Secret Sauce Read online

  Secret Sauce

  ~ Secret Series ~

  Marina & Trent

  © 2014 Jill Sanders

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  http://JillSanders.com

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  Dedication

  To my sons...

  Summary

  Trent owns a high-profile restaurant in New York. His food and secret recipes are highly sought after. His personal life mirrors his successful career. Beautiful women hang on his every word. But when his restaurant receives a bad review from a well-known food critic, things take a turn for the worse. When he finally tracks down the food critic, he might just lose more than his secrets to her.

  Marina’s true identity has been hidden for years. She receives her paychecks in secret and hides in one of the largest cities in the world. But when her secrets are threatened, she’d do anything to protect the person she loves the most.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication 1

  Summary 1

  Prologue 5

  Chapter One 7

  Chapter Two 14

  Chapter Three 28

  Chapter Four 39

  Chapter Five 50

  Chapter Six 62

  Chapter Seven 81

  Chapter Eight 94

  Chapter Nine 106

  Chapter Ten 117

  Chapter Eleven 128

  Chapter Twelve 142

  Chapter Thirteen 154

  Chapter Fourteen 165

  Chapter Fifteen 180

  Chapter Sixteen 191

  Epilogue 200

  Other titles by Jill Sanders 203

  SecretSauce

  by

  Jill Sanders

  Prologue

  Trenton walked into the old building on Fiftieth Street. He’d been looking at the old brick place for a while—staring at it, actually—since it was adjacent to his new loft. He’d had his real estate agent searching for a building all over Manhattan, but so far she’d come up with nothing he liked. Then last week, the tenants of the place next door, an old furniture store, moved out. The place had sat empty since then.

  He’d had Jessica, his agent, check on it, but the place hadn’t come on the market yet. Just a few hours ago, though, he’d watched the owner, a small Korean woman, place a “for rent” sign in the large front window. He’d texted his agent and rushed down the stairs and out the door quickly.

  When he’d first approached the owner, he’d been breathing hard and her eyes had gone wide, like she thought she was about to be mugged. After he’d caught his breath, he’d grabbed the sign and told her what he wanted.

  Now, over a month later, he looked around the building—his building—and thought of all the work that needed to be done. He had building permits locked in his briefcase, along with bids from various reputable construction companies. He also had almost a hundred applicants to interview and train after the kitchens were completed and all his new equipment was delivered and set up. He had the bar staff to hire, stock to order, and tables and tablecloths to order. He didn’t skimp on any of the details.

  Smiling, he could just imagine how it would look a year from now. Manhattan Nights was going to be his first crown jewel. The doorway that would open up other doorways, and he would oversee every part of it himself, adding his touch wherever he could.

  Chapter One

  Five years later…

  Marina was running late. She looked down at the small paper in her hand and craned her neck in all directions looking for the right place. She loved her job, but she hated deadlines. And her shoes. She looked down at the new silver heels and wondered why she’d bought them in the first place.

  As she quickly started walking towards her destination, she caught her reflection in a store window and remembered why she’d paid almost a hundred dollars for the pumps. They made her feet and legs look sexy. Smiling, she picked up her pace.

  Two and a half blocks later, she found the spot. This place wasn’t the style she usually dealt with. It was actually one of the better-known places she’d gotten a call for. Standing out front on the sidewalk, she looked up at the beautiful brick building and the black awnings with simple lettering hung that over the doors and windows. She wondered why Reggie, her boss, had wanted her to come check out this place.

  Running a hand down her skirt, she straightened her shoulders and walked towards the large glass doors. When she walked in, cool air hit her face. She took a deep breath and enjoyed it for just a moment. It was another hot summer day, but since she was wearing light clothing, the five-block hike hadn’t bothered her too much.

  She walked up and gave her name to the maître d’. As he was seating her, she looked around. The waitstaff were well dressed in classy black and white. The tablecloths were a nice rich cream. Actually, the entire room was gorgeous. Nothing looked out of place. From the elegant artwork to the beautiful chandeliers, the place screamed class and comfort.

  As she sat down, the maître d’ handed her a menu and explained the specials for the day. She nodded and ordered the soup, then the maître d’ left her to look over her menu. It was her job to know food. Good food. She’d been writing for the Times for over three years now and had, in that time, stepped on a lot of toes. She’d also advanced a lot of restaurants to stardom. Of course, it was all under her pen name. The only two people who knew her real identity were Reggie and Carol down in payroll.

  Smiling as the waiter walked over to take her order, she mentally checked off the list of items she would note on. So far, the place was looking to be a great review.

  Half an hour later, her food was delivered, and she quickly changed her mind. She ate quickly and left. She frowned the entire way home, wishing she had never stepped foot in Manhattan Nights.

