He screwed up his face. “Yeah, for who’s leaving what restaurant, and who’s looking for a new sous chef, and who’s had a fight with their backer. This stuff you want to know now … it’s more personal. It feels like I’m breaking a confidence, and I don’t like it.”
“It’s just for a little longer,” Eva said, trying not to plead, but God, the timing could not be worse, here. “I talked to Cheney tonight, and I promised we’d have something for him soon. We’re so close to getting the television side of things going—I just need a few more stories to pitch to him, angles to work with the chefs as they’re filming. And once they get going, it’s out of our hands. Whatever the cameras catch, they catch.”
“I know, but…” Drew fidgeted with the fringe on his purple wool scarf, looking unsure.
“I’m not asking you to fabricate anything, Andrew,” she said. Time for a little tough love. “Just give me a few more details, things for Cheney to watch out for, and we’ll let the chefs and their inherent ability to create drama take care of the rest.”
“Okay, fine,” Drew said, his cheeks red with wind-burn, or cold. Or maybe frustration. “Tell Cheney that the East Coast Team pushed Beck to open up about what the deal is between him and Skye Gladwell, and it turns out they knew each other. A long time ago, like, ten years ago, in San Francisco. Win thinks they had a relationship, but it ended because…” He paused uncertainly.
“Oh my God, what?” Eva cried.
“I don’t know. Win isn’t sure…”
“Drew…”
“Okay! He doesn’t know, but he thinks Beck spent some time in prison. And maybe that’s why Skye dumped him. There. Happy now? I feel like such a turd.”
A shiver ran down Eva’s spine, chills prickling her legs and arms. She’d known it had to be something like this. “You’re not a turd,” she said. “That’s not, like, some deep, dark shocker like a secret baby or an evil twin or something. Prison time is a matter of public record.”
His face lightened. “So … there’s other ways you could’ve found out about it,” Drew said. “Not necessarily because I squealed like a rat.”
“Exactly. Do some more digging, would you? The more details, the better.”
A knocking sound from inside the car made Eva glance at the darkened windows, where a barely visible hand rapped against the glass.
“Good work,” Eva said, putting her hand on the car door handle. “This is exactly what Cheney was looking for. You really came through for me, and I won’t forget it. Now go back to the hotel and get some sleep. You sure you don’t want a ride?”
With a nervous look at the car, Drew backed away, blowing into his cupped, mittened hands. “No, no, that’s okay. I’m feeling better about stuff now. Thanks for listening. I’m going to head back to the Tiger, see if Win … if the others are still hanging out.”
Eva said good night and ducked into the warmth of the car, pushing Claire along the wide backseat.
“What was that about?” Claire asked, irritable.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, but I had an employee with an inconvenient attack of conscience. Don’t worry, I squashed it.” And she refused to feel bad about that.
Claire raised her eyebrows in that expressive way that had always gotten Eva to confess to whatever youthful mischief she’d gotten up to in the hopes of attracting her father’s attention. “I see. Sounds serious.”
“Not as serious as my need to get back to the hotel sometime this century. Hey, driver?” Eva leaned forward and tapped on the privacy divider. “Know any shortcuts back to the Gold Coast Arms? There’s a crisp fifty in it for you if you get us there in less than half an hour.”
She still had about fifty emails to answer that were too involved to get into on her iPhone, and she had to make sure everything was set up for the challenge the next morning—those cars had to be on standby in front of the hotel by six o’clock, or they’d be behind all day, and the schedule was so tight…
The car peeled away from the curb so fast, Eva careened into Claire, who righted her with a firm, “Put on your seat belt.”
“Yes, Mom,” Eva mocked, fumbling for the shoulder harness, but beside her, Claire’s graceful limbs went into a stiff, ungainly freeze.
“What?” Eva said, mystified. “What did I say?”
“Mom,” Claire replied faintly. “You never … I haven’t heard that from you before.”
