Christmas in Vegas by Laura Breck - Chapter Three

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Chapter Three

Her jaw hinged open. "Dropping dead?" She stomped up to him, hands on hips. "I've never had a health violation in my restaurant. I tested and retested the ingredients today to…be…sure…"

He grinned at her.

The meany was teasing her?

"My apologies, Chef Anderson, for the inappropriate joke." He turned to Marsha. "Would you please keep an eye on the buffet line?"

She smiled and nodded. "I'd be happy to."

He wrapped his hand around her arm. "Chef and I are going to have a taste of her creations."

The touch of his hand sent sparks flying through her body.

They filled plates, hers with a sample of everything, his with mounds that would have made her pass out.

He guided her to a small room off the kitchen. A cozy table and four chairs sat next to a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the mountain.

She sat and stared outside.

"Reminds you of home?"

She nodded and looked at him. "It does." Her voice choked. "Christmas with the family."

He stared at her for a moment. "Wait here." He jumped up and left the room.

She quickly tasted everything on her plate. It was still fresh and would definitely not kill anyone.

Finn walked back into the room carrying a one-foot live pine tree in a pot of soil. The pot was wrapped in festive foil, and each limb of the tree had a tiny ornament and garland strung from it.

It was so sweet of him to do this for her. She pressed her lips together to stop the emotion from bursting out and embarrassing her.

He stared at her.

With a curve of her lips, she said, "It's perfect."

Finn looked down, then a moment later, touched something on the tree and tiny lights came on, and the star on top lit up. "Merry Christmas."

"Thank you." It came out a whisper. Was it the loneliness of being away from her family today? Or was it Finn's kindness that had her chest tight and her heart aching with unshed tears?

With a mouth full of food, he said, "This is excellent."

She pushed her plate aside and crossed her arms on the table, watching him dig into her cooking. "I printed recipes off the internet. I don't know how authentic they are."

"Much better than anything Killian ever made."

"Who is this Killian?"

He smiled at her. "My soon-to-be ex chef."

She tipped her head. "Please don't fire him because of today. I would feel so bad—"

"Uh uh." He waved a fork and swallowed his food. "I'm not firing him. I'm promoting him."

Her mouth opened but she didn't know how to respond.

"He'll be in charge of supervising the chefs."

"Oh. He's a better manager than he is a cook?"

"Exactly." He wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and sat back. "And you, Roxanne Anderson from Minnesota. I'd like to give you a tryout in the kitchen of my Irish Pub."

A thrill of excitement raced through her. "Really? I'd love to. Thank you."

"Thank you for stepping in today. You saved the party." He nodded toward the kitchen. "Probably saved Marsha from a heart attack, too."

"She's a sweetheart." Roxanne hated for this to end, but she had a job to do, and Finn needed to get back to his guests. "May I call you at the casino?"

"You'll stay the night." He stood and picked up their plates, balanced them in one hand, and held his other hand out to her. "Even though you're native Minnesotan, it's too dangerous for you to try to make it down tonight."

She took his hand. The electric shock of the touch had her heart thumping and her belly jittering. She took back her hand and looked out the window at the accumulating snow. "Okay. I'll take you up on your offer." She gestured toward the dining room. "Are we making another meal tonight? For the guests?"

"No. They're all heading home this afternoon. They each have houses on the mountain, and every year, those of us stuck in Vegas over Christmas get together."

"What a nice tradition." She wished she had a group of friends who would celebrate with her. Some day. She sighed.

"Hey." He set down the plates and put his hands on her arms. "What's that face for? What's wrong?"

She tipped her head down and held in the sad whimper that rose in her throat. "Being in a new town…it's been difficult."

He touched his knuckle under her chin and lifted her head. "You won't be lonely long." His green eyes darkened and the sincerity in his gaze shook her. "You're an amazing woman. What you did here today was unexpected and incredibly unselfish." He ran his thumb along her jaw, then looked startled at his action and dropped his hands.

"Those people out there, my guests, are in the same situation you're in. They couldn't get home to family because of contract restrictions, or bad weather and airport closures. The meal you made them helped ease that feeling of homesickness."

