by Carla Luna
It didn’t matter how many names he gave her. Tres Hermanos might have a great reputation, but trusting an inexperienced caterer for her ex-fiancé’s wedding was a wreck waiting to happen. Not to mention she and the caterer shared an intimate, personal history.
She drained the rest of her water and set down the glass. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sanchez.”
His dark eyes fixed on her, displaying a hint of annoyance. “Rafael.”
“I’m sorry, Rafael, but this isn’t going to work. You’ve never managed an event on this scale, and I can’t have anything go wrong. There’s also the fact that—”
“That we were lovers?”
Lovers. Because he’d been more than a mindless vacation romp. During the two weeks they’d been together, she’d actually cared about him.
Just not enough to tell him her real name.
She cringed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mention it. Or that it was a distant memory.”
“I haven’t forgotten any of it.”
She looked into his eyes, and it was evident he hadn’t. Despite his composure, he was no doubt remembering every passionate, tequila-soaked moment they’d spent together.
He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known who you were, but now that I’m here, I don’t want to lose this chance. I’m a professional, and I’ll behave like one. No one will ever know about us.” His gaze darkened. “Wasn’t that how you wanted it, anyway?”
She winced, remembering what she’d done to him. How she’d left him when he was sleeping, without ever giving him her real name, her phone number, or any way of tracking her down. If she had an ounce of self-preservation, she’d send him away now, but she only had three weeks left. And as her father had pointed out, she was low on options. If nothing else, she should review Rafael’s menus.
“Do you want to show me what you’ve drawn up?”
Any hint of the resentment he’d shown earlier disappeared as he slid the pages over to her. “From the information you sent us, I assume we’re just handling the wedding reception. Is the rehearsal dinner already taken care of?”
“Yes. It’s a smaller event—forty people, at most. We’re hosting it in one of our private dining rooms. Our executive chef and his crew are handling it, but they weren’t available for the wedding.”
Or rather, they’d suddenly become unavailable once they’d gotten a dose of Missy Cavendish in full bridezilla mode.
“Got it,” he said. “Our company has handled everything from party buffets to formal sit-down dinners. Keeping your demands in mind, we came up with five possible entrees for the plated dinner and eight types of appetizers. But if you need more options, we can easily provide them.”
“Thank you.” Her mouth watered as she read through the pages. The appetizers on his list included shrimp and avocado ceviche, carnitas sliders with cilantro slaw, green chili and beef empanadas, and sweet corn tamale cakes—all of which sounded more appealing than the chopped kale salad she’d brought for lunch.
When she asked him for more for information on the entrees, he eagerly described each dish in detail. His enthusiasm didn’t surprise her. Though he’d been working as a bartender when she met him in Baja, cooking had always been his true passion.
She set down the pages. “This all looks good. I’d be happy with any of these choices, but my clients are a little pickier, so let’s give them as many different options as possible.”
For all she knew, Ben might balk at the thought of serving Mexican food. He’d never been a big fan of “anything ethnic.” But she owed it to Rafael to give him a shot.
“Can you set up a tasting for them?” she asked. “The sooner, the better.”
“How about tomorrow morning? On Saturdays, we open for lunch at noon, but I could set up a tasting in our catering kitchen around eleven thirty.”
She had no idea if Ben or Missy were free, but she’d call them and stress the urgency. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if there’s a conflict. Otherwise, you can expect us at eleven thirty. And…” As much as she hated to bring up the past, she had to be certain he wouldn’t slip. “You won’t breathe a word about Baja?”
In an instant, the light vanished from his eyes. “You have nothing to worry about.” The smile he gave her was so formal, so lacking in warmth, that it made her shiver.
Unable to stand another second under his scrutiny, she thanked him and left the boardroom. Only after she was back in her office did she let out her breath in relief. But her ordeal was far from over. Now she’d have to spend Saturday morning stuck in a room with her ex-fiancé and her former lover.
