The Interview by Caitlin Ricci

Chapter One
    Mr Sims was much as she had expected—a chef from head to toe, coming into her building’s lobby wearing a neatly pressed black jacket and chef trousers. He looked younger than she’d expected though, his twenty-five years looking more like twenty-one. Even in the grainy black and white security system feed, she knew he was going to be trouble. Jacob, as she fondly remembered calling him back when she’d first met him as a highly strung teenager fighting back against the pressures of living under his parents, had apparently grown up well.
    Anne turned and checked her appearance in her bedroom mirror. Shaking her head, she knew the pretty, pale pink sweater and dark blue jeans wouldn’t do for today. Maybe for meeting anyone else, but not now that she’d seen the all-grown-up version of Jacob Sims. He’d been cute as a teenager but that forbidden image had turned into something greater than simply attractive. She glanced at the security feed again and licked her lips. No, he was much more than what she had anticipated, and the thrill of having the handsome man so close made a shiver run along her spine.
    She stripped quickly then put her jeans and sweater over the back of her cream reading chaise. It wouldn’t take Jacob long to get upstairs, especially if he took the elevator. But she didn’t need a lot of time to step into a short, flowing tan skirt and a button down lace shirt either. She’d been barefoot before, which was comfortable but not exactly sexy. Some strappy heels completed her outfit and she was sitting at her dining room table by the time a loud knock sounded on her front door.
    “Come in,” she called, adding a bit of a sultry edge to her voice. There was no guarantee the wide-shouldered, black-haired man would even be interested, she reminded herself, but it never hurt to try.
    “Chef Mato?” he asked, entering her large apartment with quiet footsteps.
    “Hello, Jacob,” she greeted him, smiling. “Did you bring your knives?” Anne didn’t get up to meet him, instead she crossed one leg over the other, letting her loose skirt slide up her thigh. She watched for any reaction, any telltale sign that he was interested in her. His father had said he’d been available, but parents rarely knew, and if he were seeing someone she’d stop this play. But if he wasn’t, this afternoon was going to get very interesting indeed.
    “Yes, Chef,” he answered automatically.
    Anne nodded, pleased. He was disciplined and well trained. All of his professors at the culinary institute had said so. He’d probably called his parents ‘Chef’ more often than ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’.
    He stood in her entryway, her beautiful kitchen between them. Though he said nothing, the way his eyes drifted to her double ovens, her gas, six-burner stove and the pristine white granite counter tops told her he was envious of her set up. Good, she’d worked very hard for many years and had given up a great deal personally to be able to have everything she did now.
    “With your knives, you’re all ready for the interview,” she informed him. “Ale is my baby, the first restaurant I opened less than six months after graduating from the culinary institute. I was told that I was crazy for buying a restaurant when I was so young, that I needed more training.” She curled her fingers around the spindled oak back of her chair. “But Ale has grown and blossomed for ten years now. It has been the restaurant to beat for the past four years in a row and I intend to keep that tradition going with the next executive chef to take it over.”
    “Yes, Chef.” His response was strong and Anne believed he might be the one to take her restaurant over. His training certainly suggested it. And he had pride to spare.
    “When your father suggested that I interview you for the position, I was hesitant,” she continued. His face fell, but his smile didn’t slip. She had to know that he could take criticism along with