"Wow." She smiled, her heart a bit wobbly at his praise. "A cooked goose did all that?"

He grinned. "A delicious cooked goose." He picked up their plates. "I'm guessing I couldn't talk you into leaving the dishes for tomorrow?"

She took the plates from him. "No. Definitely not."

"When you and Marsha are finished, come and sit in the living room with us."

Her mouth dropped open and she shook her head.

"Don't look so pale. Marsha joins us every year. One of those musician-types plays piano and we sing everything from Silent Night to Jingle Bell Rock. We have a couple drinks and head outside to make snowmen. That Christmas tree I brought in here? Its great grandfather is standing all decorated next to the fireplace. You'll love it."

She couldn't imagine what it would be like to hang out with Vegas's premier performers—not to mention a casino owner. "As long as Marsha's there too, okay. But you know I'm going to be too starstruck to say a word."

"You'll get used to them. They're just people, like you and me."

She gave him a dubious look. "You're the one I should be more nervous around. I'm just glad I didn't know this was Finn Brayden's home, I probably would have made a mess of every dish."

"Oh, yeah?" He grinned. "So, I'm someone who makes you startstruck, too, then?"

She bit her lip and felt another blush rise. "You're one of the young legends of Vegas. Your casino, the incredible restaurants you've opened." She looked at him, a wave of shyness stealing over her. "You're larger than life."

He took the plates from her and set them down again. "You're going to have to forgive me for doing this, but I can't fecking stop myself." He cupped each side of her face in his palms. "I want to kiss you, Roxanne. I've been wanting to do it since I saw you standing at the buffet table cussing like a sailor."

She giggled, then sobered. "Kiss me, then, Finn."

"Aw, mavourneen, my sweet. Merry Christmas."

His lips touched hers.

She thanked heaven for granting her wish for snow.

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I hope you enjoyed the story. May your holidays be filled with joy, and may all your wishes come true!
Laura
~Smart Women ~Sexy Men ~Seductive Romance
LauraBreck.com

Christmas in Vegas by Laura Breck - Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

 
Two and a half hours later, Roxanne put the finishing touches on the last of nine dishes. She'd been very relieved to find out the names on the menu were in traditional Gaelic, and the English meanings were very close to what Americans served at holidays. The goose roasted happily in one of the ovens. Spiced beef slices rested in a chafing dish in the warming oven next to stuffing, sliced soda bread, and three kinds of potatoes. Her mince pies were cooling and she stirred the whiskey sauce for the baked pudding. Luckily, the Christmas Cake came ready to serve, and Marsha was in the china closet looking for the perfect serving platter for it.

A man walked into the kitchen as if he owned the place. This must be Mr. Finn. Young, at least five years younger than her twenty-eight. How had he made his fortune? He glanced around. "Killian?"

Killian was the name of the absentee caterer. Roxanne wiped her hand on her apron and walked toward him. "Yes, but please, call me Roxanne." A twinge of guilt tightened her chest at the lie. Marsha had begged her not to let on that the caterer hadn't shown up until after the meal was finished. She'd sworn to keep the secret until the end.

He tentatively reached out and shook her hand, as if he was too good to shake hands with a lowly kitchen worker.

"Everyone's back, they're upstairs changing right now. I'll bring them into the serving room in fifteen?"

A tinge of nervousness rattled her before she reminded herself she'd done this same type of meal a hundred times. "Yes, that'll be fine."

He furrowed his brows. "Everything is ready, isn't it?"

Roxanne forced her best smile. "Of course it is." She gestured around the kitchen. "See for yourself." She half expected the man to actually look in each oven and pan.

He nodded. "Fifteen minutes." Turning on his heel, he raced out.

Roxanne made a face and mouthed those same two words to the man's retreating back as the oven timer rang. "Marsha!" She dashed to the oven and pulled out the goose.

The woman came into the kitchen carrying a gold and crystal pedestal plate. "Look at this. Just perfect for—"

"Beautiful. Sorry, but we just got our fifteen-minute warning."

