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SIX

It was like going back in time.

Rob Beresford stood at the entrance to the park across the street from the West London Catering College where he had spent two of the most gruelling years of his life learning how to cook at a professional level.

The building might look a little cleaner and they had added more glass and pale colours to the entrance to make it look less like a prison, but otherwise it was just the same.

Somewhere in a storage unit in London there was a box stuffed with his diplomas and degree certificates for what the college liked to call the culinary arts and professional cooking.

From what he remembered it was mostly culinary sweat and manic activity fuelled by industrial quantities of cheap coffee and cheaper carbohydrates.

He had grown up in London and spent the first nineteen years of his life here. It would always feel like home.

And now he was going to a Beresford hotel to raise funds so that some other youngster with nothing but a fire in his belly could have a chance to show what they could do.

How ironic was that?

With a low chuckle he shook his head and strode out along the sunlit pavements and turned the corner, away from the college and into the world he lived in now. Sean had done a great job refurbishing the Beresford Richmond and Rob waved to the reception staff as he jogged up the staircase to the main conference room and flung open the doors to the cocktail bar.

He scanned the room looking for Sean or Lottie and walked slowly between the drinks tables, waving and saying a brief hello to familiar faces from the hotel and food world, flashguns lighting up his back as he tugged at the cuffs of his evening shirt.

He was a Beresford working the crowd in a Beresford hotel.

This was the one time he was willing to put his handmade tux on show for the press and wear his heart on his sleeve.

His father, Tom Beresford, had founded the Beresford hotel chain from nothing and worked hard to create a line of luxury hotels in cities around the world. But Rob admired him for a lot more than that. No matter where his mum had gone to find artistic inspiration, his dad had made sure that Rob had his own room and a stable home and school life. It had been a shock when his dad had announced that he was going to marry again. Until then it had only been the two of them. But she was so lovely. And as a bonus—he got a new brother.

And there he was. Sean Beresford. Hotel troubleshooter and the current manager of the hotel he was standing in, greeting the sixty or so especially invited guests in person, same as always. Charming but professional.

Rob took the initiative by thumping Sean on the back in a half hug. ‘Heard that there was a charity auction tonight and thought I might pick up a few bargains. How about you?’

He was rewarded by a short snort. ‘Dee is in China. Again. But somehow Dee and Lottie persuaded me to host their fundraiser here. I even agreed to be the master of ceremonies. So behave.’

‘I am behaving! And well done on the refurbishment. This is a fabulous venue.’

‘Thanks. Hard work but worth it. VIP events like this are a perfect way to get word-of-mouth publicity. Gold dust. I had no idea that Lottie knew so many people in high places.’

His brows came together. ‘Lottie Rosemount?’

‘Absolutely. That girl has a contact list to die for. If anyone deserves praise for making this benefit a sell-out it’s Lottie. Oh, have to go. Enjoy the party! And I hope you like the food. We’re trying that new event menu from the Beresford Paris which has been so popular.’

‘Wait up. What are you serving? Surprise me.’

‘Canapés followed by plated cold starters, three choices of hot buffet, salad and cheese. And I know you are going to sample some of everything because you always do before the desserts arrive.’

Sean gestured with his head towards the swing doors that led to the kitchen. Waiters were clearing away what little was left of the patisserie.

‘I have a head chef in there who has been screaming at her brigade all night that Rob Beresford is in the room and they had better cook as though their jobs depended on it. Forget the other city chefs. You are the one my team want to impress. They are nervous wrecks in there! So don’t worry about the food. Your job is to do the celeb thing. And good luck with that. See you later.’ And with that Sean strode over to greet the cluster of new arrivals who had packed the reception area behind him.

Rob stepped to one side, and tried to bring his breathing back down to a level where he could control it.

What the hell was the new event menu from Paris?

He was supposed to be responsible for the entire food-and-drinks range across all of the Beresford hotel chain.

His mother’s exhibition and the filming of the TV show had sucked every second of his life for the past few months but surely he would have heard about a new menu?

Why had no one told him about it? Or worse. They had told him but the message had got lost in the hundreds of emails he received every day.

Of course he had to trust the hotel chefs. He had personally picked them, got drunk with them and slayed them with cooking better than them. But as for trusting other people to create an entirely new menu? Forget it.

He needed to get to the hotel kitchens and find out exactly what they intended to serve at this function.

He glanced around the gilt high-ceiling dining room. Top hoteliers, company directors in designer suits, food journalists and, if he was not mistaken, several of the college lecturers who were responsible for what skills he had. So overall pretty much everyone in London with an interest in developing amazing new chef talent.

