Passionate Chef, Ice Queen Boss

      By

      Australian author JENNIE ADAMS grew up in a rambling farmhouse surrounded by books, and by people who loved reading them. She decided at a young age to be a writer, but it took many years and a lot of scenic detours before she sat down to pen her first romance novel. Jennie has worked in a number of careers and voluntary positions, including transcription typist and pre-school assistant. She is the proud mother of three fabulous adult children and makes her home in a small inland city in New South Wales. In her leisure time Jennie loves long, rambling walks, discovering new music, starting knitting projects that she rarely finishes, chatting with friends, trips to the movies, and new dining experiences.

      Jennie loves to hear from her readers, and can be contacted via her website at www.jennieadams.net

      Chapter One

      ‘LORENZO, I sent a message requesting your presence in Luca’s office for a meeting ten minutes ago. Did you not receive it?’ The words were calm. Professional. They stated the facts and requested an explanation of the man’s absence, nothing more or less.

      Yes, Scarlett Gibson wanted to tug in frustration on the hot-pink ribbon adorning her ponytail of shoulder-length black hair and, yes, that reaction annoyed her. She hadn’t seen Lorenzo for five years. For the next two months she would be working with him. Scarlett had hoped she would be able to do that without caring much about anything to do with him. After all, that was the state she had been forced to reach after he broke her heart five years ago.

      Well, Scarlett hadn’t become a top financial advisor in Australia by losing her control the first time something annoyed her. But she also hadn’t come back to Italy to help out at her uncle Luca’s Rosa restaurant, only to have her authority thwarted by the head chef on her first day at the job.

      The source of that thwarting stood inside the kitchen of Rosa with his back to her. A slim, muscular back in a fitted black shirt. He wore black trousers, black shoes on his feet. Did he still wear the gold medallion?

      Not that Scarlett cared, though she supposed such thoughts were bound to surface. But, surely, they were no different from her wondering if the stranger on the tram beside her back in Melbourne had her coffee made on full milk or skim!

      As Scarlett glanced about the kitchen different things began to register. The scents of rich, melted chocolate blended with the warm heartiness of yeasty savoury bread stuffed with tomato and herbs, onion and garlic and olives. Several loaves of the bread were cooling on trays on a bench. Those scents probably explained why Scarlett’s tummy suddenly felt a bit odd. She’d have to watch that. She didn’t want to eat her way through the next two months. In any case Lorenzo certainly wasn’t the reason for her tummy-consciousness.

      Three kitchen hands were at work. A woman who looked to be in her thirties, and two men. Scarlett had bumped into the woman inside the restaurant as she appeared to be arriving for work, and had asked her to let Lorenzo know that she wanted to see him in Luca’s office without delay.

      The woman glanced up now and met her gaze. She didn’t look at all guilty or forgetful, which led Scarlett to believe that she had, indeed, passed her message on to Lorenzo.

      So what was Lorenzo Nesta’s game? Yes, he appeared to be working with great concentration and, yes, there appeared to be quite a bit going on in the kitchen right now. Various desserts in different stages of production littered the bench space around Lorenzo in what appeared to be a very organised kind of chaos.

      Scarlett registered this fact, but it was still quite early in the morning. Lunchtime diners were a long way away. Lorenzo should be able to leave his kitchen hands unsupervised at this time of day, with tasks to keep them going, and give Scarlett the time she needed.

      Scarlett’s sherry-brown eyes narrowed. If Lorenzo thought she would chase after him any time she wanted a few words, he needed a lesson in the order of authority in this restaurant. Scarlett’s uncle Luca came first. He was the owner, though he’d told Scarlett that during her time here he didn’t intend to come in, just let her get on with what had to be done.

      Cousin Isabella had been managing the restaurant a lot of the time anyway. Isabella was gladly taking a step back to focus on her relationship with her newly found reclusive prince, Maximilliano Di Rossi.

      Then came Scarlett in the role of business manager.

      And then came the head chef/assistant manager, Lorenzo Nesta. In other words, where Lorenzo was concerned, Scarlett was the boss!

      Scarlett gave a determined nod of her head, only to feel a recalcitrant lock of hair slip loose of its beribboned ponytail.

      Confound it all.

      Scarlett frowned and blew the lock of hair off her cheek, and glared at that stretch of shoulders in her line of vision.

      She had every right to glare. The man was a love rat.

      Lorenzo twisted his upper body and glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Just one minute more.’

      ‘Just one more—?’ As though she had nothing better to do than stand about and wait for him? Scarlett’s brows went up even as she forced her teeth together over the words that wanted to pour out.

      Lorenzo held a slender, hollow stainless-steel tube in his hands. He rotated it with long, deft fingers and Scarlett got a view in profile of a manly cheek already darkened with a hint of beard shadow, a strong nose and chiselled lips pursed in concentration, and the downward sweep of thick lashes over eyes that she knew were the deepest, richest shade of brown.

      Not that Scarlett had any particular kind of obsession with dark brown. Well, with the possible exception of it swirling around in a mug with a marshmallow melted in the top of it.

      ‘Actually, Lorenzo, I’ve been waiting ten minutes already.’ Scarlett uttered the words in a calm tone that nevertheless held a hint of steel within it. ‘You know the way to Luca’s office. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep me waiting any longer.’

      Scarlett wheeled about and made her way back through the kitchen’s swing doors, through the rear of the indoor dining area past several potted plants and a nook filled with a warm colourful display of bottles of oils and relishes and sauces, and into the corridor that housed Luca’s office.

      Mixed