After Victoria left, Rafael took a moment to get his head together.
What were the odds?
He poured himself another glass of ice water as a flood of emotions surged through him. Confusion. Anger. Pain. And frustration, because no way in hell could he handle this job.
Upon seeing Victoria, the rush of memory smacked him upside the head. When he’d met her in Baja, she was coming off her sophomore year in college, so she had to be twenty-five by now. But she still looked the same, with skin like cream, icy-blue eyes, and delicate features. And that long, sleek curtain of hair, the color of a raven’s wing. Hair that had felt amazing when she’d brushed it across his chest as her lips explored his body inch by inch.
But the woman he’d known had been passionate and free-spirited. Nothing like the tightly wound businesswoman he’d just spoken to. Hard to believe she was the same person.
Once he’d gotten over the shock of seeing her, he wanted to demand answers. To ask her why she’d lied about her identity and ghosted him after their time together in Baja.
You know why, idiot. Because you weren’t worthy. You were just her dirty little secret.
Not that he’d been entirely honest with her either. Though he’d shared a little about his life in San Diego, he’d deliberately avoided any mention of Tres Hermanos or his older brothers. At the time, he’d been trying not to dwell on the mistakes he’d made back in Escondido. Mistakes that had left his family so frustrated they’d shuttled him off to live with his uncle.
But he hadn’t lied about his name. If Victoria had wanted to contact him, she could have found him easily. He couldn’t say the same for her. She’d called herself Tori Dubois and claimed she was from Beverly Hills.
He gathered up his menus and let himself out, taking the stairs down to the main floor of Blackwood Manor. Built in the late 1800s as a baron’s mansion, it now served as the headquarters and public face of Blackwood Cellars in Temecula, an hour northeast of San Diego. The manor housed a tasting room, two private dining rooms, a theater, and a grand ballroom. Outside, the vast grounds of the estate included gardens and public venue areas, abutting acres of vineyards.
He’d spent an hour reading about it before he left Escondido because he hadn’t wanted to appear ignorant during his presentation. But in all the research he’d done, he’d never thought to look up Victoria Blackwood.
A huge mistake on his part.
He was halfway back to Escondido when his phone rang. He answered it right away, knowing Martin would be checking up on him.
“How’d it go?” his brother asked. “You work your charm?”
“I did, but…” He clenched his hands around the steering wheel.
“But what?”
“I don’t think I can do it.” Although he’d kept his cool during the meeting, he wouldn’t be able to maintain it for the next three weeks. How could he work with a woman who’d lied to him the entire time they’d been together?
“Of course you can,” Martin snapped.
“It’s two hundred people. And—to quote Victoria Blackwood—they’re expecting ‘a certain level of service.’” He was still irritated at the way she’d delivered that line, as if to put him in his place.
“Then we’ll provide it, like always. You can handle it. You’ve been with us on loads of gigs. And you did a great job with Araceli’s wedding. I’ll make sure yo
u have experienced help, both in the front and the back of the house. All you have to do is run the show. You’ve been asking me for an opportunity like this for months.”
“But Victoria was expecting you.”
“I know. I wish Rosa hadn’t messed up the calendar, but I can’t get out of this charity gig. The family bid fifteen thousand dollars for this dinner party, and all the money goes to the American Diabetes Association. It’s a great cause.”
One that hit home, considering diabetes killed their father at age fifty. “I get it. But…”
He was tempted to tell Martin the truth. He and Victoria had indulged in a scorching-hot fling five years ago, when he was working at a resort in Baja. She was the one woman who’d gotten to him, different from anyone else he’d ever taken to bed, but she’d broken his heart in the process.
But Martin wouldn’t understand. He’d assume Rafael was up to his old tricks again, seducing women and leading them astray. In all honesty, there hadn’t been that many women after he moved back to Escondido. Until the incident with Sandra, when he’d made a terrible judgment call. After enduring a blistering lecture from Martin, he promised his brothers he’d stop fooling around.
