Читать книгу Date with a Diva - Joanne Rock - Страница 11

NICO HADN’T EXPECTED the look of mild horror on Lainie’s face. It appeared for only an instant, a split second of blood draining from her cheeks while her eyes widened. Then she shook herself, and as if by the mere force of her formidable will, she drew herself up to her full height, threw her shoulders back and marched into the fray with complete authority.

Leaving Nico rushing to keep up, his senses still scrambled by her kiss. How was it possible that such a hard-as-nails woman could turn so soft in his arms?

He jogged the few steps to catch her on the walkway alongside the hotel, unwilling to let her be jostled and elbowed by a bunch of screaming fans. In his time as an NHL star, he’d seen his fair share of overzealous followers getting pretty out of hand. He couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for a Hollywood icon of Bram Hawthorne’s level of fame.

Like it or not, Lainie would have to suffer Nico’s presence today. So what if she had insisted they part company once they got back to the resort? Club Paradise was in an uproar that could easily turn dangerous without the proper security in place.

As they rounded the corner to the front of the property, he could make out the Bram Hawthorne entourage by the concentration of popping flashbulbs. Hordes of howling women and even a few men swarmed around a center point Nico couldn’t quite distinguish.

The poor bastard in the middle must be getting eaten alive by this rabid crowd. Lainie and Nico paused as they neared the mob.

“You need to hire more protection for the golden boy over there if you expect him to survive the filming.” Nico studied the throng, searching for possible entry points to give the Hawthorne entourage a hand when he noticed Lainie’s feet already in motion.

Right toward the vortex of the upheaval.

He double-timed to reach her, skirting between a few sensible fans hanging back from the mad whirlwind. Prying Lainie from her position between two teenage girls wearing T-shirts from Bram’s last movie, Nico hauled her back out of the danger zone.

“What are you doing?” Shouting over top of the earsplitting screams of the fans, she glared at him with a look that would no doubt send her employees running for cover. “I’ve got a five-alarm fire to put out here. I don’t have time to indulge any misguided attempts at chivalry.”

“This isn’t a matter of chivalry. Those women will tear you to shreds if you try to keep them from the object of their affection.” In fact, he already spied a catfight breaking out among the ranks. “Where the hell is Brianne and all her security cameras?”

“I thought I caught a glimpse of red hair over that way.” She pointed into the middle of the crowd as mayhem exploded on her sidewalk. “But she wasn’t prepared for this yet and it’s obvious she needs help. I’m going in there whether you like it or not. If you want to be of some assistance, you are welcome to come with me, but this is my hotel and you damn well better remember who’s in charge here.”

This time, he was ready for her when she ducked into the throng. If his stint as a goalie had taught him anything, it was how to anticipate an opponent’s moves.

“Then I’m damn well right behind you.” And what a fine designer-clad behind it was.

AN HOUR LATER, Lainie still couldn’t shake the determined company of Nico Cesare.

They’d intercepted Bram Hawthorne and had just finished helping smuggle him into the hotel. Thankfully, they’d managed to do so without losing the actor’s shirt or his limbs despite the urgent tugging of relentless fans. With Bram and his personal crew of assistants already on their way up to their private suites, Lainie headed toward the main desk only to realize the rapid click of her footsteps was echoed by the quiet thump of worn leather loafers behind her.

She whirled around to face him, only to be taken aback all over again by how his long, muscular body and wickedly dark eyes made her pulse flutter. Even celebrated actor Bram Hawthorne’s good looks took a back seat to this man’s raw masculinity. At least in Lainie’s opinion, which she realized might have been influenced by the most electrifying kiss of her whole life.

Gathering her wits, she knew the sooner she sent away big, gorgeous male distractions the better off she’d be. Her judgment in men had a hideous track record. No, her judgment in men didn’t just have a record. It had a rap sheet.

“I appreciate your help with our new guest.” She smiled tightly, wishing she had never picked up a bottle of bourbon tonight. Her head throbbed with the stress of the day. “But I can take things from here.”

She could already hear shouts for her attention from the registration desk. She had a thousand other things she needed to take care of before bed tonight, and none of them involved Nico.

“Why don’t I stick around and see how things are going in the kitchen? Giselle asked me to make sure the new chef—”

He was cut off by the arrival of her big, burly concierge, an endlessly tall Cuban man with heavy horn-rimmed glasses and an accent to die for when he wasn’t shouting over top of people.

“Ms. Reynolds!”

Even Nico backed up a step at the man’s raised voice, which wasn’t loud as much as very well projected.

