‘What?’ he asked.
‘I’m trying to figure out whether sad is worse.’
‘And?’
She looked over, eyes shining with emotion he couldn’t read but knew meant something. ‘It isn’t.’
Without thinking about it, he reached out a hand. She stared at it, at him, looked down, then slowly took his hand. He wanted to stand up and shout for joy. He wanted to thank her for letting him in. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Sate the heat the contact sent through his body. Instead, he squeezed and let the quiet of the evening settle over them.
It surprised him by settling the twisting of his stomach, too. He was used to the twisting, since it came whenever his mother was in pain.
When he was young, he had thought he could do something about it. His mother would be in bed, curled up to favour whichever side of her was aching more, and he’d bring her tea. Make her food. Offer to run a bath for her, or cuddle her until she felt better. She’d never accept, and she’d apologise afterwards. She’d tell him the version of her who was in pain wasn’t really her.
Throughout her illness, she’d tried to separate the person who was in pain and the one who wasn’t. Which he understood. Her illness had been relatively unknown in South Africa when she’d been diagnosed, and even the dialogue with her doctors had separated those identities. But he knew, even as a kid, that the same mother who couldn’t move some days was the mother who would spend hours reading to him. Or taking him to some exciting place he wanted to see. Or answering all his questions with patience and honesty. As he grew older, he realised his mother had separated who she was because she saw her body as her enemy during her flare-ups. It was separate for her; it was separate from her. It was betraying her.
He’d wanted to help her because he wanted her to remember he loved all of her, even if she couldn’t do it herself. It was a big burden for a kid to undertake, even though he hadn’t completely understood it. And it had evolved as he got older. Now, he tried to nudge instead of directly say. He tried to support instead of fix. It was navigating a minefield—a stubborn minefield—but since there weren’t any explosions, at least not yet, Benjamin thought he was doing pretty okay. As long as he was there, he would keep doing okay.
‘Is your mom going to be all right?’
He frowned, trying to remember if he’d spoken out loud and the question had been provoked. He was sure he hadn’t, which meant Alexa was simply curious. He sighed in relief.
‘Yeah, she’ll be fine.’
‘Is she unwell?’
He took a breath. ‘She has something called fibromyalgia. It’s a—’
‘I know what it is.’ At his surprised look, she rolled her eyes. ‘People are more open about chronic illnesses these days.’
‘But... I mean, it’s not something you just know.’
‘I didn’t,’ she agreed. ‘Until I went to look it up after seeing an acquaintance talk about it online.’
He kept his mouth shut because if he didn’t he was sure he’d make inelegant grunts she’d make fun of.
‘It sounds tough,’ she said softly. ‘Living your life in pain the whole time. I can’t imagine.’ There was a short pause. ‘I can imagine how hard it must have been for you.’
He gave her a sharp look, dropping her hand in the process. She didn’t seem fazed, only folding her hands over her stomach again.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘Well, you’re the kind of person who agrees to be in a fake relationship with his mortal enemy because you were feeling protective. At least, I guess that was how you were feeling? Maybe it was indignant at how Lee dared to act towards me. I can’t tell with you.’ She shrugged. ‘Regardless, you’re someone who does things when other people seem vulnerable. I’m guessing you see your mother’s pain as her being vulnerable, which makes you want to do something. Except you can’t, because it’s her pain.’
It was remarkably astute. Uncomfortably astute. Which was why he said, ‘No.’
The corners of her lips twitched. ‘Hmm...’
‘It’s been fine for me.’
‘Okay.’
‘She’s the one in pain.’
‘Sure.’
‘Is it hard for me to see her that way? Sure. But is it worse for me? No.’
‘That’s not what I said though. I know it’s worse for her. Of course it is.’ She paused. ‘I might be off base here, what with having a messed-up family situation myself, but I don’t think it would be easy for me to see someone I care about in pain.’
‘It’s...not.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ There was a long pause as the words washed over them. ‘It’s not an excuse for you not to pick up after yourself though. How do you even find anything in your room? It looks like the aftermath of a police search.’
As soon as the surprise faded—though he should have known she’d look—he started laughing. ‘It’s organised chaos.’
‘Rubbish!’
‘It’s not rubbish.’
‘You’re telling me you know where every T-shirt is placed? Every shirt? Pants?’
‘Exactly.’
‘So if I hid something in there you’d find it?’
‘Did you hide something in my room?’
She gave him a sly look. ‘Maybe.’
‘Alexa,’ he nearly growled.
‘What?’ She blinked at him innocently. ‘You said it’s organised chaos. I’d just like to prove, once and for all, on behalf of everyone who’s been sceptical about organised chaos, that that’s nonsense.’
‘You’re trying to trap me on behalf of an entire group of people?’
‘Sometimes your actions have to be bigger than yourself.’
He shook his head, but even his disbelief couldn’t overshadow his amusement. Then he thought of something.
‘How did you know I’d say organised chaos though?’
‘Please. I’ve spent years trying to avoid interacting with you. It hasn’t worked—’ she sent him an accusatory look ‘—but at least I got to know who you are.’