For almost two years, he’d worked hard at winning back their trust, putting in extra hours at the restaurant and pitching in whenever they needed him on a catering job. But he’d grown tired of taking a back seat. Now that he was twenty-seven, he was ready for more responsibility.
But not like this.
His brother’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Rafael? Are you there?”
“Sure. Sorry.”
“Don’t let this one get away. We could use their business. I have total faith in you, little brother.”
His brother had faith in him.
Rafael wished he felt the same way.
Chapter 3
After leaving the boardroom, Victoria headed back to her office, determined to find another caterer. On principle, she would have preferred to give Tres Hermanos the business, but she couldn’t work with Rafael. Even if he’d behaved calmly, he had to be seething underneath. This wedding was stressful enough without adding another ex to the mix.
She pulled up the list she’d refined over the past three years, containing the best-reviewed caterers in San Diego and Riverside Counties. But a quick perusal of the names confirmed her deepest fears. She’d tried all of them.
She marched across the hall to the shared office occupied by her boss, Lindsay—the senior event planner for Blackwood Cellars—and her assistant, June. Since Lindsay was out on leave, June had commandeered her giant desk. At the moment, she was wading through a messy pile of paperwork.
Victoria popped her head in the door. “June? Do you have a minute?”
June blinked, owl-like, through oversize glasses and ran her hand through her mop of graying curls. For someone who helped organize high-profile events, she often wore the frazzled look of a woman skirting the edge of chaos. But she was also the type of employee who’d work extra hours, make endless calls, and give up her social life if the situation called for it. Which it frequently did.
“Thank God you’re here.” June set down a sheaf of papers atop a teetering mountain of files. “I’m trying to get a handle on the Holiday Open House in two weeks, and it’s killing me. I don’t know how you did it last year.”
Simple. Victoria had put in hours of work and turned down a slew of activities. But she’d given her father exactly what he wanted. Slavish devotion, nothing less. “I can run through all the details with you later. Right now, I’m in crisis mode.”
“The Cavendish-Macalister wedding?” June said. “I’m not one to judge, but that Missy is a piece of work. Like one of those reality show gals. What’s she done now?”
“She was so demanding that Heather quit yesterday. Which means Blue Willow won’t be catering the wedding. The only decent caterer available on short notice is a Mexican place in Escondido. Tres Hermanos.”
“Then you’re in luck. I had dinner there a few months ago, and the food was out of this world. I had this red snapper that was to die for.”
The food wasn’t the problem. But Victoria couldn’t share her true reasons for wanting to strike Tres Hermanos from the slate. “It definitely got rave reviews. But what are the odds of Ben being on board with Mexican food, given his aversion to spice and his ultra-bland palate?”
She remembered the blunder she’d made when she surprised him by planning a date for them at an upscale Indian fusion restaurant. He was less than appreciative, enduring the meal in sullen silence, then blaming her when he suffered indigestion.
June wrinkled her nose. “Clients like him are the worst.” She gave Victoria a contrite look. “Sorry. I know he was originally your fiancé, but…”
“It’s fine. I just need a couple more caterers. For backup. Can you find Lindsay’s master list?”
“Hoo boy. I can try. Give me fifteen minutes, okay? I’ll drop it by your office.”
“Thanks. I’ll look for my notes from last year’s open house. I’m not sure if I’ll have time to review them with you today, but we can go over them on Monday.”
By the end of the day, Victoria had set up tastings with two more catering companies. Though neither place was highly ranked on Lindsay’s list, they’d both received decent reviews from the clients Victoria had spoken to. But she saw her options dwindling after joining Ben and Missy for the first two tastings on Saturday morning. Their disdain for the food was so evident it made her cringe in shame. She’d been around rude clients before, but their behavior took things to another level.
