"All right, this will be your station."

Cale came to a halt behind Alex and managed to drag his eyes off her rear and to her face when she half turned to glance at him. My life mate. The words drifted through his mind with a lot of wonder attached. Marguerite had been right. He couldn't read Alex Willan. She was his life mate. The knowledge kept rolling through his brain, but Cale was having trouble wrapping his mind around it. He'd finally met his life mate. After all these centuries, he would have a life mate. He need no longer be alone. He would be mated.

Nope, Cale thought on a small sigh, no matter how he presented it to himself, his brain appeared numb and unable to take it in.

"Or I suppose you're used to the French term mis en place," Alex added, drawing his attention again.

Cale nodded stiffly.

"Really, as head chef you'll no doubt be all over the kitchen," Alex went on, turning stiffly away from him to wave over the area she'd led him to. "But this is where you'll mostly be working when you aren't riding herd on the others."

Cale managed another stiff nod when she glanced back at him and tried to look like he knew what she was talking about, but his gaze slid blindly over the gleaming metal services before him, his mind taken up with the litany running through his head. Life mate. Life mate. Life mate.

"This is a small enough operation that the head chef does triple duty, acting as the saucier and fish chef as well," Alex explained almost apologetically. "That's what you call the saute chef and poissonnier in France."

Cale pursed his lips and nodded again, her words not really making it past his thoughts about spending eternity with her.

"As I mentioned, Bev is the sous-chef, your right hand. Go to her if you have any questions. But she too does triple duty and takes on the jobs of roast chef and grill chef or what the French call the rôtisseur and grillardin."

"Grillardin," Cale echoed, managing a nod for the attractive redhead named Bev when she glanced over to smile at him curiously.

"And then Bobby over there is the vegetable chef and roundsman, the entremetier and tournant," Alex added, apparently translating it to French out of concern that he might not know the English terms. She needn't have worried-he didn't understand the French ones either.

While Cale knew what the words themselves meant, he wasn't sure what it meant the fellow did exactly, but he tried to look knowledgeable as he gave the young, blond male mortal a nod of acknowledgment.

"Rebecca over there," Alex pointed to a woman coming out of a small room at the back of the kitchen. She was short and a bit round, with rosy cheeks and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. "She's the pantry chef and pastry chef, the garde manger and patissier. She's a dream at sweets," Alex assured him with a smile.

"Ah, sweets," Cale said with another nod of feigned understanding.

"Right." Alex smiled at him brightly and gestured to the wall, where several sheets of paper with typing on them had been taped up. "The recipes we use here are all mine. When I raised Peter to head chef ... or chef de cuisine, I had to put the recipes up here for him to be able to use ... which saves me having to do that now."

Alex smiled at him again, and Cale thought that she really had a very nice smile. While he could see the resemblance to Sam, Alex had a full figure, her large eyes complementing her pretty face rather than dominating it, and her hair was shorter, a shiny brown bob that fell below her ears and swung around her face as her head moved. He found himself wondering if the dark tendrils were as soft as they looked and had to stick his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to find out.

"So if you want to just take one of the orders waiting"-she gestured to several smaller slips of paper caught in clips on the metal shelf beside his station-"and get started, I'll stay just long enough to be sure you've got a handle on things, and then get out of your way."

Cale stared at her blankly, sure he'd missed something while he'd been staring at her. Was she suggesting he actually cook? Of course she was. It was what he was supposed to be here for, he reminded himself, and glanced over the foreign objects surrounding him. He didn't even know where to start.

"Perhaps he should take off his suit jacket. You have an apron he can use, right?" Bricker asked, stepping into the void.

"Oh, yes of course." Alex shook her head. "I'm sorry. Everything's so topsy-turvy right now I wasn't thinking. Here give me your suit jacket. I'll hang it in my office and get you an apron and hat."

Cale muttered a thank-you, helping when she began to tug his jacket off, then watched silently as she hurried across the kitchen to her office. The moment she disappeared inside, he turned sharply on Bricker and grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt. "What have you done? I can't do this. I don't know the first thing about cooking."

"Hey, whoa, buddy, I didn't do this. Sam is the one who told her you were a cook," he reminded him.

"Well, I'm not," he said sharply, turning back to his station. "Look at this. What is all this? These knobs"-he twisted one of them, bringing on a quiet hiss, then grabbed up a shiny silver rod with one flat end-"and this ... thing."

"Christ, what are you trying to do, blow us up?"