Marsha squeaked and hustled to the counter and placed the sliced cake on the platter. "You met Mr. Finn? Isn't he just the most handsome thing?"

"Yes." If you liked the snippy kind of man.

"When you bring the cake out, will you light the flames under the chafing dishes?"

"Will do, Chef."

The compliment hit Roxanne like a joyful burst of adrenaline. She smiled at Marsha, who was grinning at her with a sweet look on her face.

Taking a deep breath, Roxanne said, "Let's do this."

Fourteen minutes later, everything was set. Roxanne adjusted the flames under the chafers, checked to be sure the right serving utensil sat next to the dishes, and slid back the hinged covers.

Voices came from another room and she quickly pulled off her apron and stuck it under one of the skirted tables. Seven people walked in and she smiled. Her face fell when she recognized most of them. This wasn't a family gathering. It was a celebrity party.

A Vegas magician who had his own casino showroom stood next to a female comedian who performed worldwide. A country superstar who'd just opened at a casino held hands with his wife, also a singing star. A politician and his wife walked in next, followed by two beautiful women.

Her mouth formed the words "holy shit" and she caught the amused glance of the next person to walk in the door.

He was a tall, gorgeous man with auburn hair that curled past his collar, sparkling green eyes, and a body that filled out his polo shirt and khaki pants very well.

He spoke to the magician as he guided the two women to the beginning of the buffet line.

Roxanne handed plates to the ladies, listening to their excited comments about the food. The country star and his wife were next, and she couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. They chatted with her as they started filling their plates.

Wait until she told her family who she spent Christmas with.

More guests filtered in, including a talk show host, a major financier, and a whole band. As the guests finished going through the line, they headed into the adjoining dining room and sat at a huge table decorated with a green tablecloth, gold napkins, and arrangements of flowers in cranberry-filled vases.

The last two men in the serving room were Mr. Finn, who hadn't changed clothes since he'd been in the kitchen, and the tall, dreamy man. They seemed to be arguing quietly. Mr. Finn pointed at her and walked into the kitchen.

She gulped. Had she been found out?

The hunk strolled toward her, a concerned look on his face. "Killian?"

She nodded. "Please, call me Roxanne." She handed him a plate.

"Roxanne." He set the plate down. "Could I talk to you for a moment?" His light Irish accent was too sexy.

She felt heat rise up her cheeks. "Of course."

The magician came back into the serving room. "This is absolutely fabulous. My God, Finn, Killian has outdone himself. My compliments to the chef.

Roxanne smiled and nodded, but when she realized what he'd called the man next to her, her face sobered. Looking up at the stud next to her, she asked, "You're Finn?"

He nodded. "I'm Finn Brayden, owner of the Emerald Isle Casino."

Oh holy crap. "And Killian is…?"

"Not you." He turned and pushed open the kitchen door. "If you have a minute." He gestured for her to go in ahead of him.

Marsha's voice melded with the voice of the smaller man as they argued.

Finn cleared his throat and there was silence. "What the feck is going on here, Marsha?" His accent thickened.

The cook started talking about the caterer at the same time the snippy man said, "I knew nothing about this, and I—"

"Dún do bhéal," Finn said and pointed at the man. "You. Out."

He stomped from the room.

"Marsha." Finn crossed his arms over his chest and stood glaring. "Who the hell is this?" He jerked his head toward Roxanne. "And where is Killian?"

"Mr. Finn." She wrung her hands in front of her belly. "This is Roxanne…uh…"

"Roxanne Anderson."

He barely spared her a glance.

Marsha's face looked pale. "Killian called and said he couldn't make it up the mountain and was turning around and heading back to the city. Then ten minutes later, this angel was sent from heaven in answer to my prayers."

He turned full on Roxanne then, his narrowed gaze boring into her.

She pressed the palms of her hands together in a saintly gesture and fluttered her eyelashes.

A barely perceptible tick curled the corner of his lips for just a second.