“It was only a joke. Ignore me, I’m babbling with exhaustion.”
Claire shot her a quick, unreadable glance. “I know. I offered to pick you up so that we would have time to talk, but perhaps it must wait until later.”
Intrigued, Eva unbuttoned her coat and got herself situated.
“Talk about what?”
“Have you spent much time with your father since he arrived?” Claire asked.
Not sure if this was a change of subject or the subject, Eva replied warily, “Noooo … I’ve been a little busy running his competition for him. What, has he been complaining that I’m ignoring him? Because the phone works at both ends, you know.”
“That is not … no. Merde, this is difficult. I do not even know how to begin to explain.” Angling herself to face Eva, Claire pushed both hands through her wavy, auburn hair, pulling it back from her face and exposing the lovely, strong lines of her bone structure.
“Eva. We have known each other a long time. I watched you grow up.”
It had to be exhaustion that was keeping her emotions so ridiculously close to the surface. Swallowing around the hard knot in her throat, Eva said, “You helped me grow up.”
Claire’s face softened, the lines of tension melting from the corners of her eyes. “That is lovely to hear. You have always been very important to me, in my life. Much more important than I would have supposed, the first time I met you!”
“God, I was such a brat,” Eva exclaimed.
“You were a motherless child,” Claire corrected. “And in many ways, fatherless, too. You needed guidance and attention—copious amounts of both.”
“So, nothing’s changed in the last fifteen years!” Eva said brightly. “And even though I’ve figured out other ways to get the attention I want…”
Claire snorted, but Eva ignored it, a growing fear weighing down her words so that they dropped into the silence of the car like rocks into deep water. God, was Claire about to tell her she had cancer or something? “I still need you. You’re not … going anywhere, are you?”
The confused scrunch of Claire’s brows eased the compression in Eva’s chest immediately. “Where would I go? No. Listen to me, Eva. It’s about your father.”
Her accent got thicker, the way it always did when she was upset, and Eva’s rib cage squeezed in again. “He has asked to see me again. To give him another chance.”
Eva blinked. “Wait. What?”
A spasm of impatience crossed Claire’s face. “Your father is interested in me. Romantically. And I would like to know what you think of that.”
Bewilderment spun Eva around so she felt dizzy. “I guess … fine? I mean, no. Hold on. This is my dad we’re talking about. I love him, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t see how bad he was for you, before. Even as a kid … when you broke it off with him, I knew why. I didn’t blame you, even though I wanted you to stay with us so badly.”
Claire reached out and clutched Eva’s hand, twining their fingers together. Eva pressed hard enough that it hurt where their knuckles rubbed together, but she didn’t want to let go.
“So you think it’s a terrible idea?” Claire inquired delicately.
“No, it’s just … a surprise. And I’m not sure why you’re talking to me about it—what did you tell my dad? And Claire, what about Kane? I thought you two were working things out.”
Withdrawing her hand, Claire retreated into herself. “I told your father I needed time to think, and to talk to you—that as of now, your friendship means more to me than any fond memories or potential future with Theo. He accepted that. An
d as for Kane…”
She shook her head, staring out the dark window of the speeding car, the lights of Chicago a blur beyond the smoky glass. “He’s so young. Whatever he thinks he feels for me now … it won’t last. It can’t.”
“Kane’s my age,” Eva pointed out. “If I found love tomorrow, would you tell me not to bother with the relationship, because I’m too young to know what I want?”
She waited, breath caught in her throat, for Claire’s answer. It was silly, how much she cared—there wasn’t a relationship for her to defend, because there couldn’t be right now, and because once Danny found out what she’d done, the way she’d sold her soul to keep the Cooking Channel interested…
Stop it! This is pointless. You’re doing what you have to do, end of story.
But she still held her breath until Claire said, slowly and with obvious reluctance, “It would depend. Is this love you have found with someone utterly unsuitable, extremely different from you, and potentially bad for your career?”