Bricker muttered, reaching past him to return the knob he'd twisted to its resting place. Cale noted that the hissing immediately stopped. Bricker then snatched the silver thing from his hand. "This is a spatula. You use it to ... well, saute I suppose," he muttered, then glanced at Cale's expression and sighed. "Look, these are the controls for the grills. These knobs turn the gas on, but you have to turn them all the way to ignite them." He twisted the knob, and the hissing Cale had noted earlier started again. It was followed by a click click click, and then a whoosh as a ring of flames suddenly exploded to life.

Bricker turned the knob back a bit and the flames lessened, then he grabbed up one of several pans on a shelf beside the grill and set it on the stove. "See, you saute things in the pan over the fire and spread them around or turn them with the spatula."

Bricker moved the spatula to emulate what he was describing. "This isn't as difficult as you seem to think it is. Just read the recipes and follow them. You'll do great. Trust me."

Cale scowled with displeasure but quickly pasted on a smile as Alex returned with a white apron and hat in hand.

"Here we are." She handed him a ridiculous, large white hat and then quickly tossed the top of the apron over his head. Alex then grabbed the strings and reached around him, intending to tie them up for him, but then flushed and stepped back when she realized the position she'd put herself in. Avoiding his eyes, she muttered something under her breath and hurriedaround him to tie the strings from the back. Cale had liked it better when she was doing it from the front.

"There. All set. I guess you'd best get to it. The orders are waiting."

When Cale stared at her blankly, Bricker snatched up one of the orders and shoved it in front of his face. "This is the first one. Trout Amandine. Mmmm."

Cale snatched the slip of paper from him irritably and peered at the writing.

"Ms. Willan?"

They all paused and glanced toward the girl who suddenly hurried into the kitchens. Dressed in black dress pants and a wine-colored shirt, the woman obviously wasn't kitchen staff. She was also upset about something, a frown marring her plain face.

"What is it, Sue?" Alex asked, moving a little away to speak to her.

"What do I do?" Cale asked Bricker sharply the moment she was out of hearing.

"Make the trout," Bricker said dryly.

"How?" Cale growled. "And what trout?"

Bricker glanced around. "Oh. Right. Hang on, I'll find it."

Cale shook his head with disgust as the man hurried off, and then turned to glance toward Alex, catching some of the conversation going on. It seemed one of the waitresses hadn't shown up for work and they were short-staffed in the dining room. Alex looked stressed at this news.

"Here, I already coated both sides with flour," Bricker announced, appearing at his side again to distract him,and Cale turned to find him holding out a plate with two slices of floured fish on it.

"What do I do with it?" he asked, accepting the offering.

When Bricker glanced to the sheets of paper, Cale followed his gaze, but all the recipes were for sauces, and there didn't appear to be a recipe for Trout Amandine. He supposed chefs were expected to know how to make it.

"Hang on, I'll pick Bev's brain again," Bricker said on a sigh.

"Again? " Cale asked as he started to move away.

"How do you think I found out where to get the fish and to coat it with flour?" he muttered before hurrying away toward the redheaded Bev. It didn't take him long before he was at Cale's side again. "Right. Brown the trout in three tablespoons and one teaspoon butter for fouror five minutes, and then turn them and brown for another two minutes. Then you sprinkle them with lemon juice and cook another minute or two while you brown the almonds in another pan, no butter, then sprinkle the almonds and some parsley over the trout and send it out."

As he spoke, Bricker was dumping butter in a small frying pan and setting it on the grill. He turned the flame on under it, then reached for the plate of trout. Cale took it from him at once.

"I'm supposed to be doing it," he reminded him grimly.

"Right. You do it," Bricker said at once, releasing his hold on the dish.

Grunting with satisfaction, Cale took the plate and turned it over the pan so that the fish dropped on top of the pats of butter. The other man immediately sucked in a dismayed breath.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to wait for the butter to melt before you put the fish in," he said with alarm.

"You didn't say that," Cale snapped, and reached to grab the fish back out, but Bricker caught his arm.

"Never mind. Just leave it."

"A problem?" Alex asked, turning to peer in their direction with worry.

"No," Cale and Bricker said as one, both of them shifting to hide the fish from her view.

Alex frowned slightly, but then turned reluctantly back to Sue, who, Cale was guessing, was in charge of the waitstaff.

"Here."

Cale turned to see that Bricker had found a fork somewhere and was sliding it under the fish, trying to mash the butter, presumably so it would melt faster. The action scraped away a good portion of flour from the fish, however, and judging by the man's curse, that wasn't a good thing. Frowning, Cale glanced around, spotted a plate with a powdery white substance on it he thought was what Bricker had used to coat the fish, and picked up a handful. Turning back to the pan, he dumped it on the fish, bringing a squawk from Bricker.