Still, she didn’t appreciate being interrupted. Especially when she was just about to explain to her sexy-as-sin companion why they couldn’t work elbow to elbow like this.

She quirked an eyebrow in Dante Alvaro’s direction, not trusting herself to speak. Rumor had it she’d scared off a few of the employees at Club Paradise in their first year of business, and while she didn’t think rock-solid Dante would be easily intimidated, she didn’t wish to blow her stack in such a public forum.

“Sorry for interrupting you, Lainie.” His sour expression didn’t look in the least sorry. Dante was usually a very charming man, dazzling the guests with his well-connected sleight of hand as he provided primo tickets and dinner reservations. Today, however, he looked positively grim. “But I knew you’d want to be informed immediately that the new chef quit an hour ago.”

No. No. Nooo.

Lainie closed her eyes, fending off a mixture of stress headache, hangover and dangerous levels of frustration threatening to explode. Her well-run hotel was suddenly splitting at the seams, making her feel like an amateur. God, she hated that.

Nico cleared his throat, edging his way into the conversation with his broad shoulders and his cute butt that should have left an hour ago. “You can hire someone temporary in the morning while you conduct a new search, right? You must have résumés still on file after hiring this woman.”

“We have Hollywood royalty in the hotel. They’re probably already phoning in room-service orders for green M&M’s only and organically grown vegetables prepared according to their latest diet specifications. I don’t think even Giselle would have been ready to cook according to the Sugar Busters plan, so I’m damn sure that some culinary temp worker isn’t going to have a clue how to handle all the specialty orders.”

If she was hoping Dante would contradict her with some good news, her hopes were dashed when he began shaking his dark, bald head. “We already had over fifty special orders for breakfast tomorrow when I left the kitchen an hour ago.”

Exasperation draining her of ideas, Lainie peered around the lobby and noticed more people who were obviously Californians crowding the reception area. They were easy to spot with their neat manicures and tans that were probably misted onto their perfect bodies. Cell phones were already ringing in cheerful time like an AT&T symphony.

“I thought these people weren’t supposed to arrive for another three days.” She would have had security in place by then. And she most definitely wouldn’t have shown up on site with a few shots of bourbon muddling her brain and a sexy hockey player muddling her hormones.

Dante’s deep brown eyes darted around the busy lobby, exchanging some unspoken message with his assistant currently manning the concierge’s desk. “There was a hurricane in the Texas gulf that upset the location shooting schedule so they decided to visit Club Paradise early.”

“You realize I’m so screwed?” For once she had no idea what to do, no clue who to call to straighten out this mess. This should all have been Giselle’s department, damn it. She might have resigned her position as executive chef to pursue true love, but she still maintained an active share in the ownership of the resort. “We need to contact Giselle.”

“Wait.” Nico’s voice halted her in her scramble for her cell phone.

Could the man be any more presumptuous, insinuating himself into her crisis?

“Nico, I really need to take care of this now.” She felt Dante’s keen gaze on her and knew if she didn’t handle this carefully, the news of her odd friendship with Nico Cesare would be whispered all over the hotel.

“I agree.” Nico nodded slowly, as if he’d just reached a grave decision. “But Giselle has been unreachable for nearly two days so she must be in some really godforsaken country at the moment.”

So much for her great plan. She banged the cell phone slowly against her forehead, willing a solution to flash into her empty brain while Dante excused himself to get back to his desk.

“I know what we can do.” Nico slid the phone out of her hand between forehead thunks.

We? Still, she couldn’t afford to waste time arguing while her business reputation teetered on the brink of disaster.

“And that is?” She didn’t care where the ideas came from as long as they came.

“I’ll cook.” He announced it with so much authority, a stranger to the resort would almost believe he had the decision-making power here.

Arrogant man.

“What do you mean you’ll cook?” Was he insane? “You’re not even a chef.”

“Where do you think Giselle got all her best recipes?”

“Gee, I don’t know.” She rolled her eyes. “Culinary school, maybe? It would make sense since she’s a chef and you’re a hockey coach.” After yanking her phone out of his hands, she stuffed it back in her purse. She would speed dial Brianne and Summer for an emergency conference call in a minute, but first she needed to send Nico back home where he wouldn’t make ridiculous suggestions about how to run her business.

Where he wouldn’t be a constant reminder that she’d let her hair down with a man for the first time in forever, and she was already paying the price for her carelessness.

“And I suppose you’re going to do the cooking for all the eccentric eaters on your property tonight?” He looked her up and down as if he could see every one of the flaws she kept carefully hidden.

An illusion, damn it.