Eva’s breath left her on a frustrated laugh. “Actually, yeah.”
“Then my advice to you would be the same as to myself. Think with your head, not your heart.” Claire arched a sardonic brow. “Or other organs. Love is all very well, but I’ve worked too hard to get where I am now to compromise myself for a fleeting hormonal fantasy. And I’ve watched you work equally as hard, to win your father’s approval and his confidence in you. You’re a heartbeat away from achieving your goal.”
“I know,” Eva said, feeling numb weariness creep over her once more. Scooting around on the bench seat, she leaned her weight into Claire’s slim, bony, yet somehow comforting form and let her head drop to Claire’s shoulder.
“Maybe I really haven’t grown up much since you first met me,” Eva said drowsily, her eyes drooping. She yawned so hard, something in her jaw popped.
“Hmm?” Claire’s arm came up to steady Eva against her side.
“It’s just … I know you’re right. I get it, about sacrificing and making choices and having priorities. But part of me still clings to the idea that I can have it all.”
She felt Claire go motionless against her, but before Eva could rouse herself to see what was the matter, Claire had relaxed again. “I want that for you, chérie,” she said, a note of wonder in her voice. “And I want it for myself.”
The last thing Eva was aware of before she dropped into a deep, dreamless catnap was the hard line of Danny Lunden’s jaw, the unexpected lushness of his mouth, and the snap of fire in his blue-gray eyes whenever he looked at her.
She was Eva Jansen, damn it. If anyone could figure out how to have it all, she could.
The ring of his phone jarred Kane out of a two-hour self-imposed isolation session with his guitar. He’d been stuck for the last few days, but tonight he’d felt the stirring of music in his brain, a few snatches of melody and one kicky little phrase his fingers itched to play with, so he’d refused all offers to go out and hunkered down in his hotel suite, with the do not disturb sign on the door and his cell phone set to block calls.
Except for his mama, and Claire Durand.
Laying Betsy carefully on the bed, Kane fumbled across his nightstand for the vibrating phone and snuck a look at the screen before answering.
With a grin wide enough to hurt his cheeks, he said, “Did you miss me?”
He had to strain to hear her reply. “Kane. We need to talk.”
His heart sank. “Uh-oh. Talking’s not our best event. And why are you being so quiet?”
“I don’t want to wake Eva,” Claire said. “She is finally snatching a few well-deserved, much-needed moments of rest. But we are almost back to the hotel, where I’m sure she’ll immediately dive back into work.”
“She’s a powerhouse,” Kane agreed. He knew Claire had been worried about Eva; he’d had a few uneasy moment, himself, wondering if maybe he should say something to get her to slow down before she burned out. “Want me to come up to your suite?”
“No,” Claire said, a little too quickly. Kane frowned as she continued, “If Eva works tonight, so do I. But I am not as young and spry as she, so I will need a serious injection of caffeine. Meet me at Blue Smoke?”
Ah yes. Time for their traditional coffee shop heart-to-heart. It simultaneously warmed Kane’s heart and freaked him right the fuck out that this non-relationship already had traditions.
He’d never been comfortable with predictability before.
Chapter 26
Of course, Claire wasn’t exactly predictable.
Kane arrived at the twenty-four-hour coffee shop expecting to have to argue, yet again, for the merits of their non-relationship thing—this time, in front of the off-duty cops and college kids pulling all-nighters who were the only other customers at Blue Smoke around midnight on a Tuesday.
Claire was already there, seated at the same table where he’d first found her—God, was it only two weeks ago? It seemed longer. Sleepless nights full of hot monkey sex would do that to a guy—with her hands wrapped around a mug of the same order of café au lait, heavy on the foamed milk.
But the look on her face when he slid into the booth across from her. Kane paused and widened his eyes, needing to absorb every detail, make a mental snapshot to take out later for inspiration. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, soft and sensual. He wanted to run his fingers through it, feel again how slippery and silky it was, smell its clean rosemary and mint fragrance. She was wearing that sweater he liked, the one that looked fuzzy and warm, with the deep chocolate color that made her eyes glow and her skin take on a golden hue.
