“Alright. I see that this means a lot to you…and it’s for Diane’s charity. My success here means I can start the catering business. Then I can open the soup kitchen just as quickly.”
Wolfe shot an approving look. “That’s my girl.”
She looked away. “I’m not your girl,” she muttered under her breath.
“I know what’s bothering you.” Wolfe’s voice took on a husky tone. “We’ve both been so busy lately that we haven’t spent time together. I know exactly how to remedy that.”
He drew her into his arms, kissing her neck while caressing her back tenderly. “You want this, don’t you?” His muffled voice reached her as his lips traveled down to the base of her throat.
A traitorous tightness bloomed between her legs. Her body always betrayed her where Wolfe was concerned. She was on the verge of giving in when she caught herself. She stiffened and wriggled out of his embrace. “Sex isn’t the answer to everything. Besides, I have a headache.”
Wolfe sputtered in surprise. “That is such a typical feminist excuse.”
“And your presumption that sex solves everything smacks of chauvinism.” She shot back immediately.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Of course it is.” Miranda stood, heading down the hall to the room that was now hers. She walked fast, but she wasn’t fast enough that she missed the confused expression on Wolfe’s face.
For a moment, she wavered. Wolfe clearly wondered what the hell had just happened. Then Miranda remembered her interview with the lawyer. This is how it has to be.
***
When Miranda emerged from her bedroom the next morning, she found Wolfe gone. As she made herself a solitary breakfast, she realized that she was wishing for his company.
Now that she’d calmed down, she could see Wolfe had handed her an opportunity on a golden platter. If she could pull off catering Diane’s event — and she had no doubt she could — she would demonstrate her mettle as a caterer and get her name in front of New York’s business leaders. It could jump start her business — which would garner publicity for her soup kitchen, and maybe even attract a sponsor or two. Why start small when she could do it with a splash?
The realization made her feel guilty. Clearly, Wolfe had good intentions. She’d wanted to go tell him she understood and was grateful. But she stopped short of leaving her room. The memory of her emotional upheaval at the lawyer’s office was still fresh in her mind.
I’ll talk to him tonight, Miranda vowed.
She hurried home from the restaurant and sat up, waited for him to come home so they could talk. The dinner she prepared cooled then finally congealed on its plates, but still, she waited. She was determined to apologize and make things right between them. Only when the clock struck midnight, did she give up, throwing the dinner out and deciding to go to bed. Wolfe hadn’t sent so much as a text message the whole day.
The next morning, Miranda heard a sound in the hallway. She stumbled out of bed, making her way to the door. Wolfe gave her a chilly greeting, and was out the door before she could even utter a word. Miranda stared after him, aghast. Wolfe’s coldness rattled her.
And her conscience bothered her even more. It’s my fault for introducing this barrier between us. The best thing to do was to make the catering for Diane’s event successful. That will make him happy.
She called Diane and asked for an appointment. Diane was thrilled, suggesting they meet at a teahouse in Manhattan. Miranda agreed and got to work immediately after the phone call ended. She arrived at the teahouse hours later, determined to impress.
Sitting with Wolfe’s mother in the elegant teahouse was another thing entirely. Miranda sat in silence, watching as Diane studied her menu. The older woman awed her. She was perfectly styled, from her hair, fashionable yet perfectly suited to her age and position, to the little finger, raised at just the right angle as she sipped her tea.
Diane put her teacup down. “Miranda, this is a perfect selection for the party.” Diane beamed at her. “The wine selection is on-point. And your idea of naming the dishes after famous paintings? Fabulous.” Diane clapped her hands together. “I like it.”
Miranda smiled. She’d spent hours painstakingly testing the dishes, making sure they complemented each other. She’d also spent some of those hours contemplating the wine list. She had no idea about the guest list but was willing to bet that it would be composed of names that appeared in the society pages of every major publication in the city.
Laughing at the story of Miranda’s dismal failure to teach Wolfe to cook an omelet, Diane smiled. “I’m happy that Wolfe’s kitchen at the penthouse has finally found some use.” Diane leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’m so glad he is finally settling down. I never thought I’d see the day. I hope you start making those babies. I’m not getting any younger, you know, and I think I’d make a fabulous grandmother.”
Miranda suppressed a coughing fit. She plastered what she hoped was a demure smile on her face. “We haven’t really discussed that yet.”
“How silly of me! Talking about babies when there’s still a wedding to look forward too.” Diane patted Miranda’s hand reassuringly. “I hope you’ll allow me to be a part of that.”
“Of course. I’ll probably need all the help I can get.”
Diane looked ecstatic. Miranda felt even guiltier. She excused herself, saying she needed to get to work on the preparations. As she rose to leave, Diane hugged her enthusiastically. Miranda couldn’t leave the teahouse fast enough. Diane’s acceptance just made her more aware of the scam she was practicing. I’m the biggest fraud in the world.