“Is that even legal?” Not that she was actually considering allowing Nico into the kitchen. Was she?

“Maybe. Probably. You can call me a guest chef specializing in ethnic cuisine if the health department cares about my qualifications.”

“Ethnic cuisine?”

“Nobody makes Italian food like a Cesare.” His chest puffed up with pride. “You think I’m kidding about Giselle learning all her best recipes from me? Besides, I told Giselle I’d check in at the hotel while she was gone to make sure her investment in the business is protected. She might be overseas, but she’s still a partner. The Cesares have a vested interest in the smooth operation of this place.”

Lainie glanced around the hotel lobby, seeing twenty other places she needed to be right now. The chef disaster couldn’t have come at a worse time. What choice did she have besides accepting Nico’s offer? At least until she came up with a better solution.

She’d simply agree to let Nico and his cute butt stick around Club Paradise a little longer. And if she couldn’t stand the heat, all she had to do was stay away from the kitchen.

“Fine.” She thrust out her hand to seal the deal. “I appreciate the help until I can make other arrangements tomorrow.”

He enveloped her palm in his, his touch too gentle and too deliberate to qualify as a handshake. She shivered with awareness and hoped he didn’t notice.

He smiled, that arrogant grin of his telling her he didn’t miss a thing. “Agreed.”

Extricating herself from that tempting touch, Lainie willed herself to cool down as she walked away. But when a male chuckle echoed in her ears, she had the feeling it didn’t matter how much distance she put between her and the kitchen.

Things were already beginning to heat up.

“THIS MOVIE’S ALL ABOUT SEX, steam and sizzle,” Hollywood A-lister Bram Hawthorne declared around a mouthful of scrambled eggs the next morning as he sat across the table from Nico in the back of the Club Paradise kitchen. “I don’t know if it will have any kind of critical success, but I think moviegoers are going to love it.”

Nico wolfed down his own plate of food in the lull between the insane breakfast hours and the upcoming lunch crowd. He’d cooked his butt off all morning—everything from dry wheat and basic eggs over easy to complicated omelets and breakfast soufflé. Thankfully, a local vendor had been delivering plenty of pastries ever since Giselle left, so he’d avoided that headache. But still, Nico had never worked so hard in his life. Even a full day of practice defending rapid-fire, one-on-one breakaway shots had been a walk in the park compared to cooking for two hundred guests.

And when it was all over, Bram Hawthorne’s manager had come sneaking in the back door with the movie’s most bankable talent so the star could eat his breakfast in peace. Nico might have been more star-struck if he hadn’t been so exhausted.

The discussion of sex and steam caught his attention, however. Especially since his cooking had been impaired by thoughts of sex and steam with Lainie Reynolds.

“From what I’ve heard about the movie, it sounds like it’s got story to spare, too. Critics seem more tolerant of sex and sizzle if there’s some substance to back it up.” Nico had been a closet movie buff since forever. The cinema had been the only place for real escape after he’d lost his mom as a kid, and then his dad as a teenager. Something about a darkened theater gave you the illusion of being able to walk away from your own hurts and step straight into the fantasy world on screen.

Come to think of it, maybe that was part of his obsession with Lainie. She was a fantasy. A tough-as-nails businesswoman who posed an enticing challenge but would never be interested in the long haul. And after his experience with Ashley, that sounded just right to him.

“That’d be a nice bonus.” Bram grinned and a hint of his Mississippi accent drawled through his words. He couldn’t be any older than twenty-five, but he’d been a Hollywood phenomenon since a walk-on appearance as a flamboyant waiter in a Harrison Ford flick. “But I’ve found out firsthand that what the critics say don’t figure into your paycheck. Actors get paid for how many seats they fill at the theater—end of story.”

Nico nodded, a little surprised at the Machiavellian thinking in a twenty-five-year-old, but who was he to judge? Bram seemed nice enough. He had the Joe Movie Star grin going with fifty-thousand megawhite teeth, but he was lucky if he hit six feet in boots. Spiky brown hair and gray eyes made up for a lot with women, apparently. But the guy had to be pretty damn down-to-earth to break bread in the kitchen with a sweaty athlete posing as a cook.

“More coffee?” Yet another waitress appeared to fill their cups, the third new face at their table since they’d sat down.

This one was blond and blue-eyed and way too innocent looking. She was the antithesis of Lainie Reynolds in every way but the hair color. Where Lainie was sleek and sophisticated, this woman nearly bubbled over with energy and too much enthusiasm.

Or maybe that was only when she waved a coffeepot under a superstar’s nose.