When Finn didn't speak, Roxanne stuffed her hands in her apron pockets and told her story. "I was hired as your wait staff. Marsha and I together figured out how to—"

Marsha stepped forward. "Oh, Mr. Finn, truly, Roxanne did it all herself. I was just the helper."

Finn nodded to Roxanne. "Continue."

"I have a culinary certificate, ran a restaurant in Minnesota, and am currently employed at the Faroh's Steak House in the King's Palace Casino."

He lifted a brow.

She knew she had to tell him everything. "I'm a waitress."

He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and took a deep breath.

"But I'm applying for cook positions. I've only been here two weeks, and with the downturn in the economy, it's tough—"

"Okay." He held out a hand. "Everyone has eaten your food. I guess there's nothing we can do now but wait and see if they start dropping dead."

 

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Stop by tomorrow to read Chapter Three!

Christmas in Vegas by Laura Breck - Chapter One

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Chapter One

 

She had just one wish for the holidays. Snow. Roxanne Anderson yawned as she showed her clear plastic purse to the security guard at the employee exit of King's Palace Casino.

"Night, Roxie." He winked. "Merry Christmas."

She checked her watch. Five minutes after midnight. She smiled at the burly guard whose wrinkled face, gray hair, and glasses reminded her of her grandfather back in Minnesota. "I guess it is officially Christmas Day. Have a wonderful Christmas, Burt." And like her grandfather, Burt was the only person she allowed to call her Roxie.

She pushed out through the heavy metal door. No snow in the Las Vegas forecast, but an icy blast of air cut through the T-shirt and jeans she'd changed into after her shift. The casino required she leave her skimpy waitress costume hanging in the locker room so it could be cleaned or repaired if necessary. She'd like to leave it behind permanently.

God, she hated waitressing.

Roxanne stepped up into the shuttle that waited to take employees to the far parking lot. The heat in the van blasted full-strength to ward off the cold high-desert winter.

She pulled the pins and ponytail holder from her upsweep and let her long, red hair fall across her shoulder and down over her breast. She itched her scalp, digging her fingernails in, loosening the hairspray she used to keep the mandatory hairdo in place.

Once the vehicle was half full, it took off. She glanced around but didn't know anyone. Not unusual, with the number of employees working at King's.

The shuttle stopped and everyone filed off.

"Merry Christmas," the shuttle driver repeated to each of them.

She returned the greeting and walked toward her truck. Her plans did not include a very merry Christmas at all. Driving up Mount Charleston to serve brunch at some rich Californian's chalet. But what else was she going to do? She didn't have the money to fly home to Minnesota. She was too new in town to have made any real friends. A week ago when the temp agency called her looking for someone who'd work Christmas Day, she'd jumped at the chance to get her bank account back above a zero balance.

She unlocked the truck but the driver's door handle stuck—again—and she jerked it a few times to get it open. Damn. She'd have to get this fixed, too.

Later that morning, after four hours of sleep, Roxanne dressed in black pants and a white shirt—the universal uniform for servers—pulled her hair back in a low pony, and poured herself a gigantic mug of coffee for the trip up the mountain.

After a half hour, the road sloped steeply upward. The clouds obscured the mountaintop and as she got closer, fog blotted out the sun.

Slowly the landscape of joshua trees, scrubby bushes, and tan dirt changed to pines and aspen and grass. Her breath caught. This looked so much like home. What was her family doing now? Probably opening gifts and sipping hot cocoa. Swallowing back a surge of homesickness, she turned on her headlights. The sky grew darker as she ascended.

A light sheen of moisture landed on her windshield and she turned on the wipers. Rain. Great. Not only a gloomy Christmas, but drizzly as well.

After a few miles, the wet turned to flaky. Snow? Really? It snowed in Las Vegas? She'd seen the white capped mountains in the distance, but it never connected that it was actually snow. That told her where her mind had been the last few weeks.

Once she'd given Charlie his ring back, sarcastically wished him good luck with his new girlfriend, and packed up everything she could carry in her truck, she'd focused on only one thing. Cooking in Las Vegas.