  Trent stared down at his morning paper and started choking on his coffee. When he recovered, he threw the rest of the paper down and marched out of his loft. Less than five minutes later, he stood in front of his staff and tried not to yell.

  “Who is responsible for this?” He shook the paper. It was a quarter past one, so he knew some of his staff would have already read the review.

  Angie, his sous chef, quickly looked away, so he knew she’d already seen the piece. Rob, his chef de partie, looked down at his feet. Half of the other staff refused to look him in the eye.

  “I want to know who was on staff and what was served, immediately.” His voice broke as he tried not to scream.

  Steven, his other head chef, rushed out to get him the answers. For the last few months, Trent had left Steven in charge so he could focus his time on the grand opening of Manhattan Nights’ second location, just off of Fifth Avenue.

  He stood there and waited for an explanation, thinking that obviously he’d hired the wrong people to control his kitchen. He’d just have to step back into that role himself again until he could find someone else to take over.

  He’d already hired staff for the new location, which was set to open in just under three months. But this review—he looked down at the paper and felt his stomach roll—might set that back.

  Steven rushed towards him, his face red, as he held out the schedule. Trent walked into his office and Steven followed him, close on his heels.

  “Shut the door,” Trent said without looking at the man. As he looked over the list of employees, he noticed that in the last week, Steven’s name had been removed three times. “Did you take some time off this week?”

  “Yes. I called you and left messages. My sister was sick. She needed some scans done.” Trent knew that Steven’s older sister was fighting cancer.

  “I didn’t get any messages.” He looked down
at his phone. “You left these on my cell?”

  He shook his head no. “I left them on your home line. That’s where you said to call.”

  Trent forwarded his home line to wherever he was so any calls should have been routed directly to him. His frown deepened. The man’s answers weren’t adding up. “Strange, I never received any messages.” He looked over the list. “Can you tell me why M. Jensen, one of the best-known food critics in New York, would claim that our beef tartare was”—he picked up the paper and read word for word—“harder than the bottom of my shoe with less taste then my ex.” He tossed the paper down in disgust.

  “I’m…I’m not sure. I personally tested everything.” Trent stood up and started pacing. “I know this looks bad…” Steven was fumbling with his hands and Trent could see sweat dripping down the man’s face. He hated to let him go, especially now, since he’d have little time to find and hire someone else, but a review like this could break his restaurant, especially since it was from M. Jensen.

  An hour and one chef later, he walked out of his office with the new schedule in hand. When he pinned it to the board, several staff members walked over and looked at it. He heard some groans, but since he was leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed, glaring at them, everyone just got back to work. Pushing away from the wall, he went and washed his hands and got to work himself. Since he was the only chef until he could find a replacement, he was working every shift until Manhattan Nights’ reputation was back up to par.

  That evening, they saw a huge drop in guests and over the next few weeks, the numbers continued to drop. It was quite funny how loyal customers who did nothing but praise the food and service before had decided the place was no longer good enough to frequent after reading someone else’s review.

  By the end of the month, the place was almost empty on weeknights. He had to do something and fast if he was going to keep his businesses afloat. And the first thing he wanted to do was track down M. Jensen and request that the man come in for another review. Or ring his neck.

  First thing Monday morning, he marched into the paper and requested a meeting with one of the editors. After hitting a brick wall there, he requested another meeting with a different editor, only to be told that there was a waiting list for reviews from M. Jensen. He left an hour later, more frustrated than before.

  When he walked back into the kitchen later that night he noticed that half his staff wasn't in yet. He walked over to Angie while he wrapped his apron around his hips. “Where is everyone?” Angie had been there for him since opening day. She was the first employee he’d hired. In the last five years, he’d never seen her take a day off or heard her complain.

  She looked at him and frowned. “Sick.” Her blonde hair was tied back in a tight bun at the base of her head. Her blue eyes were always looking around, catching everything that went on. She was almost his height, with a stockier build, but the one thing he admired the most about her was that she knew how to cook. It was something that came naturally to her, not something she had to work at. Her organization skills were the only thing stopping Trent from moving her up. When he’d first hired her, they’d had a brief personal relationship that had become a solid working friendship.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow, he realized he’d worked harder this month then he had when he’d first opened the place. Not only had he been running the kitchen and staff, he was also interviewing chefs for Steven’s replacement whenever he could. So far, he had three chefs that he liked. All three would come in for a full-day interview that included them running the kitchen and staff for a complete meal.

  At closing time, he walked back to his loft, totally exhausted. He still had a pile of papers to go through for the new restaurant and would no doubt be up all night playing catch up.

  When he walked in, his machine was flashing with new messages. Listening to them as he grabbed a beer, he heard his longtime friends talking about baseball season starting and groaned.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like baseball season—he loved it. Unfortunately, the season started in three weeks, which meant that he’d need time free for practices and games, something he couldn’t afford yet.