“None for me, thanks.” Bram had been polite to all the waitresses, doling out grins every time he’d been interrupted.

Nico could think of too many hockey stars who couldn’t be bothered to be nice to anyone in the food-service industry unless they were out to…get laid.

His gaze tracked back to Bram. Had the guy been lining up after-hours entertainment all this time?

“Then is there anything else I can get for you?” The fluffy-haired waitress leaned forward, her bountiful breasts now prominently displayed.

Shoving his last bite of eggs in his mouth, Nico knew when he was being a third wheel. He scraped his chair backward across the ceramic tiles when a sharp feminine voice pierced the din of kitchen sounds.

“Excuse me, miss, may I ask what you think you’re doing in my hotel?” Lainie cruised to a stop beside the table, belatedly taking in her famous guest’s presence. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re no longer employed here.”

Nico noticed her already perfect posture straighten by a few more taut degrees. If he hadn’t seen her barefoot and sipping homemade Kentucky brew with his own eyes yesterday, he never would have thought her capable of loosening up an inch. She wore a navy suit with some sort of black-lace camisole thing underneath and a strand of fat pearls around her neck. He squinted hard to get a better view of the black-lace thing, but with her jacket buttoned, he could only make out about two square inches. Just enough to make him undress her shamelessly with his eyes while she spoke to the red-faced waitress.

“My girlfriend who works in the coffee shop has a room here this week,” the younger woman shot back. “We’re trying out as extras for the movie.” She hooked her thumb in the pocket of her jeans and cast a sly smile in Bram’s direction. “I’m Daisy Stephenson, by the way.”

“But what are you doing here, in the kitchen, which you know perfectly well is an employees-only area?” Lainie arched her eyebrow, her gaze never wavering from the waitress who perhaps wasn’t a waitress, after all. In fact, she didn’t even have a uniform on, just a coffeepot in her hand.

Bram cleared his throat. “Sorry to have descended on you like this, ma’am.” He reached into his wallet and laid way too much money on the table for the eggs Nico had made him. “It’s my fault for bringing outsiders into the kitchen, but I had my manager check with your chef and he seemed to think it would be okay.”

Nico couldn’t believe the guy was throwing him in the fire on this one. He didn’t remember okaying the presence of a pseudowaitress. But before he could say yea or nay on the cock-and-bull story, Lainie was already relenting.

“Of course it’s not a problem, Mr. Hawthorne.” She doled out a very pleasant expression to smooth things over, but Nico noted she still didn’t smile. Not really. Her stretching of the lips was Mona Lisa-esque at best. “I hear you’re starting filming already today, so we’ll just be out of your way.” She stepped away from the table, presumably to give Nico room to rise and join her. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your visit more comfortable.”

Nico didn’t rise just yet, watching the Hollywood superstud across the table for any signs of hitting on Lainie. There’d damn well be arsenic in the eggs tomorrow if his eyes roamed anywhere near that black-lace job she wore.

Lucky for him, Bram nodded with squeaky-clean good manners. “Will do. I appreciate that, ma’am.”

Smart kid.

Nico rose to his feet, balancing every last dish on his forearms as he made his way over to the sterilizing sinks. He was in the process of turning over the plates to the dishwasher when he realized the click-click of Lainie’s high heels hadn’t followed him.

Jealousy niggled as he envisioned Mr. Hollywood Charm laying it on thick behind Nico’s back. His jaw flexed, hands clenched in anticipation.

Yet when he turned, he spied Lainie in heated conversation—not with Joe Movie Star, but with the wanna-be movie extra.

IF HIS TIME HAD BEEN HIS OWN, Bram Hawthorne could have spent another hour in the Club Paradise kitchen shooting the breeze with hockey legend Nico Cesare and making eyes at the stacked waitress with sweet blue eyes. Bram hadn’t enjoyed such a normal, peaceful meal since he’d started work on Diva’s Last Dance two months ago. There were plenty of advantages to being the Hollywood star on the rise, but eating a meal in peace wasn’t one of them.

He looked back into the kitchen one more time before he plowed through the swinging doors to seek out his new shooting location. The blond waitress with the sex-goddess body—Daisy—looked as if she was being chewed out by the hotel manager or owner or whoever this Lainie Reynolds person was supposed to be. The woman in the high-class suit must have been a studio executive in another life.

Damn, but he should have just corralled the flirty blonde under his arm and taken her to the filming with him so he could have spared her an ass chewing.

The thought inevitably pulled his eyes southward to check out the ass in question. So fine. Tight and succulent and so much better than Hollywood female butts, which fell into two categories—anemic or iron-clad.