He sighed. ‘What did you hide in my room?’
‘A handkerchief.’
‘You carry a handkerchief?’
‘Yes.’ She sniffed. ‘It’s for the essential oils I carry in my purse, too. In case I have an overbearing bout of nausea.’
‘Efficient.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Can you at least tell me what the handkerchief looks like?’
‘Pink. Like my dress.’
‘That should make it easier to find.’
‘It’ll be a breeze. You know where everything is, remember?’
She patted his hand, winked at his glare, and he turned away before he could smile again.
He couldn’t say whether it was the teasing that soothed him, but the anxiety in his body had stopped humming. Except it couldn’t be the teasing. She’d done plenty of that before, though it had lost its snarkiness at some point over the last few days.
As he thought about it, he realised it was that she understood. His position in his family had always made him feel alone, and finally he didn’t feel that way any more.
He let it wash over him. Didn’t even question that Alexa had been the one to make him feel that way—or what it meant. Still, he couldn’t let her get the upper hand.
‘So,’ he said casually, ‘are we going to talk about that kiss?’
‘What kiss?’
He snorted. ‘There’s no way you don’t—’
‘What kiss, Benjamin?’
At her tone, he looked over. Saw her determination. It made him laugh, which turned the determination into a glare. Satisfied that he’d won, he stood and offered a hand to help her up.
Chapter 9
Alexa walked into the restaurant and saw him imme
diately.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ she muttered, pausing.
It had been a few days since she and Benjamin had had that moment. It wasn’t a defined moment. She couldn’t say—oh, this thing happened and things have changed. Besides the kisses. And the fact that she thought he might be nice, despite the whole stealing-her-chef thing. Or how kind he was with his parents; how eager he was to please them. All she knew for sure was that at some point at the quarry, things had shifted. She needed time to sort through it, and she had other things to do first.
Such as secure her chef before she went on maternity leave.
There was time. She was days away from entering her second trimester, so she had about six months. That was what she told herself logically. In reality, she was freaking out. Hiring a new chef was a nightmare. She knew because she’d done so months before and it had all gone to hell anyway. So she needed time to find the right person, make sure they worked well with the rest of her team. Train them to work for Infinity, with her and with Kenya. She had to be there to observe and make sure everything would go smoothly when she was away.
She only had six months to do so.
No wonder she had indigestion.
That could have been her pregnancy, too, but she had a feeling being stressed about the new chef didn’t help. Or being at odds with Kenya, who’d stubbornly refused to talk about anything other than work in the last week. Usually, Kenya was a champagne bottle, shaken and uncorked and overflowing with personal anecdotes. Now she was a bottle of wine; one that was aging and still and not overflowing with anything.
It was hard for Alexa to believe she missed all of Kenya’s energy and her much too personal stories about her life. But she did. And now she had to deal with realising she missed the connection of it, too, and think about how to fix it, and about why Kenya was really so mad at her. She did not need to face Benjamin and his kissable lips today.
She marched over to the table.
‘You’re stealing my appointments with Cherise now, too?’
He looked up, smiled at her, and did it all so slowly that it felt as though someone had pushed a button for that to happen. Her heart did a little skip at that face; her mind recognised that his surprise, his pleasure at seeing her were genuine.
‘Hey!’ He stood. ‘You have an appointment with Cherise, too?’
‘Too?’ She looked at the table. There were only two seats. ‘How can we both have an appointment with her?’
He shrugged. ‘She called me the day before yesterday to ask me if I could meet her here.’ He gestured at the restaurant. It was perfectly nice with black and white décor, some greenery courtesy of plants, and the faint smell of fish because of its position near the water of the V&A Waterfront. ‘Said it would be a nice neutral space.’
Alexa huffed out a breath. ‘Yeah, because that’s what I told her. After I called her the day before yesterday to ask for this meeting.’
He blinked. ‘You called Cherise after we spent the night together?’
‘I’m not sure I’d describe dinner with your family as us spending the night together, but yes, I did.’ She straightened her spine. ‘You said we should continue with our plans as usual.’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t expect—’
He frowned. Shoved his hands into his pockets. Suddenly she noticed that he was wearing a shirt. She’d seen him in one before, but now he looked...different. His shoulders were broad, chest defined, the material clinging to all of it. She half expected him to move and tear through a perfectly good piece of clothing.
Why was a part of her cheering for that to happen?
‘I guess she wanted to speak with both of us at the same time.’
‘I did,’ Cherise said from beside them. Alexa nearly jumped out of her skin.
‘How long have you been there?’
‘Just arrived,’ Cherise replied. ‘Sorry to spring this on you.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Although I was sure I wouldn’t actually be able to do that, since you two are dating.’
There was a beat as Alexa realised she was going to have to pretend again. Fortunately, Benjamin spoke before she could say anything.
‘We keep our personal and professional lives separate.’ He smiled, oozing charm. Alexa nearly slipped on the puddle of it before she realised this was what he did. He charmed people. But not her. Especially not if she continued ignoring the fact that they’d kissed. ‘Thought it for the best, considering we’re in the same business.’