Claire was beautiful—but then, she was always beautiful. Something was different tonight.
“You wanted to see me?” Kane didn’t bother to hide the thickness of his voice, the desire pulsing through his body. She deserved to know how much he wanted her.
“To talk to you,” she said, the slight flush that rose to her cheeks telling him she knew what he was thinking.
Kane grinned, feeling the fighting spirit spark in his blood. “Okay, so talk. What is it this time? I’m too young? You’re too world-weary and wise? That old guy, Theo Jansen, put the moves on you? What?”
Her hands jerked, sloshing hot coffee over the sides of her mug. “Merde! Oh, what a mess.” Pinned to the booth by the weight of his own assumptions, Kane couldn’t even muster the brain cells to grab a paper napkin and help her mop up.
“Wait. Jansen put the moves on you?”
“Theo Jansen expressed his desire to renew our romantic relationship, yes.” She had her head down, eyes on the pile of napkins slowly staining brown in blotches, so he couldn’t read her expression. He didn’t need to.
Kane hunched forward in an instinctive defensive move, but it was too late. His soft underbelly was already exposed, just waiting for the knife. “Wow. I guess I should congratulate you on finally finding the perfect excuse to ditch me.”
Her head came up, something flashing through her eyes too quickly for him to understand it. Not that he could see much through the haze of disappointment clutching at his chest and making it hard to breathe.
Suck it up, Slater, he told himself. This is no worse than the time you got clocked in the head by an empty beer bottle at that crazy outdoor music festival, and passed out, and had to finish your set with a concussion.
It felt similar, though, as he pushed blindly out of the booth and went to stand up. Kind of wobbly and sick-making.
Until he felt the warm clasp of Claire’s slender fingers around his wrist.
He stared down at their hands for a long moment before looking back at her.
There was that expression again, that face he couldn’t read, and all he could do was try not to whimper. “What now? Want to get in a few parting shots about how I’m too young to know my own mind, and I’ll get over it, and it’s for the best?”
“No,” she said. “Because I don’t want you to get over it. I want to believe that you know your own mind, and that what’
s best for both of us is to stop fighting this … whatever it is we have between us. And see where it leads.”
All of a sudden, that look on her face made more sense. It was the same look he saw in the mirror every morning since he’d met her three months ago in New York.
It was hope.
And fear, too, with a little bit of impatience thrown in, because it was Claire, but still. Mostly hope.
Kane’s chest burned and he felt as wired as if he’d inhaled two double espressos in a row. He sat back down, but Claire didn’t let go of his wrist.
“You mean it?” Kane was wincing before the words were out of his mouth. How much more of a dipshit could he be?
But Claire’s voice was soft when she said, “I do. A very dear friend reminded me of a promise I once made myself not to settle for anything less than everything I want and deserve in life.”
Choking on emotion, Kane forced a laugh. “What kind of naughty shit did you do in your last life to deserve me in this one?”
Throwing her head back, Claire laughed, that wide-mouthed, open laugh that Kane loved being the cause of. In this case, he could tell it was least partly relief, the tension and fear of the last few moments leaping out of her.
Helplessly, he grinned back. He wanted to point out that her fear was totally wasted. He’d been hers for a long time, maybe even since before they met. But he didn’t want to rock the precarious balance they’d managed to finally, finally reach, so he kept his mouth shut and started writing lyrics in his head while the whole world turned to music around him.
Danny couldn’t sleep.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t tired—the constant state of excitement and nervous anticipation at being out of his normal routine took its toll. He’d been sleeping more deeply, more soundly, for longer hours since he got to Chicago than he had since he was a teenager.
Even now, sleep tugged at his limbs, weighting them down to the sheets as he tossed and turned, but his mind would not get with the program.
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