"What are you doing?" the man cried with alarm.

"Cooking," Cale said with irritation.

"That's not-""Is there something wrong?" Alex asked, and Cale glanced around to see she was coming toward them.

"No," he said quickly.

"Everything's fine," Bricker assured her in strained tones. "You go on and take care of ... whatever."

Alex hesitated, but then her expression went briefly blank before she nodded and moved back to Sue.

Eyes narrowing, Cale glanced to Bricker, not at all surprised to see that his expression was concentrated. He'd given Alex a mental nudge to make her return to her conversation. The younger immortal was controlling his woman.

"Stop glaring at me," Bricker muttered, turning his attention back to the frying pan and starting to scrape off most of the flour Cale had just put on the fish.

"Stop controlling my woman," Cale countered.

"I'm just trying to help," Bricker said grimly, and then cursed.

"What's wrong?" Cale asked, glancing worriedly at the pan. The butter was melted now. It was also turning brown and bubbling angrily around the fish.

"I put the fire on too high," Bricker admitted on a sigh.

Cale pursed his lips. He suspected there was more wrong than that the heat was too high. The butter had become a thick, flour-filled soup. He didn't think it was supposed to be. And, while he was no cook, he was pretty sure the fish was burning. Clearing his throat, he suggested, "Perhaps I should turn the fish now."

"Yeah," Bricker agreed, his mouth twisting with dissatisfaction. "Go ahead."

Cale took the spatula he handed him, quickly slidit under the strips of fish, and turned them. He and Bricker then both sighed unhappily at the result. The fish was covered with blackened flour in places and bald in others, half of the flour coating left behind and stuck to the pan.

"Maybe we should start the almonds," Bricker suggested on a sigh.

"Hmm," Cale murmured.

"I'll find them."

The man was off at once, and Cale immediately glanced toward Alex again, only she wasn't where she'd been when last he'd looked. Sue was now gone, and Alex had moved into her office. He could see her through the open door, talking on the phone. No doubt trying to find a replacement for the missing waitress, he thought.

"Here we go."

Cale glanced around as Bricker returned and dumped a handful of sliced almonds into a fresh pan.

"Just brown them over this flame," he instructed, twisting the knob to get the flame going. "And I'll get the lemon to squeeze over the fish."

"Right," Cale murmured, thinking that sounded easy enough. A moment later, staring down at a pan full of half-burned and half-raw almond slices, he revised his opinion.

"This cooking business isn't as easy as it looks," Bricker commented with disappointment moments later as they peered at the charred trout speckled with parsley and blackened almond slices they had just set on a plate. "Eating is easier."

"Hmm," Cale said, shaking his head with disgust.

"How are we doing?"

Both men jerked upright and shifted to hide their efforts as Alex suddenly appeared beside them.

"Good, good," Bricker assured her quickly. "The first dish is pretty much done."

"Just one?" Alex asked, her eyes widening with alarm. Her gaze shot to the shelf beside them and the alarm grew by leaps and bounds, making Cale turn to peer at it as well. He frowned when he noted that the number of slips on the shelf had more than doubled. He'd been vaguely aware of people moving past them but hadn't realized that more orders had been arriving. He'd been too distracted by trying to cook and listening to Alex and Sue.

"It's all right. Everything is in hand here. You should just go about whatever it is that needs doing," Bricker said firmly.

Cale wasn't surprised to see the concentration on the other immortal's face when he glanced his way. He was controlling Alex again, Cale knew, but this time was grateful for it. The woman had enough problems on her plate without his adding to them. He would never win her that way.

"You obviously have everything in hand here. I should go about what needs doing," Alex agreed woodenly and turned away, only to come to an abrupt halt when Sue suddenly pushed through the kitchen doors.

"Did you find anyone?" the other woman asked hopefully as she hurried over to slip even more orders onto the shelf.

"No," Alex admitted, her shoulders slumping with defeat.

"What are we going to do?" Sue asked with alarm. "We're getting behind on taking orders. Every table is full, Alex. We only have two girls on tonight, including myself."

Alex reached up to run a hand through her hair with an agitation that brought a frown to Cale's face. "We'll just have to-"

"Bricker will wait tables for you," Cale interrupted.

"What?" Bricker squawked.

He turned on the younger immortal, his expression grim. "You will wait the tables."