With chef jobs being so scarce because of the downturn in the economy, she'd taken a waitress job in a high-end restaurant, but the Egyptian goddess costume she was forced to wear didn't protect her butt from the pinchy fingers of oversexed, overserved men.

She mentally checked the list of restaurants she'd be heading to tomorrow to apply for any openings in the kitchen, then went over the list of the places she'd already applied. The nice thing about Vegas was the nearly unlimited number of restaurants in the valley.

The rear tires of her truck skidded toward the edge of the road.

"Crap." The snow came down heavier and accumulated on the blacktop. She shifted the truck into 4-wheel drive and listened to the axels engage. She smiled. "Yep. This is just like Christmas in Minnesota."

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the back entrance of the mansion. "Wow." She hadn't expected it to be this massive. The red log structure resembled an A-frame, but with three sprawling floors, it looked more like a ski lodge.

Roxanne rang the back doorbell and a large, older woman in a white apron opened the door. Her eyes were wild and her graying hair stuck up at odd angles. "Are you my wait staff?"

"Yes." She held out her hand to shake the woman's.

Instead the cook grabbed her wrist and tugged her inside. "God bless you for being early. The caterer couldn't make it up the mountain in the snow. He got halfway and turned around!" She shouted the words as if it was a federal offense.

Crap. Was the event cancelled? Would she still get paid? Roxanne looked around the huge stainless and marble kitchen. Cardboard boxes stood on every surface. "So, what's all this?"

The woman picked up a piece of paper. "The groceries were delivered yesterday. They were supposed to cook the dishes fresh today." She handed the sheet to Roxanne. "This is the menu, but for God's sake," her voice rose in pitch and alarm. "I don't know how to make those things."

She glanced down the list. It looked like Irish food. Strange choice for a Christmas brunch. She looked at the woman. "I'm assuming you're the cook here."

"Yes." Her hand shook as she held it out toward Roxanne. "I'm Marsha. I live on property and handle meals and cleaning."

They shook hands. "I'm Roxanne."

Marsha squeezed her hand between her two. "Thank God you're here. What are we going to do?"

"We?" How was she part of this? She'd been hired at minimum wage plus mileage plus gratuity to keep the buffet service filled and pick up dirty plates.

Marsha fanned her flushed face. "I've never done anything like this. The rare times Mr. Finn comes up here, it's usually for a day or two by himself. Not a party of twenty for the holidays!" The woman's eyes went a little wild. "Oh, God, what are we going to do?"

"Here." Roxanne pulled a stool closer. "First, you're going to sit down and take some deep breaths. Does Mr. Finn know that his caterer didn't show up?"

"No. I tried to call his cell, but they're skiing and it went right to voice mail. They'll be back in less than two hours, and I have nothing to feed them."

Roxanne checked the menu again. "This might be doable." She walked to the counter and went through each of the boxes, taking stock of the base ingredients.

Marsha pointed to the large double-door cooler. "Frigerated items are in there, on the right side." A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. "What are we going to do?"

The poor woman was so distraught, it touched Roxanne's heart. "Okay. We can do this. I'm a trained chef."

Marsha closed her eyes, laced her fingers together, and moved her mouth silently. After a moment, she looked up to the ceiling then at Roxanne. "You're the answer to my prayers."

She let out a laugh. She'd never been called that before, but she'd run with it. "Keep praying, Marsha. I've never made most of these items before, and a few of them I've never even heard of."

"Oh, no." The worry lines crept back into her forehead.

"I'll need a computer."

Marsha stood and opened a large cabinet. "Here's the kitchen computer." She turned it on. "Printer, too."

"Perfect." Roxanne pulled a chair over and sat at the little desk. "If you'd take everything out of the boxes and organize them on the counters, I'd—"

"Right away." Her voice was so cheerful, Roxanne couldn't help but smile.

The menu listed nine items. She'd print out the recipes and figure out which ones she'd have time to make. "Marsha?" She turned toward the woman. "Will you say one more prayer? This time, for the chef?"

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Stop by tomorrow for Chapter Two!