She arrived at Tres Hermanos first and waited for them outside. When Ben’s BMW pulled up, she watched as he escorted Missy out of the car. She was petite and delicate, with a fluffy mass of strawberry-blond hair and wide, innocent-looking eyes. Like a princess who needed rescuing. But her looks were deceiving because under the fluff and the sweet smiles, she was a demanding pain in the ass.
She flashed Victoria one of those smiles as she leaned on Ben’s arm. “I know you’ve been trying your hardest, but I hope this place is better than the last two. I feel like this morning has been a complete waste of time.”
“Artful Parties wasn’t that bad,” Ben said.
Missy poked him in the shoulder. “Oh, you. It was uninspired, and you know it.”
He ruffled her hair playfully. “You know I can’t handle too much spice, sweetheart.”
“But it was so dull. Boring chicken. Boring potatoes. Boring vegetables. What kind of an impression would that make on our guests?”
Victoria plastered on her biggest, fakest smile. “Shall we go inside?”
She led the way, shivering as a gust of wind kicked up. Normally, when she accompanied couples on weekend tastings, she dressed casually, but today she’d opted for her business armor—a dark blazer, matching pencil skirt, and heels. Now she wished she’d worn a coat, since the weather was unusually chilly for December in Southern California.
Rafael had instructed her to come to the building at the back of the restaurant, where the catering kitchen and offices were located. A young Latina woman led them into the private tasting room. Unlike the dark, dreary conference rooms at Blackwood Cellars, this space was invigorating, its ocher walls enhanced by colorful oil paintings and hanging glass lamps that resembled stars. At the center of the room stood a large oak table, covered by a crimson runner. A stack of matching linen napkins was placed off to one side, next to a ceramic vase, filled with red amaryllis flowers.
The woman brought them a pitcher of ice water and glasses, as well as plates and cutlery. A minute later, Rafael walked in, pushing a cart laden with food. Victoria took a deep breath. The mingled scents of chilies, garlic, and cumin made her mouth water.
“Good morning. I am Rafael Sanchez, the youngest member of the Tres Hermanos Catering Company. Please, feel free to call me Rafael. I’ve prepared eight types of appetizers and five entrees, and I’ll be serving you samples from a
ll of them. Does that sound all right?”
His demeanor was courteous and polished. No hint that that he and Victoria had once been lovers. Thank God. She could only imagine Ben’s furious reaction if he learned the truth.
Rafael caught her eyes. “Miss Blackwood, would you like to try the food as well?”
She nodded, grateful he’d asked. The other two caterers hadn’t given her the option, but their food didn’t have half the appeal that Rafael’s did.
After Ben assessed the menus, he turned to Victoria. “This is the last stop on your list, right? What happens if we hate the food? Do you have anything else lined up?”
Her shoulders tightened. Would it kill him to muster up a little tact? “Why don’t you try it first?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Are we out of options or not?”
She lowered her voice. “Ben, please. You’re being impolite.” When he glared at her, she fought to keep her voice level, as though dealing with a temperamental child. “But, yes, you’re running out of time and options. Everyone’s booked solid because of the holidays.”
“You’re not putting much effort into this,” he said. “You wouldn’t be acting this way if it was your own wedding.”
It was my own wedding, you giant dick.
But she didn’t say it. No matter how badly Ben behaved, no matter how much he hurt her with his backhanded comments, she couldn’t risk antagonizing him. If she did, he’d call her father, and then she’d have to endure another lecture in his office. “Please try the food. If it’s not to your liking, I can make a few more calls.”
Not that she had any leads. At this point, she’d be lucky to get Panera to do the catering.
With the menus in front of them, they nibbled on appetizers and sampled small portions of the entrees. Ben took notes on his menu but said very little. The food was exceptional, making Victoria regret that she’d never eaten at the restaurant. When she tried the pork in mole sauce, she let out a small groan of pleasure. “Oh, my God. I could eat an entire plate of this.”