Hungry for More

CHAPTER 14



Three hours to Madame Prizzo and Amy was hunting the walk-in for a hunk of cheese that had to reach room temperature before it could be served.

Getting sent to the walk-in during second service by the entremettier was like being sent to the spa. She loved diving into the swimming pool–cool noiselessness of the tiny room. Everyone upstairs was running around like organic, roasted chickens ($29) with their heads cut off. But here she could breathe. She searched halfheartedly for the Stilton she had been sent for. Cheese for dessert didn’t make a lick of sense to her, especially warm cheese, but it seemed to be a big thing with Frenchie wannabes.

Third bin on the left, needs to come out now . Smelly, tinged blue, and crumbly. As if Amy didn’t know what Stilton was. Which she didn’t, although she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone.

Or admit to anyone that she had had a few mishaps out on the floor tonight. But with only one table to look after, it had gone better. She was managing the second seating, even though the loner guy who was ordering way more than any man had a right to eat was rude and curt, even when she flashed him some extra cleavage to make up for the late arrival of his second salad. Who ate two salads?

“This is Stilton.” James appeared at the walk-in door. He grabbed a tub and showed her the scribbled label. Then with a devilish smile, he tossed it over his shoulder and pulled her into his arms. He smelled like scallion and seared beef and garlic. The tub of abandoned cheese clunked to a stop against the far shelves.

“Hmm . . . I sort of recall a man kissing me here once. Kinda looked like you.”

“Did it feel like this?” His lips touched hers as gently as sleep, and she let her eyes flutter closed. I’ll just shut up now. The restaurant was gone. Thoughts of missing Maddie were gone. The chilled air around them was gone, replaced with the warmth of him. His arms wrapped her like a blanket. He inhaled her deeply and murmured, “I’ve been waiting all night to kiss you. I haven’t been able to see straight since last night. I can’t even cook. All I can taste is you.”

The strain of the night drained out of her. The strain of not knowing where Roni was or when she was coming back. The strain of still being bad at her job.

“Later tonight,” he commanded. He was nibbling down her neck. “Come to my place. I’ll be there by midnight. Well, by one. Two at the latest.”

“So you can leave me hanging again? No thanks, James.”

“I was a total idiot last night. A first-class moron. Tonight—”

“Can’t,” she protested. She had to be at Madame Prizzo’s. “Maybe tomorrow—wait, can’t. I have to stay with Troy.”

“I’ll come there, then. You can lie to me again about him being gone, and I’ll pretend to believe you.” He pulled her into him, her hips crushing against his. His hand moved down her back and he sighed. “All I’ve been thinking about since last night is you.”

It was lovely to hear him like this and yet completely terrifying that his thoughts matched her own. If she could talk to Maddie tonight, then maybe she could find out more about this man.

His eyes flicked to his watch. “I have three and a half minutes until I’ve gotta fire four lambs for table nine.”

“Then shut the hell up and get to work, Chef.” She pulled him closer. The Stilton could wait. This was too good to pass up; after all, how could she possibly fall in love with him in three and a half minutes?

He freed her shirt from her skirt, and she shuddered from the warmth of his skin on hers. His hand found its way to her breast. “Oh, God. Amy.” His mouth was on her neck.


“I know. I know. Just shut up.” This could be our last time together . If Maddie came to Madame Prizzo tonight and told her that James was her One True Love, this was their last chance to be together. She had to be firm about that, no matter how he was making her feel right now, in his arms, his hands rough against her, pulling her close.

She had to keep her eyes on the prize. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him hard. Note to self: He is not the prize.

His other hand drew her in to him, the length of him against her bringing her whole body to high alert. He murmured, “I can’t get enough of you. I taste you all the time.”

Why was he wearing so much clothing? His chef’s shirt was like a straitjacket, his apron a ten-foot wall between her and what she needed from him. Needed so badly that she felt as if she might die without it. Now or never. “James.”

“Sorry, lovebirds, but we’ve got a problem.” It was Stu. The urgency in his tone broke them apart like a crowbar. “Scottie Jones is at table eight. We missed him ’cause it was Amy’s table. He’s halfway done with his entrée.”