"The hell I will," Bricker said at once.

"Bricker," Cale growled, and then caught his arm and urged him along the row of shelving and countertops until they were out of earshot. "I can't cook."

"I noticed," he said dryly.

"Well, it's not going to improve," he assured him grimly. "And Alex's customers aren't going to be pleased with my offerings ... unless someone helps them think they are," he added meaningfully.

Bricker raised his eyebrows. "You want me to control the customers? "

"You got me into this," Cale pointed out grimly.

"Oh, hey, no." Bricker held up his hands, palms open. "That wasn't me. Sam is the one who told her you were a chef."

"Sam just said that to get her to meet me; she wasn't the one in Alex's office telling her I was from Paris and had my own restaurant," he countered grimly, andthen frowned when he noted Bev listening wide-eyed. Scowling, he took a moment to quickly wipe her mind of what she'd overheard and to make sure she didn't continue to listen.

"I didn't say it was a restaurant," Bricker defended himself quickly. "She just assumed-"

"Semantics," Cale snapped, cutting him off. "You will do this. I won't see Alex ruined because of your 'help.' "

Bricker hesitated, but then whipped out his phone.

"Who are you calling?" Cale asked with a scowl.

"Mortimer," Bricker answered quietly. "I do have a job, you know. I can't just disappear for the night without checking with him first."

Cale relaxed a bit, relieved that the man was at least willing. This was one hell of a debacle, one he wasn't even sure how he'd landed in, but he was confident that between the two of them they could handle things. He'd do his best at cooking, and Bricker would ensure that the customers thought they were happy. Then, the minute he was away from here, he'd start calling around to find someone else to take his place, or better yet, find someone to take the original chef's place permanently. Alex would think him a hero, and Cale could woo her ... and explain later that he wasn't really a chef and didn't own a restaurant.

He was just relaxing, thinking his problems mostly resolved if he could just get through this night without poisoning anyone, when a gasp from Alex drew his attention. She'd moved to his "station" to look at his Trout Amandine and appeared rather horrified byhis and Bricker's efforts. Cale instinctively tried to slip into her mind to control her, but of course he couldn't. He turned to Bricker in a panic. Fortunately, the man had already noticed. He muttered something into the phone, and then lowered it briefly and slid into Alex's thoughts to steer her away from the dish. He left her standing blank-faced in the center of the kitchen as he turned back to his call.

Cale sighed and then took a moment to glance at the others in the kitchen. None of them seemed to have noticed. The other cooks were all bustling around, getting their dishes together under Bev's eagle eye. He suspected he was the one who was supposed to be overseeing the other cooks, but the sous-chef had taken over the chore without prompting, ensuring that the rest of the kitchen ran smoothly. The woman definitely seemed to know what she was about. Perhaps he should suggest Alex promote Bev to chef de cuisine, and then hire another sous-chef. Surely those were easier to find than a head chef.

"Right." Bricker snapped his phone closed and urged Cale back toward Alex. "Mortimer says it's all right for me to stay tonight, but we're going to have to work something else out for tomorrow."

Cale merely nodded. He had no intention or desire to be doing this two nights in a row anyway. He would find a replacement chef for Alex if he had to call in every favor owed him, he thought grimly, and then turned his attention to Alex as Bricker said, "Everything is in order here, Alex. I will help out and wait tables tonight, and Cale is an excellent chef. Everything will be fine.

You should really just go about whatever it is you need to do and leave things to us without worrying."

Cale wasn't terribly surprised when Alex woodenly agreed and turned to walk into her office. Sighing with relief, he turned to his station and the waiting orders. "So, what's the next order?"

Bricker snorted at the question. "That's your problem, buddy. I'm waiting tables now, remember?"

Cale glanced at him with alarm. "But-"

"Just follow the recipes. If it's something like the Trout Amandine and you don't know what to do, slip into Bev's mind and get the answer," he suggested, heading for the door to the dining room.

Cale opened his mouth to protest again, but both he and Bricker halted as Alex suddenly came out of her office, shifting her purse and a stack of papers from hand to hand as she shrugged on a winter coat.

"Where are you going?" Cale asked with surprise.

"To the new restaurant," she explained hurriedly, heading for the door at the back of the kitchen. "You and Bricker have everything in hand here and there's nothing to worry about, so I need to get back to the new restaurant. They were waiting on the paint when I left and I have to be sure the right color arrived. I'll check back here at closing time. See you then."

Cale gaped after her as she pushed through the back door. A gust of wind rushed into the room, and then the door closed, and she was gone. He stared blankly for a minute, and then turned sharply on Bricker.

