Chapter Ten

ALEX CHECKED HIS WATCH for the third time in as many minutes, plagued by the sinking feeling that Rachel wasn’t coming. Maybe she hadn’t forgiven him. Maybe this was an elaborate way of exacting revenge.

But no, that was a childish thing to do, and if there was one thing that Rachel wasn’t, it was childish. He understood that much about her at least.

He shifted restlessly in his chair beneath the hem of the white tablecloth and fiddled with his tie. He had overdressed a little, even for this modern, high-end steakhouse. Denver wasn’t a fancy, dress-up sort of place —Coloradans expected world-class food that they could eat while wearing jeans and cowboy boots, and this place was no different. But he wanted her to know he took this meeting seriously. That he took her seriously. That he could help her.

Even if he still had no idea how he was going to do that.

At a quarter after six, he was about to give up and order, when the hostess led a tall, dark-haired woman toward his table. He blinked, his nerve endings snapping to attention as she neared. It was Rachel all right, wrapped in a patterned dress with a skirt like an upside-down tulip and high-heeled shoes that showed off the long line of her legs. He swallowed and rose, his mouth suddenly dry. This was supposed to be a business meeting, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.

He faltered, not sure whether he was supposed to greet her with a kiss on the cheek as a date might or simply a nod. She took care of that confusion by holding out her hand. He shook it, noticed how hard she gripped his hand.

A business meeting, then.

He realized he hadn’t responded to her apology. He cleared his throat. “No problem. I haven’t been here long.”

The hostess pulled out Rachel’s chair and she sat, immediately taking up the single-sheet menu. He watched her throat work and realized that she was nervous.

Well, that was a surprise. Nothing about her had indicated she was capable of nerves.

“I have a feeling you know the menu better than I do,” he said. “What do you recommend?”

“I don’t think you can go wrong with anything here. Caleb is one of the most inventive chefs in Denver.”

“Besides you?”

Her eyes flicked up to his, holding surprise and amusement. “Besides me, yes.”

“I’m going to let you order for me, then.”

“That’s very secure of you.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t stake my manhood on knowing what to order off an unfamiliar menu. Especially not when I’m out with an award-winning chef.”

“I’m getting the feeling you’re trying to flatter me.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true, and yes, I absolutely am.” He leaned back and grinned at her, rewarded when she smiled back.

Their server, Aubrey, arrived to take their drink orders.

“Sparkling water with lemon for me, please,” Rachel said.

“I’ll have the same.” When Aubrey left, he asked, “No wine?”

She shook her head. “I have to admit, Alex, I’m not really sure why I asked you here. I know you volunteered —”

“I know why. You’re practical and you’re ambitious, and you would kick yourself if you didn’t look at every avenue offered to you.”

Rachel folded her arms on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “And exactly what avenue are you offering me?”

Aubrey was back with their drinks, lightning-fast service if he’d ever seen it. He suspected that the manager or the chef knew Rachel was in the house and had impressed on their server that they were to get VIP service. Rachel gestured for Aubrey to come close and engaged her in rapid conversation about the menu, ordering so quietly he didn’t catch the selections. Then she focused her attention back on him, clearly expecting an answer to her question.

“What am I offering you? I guess that all depends on what it is you want.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. Her words came out with a hint of challenge. “I want my own restaurant again. And for that I need an investor. A silent investor.”

“As you have probably guessed, I have a few connections who might be interested in something like that. But you also have probably guessed that you’re not a great risk right now.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Partly thanks to me.” He ignored the sting of her words as they struck. “But the Beard means something. You don’t get two nominations and a win by not being the best.”

She held his eyes for a long moment. “You’re saying I need a way to prove myself. I’ve already thought of that.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a composition notebook.

He turned it to face him. On the cover, printed in neat block writing, were the words The Saturday Night Supper Club. “A supper club?”

“Part pop-up restaurant, part dinner party. Exclusive. An opportunity to show what I can do.”

Alex nodded slowly. “And you think I can help how?”

A flush rose to her cheeks and she took the notebook back. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“I wasn’t trying to be difficult. I really want to know. It seems like you have it all figured out.”

Rachel swallowed hard, seemed to be chewing on her words. “I had a good reputation among the dining public, at least until recently. But in the industry . . .” She raised her eyes to his, and he caught that same hint of vulnerability that had pulled him in the night before. “I’ve cashed in all my chips. I don’t have any more credit left to spend here.”