James fell away from her, and Amy experienced the parting like he’d ripped a piece off of her. James’s face had gone pale. “Where’s Joey?” James asked, his voice barely there. Joey was the ma?tre d’. “Why didn’t Joe spot him?”

Had James forgotten her? She was still panting with desire. Why didn’t James tell Stu to get lost? They still had at least two minutes.

“Joey was in back taking a call, and Scottie strong-armed Eddie into seating him,” Stu said.

“He snuck in,” James said. He paced the walk-in like a tiger.

Hello? Who cares! But James’s face was rigid with anger.

“Are we talking about the little jerk at table eight? That a*shole—” Amy began.

“—is the most important food critic on the East Coast. He writes for Le Guide des Restaurants . What’s he back for?” James raged. He kicked the tub of Stilton, and it burst open against the wall. “My stars should be good for one more year at least.”

Precious seconds were ticking away, but James was lost to her. A cloud of tension surrounded him. Whatever was going on here, James thought it was somehow her fault. She had missed Scottie, the bestower of magic stars, whoever the hell he was. But how could she have known that little tub of a man was important?

Stu spoke quietly. “I have heard a few rumors . . .”

James spun around. “Tell me.” He jumped at Stu and instantly had him by the scruff of his shirt. “What did you hear? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

James looked like he was going to slit Stu’s throat. Amy backed away from the two men, feeling jilted and forgotten.

“What wasn’t important?” James growled.

“Raul and John-John were whispering a few days ago,” Stu began, “that some of the cooks from the Fondy were gossiping after hours at the Lido. They said that you pissed off someone important . . .” He paused and Amy didn’t blame him. James looked like a devil. “That you”—Stu gulped as James tightened his grip—“that Bob guy. The guy who went nuts on Amy. He knew someone, an investor at the media group that runs Les Guides . They own some chalet time-share deal in France together.” Stu paled as James’s grip tightened. “Hey, I’m just the messenger.”

James let him go, and Stu had to catch himself from falling.

Stu took a deep breath. This time he spoke quietly, almost gently, like a doctor giving a regretful prognosis. “Bo over at the Fondy said the Bob dude is in tight with this investor guy.” He didn’t meet James’s eyes. “I dunno. Maybe they sent Scottie because they were pissed at being thrown out.”

Amy flashed back to James’s fearful scene in the dining room, when he threw out Bob. When he threw out Bob for her. She tucked in her shirt.

“You should have told me,” James said.

“Bo’s an idiot.” Stu defended himself, but he looked pale, as if now he understood that maybe Bo wasn’t such an idiot after all.

James stood silently, emotions playing over his face like shadows.

Amy thought it through. No problem, it wasn’t her fault. James would understand. He’d stand by her. Loyalty and teamwork and ships going down together and all that.

“When someone orders more than a human can eat, you gotta tell someone. Fast. That’s how you know they’re a critic.”

Amy realized he was talking to her. The fury in James’s voice drained her blood until she felt like a statue. “I didn’t know—”

His flashing eyes met hers. “I knew you were bad luck the first time I met you. You’ve spent your whole life a loner con-woman, haven’t you? I should have listened to Bob. I knew I should have thrown you out and not looked back. You know nothing about loyalty and teamwork. You’re just here for yourself, and you don’t give a damn about anyone else. How could you miss Scottie Jones? I thought you were a Gypsy,” James spat. “Could read minds, know-it-all.”

Amy felt as if she’d been slapped. “Obviously not. I didn’t know you were an a*shole.” But maybe I found out just in time . Trust and teamwork bullshit. James only cared about his restaurant. Three and a half minutes. She had almost thrown away her life for three and a half minutes of bliss. If this a*shole is my One True Love, I escaped his clutches just in time.

They glared at each other as fiercely as they’d groped at each other just a moment before.

Stu coughed.

James jumped up, his nervous energy uncoiling his long body like a spring as he barked at Stu, “Tell me what he ordered. Tell me what’s up next. Get Amy off the table! Get Dan on it, stat.” He bounded up the stairs, calling back to Amy without stopping, “Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Use your Gypsy powers to figure out what this a*shole is gonna write about me, then cast a spell so we can fix it.”



