Chapter 9
Brian watched Jill stride down the street like she was taking on the blustering north wind in the boxing ring. She wasn’t even wearing a coat. Shit, he thought, tugging his hair. This was bad.
Simca’s fingers, those delicate instruments that could filet a twenty-pound fish or make a man beg himself hoarse, caressed his collarbone. He pushed her hand aside.
“What are you doing here?” He felt as loopy as when he’d taken a baseball against his temple in junior year of high school.
Those pouty French lips didn’t lose their small smile, but her sherry eyes narrowed a fraction. “Correcting the worst mistake of my life.”
Her sultry accent alone had made a slave of him back in New York. It had made him understand why so many people chose to study abroad. A book dropped on the floor, making his head turn. Customers were literally leaning forward on the edge of their seats to get a better look.
“Let’s take this backstage.” He brushed his hand under her elbow, knowing she would dig her heels in if he manhandled her. Simca led. Men followed. It was a rule of the universe.
“Margie, I’m using Jill’s office for a minute.”
He escorted her back there, the itch to follow Jill climbing up his spine. This could ruin everything. The explosive colors in the office added to his headache. Red door. Yellow walls. A new modern art landscape, vibrant with blue and orange.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, sitting on the edge of Jill’s purple desk.
“I called you. Didn’t you listen to my voicemails?” She closed the door, leaning against it like a starlet. “My divorce is final. You were right. Andre didn’t love me.” The ghost of a smile flickered across that movie-star face. “But you do, mon cher. ”
“What?” He almost fell off the desk. “You have a hell of a nerve to show up after all this time and say shit like this to me.”
“Don’t be mad at me. I wanted to contact you when Andre fired you, but my divorce lawyer told me it would hurt my settlement. The minute my divorce was final, I called. I want to be with you again. I want to work with you again—and make amends.”
His mind buzzed from total shock. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Jesus!” Brian paced. “Why didn’t you help me when he accused me of stealing his recipes? You didn’t say a word!”
“Yes, I did!” she said, raising her voice. “I told the police you couldn’t have done it. That you were with me.”
That revelation deflated some of his anger. It explained why they’d dismissed the charges so quickly. “He black-balled me, Sim. Said I was a thief. I couldn’t find a goddamn good job anywhere.”
“I know. That’s why you had to come home. I’m here to change all that. Think of me as your Food Fairy Godmother.”
When she pushed off the door, her eyes liquid with desire, he held up his hands. “Give me a damn minute here. This is a lot to take in.” He took a shaky breath.
“But of course,” she politely murmured.
It was weird, seeing her in Jill’s space—it was like his two worlds were colliding, and he was caught among the debris. “I came home to rebuild my life, and I’m doing a damn fine job of it.”
“I am so sorry for everything, cherie. ” Simca twirled her bracelets in a nervous gesture. “I want another chance. I want to open a place together. We were so good together, mon cher. In the kitchen and in bed.”
He had to shut her down fast. “The girl you met. I’m with her now.”
“I see. Is it serious?”
His rubbed his tight chest. “Yes, it’s headed that way.” He realized it was the truth even as the ever-present fear of what that meant stole his breath. “We’re thinking of opening a place together.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Her brow rose. She watched him gently. Hadn’t she always listened? The ongoing disagreements with Jill about their conflicting visions flickered through his mind. “We’re still working out the details.”
“You don’t sound convinced. This is a small market. What would you say if I told you I want to open the place we always talked about? I have the capital now from my divorce.”
His heart skipped a beat. God, he could be part of a Michelin-star restaurant again. His dream. Even though he’d returned to Dare to rehab his rep, he hadn’t been sure how long it would take to get back to that level. And now it was within reach. Now. Plus, he and Simca never disagreed when it came to work—that aspect of their relationship had always been pure harmony. “I don’t know. Jesus, Sim. I was so mad at you. Still am.”
“I don’t blame you. I want to help. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Her determination had always matched his. His fingers drummed the desk. “I was serious about what I said before. I’m with Jill now. What if I can only work with you in a professional capacity?”
She caressed her throat. “I would be very disappointed, but would still want to work with you. We French are practical about sex and business.”
Yes, he’d seen that firsthand. God, could such a thing even be possible? His mind conjured up the restaurant they’d discussed. Trendy lighting, monochromatic décor with simple geometric patterns, an eclectic seasonal menu. Was he really thinking about returning to New York or another big city? And Jesus, what did it mean for him and Jill? Could they do the long distance thing?
“I need to talk to Jill.” It would be like lighting dynamite. “And I need some time to decide what to do.”
He could feel the walls closing in. If he took her up on her offer to set the record straight, everyone in Dare would know what he’d done. Jill would know. He sat down, exhaustion deflating him like an undercooked soufflé. “Look, no one here knows what happened.”
“I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.”
The picture on the wall of Jill with her family made his stomach hitch. They’d been everything to him growing up, and it had hurt like hell to lose them. They wouldn’t understand. No one would. “For all its trendiness, Dare is a small town. What we did was wrong. I’ve grown up.”
“So I see. It only makes you more attractive.”
She approached him with a natural shimmy, and the notes of her specially blended Parisian perfume of hyacinth and frankincense consumed him. Few women could carry off a perfume so exotic. She was the embodiment of a sensual goddess, and she knew it.
“Think about it. I’m staying at The Kenilworth Inn.”
“Okay.” He walked to the door.
Her hum lingered in the air like her fragrance. “Á bientôt, Brian.”
Her see you soon haunted him as he left the coffee shop to find Jill, his mind awash with new possibilities—and what they might cost him.