Can't Stand the Heat Read Free Page B

a doctor.”
    â€œNaw, chérie , it ain’t nothin’ like that. Just . . . just give me a few minutes to get myself . . . together.”
    She stared at him, sensing that he was vastly underplaying how bad he felt. He didn’t look like he could stand up for very long, let alone spend several hours in a steaming hot kitchen.
    â€œWhy don’t you go home, Phillip? We can handle the prep work. Come back for lunch service in a few hours.”
    â€œCain’t do that.” He shook his head, sending his slicked-back ponytail flying. “You know how those boys are. If I ain’t there to crack the whip behind them, who knows what kinda mess is gonna come out of that kitchen. Everything on those plates has my name on it.”
    Lauren held back a smile. She and Phillip knew that the line cooks were capable of handling prep work on their own. They didn’t need anyone to supervise them, but it made Phillip feel better to believe that his presence brought order to the kitchen.
    â€œI know, but let me crack the whip, OK? You’re no help to anyone if you’re sick. Just go home, get some rest, and come back later. We can handle it.”
    He gazed at her warily, looking as if he wanted to mount another argument but couldn’t work up the energy to do so. “OK, chérie .” He slowly rose from his chair. “I’ll head home.” He pointed a finger down at her. “But you make those boys mind. Everything on those plates—”
    â€œâ€”has your name on it. I know.” She nodded and smiled. “I’ve got it covered, chef. We won’t let you down.”
    She watched as he walked toward the center aisle. He gave one last uneasy glance over his shoulder at her before heading to the restaurant’s front door.
    Â 
    â€œPhillip! Phillip!” Nathan, Le Bayou Bleu’s floor manager, shouted as he sashayed into the kitchen.
    Despite his shrill cries, everyone ignored him. They were firmly in their dinner rush mode, and besides, no one was particularly fond of Nathan. He looked down on most of the restaurant staff, particularly the line cooks and dishwashers. Now that he had stepped into their domain, none of them was about to give the condescending bastard the time of day.
    Nathan peered through levels of stainless-steel shelves lining the front of the kitchen. He stared at the faces that darted from counter to stove top and back again.
    â€œPhillip! Phiiiiillip!”
    He suddenly narrowed his eyes at Lauren. She was cleaning the edges of a plate of risotto with the corner of a dinner napkin.
    â€œHey!” He snapped his fingers in her direction. “Hey!”
    â€œMy name is not ‘hey,’ Nathan,” she replied, placing the finished plate on the top shelf. “It’s Lauren. Miss Gibbons, if you’re nasty.” She then gave an impish smile. “Black-eyed pea risotto with bacon ready to go!”
    A food runner shoved Nathan aside, walked to the counter, and grabbed three plates, including the risotto dish.
    â€œWatch it!” Nathan snapped.
    The runner ignored him. Nathan let out a beleaguered sigh, like a king who has been forced to leave his castle and socialize with the peasants.
    â€œLauren, where in the hell is Phillip?”
    If Lauren hadn’t enjoyed tormenting Nathan so much, she would have told him Phillip wasn’t there. He hadn’t returned since the morning. At the start of lunch service, she had gotten a call from him saying that it looked like he was going to have to bow out for the day.
    â€œNot gonna make it, chérie ,” he had drawled tiredly into the phone. “Gonna have to hand my baby over to you. Treat her well.”
    Lauren had immediately told him she could handle it, but the instant she hung up the phone, she stood in the kitchen, paralyzed with fear. She had never taken over a service by herself before. What if she screwed up? What if the service fell