Summer Desserts (Great Chefs #1)

"We'll be working together for a specific purpose," she went on smoothly. "But we're two different people with two very different outlooks. You're interested in a profit, naturally, and in the reputation of your company. I'm interested in creating the proper showcase for my art, and my own reputation. We both want to be successful. Let's not cloud the issue."
"That issue's perfectly clear," Blake countered. "So's this one. I want you."
"Ah." The sound came out slowly. Deliberately she reached for

"We'll be working together for a specific purpose," she went on smoothly. "But we're two different people with two very different outlooks. You're interested in a profit, naturally, and in the reputation of your company. I'm interested in creating the proper showcase for my art, and my own reputation. We both want to be successful. Let's not cloud the issue."
"That issue's perfectly clear," Blake countered. "So's this one. I want you."
"Ah." The sound came out slowly. Deliberately she reached for her neglected purse. "Straight and to the point."
"It would be a bit ridiculous to take a more circular route at the moment." Amusement was overtaking frustration. He was grateful for that because it would give him the edge he'd begun to lose the minute he'd tasted her. "You'd have to be unconscious not to realize it."
"And I'm not." Still, she backed away, relying on poise to get her out before she lost whatever slim advantage she had. "But it's your kitchen—and it'll be my kitchen—that's my main concern right now. With the amount of money you're paying me, you should be grateful I
understand the priorities. I'll have a tentative list of changes and new equipment you'll have to order on Monday."
"Fine. We'll go to dinner Saturday."
Summer paused at the door, turned and shook her head. "No."
"I'll pick you up at eight."
It was rare that anyone ignored a statement she'd made. Rather than temper, Summer tried the patient tone she remembered from her governess. It was bound to infuriate. "Blake, I said no."
If he was infuriated, he concealed it well. Blake merely smiled at her—as one might smile at a fussy child. Two, it seemed, could play the same game with equal skill. "Eight," he repeated and sat on the corner of his desk. "We can even have tacos if you like."
"You're very stubborn."
"Yes, I am."
"So am I."
"Yes, you are. I'll see you Saturday."

"I understand you." Blake linked his fingers with hers. "I've been making a study of you almost from the first instant we met."
The way he said it had her pulse fluctuating. "I'm not an easy person to understand."
"No?"
"I don't always understand."
"Let me tell you about Summer Lyndon, then." He measured her hand against his before he linked their fingers. "She's a beautiful woman, a bit spoiled from her upbringing and her own success." He smiled when her brows drew together. "She's strong and opinionated and intensely feminine without being calculating. She's ambitious and dedicated with a skill for concentration that reminded me once of a surgeon. And she's romantic, though she'll claim otherwise."
"That's not true," Summer began.
"She listens to Chopin when she works. Even while she chooses to have an office in a storage room, she keeps roses on her desk."
"There're reasons why—"
"Stop interrupting," he told her simply, and with a huff, she subsided. "What fears she has are kept way below the surface because she doesn't like to admit to having any. She's tough enough to hold her own against anyone, and compassionate enough to tolerate an
uncomfortable situation rather than hurt someone's feelings. She's controlled, and she's passionate. She has a taste for the best champagne and junk food. There's no one I've known
who's annoyed me quite so much, or who I'd trust quite so implicitly."
She let out a long breath. It wasn't the first time he'd put her in a position where words were hard to come by. "Not an entirely admirable woman."
"Not entirely," Blake agreed. "But a fascinating one."