house.”
Julian sipped his wine, smiled slightly. She leaned on the counter, wrists facing him so he could see the delicate skin there, the tracing of blood. He raised the glass. “Excellent suggestions,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever agreed with anyone who criticized my soundtracks before.”
Her lips quirked. “Music got me in trouble today.”
“What’s going on?”
She settled on a stool, her arms crossed in front of her. “Ivan challenged me. It started with the photo, but it’s been coming for a while. After I got back from the masseuse, he was playing some rap that was just obnoxious, and it was deliberate.” She took a breath. “So I challenged him to a poker game.”
Julian frowned. “Poker?”
“It’s a man’s game, and that’s a very male kitchen. They all are, really, but because of the nature of the work pool in Aspen, I’ve got a lot of guys from places where women are not the boss.”
He started to express concern, but she seemed to recognize that, and held up a hand. “It’s not actually going to be poker. Ivan wanted a cooking contest, which is better anyway.” She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe. He’s one hell of a cook.”
“So are you.”
“I know,” she said without conceit. “It’ll be close.” The timer dinged, and Elena took the tray out of the oven, piled four or five small enchiladas onto a plate and smothered it with chile and cheese, and pushed it over to Julian, then made herself a plate, too. “Will your daughter eat?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not this. Maybe a lettuce leaf.” When Elena sat down across from him and dug into a truly enormous plate, he said, “You’re not eating all that, are you?”
“Oh, yes.” She grinned. “I’m preparing for battle.”
“Battle?”
“Yes. I have three things on my side with this kitchen.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “One, I speak fluent Spanish, so they can’t talk about my ass or my tits right in front of me, laughing at the fact that I don’t know that’s what they’re saying.
“Two, I really am a very good cook, with my own voice and style. And three…” She took a bite, and chewed. “…I can drink almost anyone under the table with tequila.”
She looked so small and pleased with herself that Julian laughed. “Now there’s an odd talent. There must be a story to it.”
“I was a teenager in a town where there wasn’t much to do. We drank. The boys all thought they were so much better than we were that my sister Isobel and I practiced, like a science experiment—what should we eat ahead of time, how fast could we drink shots, was there a better brand?”
“Ah—the scientific method. I assume,” he said, gesturing at the food, “that this is part of it.”
“Lots of food to start, and plenty as the evening goes by. Fat and fiber—so beans and tortillas and cheese are very good, but I’ve learned over the years to add a lot of protein, too, because it slows it all down, keeps lots of food in your stomach.”
“And the timing?”
“No more than a couple of shots per hour.”
“How do you get around that if there’s a round in between?”
“I drink water. Tons of it, and if necessary, I pretend to drink the shot, and then spit it out. Once people start getting drunk, they don’t really notice if you swallow. And there’s no difference between most brands, but some of the cheaper ones will make you feel like you died the next day.”
“You don’t anyway?” He shuddered at the idea of drinking shots of tequila all night long.
“Oh, it won’t be pleasant, particularly, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” She dabbed her mouth, and put her hands on her thighs, elbows akimbo, as if giving herself a breather. There was a lot of food left on that plate.
He looked at her mouth. The mouth, pillowy soft and succulent, that he’d kissed.
“How are you getting home?”
“I’ll take a cab.”
Julian scowled. “Just call me.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think I need my boss to see me three sheets to the wind.”
Her boss. Boss. She kept calling him that. Putting him in his place. “I might like to see this contest. Who’s judging?”
“They’re bringing in people from the restaurant community. Chefs, servers, bartenders from other restaurants.” She picked up her fork, took another bite. “Sorry, but you can’t be there.”
“Oh, come on. I’ll be a mouse.”
“No, it has to be me by myself.” She gave him a serious