"Hmm," the younger man said with a frown. "That's a rather startling development."

"Startling?" Cale ground out with fury. "The only reason I let you convince me to try to cook was to be close to her, and she's not even going to be here."

"Yeah. That's kind of ironic, huh?" Bricker said with a shake of the head. Cale was just winding up to blast the immortal, when Bricker commented, "On the bright side, you don't look as green as you did when we first got here. I take it the smell of food isn't bothering you anymore?"

Cale stiffened and took a moment to check himself. There was no nausea, no distaste for the smells wafting in the air around him. He inhaled a deep breath to be sure, but no, it appeared the scent of food no longer repulsed him. Actually, some of the smells in the room even seemed slightly pleasant, he realized with surprise.

"I told you," Bricker said smugly. He chuckled and turned toward the door to the dining room, adding, "Welcome to the land of the living. Now get cooking."

Alex felt incredibly relaxed for the first time in weeks as she drove from one restaurant to the other. She had a real and very hunky French chef serving up her recipes, Bricker was filling in for the missing waitress, and all was right with her world. She continued to feel happy and worry-free right up until she arrived at the new restaurant and entered to find the painters busily painting the dining area.

The papers Alex was carrying slipped from her fingers, and a curse slid from her lips as she peered in horror at the three lime green walls already done.

While the curse she'd used was one that would have made her mother wince, the painters didn't react to it at all and carried on working.

"Stop," she said finally. "Stop dammit!"

One of the painters shifted on his ladder to dip his roller in more paint, and it was only then Alex noted the earbuds in his ear. Her gaze slid to the other two painters to see that they wore them as well. All three were listening to iPods or some other small MP3 player and hadn't heard her.

Cursing colorfully again, Alex rushed forward to tug at the pant leg of the nearest man. Startled, he nearly tumbled from the ladder but caught himself at the last moment. Ripping the buds from his ears, he scowled at her furiously. His name was Bill, and he was a big burly guy, intimidating as hell ... or he would have been if she weren't in such a temper.

"What the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?" he barked.

"No, but you're killing me," Alex snapped back and waved toward the painted walls. "What is this?"

"It's paint, lady," he growled, glaring at her. "You hired us to paint and we're painting."

"I told you to wait until I got back," she reminded him grimly, and silently berated herself for not completing that phone call she'd been starting when Justin and Cale had arrived. She could have asked them what color the paint was or insist they wait until she returned. Instead, she'd put the phone down and forgotten all about it until now. Not that the painters probably would have heard the ringing with their iPods on anyway.

"We did wait," Bill snapped. "You've been gone more than four hours. We finally decided we'd best get started, or we'd be here all night."

Alex ground her teeth together. She'd only intended on being gone an hour at the most, but with everything that had happened, the time had gotten away from her.

"When an hour and a half passed with no sign of you and not even a phone call, we started painting," Bill snapped angrily.

"The wrong color," she shrieked back. "Does this look like White Sand to you?"

"No, it looks like walls," he snarled.

"I mean the color," she said furiously. "The paint is supposed to be a soothing off-white called White Sand, not lime green."

He frowned at her, and then glanced around the room briefly, before shaking his head. "This is the paint they delivered, so this is the paint we used."

"It's the wrong paint," she said grimly.

"Well, that's not my problem," he said stiffly. "Call the store you bought it from and complain to them."

"You're damned right I will." Alex whirled away in a temper, slipping her bag off her shoulder to dig inside it for her cell phone as she paced across the room. When she realized the other two men, earbuds in and oblivious to what was going on, were still painting, she snapped, "Make them stop."

Grunting with displeasure, Bill climbed down off his ladder and moved to the nearest man. Alex then turned her attention to her phone but paused as she realized she didn't know the number. She needed a phone book,or the bill, she thought, and rushed through the dining room and then the kitchen to get to the office.

Alex found a copy of the delivery invoice lying on top of her otherwise empty desktop. She snatched it up, noted that yes, the receipt did say White Sand paint and that the store number was at the top.

Alex plopped her purse where the invoice had been and punched in the number to the paint store, her temper simmering, but she managed to maintain her cool as she explained her problem to the efficient-sounding woman who answered. She even managed to keep her temper under control when the woman said she would fetch the manager and put her on hold. However, after fifteen minutes on hold, she was practically foaming at the mouth. When the manager finally picked up, Alex tore into him over both the mix-up and being on hold for so long. The manager started out trying to soothe her, explaining that he'd taken so long because they'd had to get the delivery papers from the driver.

