyes over Jana’s mass of unruly curls as if they were strewn with diamonds. “Linda, honey, will you come look at this hair?”

“I can see it from here,” Linda replied. “Finally, the Good Lord sends me something I can work with!”

The pair of them plied Jana with compliments and encouragement for the next half hour, until Jana rose from the chair feeling like a beauty queen. She was going to have to get Linda to show her how she could do her eyes like this at home, because they looked twice their size and doubly bright. As she slipped on the chef’s coat, Jana felt beautiful. She tried to ignore the way Witt looked at her as she settled onto an ornate wrought iron stool sitting in front of a bright blue drape, but it was almost impossible.

“Va-va-va-voom!” Linda called as she stood behind Mica. “If you can cook as good as you look right now, honey, Blue Thorn Burgers is bound for success.”

“She can,” Witt replied. “And we are.” The resolute tone in his voice sent a little flip through Jana’s stomach that had nothing to do with anxiety.

“Turn the music up a notch,” Mica said, pointing Witt over to the stereo in the corner. “Let’s have some fun.”

She did have fun. Jana surprised even herself by enjoying the whole morning. She laughed, posed, climbed up on the truck, even got a bit goofy by the end as she mugged behind the line of twelve burgers she’d cooked up during the shoot. Jose was singing along with the radio by the end of the shoot, flirting with Linda, who was old enough to be his mother. When they all five of them sat down at the big table in the loft to “eat the props” as Mica had said, it had the feel of a family picnic rather than a dreaded promotional task.

“You were amazing,” Witt exclaimed just before his eyes fell closed in carnivorous bliss as he bit into a burger. “This is amazing,” he said after chewing. “I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, but your burgers are still incredible every time I eat one.”

“A gorgeous woman who makes burgers like these? It won’t be me getting fourteen marriage proposals—you’ll be getting a dozen a day.”

Jana felt her cheeks color. “I doubt that. I’ll settle for regular customers, thanks.”

“Oh, you’ll get ’em,” Mica said, licking stone-ground mustard from the corner of her mouth. “Trust me, they’ll be lining up for these.” She peered at the burger. “I’m eating buffalo? Really?”

“Bison,” Witt replied. “It’s better for you than beef, you know.”

Jose rolled his eyes. “Don’t let him get started. He can go on for hours.”

Everyone laughed. Jana looked around the room and allowed herself the pleasure of seeing her new friends enjoy her cooking. A hope and a future indeed. Look out, Austin. Here we come.