“As can be, but—”
A knock on the doorframe jerked her and the detective’s attention away from the ensuing argument. Gretchen stood there with a small frown on her square face. Her brown eyes were clouded with concern.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Her gaze went from Tilly to the detective and back to Tilly for an answer. She looked every inch the executive this morning with her black suit and colorful scarf tucked into the neckline. A powerhouse, in fact.
“No.” Tilly shook her head. “He was just leavin’.”
Gretchen came in and sat on the small floral-printed love seat. She patted the space next to her. “Detective, please have a seat.”
The man hesitated for a second but did as requested.
Tilly perched on the edge of her desk. It would be interesting to hear what Gretchen had to say to the detective.
“How is the investigation going?” Her voice held an unfamiliar hint of steel.
Detective Crespo’s barrel chest puffed out, and his eyes glinted with annoyance. “Lena McCoy has been arrested for your brother’s murder. That’s not news. We’re still working on the DuPres case.”
Gretchen’s frosty smile made the detective shift in his seat. He glowered at her, but she looked unmoved by his belligerence.
Tilly wanted a set of pom-poms. Fearless leader one, bully zero. A big fat goose egg.
Unfazed, Gretchen continued. “I understand that, but I want to know if you’ve made any progress on solving Chef DuPres’s murder?”
“It’s coming along. I can’t say much more than that.” He shot Tilly a hard glare. “We’d move faster if we weren’t tied down by a couple of Sherlock Holmes wannabes. I told that to the commissioner, your father, and now I’m telling you.”
Gretchen turned to Tilly. “Are you getting in his way?”
“We really haven’t been able to help much.”
“That’s too bad.” Gretchen’s eyes narrowed and focused hard on the detective. “So how are they holding you back?”
Detective Crespo’s expression never changed, but a ruddy flush seared his blocky cheekbones. “Just make sure they stay out of my way.” He stood and stomped out the door.
“My, what an unpleasant man.” Gretchen shook her head with a bemused look on her face. “I wonder if there’s a Mrs. Crespo that has to put up with that day in and day out.”
“I sincerely hope not.” Tilly glanced at the clock on her desk. “What brings you by?” Gretchen better make it quick or Tilly would be late for today’s taping. Her impatience must have shown.
“Actually, I was on my way to see Tom Green when I heard Detective Crespo talking to you. I admit to eavesdropping.” She smiled and stood. “It sounded like he was giving you a hard time.”
“Thanks for comin’ to my rescue. I’ve had about as much of him as I can stand.” It struck Tilly that the rose and purple scarf was a nice touch with Gretchen’s black suit. “That scarf looks pretty. You should wear vibrant colors more often.”
Gretchen’s long, slender fingers touched the scarf. “Thank you. It’s not too much considering…everything?”
Tilly shook her head and gathered her notes for her show. “No. It never hurts to have a bit of brightness in the dark.”
A small smile touched the corners of Gretchen’s mouth. “Don’t worry about Detective Crespo. I’ll get it straightened out. We need to find the killer, or killers, and get on with our lives.”
Tilly opened the door a bit wider and motioned for Gretchen to come with her. “I plan to do just that.” Get on with our lives. What that looked like eluded her. It would be so much easier if she didn’t love Jordan so much.
…
The next few hours proved brutal. Filming and doing one retake after another. Jordan might not be in the room, but she could feel his presence just the same. The moment she made the roux from the drippings off the pork chops she’d prepared, she swore she could see his disapproving scowl. He hated milk gravy with a passion. She smiled at the camera and made the best gravy she’d ever whisked up in her life.
Take that, jerk.
Three shows later, her feet hurt, and sweat ran into her eyes from the heat of the studio lights. “Hey guys, I need to take a break. I’m half afraid I’m gonna find myself standin’ in a little pool of melted Tilly Danes.”
“Let’s take an hour,” Chelsea ordered.
It was none too soon. Her high-tops were normally comfortable, but now all she wanted to do was to sit. She sank onto one of the stools her guests used on her set. A big bottle of sparkling water would be nice, except she was too tired to retrieve it from the refrigerator. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The world faded away, and for a few seconds, she allowed herself to drift.
The vibration of her phone cut her Zen moment short. She struggled to sit upright. She glanced down at the caller ID. Greg Hirschberg. What could he want? She took the call. “Tilly Danes.”
“Tilly, Tilly, Tilly. Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice sounded weary but excited—and she hadn’t a clue what he was gushing about. It was best to let him blather on until she knew why he called.
“Mr. Hirschberg. You’ve caught me off guard.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s hush-hush.”
“It is.” She’d play along. Whatever he was talking about must be important, and she didn’t want to look like a dork.
“When have you set the date?”
“Date?”
“For the wedding.”
Her stomach dropped. It was a good thing she was already sitting down. “Wedding?”
“I can’t thank you enough for allowing the Culinary Channel to film the whole thing, from start to finish.” He pulled in a deep breath. “It’s very generous of you and Jordan.”
If she’d thought she was Alice in Wonderland before, Greg Hirschberg had to be the Mad Hatter. He’d never thanked her for anything. Yelled, screamed, cursed, but never thanked. “Where did you hear that?”
