“Start chopping veg for eighty chicken pot pies.”
Tom smiled, humoring her. “Reggie, you’re preparing an Italian meal, which I happen to be rather good at, and you want me to chop veg for pot pies.”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “I understand.” And he no doubt did. Reggie was putting him in his place.
She started to fold her arms over her chest, caught herself, and forced them back to her sides. “And I want you to be nice to Patty. For some reason her back is up.”
“No problem.” This time there was a note of irony in his voice, but Reggie ignored it as she led the way into the kitchen.
She pulled a list out of her apron pocket. “Here you go. I’m sure you can familiarize yourself with the kitchen. This is your station.” She indicated an area of the stainless steel counter with a sweep of her hand. “Let me know when you’re done.” She hesitated, then added, “And be nice to Patty. I mean it.”
“Yes, Chef.”
Reggie left Tom standing next to the counter and went into the office. When she returned, Tom glanced up. Oh, yeah. This wasn’t nerve-racking or anything, having him here.
Tom was chopping as he’d been told to do, his hand moving so quickly it was a blur. Reggie knew he wasn’t showing off. He was making a point. Yes, he’d chop veg, but using him that way was a waste. He was probably thinking of how he could revolutionize her kitchen.
He’d lost that chance seven years ago.
Dear Reader,
I love to cook, but more than that, I love it when my husband cooks for me. What is it about a man in the kitchen?
I had heard that chefs are notoriously difficult to write and guess what? They are. Many chefs are bona fide alpha males, used to command and having their every order followed without question. My chef, Tom Gerard, made a spectacular career for himself by refusing to compromise, and then destroyed it in the same way. When the story opens, he has burned most of his professional bridges by refusing to bow to authority and has finally come to realize that there are consequences to his actions. And as he makes that discovery, he gets another bit of news. His former girlfriend, caterer Reggie Tremont, is pregnant—and she doesn’t need any help or support from him, thank you very much.
Now Tom not only has to rebuild a career; he has to rebuild a relationship with the woman he once abandoned.
I hope you enjoy Tom and Reggie’s story. While writing this book, I researched celebrity chefs, read several chef biographies and became a cooking show junkie. I guess you could say that Tom and Reggie broadened my world and, thanks to the many recipes I just had to try, I may have broadened in other ways, too.
I love to hear from readers, so please feel free to contact me via my website, www.jeanniewatt.com.
Best wishes,
Jeannie Watt
The Baby Truce
Jeannie Watt
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jeannie Watt lives off the grid in rural Nevada and loves nothing better than an excellent meal. Jeannie is blessed with a husband who cooks more than she does, a son who knows how to make tapas and a daughter who knows the best restaurants in San Francisco. Her idea of heaven is homemade macaroni and cheese.
To Gary, my personal chef.
I couldn’t do it without you.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
PROLOGUE
TOM GERARD CAME AWAKE suddenly, aware that something wasn’t right. He reached out and found the other side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
“Reg?”
The suite remained silent, and although he couldn’t see into the living room, he felt the stillness.
“Reggie!” He got out of bed and walked out there naked. His clothes were still scattered across the floor, but hers were no longer there.
He stood taking in the emptiness, not liking it. She was gone, and he didn’t think she was out getting coffee and the newspaper. That had been his Sunday morning task during the year they’d been together. Hers had been to laze in bed until he returned. Then they would drink coffee, share the paper, make love again.
Those days were almost a decade past, but when Reggie had come to his suite with him last night, he’d assumed everything would be the same. For a while anyway, until they went back to their real lives—hers in Reno, his in New York City…or wherever he got hired. So far San Francisco was a bust, but he didn’t care, because, honestly, he was an East Coast chef. California cuisine didn’t do it for him.
The phone rang and Tom scooped it up. “Reggie?”
“It’s Pete.” Tom’s long-suffering business manager, who took a nice slice of his income in return for that suffering. “I just booked you a ticket to New York. You leave at noon. Jervase Montrose wants to talk about a job. It looks good.”
“Great.” Tom wasn’t surprised to have nailed an interview with Jervase, despite Pete’s concerns. Yeah, he’d gotten his ass fired a couple weeks ago—the second time in two years—but he was still one of the top chefs in the country. Jervase would be lucky to get him.
Pete gave him the flight information, then added, “Be on your best behavior.”
Hey. It wasn’t like he was a wild man. He simply knew his own worth and he didn’t suffer fools gladly. Was it his fault that he’d run into a hell of a lot of fools lately? “I’ll call you when I land.”
He hung up the phone and stood regarding the empty suite.
In all the time he’d known her, Reggie had never once walked out on him without a word.
CHAPTER ONE
REGGIE TREMONT SNAPPED OFF the TV and tossed the remote onto the sofa, startling her fat cat, Mims. “Damn it, Tom.”
Fired again.
Not a world event, but he was enough of a bad-boy chef to get a small blurb on the E! entertainment network. Volatile chef dismissed. Celebrity witnesses involved.
They’d flashed a photo that made him look more like a pirate than a chef, with his black hair pulled into a ponytail, scruffy facial hair, dark eyes glinting. She was quite familiar with that unrepentant expression—a mask he popped on when he didn’t want anyone getting too close. Or when he was