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door frame and giving her barely enough room to walk past. “Maybe I’ll be able to come up with a feast for the rest of you.”
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    N ICK WORKED T UESDAY through Saturday at Guilty Pleasures, watching as Mari tried her damnedest toavoid him, even though he felt her gaze on him whenever he wasn’t looking. Which wasn’t often, since he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her, either. It was strange, this attraction.
    He grimaced to himself. Of course, watching her fall apart under his fingertips might have something to do with it.
    He walked through the stalls of a farmer’s market, looking at the fresh produce…garnet-colored strawberries, lemon cucumbers, baby spinach. The smell of kettle corn and baked goods permeated the air. He was getting the ingredients for the Great Menu Experiment, as he was mentally calling it. With any luck, he’d help come up with a theme that would attract reviews and publicity, which would then in turn bring in business. Which would help his reputation.
    He bought a half pound of hot chili almond brittle, thinking of how to incorporate it into a dessert. With any luck, it would garner the same reaction as the chocolate. He might be in this to help the restaurant, but he was honest enough to realize that he had an ulterior motive.
    He wanted to sleep with Mari Salazar.
    It had been a pure sensual pleasure to watch the woman eat. As someone whose life and obsessions revolved around food, maybe he was more attuned to it than the average man, but the way she closed her eyes to savor the flavors, and that low moan of appreciation, all were simply precursors to the way sheresponded to the passion between them. It had been like a sexual sneak-preview.
    It had turned him on to an unbelievable extent. He was looking forward to repeating the experience…only this time, he wouldn’t get kicked out after a phone call. He’d see to that.
    â€œHey, Nick. How’s it going?”
    Nick glanced over, feeling a clench in his stomach. It was Bob Blackstone, a restaurant owner from New York who had recently moved to a swank new restaurant in the city. He’d tried getting a job from Bob when Phillip had fired him, and Bob had reluctantly said no…just like everyone else Nick had interviewed with. At least he was more polite about it—Nick had interned with Bob’s New York restaurant, Blackstone’s, when he was at the Culinary School.
    â€œHey, Bob. Things are going…” He paused, thinking it over. “Well, they’re going.”
    Bob laughed, the polite laugh of someone who’s not sure how to respond. “Did you get a job yet?”
    â€œYeah. Sous chef, but it’s got potential.” At least, he was betting that there would be.
    â€œReally?” If anything, Bob sounded relieved. Nick had liked him enough to cut him slack—it was hard to go up against a rich, established family like the Marceaus if you were in the restaurant industry. And Bob had sounded both guilty and sorry when he’d turned him down. “That’s fantastic, really fantastic. Where? Henri’s? Stars?”
    Nick winced. “Well, I’m not sure you’ll have heard of it….”
    â€œSmaller places are good to build your reputation,” Bob said, with a wave of his hand. “You let me know where, and I can start spreading buzz.”
    Suddenly, Nick wasn’t sure if he wanted buzz about Mari’s restaurant—at least, not until he could whip it into shape. “It’s a little place in the Mission District,” Nick hedged, then realizing Bob wasn’t going to let up in his drive to be helpful, he sighed. “It’s called Guilty Pleasures. Heard of it?”
    He saw the exact moment when Bob registered the restaurant. “Oh. I think I’ve driven by it.”
    Not exactly a ringing endorsement, Nick thought.
    â€œWell. It’s good that you’re working, at least,