A deep pain sliced through Amy. She held her sides, trying to stay in one piece.

I will not break down in a fridge because a man I started to trust just totally dissed me. I will learn from this and never, ever make that mistake again.

Better to leave first. Better to leave before you got left. Staying meant helplessness. It meant losing her power. Hadn’t her whole life taught her that?

God, this felt awful. She had experienced pain this intense only once before, at the Baltimore airport, watching her mother board the plane to India to find Emeril Livingstone, the man Maddie said was her mother’s One True Love. Amy had been six years old. Memories of that awful day assaulted her. Her sister, Cecelia, weeping by her side. Her father, forlorn, his head hanging. Her mother leaving with Jasmine, the baby, who was too young to be left behind.

But what about me? What did I do to deserve being left behind? “You shouldn’t have told your mother that name, Amy,” her father had muttered, over and over, looking at a spot on the filthy floor.

She had learned at that moment that lies were good; it was the truth that should be feared.

They had stood in that airport for hours, long after the plane had left, just standing, watching the rain fall, not having any idea where to go.

Better to leave first. Before everything falls apart. Before you do something so dumb, you ruin everything. Better to just keep moving.

She breathed deeply, trying to calm her pounding heart. A cold sweat coated her skin, and the chill was piercing.


If you leave before they can hurt you, you don’t get hurt. If you leave before they can hurt you, you don’t hurt them by screwing up.

F*ck you, Maddie. It was all Maddie’s fault. Why did she want that stupid voice back, anyway? Her mother had abandoned her. Maddie had abandoned her. James had abandoned her. If she was going to chase one of them, why was she chasing Maddie? She should run from Maddie like she ran from the rest of them. Maddie was the cause of all her pain. Maddie had ruined her childhood by breaking up her parents with her prophecies, and now she had brought Bob, and Bob had brought Scottie, and Scottie was going to ruin James’s restaurant.

I don’t want you back, Maddie. Ever.

I want James.

But James had just dissed her to overstuff a little fat man. He was a slave to his restaurant. The man had never had a relationship in his life except with a side of beef.

God, she was so confused.

She felt arms around her. For a second, she thought it was James, and she almost wept with relief.

But it was Stu, who had come back to check on her. “It’ll be all right, hon. Don’t give up on him. It’ll be okay. He’ll come around. Shhh . . . It’ll be all right.”

That was when she realized she was crying.



“This is the best appetizer you’ve ever made,” Scottie Jones said.

James nodded his thanks. He was furious at Scottie for sneaking in, and yet, he couldn’t show his anger and risk alienating the little man.

“And these scallops. James, do you have a new sous-chef?” Scottie ran his finger around the rim of his plate and licked it.

“No.” James felt everyone’s eyes on him, the celebrity chef, especially Scottie’s little beady ones.

“A new girlfriend?” Nothing, including James’s methods, could stay a secret in the tight Philly restaurant scene.

James ignored Scottie’s insinuation. Especially because it was true. “My stars should be good at least another year, Scottie. What are you doing here?”

“James, forget your two stars.” Scottie leaned forward and grinned up at him.

James felt his stomach fall. His restaurant. His life. He felt it slipping away. Amy had brought this on. Amy was bad luck.

“Look, a couple of uptight, idiot suits sent me here to stir you up a bit. Guess you pissed off someone important. Nothing I can do about it. Corporate stuff, you know.” He rolled his eyes. “But their plan is gonna backfire, James. Go for three stars, my boy. These new dishes are amazing. You’re on to something here that could be huge. Philly’s never had anything like those scallops. I’ll be back in a month. You have the talent. This is your chance. James, I could make you big. Huge. More famous than ever.” Scottie sat back so Stu could place the next course on the table. “This is your old stuff, right? I’ve had this before. Compared to the scallops, James, c’mon! Think about what you want, boy. Think about what you could have. One month. I’ll hold off the corporate offices till then.”





To see into a man’s soul, watch what he eats.

—JAMES LACHANCE, The Meal of a Lifetime