Brilliant for the charity. And a nightmare waiting to happen if this new menu was not totally spectacular.

And walking towards him around the edge of the room, one very, very pretty girl.

Lottie Rosemount. Only not the hard-working baker version of Lottie he had spent most of the day with.

This Lottie was dressed in a pale lilac cocktail dress that fitted her perfectly, the fabric draped close to her waist then flaring out over the slim hips to just above the knees. Then long, slim but muscular legs and high heels.

Tonight Lottie Rosemount was every bit the young female corporate mover and shaker he had seen at parties all over the world. Efficient. Brilliant. Organised.

Only he knew the real Lottie. The woman who had taken a high-street bakery and transformed it into something spectacular. Doing what she loved to do, her passion. On her own terms.

When had he last met a woman like that? Not often. Oh, he had met plenty of glossy-haired girls with high IQs who had claimed they were doing what they truly loved, and plenty of lady bakers had studied business, but so few people were able to combine the two skills to create a successful bakery.

Lottie had.

Maybe that was why he connected with the elegant, stunning woman he was looking at now, though he had only met her a few days earlier.

They were different from other people.

Her life forces, her energy, sparkled like the jewels in the bracelet on her wrist. She was effervescent, hot, and so attractive he had to fight down that fizz of testosterone that clenched the muscles under his dress shirt and set his heart racing.

Just at the sight of her.

Rob watched Lottie chatting away to the other guests. He heard her speaking and replying to questions in French and what sounded like Russian. Of course. She must have studied modern languages for business.

He headed for the bar, anxious not to make a fool of himself, ogling the woman in the lilac dress, but she strolled across through to the other room, totally confident and completely at ease in this group of top decision makers in the catering world. It was the kind of ease that came from an expensive education. Hadn’t she mentioned something about a management degree?

It was an education designed to open doors. And it had.

His education had been at the school of hard graft and a local college that would take in a boy with a police record and next to no academic qualifications past the age of seventeen.

He picked up a glass of sparkling water and turned back to the cluster of other guests at the same moment as Lottie started introducing some tough-looking lads to one of the college lecturers he vaguely recalled from his student days, going out of her way to make them feel relaxed and included.

He had got it wrong.

She was not one of the hobby bakers who opened a cupcake shop for a joke. A whim to keep her and her friends amused and give them somewhere to meet up to laugh at the poor schmucks who had to slave for a living.

Just the opposite

She had trained. Worked. Slaved. Knew what she was talking about.

People did not often surprise him, not after years in the hotel trade.

Lottie Rosemount was one of a kind.

Perhaps that was why his gaze stayed locked solid on that lovely face until she turned and strolled away towards the stage on Sean’s arm to begin the charity auction, leaving Rob to stare after her. And the low back of her dress.

Whoa. Mind-blowing. Brain-blasting whoa.

What had he intended to do? Oh, yes. Find out what the hell was going on with this new menu he knew nothing about.

He caught sight of a waiter emerging from the kitchen with a platter of canapés. Then another, and another. His heart instantly sank. It was too late.

The food service had started. There was no way he was going to barge into that kitchen and start asking questions when the food was already on plates.

Plan B. He was going to have to find out the hard way. By tasting every single dish presented to the guests at this event. And they had better be spectacular. Or he would want to know why.

* * *

‘Well. What did you think?’

‘I think he did a fine job.’ Lottie smiled, her gaze focused on the stage. ‘Consider me impressed. But don’t you dare tell him that I said that. The students are thinking of joining his online fan club and they must have taken at least a hundred photos on their mobile phones.’

Lottie stood shoulder to shoulder next to Sean and they watched in contented silence as Rob chatted and laughed with the newest group of catering students. He had spent most of the last hour following the charity auction happily introducing the wide-eyed students to chefs who Lottie had held in awe for most of her life. Chefs who she had somehow managed to get to donate seven-course dinners as auction prizes were like putty in Rob’s hands.

‘There is one tiny little thing which I should mention. Did Rob come up with tonight’s menu?’

Sean shook his head. ‘Rob is responsible for the hotel standards but the executive chef at the Paris hotel sent over the recipes.’

Lottie slowly produced a printed copy of the menu that she had stolen from the table and passed it to Sean who groaned out loud.

‘Oh, great, what’s this? Marks out of ten? And what are these scribbles down the side and over the page?’

‘Suggestions. Ideas. Proposals. And when it comes to that mess of a salad, a shut-down notice. Pomegranate seeds on the same plate as chopped walnuts, anchovies and smoked ham? It was a mess. But the rest?’

Lottie flipped the flat of her right hand from side to side and sucked in air between her teeth. ‘It was edible. But that is all I could say about it.’