“So you need a patron?” His wheels began to turn. The idea was a fascinating one. A salon of sorts, the old-fashioned type where people gathered for good food and drink and stimulating conversation.

“Not a patron. A cohost.” She hesitated for a long moment. “I read part of your book.”

He sat back in his chair. Now he understood. Not only had he proved he was on her side; she figured his friends might not be as swayed by media opinion as the general public.

Sure, he had the connections —both his own through his work as a writer and from his association with Bryan’s family —but her confidence in him was more than a little unnerving.

“How do you see this working? Am I hosting and having you cater? Are we supposed to be friends? Is this a business venture?”

She was chewing her thumbnail, an unexpected sign of insecurity. “I hadn’t worked out all the details. I thought I’d be responsible for the food, and you’d take care of the guest list, preferably influential types that would post about it on social media. Eventually we’d sell tickets, but Ana thinks we should build some buzz first. Sort of like how businesses host friends-and-family or press nights before they open.”

“Sounds like you’ve already thought of all the angles. I’m assuming you need a venue.”

“That would be the first step, yes.”

The answer was clear, but he wasn’t sure she would go for it. A back waiter appeared with their first course, tiny plates holding translucent slices of something he was almost certain was raw fish.

“What’s wrong, Alex?” Her words held a hint of a challenge. “You don’t like octopus?”

In response, he forked a slice into his mouth.

It was disgusting. However, he gave it a couple of manful chews and neither gagged nor reached for his water glass.

He could see by her expression she wasn’t fooled.

“It’s okay,” she said, attacking her own plate with enthusiasm. “It’s an acquired taste.”

No point in trying to pretend. “I don’t mind sashimi. But it’s the texture of the octopus, not the taste.”

“More for me.” She gave him a sly little smile. “Don’t worry. I was more conservative with the rest of my choices.”

By conservative, though, she didn’t mean light-handed. Course after course came out, and he couldn’t deny each was more delicious than the last. The octopus was followed by a small charcuterie plate, then an heirloom bean salad. He was half-expecting some elaborate plated entrée that looked like modern art, but instead Aubrey set before him a beautifully cooked rib eye smothered in blue cheese butter.

Rachel flashed him a little smile. “So maybe I hedged my bets on that one.”

He sliced into it and took a bite. “This might be the best steak I’ve ever eaten.”

“No argument here.” Rachel turned to her fish —an Asian-style barramundi —but he saw a little glimmer of mischief again. If he wasn’t mistaken, this might also be the most expensive steak he’d ever eaten.

So perhaps she wasn’t above a little payback.

He could hardly count this as suffering, though. When dessert came out —a flight of sorbets —he exhaled in relief. He felt about ready to burst.

Aubrey brought the check, and to his surprise, Rachel reached for it. Alex slid it out of her grasp. “I told you to pick the place, so this is mine.” He managed not to let his eyes widen at the figure on the ticket when he slid his credit card into the folder. He waited for Aubrey to take it before he voiced the idea that had been rattling around his head all night.

“We should hold the supper club at my place.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Your place?”

“Don’t sound so suspicious. You should see it before you make up your mind.”

“I can’t imagine why I would be suspicious.”

“I’m not sure which hurts more: the aspersions to my character or the lack of confidence in my creativity. Seems a little cliché, doesn’t it?”

“You’re not helping your case.”

He shrugged. “Bring your friends along if you’re worried about my intentions. But you need a venue, and I have one.” She still looked like she couldn’t decide, so he took her notebook and scrawled his address on the last page. “Check it out. Call me in the morning if you want to take a look. And if you like the idea, we can talk further.”

Rachel still looked doubtful, but she shoved the notebook in her handbag and pushed away from the table. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you for introducing me to an excellent restaurant. I enjoyed it. Even the octopus. A little.”

“Liar.” The corner of her mouth lifted into a slight smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know if I’m coming.”

“I hope the answer is yes.”

She gave him a little nod, then turned and left the restaurant. He sank back into his chair and let out a breath. Rachel at his place. She was right to be suspicious. Because after less than two hours in her company, he wasn’t sure that guilt or business were anywhere present in his thoughts.