“Gretchen told me. Jordan made it clear nothing was official yet, but I had to tell you how much this means to me. We will foot the bill for the entire thing.”
What has Jordan done now?
She’d deliberately missed today’s planning session with him, even if it would have only taken thirty minutes. The train for Crazy Town had pulled out of the station, and the damned man was the conductor. Where did he get the nerve to tell Gretchen that the Culinary Channel could film their wedding? There wasn’t going to be any wedding.
“Mr. Hirschberg—”
“Greg. Call me Greg.” The man actually gushed. “We’ve had a rotten year at the Culinary Channel. This is exactly what we need. Do you have an idea of the venue yet?”
This is getting weirder and weirder.
“Okay. Greg, let me get back with you.” Fury made it difficult to get the words out. The fear of seeing Jordan after she left him standing in Hank’s office had brought her to this point of madness. A tic formed at the corner of her left eye. “I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
“Great. Great.”
The call ended, and a flamethrower of anger seared her brain. It was time to take back her sanity. She called Jordan several times, but he still didn’t pick up. She’d decided to try his office phone. Her finger tapped his number on speed dial. He picked up on the first ring.
“What the hell were you thinkin’?”
“Matilda?”
“We need to talk.” The calm in her voice belied the hot cinder that used to be her heart. “Meet me in my office as soon as possible.” She disconnected before he could come up with any excuses.
It took him less than five minutes to show up at her door. She must have shown shock at seeing the black-and-blue bruise on his temple and the dark circles under his eyes, because he fingered the bandage covering the cut. “It looks worse than it feels.”
“Liar.” She didn’t bother to hold back a snort of disbelief. “Hank filled me in on what happened.”
His fe
atures hardened. “Okay, my head hurts like crazy. Now, what’s so important that you need to talk to me right now? You could’ve made it to the planning meeting and discussed it there.”
His tone implied she was a coward. He was right—but she’d never admit it to him. The hurts were still raw, and Greg’s bombshell added the last ingredient to her already messed-up emotional mix.
She walked to her desk and perched on the edge. “It’s been a busy mornin’ all around, hasn’t it?”
He limped toward her but stopped when she held out a hand.
“I just got an interestin’ call from Greg—by the way, he told me to call him Greg. It seems the Culinary Channel will be doin’ a special on our weddin’.” She smiled serenely, as if she weren’t about to make Mount Saint Helens look like a burp. “Why, he’s even offered to cover the cost of everything. Bless his heart. Isn’t that the most generous thing you’ve ever heard in your life?”
He had the good grace to wince. “Ouch. I guess the cat is out of the bag.”
She picked up her purple stapler and turned it over and over in her hand. Part of her wanted to chuck the thing at him. “Oh, yeah. That thing ripped it open and came out hissin’ and scratchin’.”
“I’m sorry—” He sounded defensive and not one bit apologetic.
“I can’t believe you did this. Not after lyin’ to me.”
“You wanted to take time off to go see Hank. Gretchen was getting ready to play hardball. I didn’t want you to get into trouble, so I threw her a bone—something I knew she couldn’t resist.” He had the audacity to look upset. “She was supposed to keep things under wraps.”
“Don’t give me that.” She let out an unladylike snort. “You knew she couldn’t resist runnin’ to her father with the news. You used her. I think you wanted her to tell me so you could force me into marriage.”
“Do you love me?” His eyes grew hot and angry.
“Yes. I do. But that makes this even worse.” Her hand tightened around the stapler, but like Ruby had said more than once, her better angels prevailed. She set the stapler on her desk with slow deliberation. “You can’t do stuff like this without consultin’ me. Why do you always think you know what’s best for me?”
“I love you.”
“It’s beside the point.” She pulled in a deep shuddering breath and looked him in the eyes. “I’ve had enough of your shenanigans.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m done.” She motioned between them. “We’re done. It’s over.”
“You’ve said that before,” he said with a half laugh.
“This time it’s for real.” Life without him would be hell. “I don’t think we should meet except as professionals.”
He took her by the shoulders. She didn’t fight. All she could do was to stare into his eyes, which had gone flat and cold.
“I should’ve known. You want me to say I was wrong for not telling you about Juliette. Okay. I admit it. Are you satisfied?” His grip grew tighter. “Why are you doing this? All I ever tried to do was protect you.”
She lifted her chin. “You don’t have the right to run my life on a whim, even if you think it’s in my best interest. I have a say in whatever relationship I’m in, and you’re not givin’ it to me. It’s been like this from day one.” She jerked out of his hold and hugged herself to keep from flying apart. Or worse, running back into his arms. “You’re bossy, pushy, never listen, and lie on top of everything else. Lies, lies, lies. This is why I’m havin’ trouble committin’ to you. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Maybe you’re right.” He threw up his hands in surrender and then dropped them to his sides. “This is who I am. You knew that from the start.”
Instead of arguing further, which was his normal way of handling a situation he didn’t like, he left.