Unfortunately, Alex wasn't in the mood to be soothed. She barked out that someone should have let her know rather than leaving her hanging, and was angry enough she feared she might have thrown in an insult about the ineptitude of the woman who had answered the phone and himself for not thinking of that. Whatever the case, that's when the manager stopped being soothing. He announced coolly that according to the delivery papers six cans of White Sand paint had been ordered and delivered and he had a signature on the papers indicating that this was the case and all was in order.

Alex immediately snapped that it certainly wasn't

White Sand on her walls. Unfortunately, she might have included another insult or two there. She certainly wasn't very diplomatic. Really, it had been a very stressful couple of months, and she was feeling a bit like a woman on the edge at that point.

Her attitude won her a moment of chilly silence that was followed by the manager's announcing coldly that he would be more than happy to replace any unopened cans of paint remaining. However, she would have to look to the painters for reimbursing her for the paint already used since they had signed for it ... and thank you for shopping with us.

It was the dial tone that sounded after he hung up that snapped Alex out of her hysteria. She listened to it dully, all her anger running out of her like air draining out of a balloon. She sat on the desk, staring bleakly at the unpainted walls of her office and then slowly hung up. Alex knew she'd reacted badly to this latest problem, but dammit, there hadn't seemed to be a day that had gone by without one problem or another cropping up in the months getting this restaurant ready. She was starting to think the damned thing was cursed.

Taking a deep breath, Alex held it briefly, and then slowly let it out and tried to focus on what needed doing rather than what had happened so far. The tables and chairs were arriving tomorrow, so the dining room had to be painted tonight. She had the painters, she needed paint ... and quickly since she doubted the painters would be pleased to sit about kicking their heels for long.

Fine, Alex thought grimly, she would rush to thenearest paint store, buy the proper paint, as well as primer since the lime green was bright enough she doubted the White Sand would cover it, bring it back, and set the men back to work.

Feeling somewhat calmer, she headed out of her office to find the painters. They were in the dining room where she'd left them, but the ladders were gone as well as the rest of the painting paraphernalia and the men themselves were heading out, carrying the rolled-up drop cloths.

"Wait a minute," she cried, hurrying after them. "Where are you going?"

"To grab a beer," Bill announced, stomping to the van parked in front of the restaurant and tossing the drop cloths in the open back door.

"But what about the restaurant?" Alex asked with renewed panic. "You have to finish painting."

The man slammed the truck's back door and turned to her with irritation. "You said it was the wrong paint and we were to stop painting."

"Well, yes, but I'm going to go get the right paint and-"

"Nope." The man spun away to walk around to the driver's side door.

"Nope?" Alex echoed, and then hurried after him. "What do you mean, no? I need the restaurant painted tonight. The tables arrive tomorrow."

"Lady, it's Friday night. We ain't sitting around twiddling our thumbs waiting on you to buy paint, and then working our arses off until midnight to get the job done."

"But the tables come tomorrow," she repeated plaintively.

"Then I guess you'd best get painting, because we aren't." He dragged the door open and climbed up behind the steering wheel. He then tried to pull the door closed, but Alex was in the way. Pausing, he scowled at her. "This job has been nothing but a pain in the ass from the start. We were nearly done here and ready to go when you came in and stopped us."

"It was the wrong paint," she pointed out with disbelief.

He ignored that and continued, "On top of that, we were actually supposed to do this job last week, but you rebooked and we nearly killed ourselves finishing other jobs over the last couple of days to make time to come here today."

"The wrong carpet was installed, I had to have it redone, and the only day the installers had available was the day you guys were supposed to come," she explained quickly, glancing past him as the other two men climbed into the van. Neither of them would even meet her gaze. It seemed they weren't eager to get stuck here either.

"And now you're claiming the wrong paint arrived," Bill continued dryly, drawing her eyes back to him. "It seems to me either you're the one making mistakes, or the Big Guy upstairs is trying to tell you something."

"But I need the restaurant painted," she said, almost pleading now.

"Then I guess you'd best get painting cause we'regoing for a beer. Now get the hell out of the way or I'll close the door on you."

Alex stared at him for a moment, but knew from his hard expression that she wasn't going to convince him to finish the job. Sighing, she stepped out of the way.

He tugged the door shut with a grunt and then gunned the engine to life before rolling down his window to peer out at her. "Sorry about your problems," he said almost gruffly, and then added, "We'll send you a bill for the painting we did today."