Sean coughed. ‘Don’t hit me, but it sounds like you might enjoy working with that brother of mine and coming up with your own recipes.’

‘Work with the mighty Rob Beresford? The very idea. I’m far too good. His ego would never recover.’ Then she laughed and nudged Sean in the arm. ‘Let’s go talk to your chef and hear what she has to say about tonight’s meal. I’d like to hear what she thinks.’

Then Lottie paused and shot a quick glance back towards the stage and her voice faded away. ‘But after that I need to catch up with Rob about a very interesting phone call that I have just had with Valencia Cagoni. Your brother has some explaining to do.’

Sean snorted out a reply. ‘Too late. He’s seen you and is coming this way. Best of luck!’

Lottie lifted her chin as Rob sauntered over with a couple of students and waved towards the buffet table where a few remaining desserts were being demolished by the students before they were cleared away.

A wave of conflicting emotions coursed through her at the sight of his handsome face smiling at her. Confusion, disbelief, annoyance, and something alarmingly like respect were in the mix.

‘Hi,’ she said in a very hoarse voice, then covered it up with a quick cough. ‘Fed up with signing autographs yet?’

‘They’re a great bunch.’ Rob nodded and half turned to face the buffet. ‘You were right about the scholarships. Half of those young men wouldn’t be here if their fees were not paid. Good idea. I like it.’

He rolled his shoulders back and shoved both hands into his trouser pockets. ‘I like it so much I am going to do something about it. Leave it with me. I’ll come up with something to give that fund a boost.’

‘Really?’ Lottie squeaked. ‘That’s fantastic. Splendid. Great.’

There must have been something in her voice that made Rob turn and look at her.

‘Are you feeling okay?’

‘Never better. In fact I have just had the most fascinating chat with my old boss, Valencia Cagoni. Her twins are recovering from the chickenpox and she was delighted that I had found such an inspiring replacement chef for the fundraiser. But, of course, you know Valencia very well, don’t you, Rob?’

Lottie whirled around and stepped closer to Rob so that the few remaining guests would not be able to hear their conversation.

‘In fact, you know her so well that you sometimes pass on your personal recommendations for new apprentices in her restaurant.’

She took a breath and took one more step so that she could almost reach out and touch him if she wanted to. ‘Apprentices like me.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You were the one who persuaded Valencia to give me that training place. You made the call, you told her that I would be coming to see her and that she should give me a chance.’

‘She told you.’ Rob winced. ‘Damn.’

Lottie stabbed Rob in the chest with her forefinger. ‘You are responsible for my entire career. You!’ Then she stepped back and looked around the ballroom. ‘I still cannot believe it.’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘Valencia Cagoni is an old friend from college. You needed a job in a hurry. I made the call. Happy now?’

‘No, I’m confused.’ Lottie blinked. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me that earlier and save yourself some grief? And Valencia never said a word. Not once in three years. She made me slave for that training post.’

‘I asked her not to tell you that I had called,’ Rob replied, and then dropped his shoulders back. ‘You know how chefs talk. It makes it feel a lot sweeter if you had to fight for what you want and get it on your own merit, instead of who you know in the business. You had to work, and work hard. What you achieved was down to you, not me.’

Then he flicked one hand in the air. ‘You know Valencia would never have taken you on unless she was convinced that you had talent. She is way tougher with her training than I am.’

‘You fired me, and then set up my replacement training position. Why? Why did you do that?’ Lottie asked, her voice trembling with emotion. ‘I would really like to know because right now my head is spinning.’

‘Because I knew Debra was never going to be a mentor to anyone with talent. You deserved a chance to show what you could do and Debra was not going to let another chef steal her star. Valencia needed someone who could step up. Okay?’

Lottie stared at Rob in stunned silence, her hands planted one on each hip, her gaze locked on to his eyes.

‘Has anyone ever told you,’ she breathed in a low voice ‘that you are the most infuriating man alive?’

‘Frequently.’ He grinned. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are the prettiest and most persistent woman alive? Perhaps that is why I find you so intriguing.’

He glanced from side to side and then pushed out his elbow. ‘We’re done here. Might as well hit the road in style! How about it?’

Lottie glared at Rob’s elbow, then at his face and then back to his elbow, before sighing out loud and hooking her arm through his.

‘This has already been one crazy evening. Why not go the whole way? Because I really don’t know what to think about you any longer. First I think you are a complete...and then the whole image gets flipped over. It is so beyond annoying it’s not funny and it’s giving me a headache just thinking about it. I really don’t have a single clue who you are, Rob Beresford.’

‘Want to find out?’