***
Late that night, Miranda waved goodbye to the last of her kitchen staff. She lingered in the doorway, savoring the moment. Her vision now had a name. Dream Kitchen. Two simple words that summed up everything she always wanted. A kitchen where she could whip up good food and feed the hungry.
The old building she leased from Mr. Thompson looked vastly different from when she’d first seen it. Wolfe’s crew did an outstanding job renovating the structure. It no longer looked like an abandoned shell.
Now? Miranda eyed it with the feeling of a small child at Christmas. It looked brand new, like it had been created just for her. True, the smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air, reminding Miranda of a survivor given a new lease on life. “You and me both,” she told the building as she made her way inside. “We’re survivors.”
The chrome on the ovens reflected lighting tucked in hidden recesses. Her footsteps echoed off the tiles as she walked past shelves filled with baking supplies and confectionary. This place was her new kingdom, she thought, surveying the kitchen like a new mom gazing at her baby.
Miranda frowned, noticing a film of white powder on the counter just above the jute sacks where the flour was stored. Because she insisted on making her own bread and pasta from scratch, it was important that she had a wide variety of flour on hand. I’ll have to remind the incoming crew about keeping the area clean.
She wiped the counter, casting a critical eye over the other surfaces. At least all other utensils, baking pans and dishes were stacked uniformly in their cupboards. She smiled, remembering the rush of activity earlier in the day. Given the chaos, it was a minor miracle how neat and orderly everything else was. Bonus points to the crew.
She headed to her new office adjacent to the kitchen and flopped onto the couch. She was exhausted. All she really wanted was to go home. Funny how she considered Wolfe’s apartment as home. It jarred with the reality that they barely spoke with each other.
Miranda stared down at the office carpet. Their conversations were limited to hello and goodbye. Wolfe was obviously avoiding her. That hurt. Miranda had stopped trying to talk. She pouted. He can interpret my silence anyway he wants.
Her assistant manager, Lexi, entered the room, joining Miranda on the sofa. She heaved an exhausted sigh, and Miranda immediately felt bad. “Sorry to keep you here so late.”
“Searching for applicants is easy. It’s going through their resume and appraising demonstration of their skills that’s the hard part,” Miranda rubbed her shoulders. She felt stiff from being on the go all day. “So, what do you think about this new crew?”
“We have eight waiters, two kitchen assistants, three cooks and two bakers. That should be enough for your event du jour,” Lexi said drily. She suddenly sat up. “You know, that Guido guy, the last one who came for the interview? He made really great dough. I swear it tasted like your pizza crust.”
“We hired him, didn't we?”
“I almost turned him away because the position had been filled. He literally begged me to give him a chance. He stayed after all the others had left and helped clean up the kitchen. I thought that was a class act. I said the job was his if he could submit valid papers, ID and all that stuff. He looked disappointed and claimed he had no certificates to show and that he baked on instinct.” Lexi smirked. “Just like someone I know.”
“Tell him he’s hired. We can work on his papers later. If he’s as good as you claim, then we need him.” Miranda couldn’t disappoint Wolfe and Diane. “The party is in two days.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t forget about your uber babe boyfriend and his equally uber mom. You’ve really arrived, you know that?”
Miranda shrugged. Teasing her about Wolfe was Lexi’s new favorite pastime. Her assistant claimed that it was her mentioning Hawkins Pharmaceutical that had brought him to the center that night. Miranda had tried pointing out how preposterous that was, but Lexi shook her head. “Any way you look at it, it’s fate,” she countered.
Miranda couldn’t burst the girl’s bubble. She kept the sordid truth of the relationship firmly to herself.
Lexi turned to Miranda, her face alert with curiosity. “You’ve never told me exactly how all that happened. You say you will but you never do. C’mon, spill the details. I’ve been dying to know.”
Miranda shrugged. “What’s there to tell? I called to make an appointment. He asked me to come to his office. I did. The rest is history.”
“You talk as if there are billionaires cluttering the streets of New York City,” Lexi complained. “I meant...were there fireworks? Was it love at first sight? Sex on the first date? The juicy stuff. If it were me, I’d light up the Manhattan skyline for one Wolfe Hawkins,” she giggled.
“We had similar interests. It was just like you said when you convinced me to go see him when I was desperate for a guarantor.”
Lexi closed her eyes and sighed blissfully. “Just like a fairytale.”
“More like a cheap novel really.” Miranda grumbled. She caught the look Lexi gave her and felt moved to explain. “We’re not talking right now.”
Lexi looked astonished, then giggled. “That’s even better. Make up sex is so kinky.”
Miranda rolled her eyes and stood, motioning to the door. “If only it were that easy.”
***
In a dark corner four blocks away from Dream Kitchen, a figure lurked in the dark. He took care not to be seen.
A car approached, its headlights blinking intermittently. It sidled up to the corner. The figure in the shadow emerged, recognizing the signal he was waiting for. He approached the car.