Her office closed in on her. She couldn’t breathe for fear of breaking in two. Instead, she fell to her knees and sat back against her desk. Sob after sob racked her. She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her anguished cries. How had she thought she could ever deal with the pain, the finality of ripping him out of her life? She didn’t know if the hot furnace of anger had been worth this coldness in her heart.
Chapter Twenty
There was nothing inside. It was as if Tilly had taken an apple corer to his heart. No amount of booze or throwing things around would fill the ache she’d left behind. How many times had he given her more than he’d ever given to another? Didn’t she know he would’ve handed her his soul on a silver platter?
His fears had come true.
Tilly’s walking out of Hank’s office had been hell. This was a hundred times worse. Did she really think they could be together on a professional level? It was insanity. He’d want to hold her if she was in the same room—kiss her and head for the janitor’s closet again.
Love was cruel. She’d been right about that.
He had to keep moving, breathing, or he would go mad.
Hank’s ringtone chirped. Knowing Hank, he’d keep calling until Jordan picked up.
“What’s up?” He hadn’t meant to growl, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk to his best friend, or anyone else right now.
“Hey, I finally got someone to come over and clean up your mess.”
“Good. That’s good.” Jordan rubbed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath to quell the ache in his throat.
“You okay?”
“Never better.” Jordan plastered on a fake smile, even if Hank couldn’t see it. It helped with the illusion that everything was normal.
“Just wanted to let you know.” There was a pause. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just a long day of shooting ahead of me.”
“Okay. I’ll be in late. Just caught a case.”
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Jordan didn’t know how he managed to do three shows without screaming at someone—anyone. Instead, he soldiered through and went back to Hank’s apartment. No one was there, and he decided to make up the couch and catch some sleep. Even nightmares were preferable to the last twelve hours of his life.
…
The next morning, Jordan got ready for work on autopilot. He felt better physically, but he was a mental wreck. Even his apartment fared better than he had.
He’d stopped by before heading for the studio and found everything spotless. The damaged furniture was gone, and no sign of the carnage remained. He had a suspicion the cleaners Hank had hired usually handled crime scenes rather than regular housecleaning. The remains of his living room were righted on the freshly shampooed area rug. The strong smell of cleaning fluids burned his nostrils. It was clear he’d be spending another night at Hank’s place to let the apartment air out. He decided to walk the twelve blocks to work. It would help clear his head of the fumes left behind by the cleaning crew.
Each step became a chore. People jostled him; his thoughts flew back to the times he’d high-handedly manipulated Tilly’s life to suit his. He pondered her words.
“You’re bossy, pushy, never listen, and lie on top of everything else. Lies, lies, lies. This is why I’m havin’ trouble committin’ to you. I can’t take it anymore.”
Was it wrong to make her life easier? He loved her and wanted to protect her. They’d butted heads over his attempts to help. Each time he’d said he’d change, he hadn’t. He’d meant it at the time, until some situation arose and he was off and running in white knight mode. All it got him was a kick in the teeth, or bashed by a can of olives.
She’d said she still loved him.
Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
In his case, where there’s love, there’s hope. In spite of the pain Tilly had inflicted on his heart, he decided it was worth a few more scars before he called it quits. He’d give her what she wanted. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d promised to give her space, but this time it had to be the real deal. He would let her go. The idea made him sick at heart. It was a gamble, t
he biggest risk of his life, that she’d find her way back to him.
Sirens screamed and broke his concentration.
It was seven thirty in the morning. A white-and-blue CSU van ran hot—not an unusual sound to hear on the streets of New York. People were in distress all the time. Everything from murder to a broken toenail caused people to hit the panic button.
He pushed through the door of the Culinary Channel’s building and headed for the elevators.
“Mr. Kelly. Ms. Danes,” Manny called out from the security desk. “Miss Hirschberg wants to see you in her office, immediately.”
Jordan turned to see Tilly. She must’ve come in right behind him, yet hadn’t acknowledged him. Her snub cut like a knife. He’d thought there was nothing left inside to hurt, but he was wrong. The faint lavender circles under her eyes spoke to her lack of sleep. He hadn’t slept much, either, but those pale smudges tugged at him.
She cast Jordan a quick sidelong glance and gave Manny a smile that Jordan would’ve killed for. “I thought they had you on night shift?”
Manny smiled up at them. “Franco Poleta’s wife just had a baby, so I’m covering for the next week.”
“That’s sweet of you.” She pulled out her phone and a pair of glasses Jordan had never seen before. Once she’d slipped them on, she tapped away at the screen. “There. Now I have a reminder to send them a present.”
“They’ll like that.”
“We better get going.” Jordan turned away and headed toward the elevator without checking to see if she followed. He could hear the slap of her high-tops on the marble tile.
“Wait up,” she called out.
He stabbed at the up button. “Why?”
“It’s common courtesy.”
She frowned with an adorable pout on her lips. He wanted to catch her up and kiss her, in spite of the fact she’d destroyed him.
The doors opened, and they stepped inside. He leaned down and hissed in her ear, “So we’re being courteous now, as well as professional?”
Murder Love on the Menu Page 20