Without taking those big,
hazel eyes off me, he responds to Armand. “My plane just landed, and I’m starving.”
“Food? We might have some,” I say, my lips slanting into a smirk that he doesn’t respond to. Except, I think I see his eyes dart down to my mouth and back up quickly. With only the kitchen island separating us, I can confirm that look in his eyes. I’ve waited enough tables and catered enough events in the last ten years that I know what I’m seeing. He is hungry and grumpy. Maybe on the verge of hangry.
Bishop may not know how to tell a joke or even know how to smile, but he still manages to have charisma in spades. All eyes belonging to someone not actively chopping or sautéing food at the moment are on him. I have no doubts: the man has women lined up to date him in every city on the globe.
Now, I am sweating through my chef jacket because of these truffles and because Bishop Frye is waiting for me to expand on my offer of food.
I gesture at the little chocolate mounds lined up like soldiers between us. “Truffle?”
Internally I kick myself. He probably wants a sandwich, not dessert. Bishop cocks his head at me, then looks down and sees what I’m talking about. “Oh. No, I wouldn’t want to mess up your work. Ms…”
“Williams. Cherise Williams. I’ve been the pastry chef here for two years, and I love it.” I set down my piping bag and hold one shining chocolate globe to him. “Take it; I always make extra for the staff anyway.”
I realize what I’ve said as soon as the words are out of my mouth, and just before the little truffle passes through Bishop’s lips. He shoots me a dark look that triggers a tiny wave of heat under my collar. “Good to know my staff is well fed in sweets,” he says.
I hold my breath, hoping that Bishop isn’t perturbed by surplus inventory going straight into the mouths of his employees. I’ve worked for plenty of bosses who frown on that sort of thing. He might see this as a liability to his bottom line.
Then I remember something he has to try. “Oh! Hang on, just a minute, sir!” I’ve shifted into geeky chef mode now and order one of the staff to pour Mr. Frye a cup of our in-house roasted coffee to accompany the chocolate. “You have to try them together; it’s unbelievable.”
With one perfect eyebrow quirked, Mr. Frye takes a bite of truffle and a sip of coffee. I try to read his expression, but he’s painfully stoic.
Bishop finishes what’s in his mouth before speaking. “That,” he says, pointing at the remaining truffles, but he doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he looks around and asks, “Who hired this young lady?”
Armand raises his hand hesitantly. “That would be me, sir.”
Without taking his gaze off me, Bishop slaps the edge of the counter twice and tells Armand, “Excellent. You both just earned a bonus.” That’s what his words say, but his face still remains emotionless, and I almost question what I heard.
I’m astounded, and again I don’t know what to say. This time, I babble. “That’s so nice of you, Mr. Frye. You see, my wedding venue just burned down, and I’m eight weeks away from the big day, and I have to find something quickly. The bonus will help with all the last-minute expenses. Thank you so much.”
A strange look passes over Bishop’s face, like a gray cloud blotting out the sun and then moving on. He sucks off the remnants of chocolate from his thumb, then says to me, “You are the head pastry chef here at Orchid, are you not?”
I nod, unsure where this question is headed.
“Have the wedding here.”
I shake my head. “I can’t afford this place.”
Bishop acts as if he doesn’t hear me. “The ballroom is yours. Problem solved.”
My heart racing, I politely protest. I can’t accept such grand generosity at the first offer. “Sir, that’s too much. I couldn’t possibly.”
“It’s exactly enough, and yes, you can.” Before he turns and saunters back out of the kitchen, he shoots me another look, those huge, all-seeing hazel eyes making sure I get it. “Anything is possible, Ms. Williams.”
Chapter Two
Bishop
She’s engaged. Shit.
I have approached the kitchen door no less than three times this morning and then walked away.
Stay away, Frye. She’s off-limits.
Today’s agenda includes an on-site meeting with contractors, then an afternoon flight to Phoenix to look at an abandoned hotel for sale that might be a candidate for rehabilitation.
At the moment, I feel as if I may never willingly leave Las Vegas again.