Читать книгу A Convenient Scandal - Kimberley Troutte - Страница 12

Two

Michele ran as fast as she could through the parking lot while trying not to break her neck on her high heels or snap the wheels off her luggage. She’d arrived in Los Angeles yesterday and spent the night at a nearby hotel to be on time for today’s flight to Plunder Cove. The taxi driver had dropped her off in the wrong wing of the airport, making her late. He didn’t seem to believe that a woman like her actually did mean she should be dropped off at the private jet terminal.

Her heart was pounding out of her chest when she arrived at the guarded gate. “Please tell me...I’m not...too late.”

“Name,” the guard said.

“Michele Cox. A jet from Harper Industries is supposed to take me to—”

The gate opened. “You’re expected.”

“Over here.” A woman wearing a blue suit waved to her. “Oh, dear. Your cheeks are pink. Come, there’s ice water inside the private suite but there’s no time for a shower. Mr. Harper is ready to leave.”

Her first thought was A shower in a private suite in the airport? The second was Jeffrey Harper is inside? She could only guess how she looked after her panicked run in the Los Angeles sunshine. No doubt her cheeks were more scarlet than pink. She finger-combed her blond hair and hoped for the best.

A door opened and Michele found herself in a ritzy lounge complete with cream-colored sofas, hardwood floors, recessed lighting, deep navy curtains, game tables and a cherrywood bar. Five women were chatting and drinking champagne.

“Miss Cox?” A deep voice called out from the end of the corridor. “I almost left without you.”

Her heart skipped a beat until she realized it wasn’t Jeffrey Harper. The man was handsome—of the tall, dark, broad-shouldered variety. He was also married, with a shiny new band on his left finger. Other than that, she had no idea who he was or why he knew her name.

“Sorry!” And...there went the wheel on her luggage. She grabbed the suitcase by the handle and kept hustling toward him. “Thanks for waiting. The International Wing was full of people and—” Her heel broke and she nearly twisted her ankle. “Shoot!”

“The International Wing? That’s a good mile. You ran that whole way?”

“Only one?” She struggled to catch her breath. “Felt like two.”

“Let me take that.” He handed her luggage to an agent while she collected her broken heel.

She scanned the room. When she saw a beautiful woman speaking French over by the bar, her heart plummeted. It was Chef Suzette Monteclaire, the queen of French cuisine. What was she doing in the Harpers’ private suite?

“Now that we’re all here.” The man raised his voice above the chatter. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Matt Harper, Jeff’s brother and your pilot to Plunder Cove. Before we get on the jet, do you have any questions?”

The women looked at each other. A bad feeling slithered into her belly. Michele raised her finger.

“Yes, Miss Cox?”

“Are we all applying for the chef job?”

Matt shrugged. “Looks like it.”

“I don’t understand. I thought there was only one position open.”

“Me, too,” another woman agreed. “Why are we all here?”

A woman in the center of the group chuckled. She had thick dark hair and hooded green eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s a contest. The winner gets to work for sexy Jeffrey Harper.” She winked at Matt.

“Is this part of his show? I have not seen this on Secrets and Sheets,” a soft-spoken woman said. Michele thought she was Lily Snow, the chef from Manhattan’s upscale Chinese restaurant—The China Lily.

“He’s creating a cooking show, no?” another woman asked, in a Swedish accent. Her hair was strikingly white-blond. Her large eyes were like sapphires against a milky pale complexion. She was tall, svelte and gorgeous. Everything about her screamed perfection and wealth. Lots of wealth.

Michele tried to inconspicuously wipe the sweat off her upper lip. Jeffrey Harper was going to turn her misery into a cooking show. Would she be able to pretend she was the chef she used to be not just for him but with all of America watching?

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell this is, I’m only supposed to fly you all into Plunder Cove. If this is not what you signed up for, I’ll give you the chance to back out gracefully. I’ll arrange for a driver to take you back to your terminal and I will pay for your return flight.”

Seeing all the talent in the room, Michele’s legs twitched to start running back to New York. But she needed this—for Cari, for herself.

She didn’t move. None of the other women did either.

“No takers?” Matt shrugged. “Right. Follow me to the jet.”

* * *

Three hours later, a stretch limousine filled with six chef candidates turned up a long lane. Beautiful purple-flowered trees lined a wide driveway. Michele had never seen trees like that before.

“There it is!” One of the women squealed. “Casa Larga.”

Michele looked through the tinted car window and saw a mansion straight out of a magazine spread. It was way bigger in real life. Imposing.

The women all started talking at once—something about Jeff’s sister being Yogi to the stars—but Michele could only swallow hard. Why did she think she belonged here with these famous chefs and celebrities? She should’ve listened to Matt Harper and walked away gracefully. On her broken heel with her broken luggage.

“Jeff is a seriously hot man,” one of the ladies said.

Michele didn’t disagree but what did it matter? She didn’t want to be hit on. And she didn’t want a playboy or an arrogant critic for a boss. She needed Jeffrey to hire her and stay out of her kitchen. It hadn’t gotten past her that Jeffrey Harper was only interviewing women. Why wasn’t there a male chef candidate in the bunch?

The limo parked and the women piled out.

“Welcome to Casa Larga at Plunder Cove,” a woman wearing a yellow skirt said in a voice that was soft, melodious. “I’m Jeff’s sister, Chloe Harper. It’s my job to get you settled inside. You’ll be sharing. Two ladies to each room tonight. Tomorrow...well, we’ll see how it all plays out. Follow me and I’ll give you the tour.”