The driver’s window lowered. “Did you get it done?” The unseen person within asked.
“Yes.”
“And no one saw you?”
“No one. I made sure they were both away from the kitchen when I did it.”
“Good.” The driver tossed a wad of cash onto the pavement. The car was gone before the man had even retrieved it.
***
D-Day for Miranda’s first catering event arrived. From the moment she opened her eyes, she was wound up like a coiled spring. She scrambled out of bed, intent on getting to Dream Kitchen for an early start. It was imperative that all went well. Today was akin to a coming out party, with Miranda, a debutante cook making her mark on the Big Apple’s glitterati.
She walked out of her bedroom, careful not to disturb Wolfe, probably still asleep. For once, she hoped she wouldn’t see him. Their cat-and-mouse game of repeated avoidance with each other had only added to her uncertainties, but this morning, she relished the distance.
Her heart insisted that Wolfe was giving her space, allowing her time to sort through her feelings. But her childish pride was frightened at the thought of a rebuff if she made the first move. Instead, she allowed a wall of coldness to grow between them, a wall that now felt insurmountable.
As Miranda walked into the kitchen, she saw Wolfe at the coffee machine. She stopped in her tracks. For a moment, she wondered if she was hallucinating.
Wolfe looked up. No hallucination could give her the same feeling of electric shock that Wolfe’s eyes did as they fastened on her. “Good morning, Miranda.”
“Hi.” Miranda gulped. “I wasn’t expecting to find you up so early.”
“Big day,” he replied.
Miranda hesitated. Big day for him—or for me? She was lost for words, given their situation these last few days.
“Would you like some coffee?”
Was this fate throwing her a line? Maybe they could patch things up between them. “Thank you. That’d be great.” She pulled up a chair and waited for her cup.
When it came, she took a sip and almost gagged. It was too bitter. Wolfe must have dumped the whole bag into the coffeemaker. Seeing him watching her, she smiled. “This is good.” She had no intentions of destroying the fragile thread linking them together.
Wolfe pulled up a chair and studied her face intently. “Miranda—”
“Wolfe—” She said at the same time.
Wolfe grinned. “You go first.”
Miranda bit her lip to keep from smiling. “No, you go first.”
“About the other night,” Wolfe began.
“That was entirely my fault,” Miranda cut in. “I-I was having a bad day...and was feeling harassed. I shouldn’t have lashed out. I apologize. And I want to thank you for convincing your mom and allowing me to cater the party tonight.”
“Okay.” Wolfe looked relieved. “Friends?” He stretched out his arm for a handshake.
Miranda took his hand. She was caught by surprise when he pulled her into his arms. But it felt good. His embrace reassured her. Miranda’s worries vanished instantly. His touch was everything she needed to face the challenge ahead.
Wolfe bent his head, whispering in her ear. “I missed you.”
“Me too,” she whispered back.
“If I didn’t know how anxious you are about tonight, I’d be tempted to drag you back into the bedroom.”
His words sparked an instant rush of desire. Miranda wanted nothing more than to lose herself in Wolfe’s embrace. But Diane Simpson’s face loomed. She needed to be at the Dream Kitchen. There was so much preparation to be done. The working crew was all new. There was bound to be some problems and she had to be ready for anything.
Reluctantly, she wiggled out of his embrace. “If I mess up tonight, you’ll only have yourself to blame. I wonder how you’ll explain that to your mom.”
Wolfe chuckled, and then released her. “It’s a good thing you’ve got this.” He suddenly looked hopeful. “Maybe we have time for a...”
“...quickie?” Miranda laughed, shaking her head. She knew herself. And she knew him, too.
Miranda headed for the door. On the threshold she stopped, spinning around. “Hey, Wolfe?”
He looked at her, expectancy clearly visible in his face.
“You make the shittiest coffee in the world.” Miranda ducked out the door before he could retaliate.
Wolfe’s laughter followed her as she walked towards the elevator. The sound lifted her, like she had tiny
wings on her feet. Miranda felt a wave of confidence. Today was in the palm of her hand.
Chapter Ten
Miranda was in her element at the Dream Kitchen, as she gathered her newly hired crew. Boosted by the unexpected reconciliation, she was even more inspired to make Diane’s event perfect. She cleared her throat, all eyes turning toward her instantly.
“I know all of you have special skills and talent that you would like to put on display today. But today—today is not the day to do that. Today, I need you to be extensions of me. Everyone will do exactly as I say when I say it. If I tell you that I need the dough inside the oven for forty-eight minutes, I mean exactly that. Not a minute more, not a minute less. I want all ingredients cut and weighed precisely according to my specifications. Today is all about me, because my success today will ensure that you have a job waiting for you tomorrow, next week, next month, or next year.”
The Penthouse Secrets: A NYC Billionaire Romance Trilogy Boxed Set Page 20