Emma felt her face start to heat and looked down before her mother noticed. “The name rings a bell.” Mostly alarm bells. Of any night, that was the one she most wanted to forget. She’d never come on to anyone the way she had with Nate Hale.
Now her mother was proposing Emma have him as a client. Good grief. If he was only now turning thirty-five and already head of a department, he must have inhaled his medical studies with his mother’s milk.
She lifted her hands palms upward. She could hardly tell Cherie the real reason she didn’t want to work with Nate, so she used the only other excuse she had. “Renovation on the kitchen hasn’t even started, Ma. There’s barely room for Sophie and me to work together, much less the people I want to hire. It’s too soon for us to take on a large project.”
As usual, her mother demolished Emma’s objections with a gesture. “You can do anything you set your mind to. Besides, your father and I have already recommended your service to Nate.”
Emma felt herself start to drown. “Why?”
“You keep telling us how well you’re doing.” Cherie tapped a finger against the bank’s letter. “Even if this suggests not all is going smoothly.”
“Love This Catering is doing fine.” Emma dragged in a calming breath. “Exceeding the overdraft was a small oversight. Things will improve once I get the kitchen upgraded and my team in place.”
“How will you stay afloat until then if you reject every decent job that comes your way?”
The same way we’ve managed for the past five months, she thought. On a wing and a prayer. But she couldn’t tell her mother that. Instead she said, “Doing work Sophie and I can manage with the facilities we have, and the monthly chef’s dinners we hold here. The mailing list for them is growing all the time.”
Cherie all but wrinkled her nose. “People come here to eat?”
“Among Sydney foodies, the inner west has a reputation for innovative cuisine,” Emma pointed out. “Lewisham’s still making its mark.” That was why she’d chosen to buy in the suburb. With help from the bank, she’d been able to afford the ten-foot-wide single-story cottage that had been squeezed into the garden of the neighboring home several decades ago. The expenses gave her nightmares, but the place itself gave her nothing but satisfaction. And she needed somewhere to live. Besides, this way she only had one mortgage to support.
The previous café had gone broke, but the basic structure had made it easy for Emma to set up her business. After the redecorating she and a group of friends had done, the former café now provided an ideal venue for small dinners, and the sensational food and subdued lighting distracted diners from any flaws in their surroundings. The kitchen was functional enough for these occasions, but wasn’t equipped for more ambitious events.
“I don’t understand why you’re so touchy,” Cherie complained. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I know, and I appreciate the support.”
“Then why react as if I have no right to my opinions?”
Perhaps because there are so many of them? “I know you mean well, and I appreciate it. If it wasn’t…” that the client is Nathan Hale? “…too soon for me to take on big jobs, I’d jump at the chance.” Emma crossed her fingers under the desk.
Cherie gestured around them. “You’ll never grow by limiting yourself. I was so pleased when you bought this place.”
Emma masked her astonishment. “You were?”
“You finally seemed to be getting a sense of direction.”
One should always strive for the next goal, Emma had been reminded frequently when she was growing up. And what had been wrong with her sense of direction up to now? Wasn’t gaining her diploma in commercial cooking an achievement? Or winning a scholarship to an international food festival in Singapore where she’d worked with world-class chefs? That distinction had earned Emma a job as a junior chef, then she’d skipped a couple of levels to become demi-chef at the Hotel Turista in Sydney’s Rocks area. There she’d worked her way up to sous-chef, before deciding to open her own place. “One day I’ll get my life on track,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.
“Now don’t sound so sarcastic. Just because I think your talents could be better utilized doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate that you have them.”
Emma didn’t bother trying to unscramble the compliment. Her mother cared about her and her brother, even if she had an annoying way of showing it. “I know, Ma. You and Dad should come to one of my chef’s dinners and see how I do things.”
Cherie gave her a bright smile. “We’ll see.”
Code for a snowball’s chance, Emma knew. What else did she expect? “I’ll email you the next few dates.”
“Thank you, darling. But we really should discuss Nate’s dinner party.”
Over her dead body, Emma thought. “Can I get you some coffee and cake? Sophie’s baking mini Bakewell tarts with wild huckleberry jam.” Distraction didn’t only work with customers. She could smell the delicious aroma from here.
Evidently so could her mother. “I’ll have a tiny taste,” she conceded. “I can work it off at the gym later. Then I want to talk about Nate.”
That made one of them.
When Emma went into the kitchen, Sophie shot her a concerned look. “Everything okay?”
“Tell you later,” Emma mouthed as she arranged some of the medallion-size tarts on a white plate. She walked over to the commercial coffee machine which came with the building and made two macchiatos, then carried the lot to her office.
Cherie was on the phone and looked up as Emma placed the tray on her desk. “Ah, here she is now. You can talk to her yourself, Nate.”
Before Emma could shake her head in protest, the BlackBerry was thrust into her hand. She pulled professionalism around her like a cloak. “Hello, Dr. Hale.”
“It was Nate last time, Emma.”
No man should have a voice as rich as triple-chocolate fudge brownies, she thought as a shiver of response slid down her spine. And there was a last time? Who knew? “Ah, yes, Nate, we have met.”
“And how.”
The insinuation sent heat arrowing from her head to her stomach. No, no, this had to stop. Head agreed, body didn’t get the memo. “I’m afraid my business isn’t fully operational yet,” she said. “My mother tells me your birthday is in three weeks, but catering large-scale events isn’t an option for at least another three months.”
“Saying no isn’t an option.”
What Dr. Hale wants, Dr. Hale gets. Emma felt a jolt of frustration. No wonder Cherie was so keen on having Emma work for him. Nate and her mother were cut from the same cloth. “Acknowledging limitations isn’t failure,” she said. “It’s a good business practice.”
“True, but overcoming those limitations is preferable.”
A vision flashed through her mind of Nate facing some huge challenge in the operating room, finding a way around it and saving the patient at the last minute. Wasn’t that what always happened with his type? Her father’s stories of his heroic interventions had been regular dinner table fare when she was growing up.
“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” she agreed crisply. “How many guests are you expecting?”
“Fifty at a minimum. I’m thinking of having the party on the terrace—sit-down, of course.”
He must have some terrace. A sit-down dinner for fifty would be way off her radar. “Look, Nate, I’ll gladly put together some options