Fortune's Just Desserts by Marie Ferrarella

considered to be the finest restaurant in San Antonio. “I congratulate you, Marcos. She is a natural.”
    Yeah, a natural at being a pain in the butt.
    There was absolutely no reason to congratulatehim, Marcos thought. To offer condolences, maybe, but not to congratulate him.
    He needed to set the chef straight.
    â€œCan I have a word, Enrique?” Marcos requested, motioning the shorter man to the side, away from the others. Away from Wendy.
    â€œOf course.” Enrique paused long enough to place his hands on Wendy’s shoulders, giving them what amounted to a little bonding squeeze. “Keep up the good work, Wendy. Next I want you to try your hand at desserts. Something special,” he emphasized.
    Turning around, the chef focused his attention on Marcos. Enrique joined the manager in an alcove created by a wall and the side of one of the stoves.
    â€œWhat seems to be the problem?” Enrique wanted to know. The tone of his voice said that he didn’t appreciate having his routine interrupted.
    Knowing that, Marcos wasted no time and got right to the point. “Since when do you take one of the staff under your wing?” he asked.
    It went against everything he had ever heard and observed about the chef. The man was not known for being charitable or warm and toasty.
    Until now.
    â€œI’ve told everyone that you’re not to be disturbed,” Marcos told the chef. “And that they should respect your wishes to keep a quiet kitchen if that was the way you wanted it.”
    Enrique inclined his head. He wasn’t oblivious tothe conditions at work. “And I appreciate that,” he told Marcos.
    Marcos noticed that, even as he spoke, the chef was looking across the room, watching what Wendy was doing. Watching perhaps a little too closely.
    Which made him think of something else.
    â€œEnrique, is there something going on that I should know about?” Marcos asked.
    â€œOnly that you are wasting a gifted person, making her carry heavy trays around. For all her inexperience, the young lady has taken to cooking faster than anyone I have ever known, with the exception of myself, of course,” Enrique qualified.
    â€œNow, she is not going to be as good as I am—there is room for only one Enrique.” If it was possible to say something so self-promoting without sounding pompous, the man had somehow managed to carry it off. “But she is still going to be very, very good. I would pay closer attention to her gifts if I were you.” And then the older man paused. “But I think you may already be doing that, yes?”
    Marcos squared his shoulders, his posture growing more rigid. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œOh, I think you do,” Enrique contradicted with a knowing smile. “Which is why this whole thing confuses me. You are being very hard on her. Why is that, Marcos?”
    He would think that would be self-evident. “I’m just trying to get a full day’s work out of her.”
    â€œIn half the time?” Enrique challenged, then held up his hands as if he was pushing away an invisible wall. “You do not owe me an explanation,” he assured the restaurant manager. “But I think that you might owe one to yourself.” When Marcos looked at him quizzically, he clarified. “Examine why you are being so hard on her, Marcos. This is not like you.”
    There was no need for self-examination, Marcos thought. “I’ll tell you why I’m leaning on her.” He deliberately avoided saying that he was being hard on her. He wasn’t chaining the woman to the wall. She was free to leave anytime she wanted. And personally, he was rooting for that. “I don’t like people who think they deserve a free ride just because they happen to be rich, or related to someone who’s rich.”
    Enrique looked unconvinced, as if he knew there was more to it than just