Page 2 of Slow Simmer

Twenty-four hours later, Suzannah finally collapsed into her bed.

It had been one of the longest days of her life, even for a professional chef used to early mornings and late nights. She’d slaved all night to create the spectacular, three-tiered wedding cake decorated in the bride’s signature pale pink and white checks, then supervised her staff as they prepared the all-organic, paleo speciality menu the bridal couple insisted upon. With almost twenty-five per cent of the serves being further specialised, of course. Gluten-free, nut-free, seafood-free, lactose-free and vegan food had all been prepared and served to their guests, and many images of the beautifully prepared and presented dishes had been uploaded to Instagram and Twitter accounts with followers numbering in the millions.

Tables atLa Sirènewere booked out three months in advance now. Suzannah smiled wearily into her pillow, a smile of genuine satisfaction. By any measure, the day had been a huge success, even though she’d worked herself to exhaustion making it as perfect as she could.

Until Luke found her a new pastry chef, she’d have to take over the pastry kitchen herself and supervise her sous-chefs in the main kitchen, and she groaned at the thought of the extra hours she’d have to put in. With any luck, they’d have a replacement who was up to her exacting standards within a few weeks.

Suzannah’s tired, stinging eyes finally closed. She had to be up in five hours to select the fish from the fresh catch for the following evening’s menu, and while normally she might catch a couple more hours sleep after that, there were two more big weddings coming up that week with speciality cakes to prepare. She might as well get started, to avoid having to pull another all-nighter.

She fell asleep with visions of wedding cakes dancing in her head, and woke just before her alarm from a nightmare of being featured on Cake Wrecks. Shaking her head to clear the last vestiges of the bad dream, she shuddered with the memory. Her career would be over if something like that ever happened. It was every chef’s nightmare to end up on a foodie disasters blog or named and shamed in a harsh review in a major publication. She’d known several who ended up retiring in disgrace fromhaute cuisine.You just never knew when a mystery diner might end up at one of your tables.

Nobody in Australian fine dining circles had any idea Michelin were expanding their critic program to include Australia for the first time, after all, until the first Michelin Australia guide was published andLa Sirène’sphone started ringing off the hook.

* * *

The buzzing of her alarm roused Suzannah from a sound sleep and she reached out to silence it with a groan, immediately pushing herself upright. She was far too experienced to allow her eyes to close again. That way lay blissful oblivion… and being hopelessly late. Which in her job, meant she didn’t get first pick of the fish from the boat which pulled in to the island’s dock at five o’clock every morning.

For the last three weeks, she’d been running both the pastry kitchen and the main restaurant kitchen, and the pressure was beginning to take a toll. She hadn’t managed more than five hours of sleep a night since firing her pastry chef, and though she’d do exactly the same thing again, she was really hoping Luke and Jace came up with a replacement soon. Jace had taken off in his private jet for Europe a few days ago, and she had her fingers crossed he might have her new pastry chef with him on his return.

And also, that whoever he hired was competent at the least. She was in no mood to clean up any more of other people’s messes.

The dinner hour rush was just beginning when Suzannah heard her name called and looked up to see Luke standing at the doorway between the two kitchens. Handing the task of flash-frying chocolate-filled wantons over to an assistant, she made her way over to the door.

“What?” she said brusquely.

There was a man standing behind Luke, she registered, just on the other side of the doorway. There was something familiar about the way he stood, lounging comfortably with one hip against the counter, ankles crossed, arms folded. Her eyes flew to his face and she took in the designer stubble, the chiselled cheekbones, the amused gleam in honey-gold eyes.

“Oh,no,” she said.

“Meet your new pastry chef!” Luke sounded really quite excited. “We have our very own celebrity now, Suzannah… Carlo Gianetti!”

“I know who he is.” Suzannah kept her tone flat. “And he’s not staying.”

“Can’t take the competition?”

Carlo’s voice sounded exactly as she remembered, a sensual, husky rasp which still made goosebumps raise up on her skin. Suzannah narrowed her eyes at him.

“There is no competition. This is my kitchen, and you don’t belong in it. Get out.”

“Now just a minute,” Luke cut in. Glancing around, he saw every eye on them. “Outside, the two of you. I don’t think this conversation requires an audience.”

Suzannah glanced around, and immediately everyone’s attention was back on their appointed tasks. She sniffed audibly, letting her staff know she wasn’t fooled for a moment and she wouldn’t tolerate any inferior product being served from her kitchen, before following Luke and Carlo out of the restaurant’s rear door.

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