They walked through large double doors and into a huge entryway. Michele looked up at the largest chandelier she’d ever seen.

Chloe continued, “I’ll give you a schedule for when you will be called to the kitchen to cook a meal. It should be a signature dish that highlights what you do best.”

The woman with the white-blond hair held up a perfectly manicured finger. Michele had learned her name was Freja. “Wardrobe and makeup, first, eh? My fans will be seeing me in Sweden. They can vote, too, no?”

An avalanche of panic made Michele’s limbs weak. She hadn’t suspected this would be a competition, much less a televised one. She didn’t know if she could cook a masterpiece and if she failed with the entire world watching, her career would be over.

Chloe looked startled. “This is not a reality show, it’s a competition. At the end, Jeff will choose one of you as his chef. Fans will not be voting.”

Michele’s heart started to beat normally again until Chloe went on to add, “We’ll have a television crew in here once the restaurant is completed. Whomever Jeff chooses should expect lots of cameras that day.”

Even knowing that, Michele wanted to be the chosen one. She had to be. This job was the path to financial stability, the only way she knew to make sure Cari was healthy and happy. It was the kick in the backside that she desperately needed. She had to convince Jeffrey Harper that she was the right one for the job. Somehow, she had to get her cooking mojo back.

* * *

Jeff stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Matt on the upstairs landing and watched Chloe lead the women through the downstairs corridor. They all had one thing in common—they were fantastic chefs. That’s all he really cared about.

“You sure about this plan, bro?” Matt asked. “You’re getting married when the restaurant is done?”

Jeff grimaced. “I don’t have much of a choice. That’s the deal.”

“You and Dad are big on deals. It’s stupid. Marriage is not a business contract. When it’s right, you connect on a deep level, deeper than you’ll believe. Julia touches me in places I didn’t know existed.”

“Sounds like good sex to me.”

“Shut up.” Matt socked him in the shoulder. “You should give yourself a chance to find love, man. That’s all I’m saying.”

Jeff could take all the time in the world, but he’d never find the sort of connection Matt had found with his wife, Julia. Jeff wasn’t wired for it.

The chefs walked below him, a slow parade of beauty and talent, chatting as they went. They seemed oblivious to him standing above them. He was fine with that. He really didn’t want to make contact until he judged their dishes. Why waste time with small talk if he wasn’t impressed with their culinary skills?

As the last woman passed by, she stopped and looked up as if she’d sensed him. Her eyes met his. She tipped her head to the side slightly, and the light on the chandelier sparkled like diamonds across her long blond hair.

She raised one hand.

He raised his in return.

She smiled and hell if he couldn’t see her dimples from where he stood. It was the purest sight he’d ever seen. If he had to choose one word to describe her in that moment it would be sparkly.

All too quickly she turned and hustled to catch up with Chloe’s tour. She was gone two full beats before he looked away.

Matt thumped him on the head. “Earth to Jeff.”

Jeff turned to face his brother. “Was she limping?”

“Did you not hear a word I said? That’s what I was telling you, yes, she’s limping because she broke her shoe running to catch our jet.”

Jeff was still thinking about her smile. Can’t fake dimples like that, right?

“She ran at least a mile in those high heels. I don’t know about the other women in this competition, but that one has strength. A backbone.” And then Matt butchered a handful of Spanish words.

“What?”

Matt grinned. “Good, huh? My wife is teaching me Spanish. It means ‘she has the heart of a bull.’”

“You like saying that word, don’t you?”

Matt tipped his head. “Which one?”

“Wife.”

Matt had that look on his face—the “sneaking cookies and eating them in bed before Mom caught him” look. “Oh, yeah. You could enjoy saying the word, too, if you allowed yourself to find the right lady. You don’t let anyone get close, Jeff. Start putting yourself out there. Be real and you’ll find love. I swear it.”

Jeff exhaled deeply. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice in one family. And I’m not like you. Never was. You and Julia were meant for one another, you’ve known it since you were, like, ten. Another woman like Julia doesn’t exist.”

“You haven’t found her because you need to open up. Show her who you are without the smoke and mirrors. No stage lighting. No props. Just two real people being...normal.”

Did he want normal? What did it even mean?

“You could start with the lady you were making goo-goo eyes at. Along with her backbone, and pretty face, there’s something sweet about Michele Cox.”

“That was Michele Cox from Alfieri’s? She made me one of the best chicken cacciatore dishes I’ve ever tasted. I still have daydreams about that chicken.”

“Can I pick ’em or what?” Matt grinned and threw his arm over Jeff’s shoulder.

“You’ve got it wrong. I’m not marrying any of these women, but I might hire Cox. I watched her on a cooking show once. Hell, she handled her kitchen with such passion, such flair. Spice and color all mixed together. I’ve never seen anything like it. She was poetry in action.”

Matt cocked his head. “Poetry in action? Seems like you’ve thought about her a bit.”

Had he? Sure. After seeing her on television, he’d made a point to visit her restaurant a few times. One night he’d even asked Alfieri if he could go back to the kitchen to meet the chef, but she’d left before he got a chance. The next time he’d gone in, he was told Michele had left the restaurant altogether. He’d been disappointed.

“I see it on your face. You like her,” Matt said.

“I’ve never met her.”

“So now is your chance. Ask her out. I dare you.”

Jeff shot him a dirty look. “What is this, middle school? Dares don’t work anymore. I’m not interested in searching for love. I just need a chef, and a wife who’ll satisfy Dad’s terms.”

Matt shook his head, his voice sad. “You’ll never feel it that way.”

“Feel what?”

“Lightning.”