He’d stake his considerable paycheck that her breasts were the real deal, too. He’d seen enough silicone up close and personal to be able to appreciate the soft sway of God-given twins.

Yes, ma’am, he would make time for Daisy in his future.

But right now he had a scene to shoot. Allowing the swinging door to fall shut on the scene in the kitchen, he checked his watch and then sprinted up a set of emergency stairs, which were always less populated than the elevator. He’d promised his all-business costar that he’d be on the set early to run through their actions and get a feel for the environment.

For all her sex-queen reputation, Rosaria Graham was as hard-nosed and driven as they came. Silicone from head to toe, the woman probably had a synthetic heart, too. The only time she mustered up any warmth of personality was when the director or one of the studio reps happened by the set.

As for warming up to her fellow actors—forget it. Taking the stairs two at a time, Bram acknowledged Rosaria’s only form of interaction with him so far had been to critique his performance and tell him what he should be doing differently. Not that she gave a rat’s butt about seeing him succeed. She just figured that the better he acted, the bigger their box-office sales would be and the more parts she’d be offered.

Little did Rosaria know Bram had his own reasons for making every performance the best he could. Reasons that went a hell of a lot deeper than earning enough cash to finance more silicone and a new Rolls. Shoving aside thoughts of his sister and the unidentified disease she battled every day while he climbed the ladder to stardom, Bram vowed this movie wouldn’t be any different. He’d cash in with Diva’s Last Dance even if Rosaria was proving to be a first-class snot.

Reaching the floor where they’d be shooting today’s scene, Bram plowed through the heavy steel door with both arms, winging the weighted barrier so hard it creaked on its hinges. And nearly slamming into a big, beefy guy covered in tattoos who looked downright pissed at the close encounter.

Until the scowling man recognized him. Bram signed an autograph while the towering brute showed off his favorite body art—a toss-up between the mermaid on his right shoulder and the surfboard on his left. Bram smiled and nodded and hurried away, reminding himself to focus on his upcoming performance.

And thankfully, Daisy the waitress was going to be the new key to his motivation for his upcoming love scenes. All he’d have to do was envision Daisy in Rosaria’s place and he’d be golden.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he had a good idea how he could be even more inspired. Nearing the Fun & Games Chamber, Bram tugged out his cell phone and put in a call to one of the film’s gofers to request the best motivation of all.

He might not be able to act out this scene with the woman he’d been thinking about, but he sure as hell could arrange to have her there. Close enough to see. Close enough to fantasize about.

Whipping off a few instructions, Bram congratulated himself for his quick thinking. With the flirtatious Daisy standing by, he knew he’d be turning in one hell of a love scene because the secret of his success was that he possessed great imagination.

He just hoped he wouldn’t have to imagine what Daisy tasted like for long. Sooner or later, he wanted the real deal all for himself.

THE URGE TO PULL A HANK of Daisy Stephenson’s bottle-blonde shag cut rode Lainie so hard she thought it best to fist her hands behind her back.

“I don’t care that Bram Hawthorne is allowed to enter the kitchen. You are not.” Lainie had fired Daisy from her position as a cigarette girl in the resort’s nightclub nine months ago after the woman had continually thrown herself at Brianne’s boyfriend-turned-fiancé. Bad enough Daisy had foisted her attentions on an FBI agent who’d been investigating the club at the time, but she’d also frequently left her workstation to pursue her hormonal needs.

Lainie had no intention of letting the woman weasel her way into the resort to wreak havoc again. Especially not when Lainie’s best PR chance of all time loomed within her reach.

Daisy fluffed her hair at her shoulder as she pursed bubblegum-colored lips. “You may have to rescind that dictate if I’m on the list of things Bram requests to make him more comfortable.” She hitched up the narrow strap of her tank top, dragging her twenty-pound breasts upward with the motion.

Tart.

Lainie knew worse words to describe Daisy, but she didn’t dare think them for fear they’d trip out of her lips. “Just as long as he doesn’t request your presence in any employees-only areas, I’m sure you made it patently obvious he can have you anywhere he wants you.”

Turning on her heel before she allowed Daisy to tick her off any further, Lainie nearly crashed right into Nico.

“Morning.” He looked too damn good for a man who’d fielded a record number of room-service orders, according to her kitchen sources. A big white chef’s apron covered part of his black slacks and a gray polo shirt. He smelled like the antibacterial soap the kitchen stocked by the gallon. Casting a sideways glance at Daisy as the woman blasted through the swinging doors and out of the kitchen, he raised an eyebrow. “I take it she’s not a friend of yours.”