  At least not until he’d hired a new chef, set M. Jensen straight, and earned back his reputation and customers.

  Chapter Two

  Marina was running late again, but this time it really mattered. She jogged a little faster, the running shoes she’d put on before leaving her apartment cushioning her steps.

  She turned the corner just as the last bell rang and smiled. Slowing down to catch her breath, she waved to Miss Keith, Tommy’s second grade teacher. There was a small line of kids standing next to her dressed in little tan pants with dark blue shirts, all neatly tucked in and clean.

  Tommy, her pride and joy, stood next to his teacher, waving at her. She smiled and felt her world settle as she walked towards them.

  “Hi,” she said, a little out of breath.

  Miss Keith smiled. “Good afternoon. We were just wondering what happened to you. Usually you're already here.”

  “I’m sorry. They were fixing our water heater. How was school?” She bent down and looked into Tommy’s hazel eyes, which almost matched hers perfectly.

  “Great! We got to hold a butterfly today.”

  “You did?” She added excitement to her voice as she hugged his little body. It was the best feeling in the world when his little arms came up and hugged back. She knew that one day he wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about receiving her hugs or about talking to her about his day, so she was determined to enjoy every minute of it. “Are you ready to head out?”

  He nodded and she noticed that he was due for another hair cut as his dark hair fell over his eyes.

  “Bye, Miss Keith.”

  “Bye, Tommy. See you on Monday.”

  As they walked the half dozen blocks towards their small apartment, hand in hand, Tommy talked about everything that had happened to him in the hours since she’d dropped him off.

  When they reached the stone steps leading up to their building, they stopped to talk to Mr. Johnson, one of their neighbors. He was out walking Rascal, his seven-year-old boxer.

  Marina had lived in the building less than a year, but already knew, and more important, trusted everyone in the six-apartment building. She could afford something nicer and bigger, but circumstances called for safety now instead of comfort.

  When they walked through their door, Tommy tossed his bag down and raced towards his room, throwing his shoes and tie. She chuckled and walked behind him, cleaning it up. It was almost a daily occurrence. She tried to convince him that being neat was cool, but he was seven.

  When she walked into his room to hang his clothes, he was already dressed in his play clothes and collecting his bag of cars.

  “Can I go play with Mark and Juan?” he asked, giving her one of his famous pleading looks.

  She smiled. “Yes, but promise you will be back in one hour.” She tapped his watch and smiled when he looked down at it and studied the numbers for a while.

  “Five after five.” He looked up for her approval. When she nodded, he bolted towards the door then stopped, put down his bag of toys, rushed back to her, and hugged her tightly. “Thanks, Mari.” He turned and was gone, leaving her sitting on the floor, smiling after him.

  She heard him slam the front door and run next door to Mark and Juan’s place. The two boys would no doubt be waiting for their friend, who had a standing playdate with them every day. Julie, their mother, was a close friend. Whenever Marina was on assignment, she trusted Julie to pick up Tommy and watch him until she could make it home. They even sometimes took turns picking up the three boys.

  She walked down the hall to the desk area between the small kitchen and the even smaller dining room. When she flipped up her laptop, she saw several new emails from Reggie.

  She knew that her line of work could cause ripples in the restaurant business. She’d been working as a critic long enough to
know which places would have issues with her criticism.

  Manhattan Nights was one of those places, and the email from Reggie only confirmed her fears. This one was going to be messy.

  She’d stopped questioning her opinions years ago. When she’d started this job almost seven years ago, she had tried to point out the positives in every place. But even after those reviews, she had received threatening letters and emails. Some of the business owners had even shown up at her home, trying to convince her to change her opinion. She had quickly started writing under a pen name to protect herself. Reggie was also very good at keeping them away.

  Sighing, she emailed him back that she would give Manhattan Nights another try. Pulling up her calendar, she placed it on her schedule for next week. She loved her job, really. It was something she was not only good at, but enjoyed.

  She wrote three different columns, all using different pen names. Her favorite was the food critic column she wrote as M. Jensen, not only because she could write off her meals, but because it allowed her to try new things.

  She also wrote a self-help/home improvement column as Mary Contrary. She loved organizing and sharing new and improved ways of saving space, or teaching others how to clean up spills or handle those out of town guests that just won’t leave.

  Her least favorite article to write was the relationship help desk. Readers wrote in and asked her opinion on relationships. Since it had been over a year since she’d been in one, she found it harder and harder to write as Meddling Marci. When she’d started writing the article, she’d been in a relationship for seven and a half months. She’d thought she knew it all back then.

  Looking up from her computer, she frowned at her reflection. She found it easier to get her work done with the large mirror hanging over her computer. Every time her eyes wandered off the screen, they would zero in on her own face, and her eyes always told her to get back to work. It was a love/hate relationship she had with herself.