‘I imagine that must help. Or make things more complicated, if you’re meeting up like this.’
‘It doesn’t happen as often as you’d think,’ Alexa answered Cherise. Cherise gave her a rueful smile.
‘I thought it might be easier to discuss this together.’ She paused. ‘In hindsight, I suppose I was using your relationship to make things easier for myself. I wouldn’t have to have two meetings about possibly the same thing. I’m blurring things for you,’ she added with a frown.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Benjamin said smoothly. ‘We’re mature enough to handle it.’
He sent Alexa a look as if to say I’m mature enough. It took all of Alexa’s willpower not to roll her eyes at him, or stick out her tongue. Or do anything really that would undermine her maturity. She could be mature.
‘Should we get someone to add a chair to this table?’ Alexa asked coolly. Maturely. She gestured to a waiter. ‘I booked a two-seater.’
‘This is the table I booked, actually,’ Benjamin said, also gesturing to the waiter. When he looked at Alexa, she pulled a face. This is you being mature?
‘Oh, I booked a table for three,’ Cherise interjected. ‘I just saw you two here and came directly to speak to you. I’ll have the waiter take us.’
Soon they were sitting together and ordering drinks.
‘So,’ Cherise started, ‘I know whatever either of you wanted to say to me today probably isn’t going to work out because the other crashed the lunch.’
She and Benjamin exchanged a look. They hadn’t crashed the lunch. Cherise had invited Benjamin to an appointment Alexa and she had agreed on. If anything, Cherise had done the crashing. By proxy.
Acid pushed up in Alexa’s chest. She’d done a lot of research to find Cherise. Her first step had been to call her old mentor at the restaurant she’d worked at after the Institute. He’d recommended two people, one of whom was studying at the same institute she’d studied at—Cherise—the other of whom was still working for him, but was looking for something more, more urgently than what he could offer.
It had taken her a while to find out that Cherise wasn’t studying at the Institute as a newbie who wanted to learn everything she could. No, Cherise had worked under the best chefs, her old mentor included, for almost a decade, and had decided to formalise her knowledge by getting an official qualification. She was interested in something new, which, after speaking with some of the people Cherise had worked with, including the instructors they had in common, Alexa was eager to offer.
Except now it seemed Cherise wasn’t going to be that good a match after all.
‘I thought I’d say some things to both of you instead,’ Cherise said. ‘One: I would be happy to work with either of you. I’m looking for something different to what I’ve done in the past, which tended to lean towards more traditional fine dining. Nothing wrong with it,’ she added quickly, ‘but I’d like to do something more creative than cauliflower purée. I’m eager to explore that creativity, and I believe your restaurants, both younger, trendier places, would give me the space to do that.’
Alexa rubbed the burning in her chest thoughtfully. It wasn’t subsiding, though her doubts about Cherise were. Perhaps that was enough for now.
‘Two: I have no idea which one of you I’d like to work for.’ Cherise gave them a small smile. ‘I’ve dined at both your restaurants. Both of them were ama
zing experiences, and each of your spaces I respond to. Yours is more traditional, with the wood and the partitions between each side of the restaurant,’ she said to Benjamin, ‘but there’s something about it that makes me nostalgic. Yet I love how modern Infinity is,’ Cherise continued, speaking to Alexa now. ‘It’s sleek, and so not where I’d expect to be served fine dining.’
‘Thank you...?’
Cherise laughed. ‘It’s a compliment,’ she assured Alexa. ‘You’ve brought a younger crowd in by modernising your place, and I respect someone who can instil respect for good food in a generation that fast food was basically designed for.’
‘Well, then, thank you,’ Alexa said more firmly.
‘The conclusion I’ve come to is that it will depend on who I get along with the best. The only way I can know that is to spend more time with you both.’
‘Of course,’ Alexa said. ‘You can come to the restaurant any time you’d like. I can show you around, have you speak with some of my staff. I’m sure Benjamin would allow that, too.’
‘Sure.’
‘And I’d love that. But I was thinking of something a little different.’
‘What?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘School.’
* * *
‘Why do I feel like we were being interviewed?’ Benjamin asked minutes after Cherise had left the restaurant.
‘Not were,’ Alexa corrected. ‘Are. We now have to take a three-day course at the Institute. Which I don’t mind per se, it’s just...’ Her voice faded and she let out a huge sigh.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Fine.’
But she dropped her head onto a hand she’d rested on the table.
If his instincts hadn’t already been tingling from that sigh, this would have done them in. In fact, it felt as though an alarm was going off in his head. It dimmed the sound of the inner voice warning him not to get involved. Things were already almost impracticably complicated between them; he didn’t need to further complicate that by getting involved with her issues.
Except she looked so fragile, sitting there with her hand on her head. It was so different to how she usually seemed—abrasive, bull-headed, strong—that he had to fight harder than he would have liked not to ask. And then he found himself fighting against that because he did want to ask. Hell, he even wanted to make it better. Which was exactly how things usually went wrong. People would take advantage of his tendency to take over. After he’d had a ‘friend’ do it recently, he’d learnt his lesson.
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