A Taste of You

by Sorcha Grace

  “Beckett is already here and hard at work,” Alec told me. “He’s choosing the heroes now.” The hero was what we called the food we’d shoot that day. Beckett and the Fresh Market people had been searching for the best cherries and asparagus they could find. This wasn’t easy in the middle of January.

  Alec led me to the studio, and with a nod at Beckett, I set up. A lot of food photographers had assistants do this, but I was a control freak about my work. I wanted to do it myself. The Fresh Market people had already prepared the studio. On a table, light screens, light boxes, and the cardboard stand-ins for the food were ready. State-of-the art computers were on another table behind where I’d shoot, so we’d see the photos immediately.

  Beckett was off to the side, hunched over a mound of cherries. He gave me an appraising look, saw I was feeling better, and went back to work. I set my bag down and got my equipment out. For the shoot, I’d use a digital mounted on a tripod. I had several lenses, including a close-up lens I’d used often. The great advantage of my tripod was that it allowed me to move the camera three hundred sixty degrees. I could shoot above the food or from any side angle. Versatility would be the key today if I wanted to get the perfect shot.

  As soon as I jumped into the work, I forgot the lingering aches and stuffiness from my cold. This kind of shoot was grueling, and I’d be drained tonight. But I really enjoyed it, and I knew I was good. Excellence was its own reward, though the money was pretty substantial for both Beckett and me.

  Once I was ready, I took a few shots of the cardboard cutout to test the lighting and the angle. Beckett came over and studied the images on the computer, and we conferred about minor tweaks. We decided to shoot the asparagus first because I had a clear idea of the shots—sexy and phallic. Beckett blanched the chosen asparagus to brighten its color. He positioned it, and I nodded my approval and took a few shots. “Let’s add moisture on the tip,” I said. “Just a little.”

  “Ooh!” Beckett said. “Now you’re getting naughty. Pre-cum shot, Cat?”

  I blushed and ducked my head. “Just going for a fresh, spring look, Beckett.”

  “Uh-huh.” Beckett styled the asparagus and then stepped back. I focused and took shot after shot, but I could hear Beckett and Alec chatting as they watched me work.

  “Those are some impressive stalks,” Alec commented. I could hear the teasing tone.

  “Oh, I always prefer the thick stalks. You?” Beckett answered.

  “I like mine long and hard.”

  I rolled my eyes and chuckled at their innuendo.

  “Cat, we’re talking about asparagus,” Beckett said, pretending to be offended. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Sorry. A few more shots, and I’ll need you to prep the cherries.”

  “Got it. I have a new idea for those. Interested?”

  I glanced at Beckett, intrigued. “Sure.”

  Alec, Beckett, and I studied the asparagus shots on the computer, made a few tweaks, and I took a couple more shots. Then I got a break while Beckett prepared the cherries. I rolled my shoulders and craned my neck then wandered over to see what Beckett was up to.

  As soon as I saw what he’d done, I gasped.

  “You don’t like it.” His face fell, and he sounded devastated.

  “I like it. It’s very fresh.” I smiled at Alec, but inside my stomach tightened into knots. Beckett had styled the cherries to look frozen. He’d used a cellulose mixture on the edges of the cherries, similar to what one might use to flock a Christmas tree, giving the fruit a chilled look. He’d sprayed them with water, cornstarch, and whatever secret ingredients he had to create a magic potion that made the cherries glisten. The effect was of refreshingly cold, mouthwatering cherries that would feel wonderfully cool when popped into one’s mouth.

  Or slid down one’s body.

  The cherries reminded me of my last night with William and the inventive way he’d used the frozen grapes. I didn’t know if I could shoot these cherries without my hand shaking and tears clouding my vision.

  “Oh, I love that!” Alec said. He’d come over while I recovered from my shock.

  Beckett winked. “I thought you might.” Beckett glanced at me. “Want to give it a try?”

  “Of course.”

  Alec wandered back to the corner of the room he and Beckett had been sharing, and Beckett leaned close so he couldn’t be heard. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Alec loves it, and that’s all I need.”

  I began shooting, focusing the camera, looking for the perfect angle. Beckett came over a few times to reposition or spray the cherries, but after awhile he let me work. I could hear Beckett and Alec’s banter, and it was clear something was developing between them. I tried to shut them out and think exclusively about work, but images of William assaulted my mind. William’s hand on my breast. His mouth on my belly. His firm body as it rose over mine.

  I blinked my eyes to keep tears from forming.

  Finally, the shoot was done. While I’d been working, several Fresh Market execs had come into the studio to study my picks for the asparagus shots. I shook hands and went through the shots of the cherries, picking those I thought were best.

  Beckett rushed around, trying to preserve the food in case more shots were needed, but it was a losing battle. Fortunately, the execs loved several shots and approved them on the spot. Everyone relaxed, and I started to break the equipment down.

  “Can I help with anything?” Alec asked.

  I smiled. I’d never known a corporate art director—even an assistant one—to offer to help. He was a nice guy. “I’ve got it, but thanks.”

  “Beckett and I were talking about the Major League Chef’s Ball,” he said as I worked. “Have you been to one?”

  “Is that the event where the best chefs are pitted against baseball players?”

  “Exactly. It’s at the Chicago Hilton, and Chicago’s best twenty-five chefs and mixologists compete against guest chefs from Chicago’s favorite teams. Not only baseball. Football and basketball too.”

  “Sounds fun.” I disassembled my tripod.

  “It’s the best event of the year. Not too stuffy, tons of great food and drinks, super fun atmosphere—dancing and a DJ. It’s to raise money for Chicago’s charities. Fresh Market is a major sponsor this year, and I’m heading the event.”

  “When is it?” I asked absently, thinking about William and only half listening.

  “Tomorrow night. I’d love for you and Beckett to come. It would be great exposure. We could introduce you to new clients.”

  “Umm…”

  “I can have two tickets waiting at the door. Just say the word.”

  “Oh, Alec, I don’t know.” If I’d been paying attention I would have seen where he was going and cut him off before it got to this point. I wasn’t up to going out yet, much less being a third wheel with Beckett and Alec. Plus, this was a huge foodie event. It was definitely William Lambourne territory. I didn’t want to risk running into him. Not yet. It was too soon after our breakup.

  “Cat! You have to say yes.” Beckett sidled up beside me. “Think about it. Delicious food, hot baseball players. How can you say no?”

  “William might be there.”

  Beckett waved his hand, dismissing my concern. “Chicago is a big place. William Lambourne can’t be everywhere. And this would be good for your career and mine.”

  Still, I hesitated.

  “Look, Cat. If you don’t come willingly, I’m going to drag you. This is the opportunity of a lifetime!”

  I looked at Beckett and saw the plea in his eyes. He needed me to go, and I owed him big time. He’d had my back over and over, and if this was good for his career, I owed him this much. I smiled. “No dragging necessary. I’m in.”

  *****

  The next morning I woke feeling good. I was stiff and fatigued from the photo shoot the day before, but over my cold. And the photos for Fresh Market weren’t due for
a few days, so I could take a break from work. Laird hopped on the bed, his leash in his mouth, and I laughed. “Okay, boy, I can take a hint.”

  The sun was out, and the day was perfect for a run along the lake. Laird and I headed out, but about ten minutes into the run, I wished we hadn’t gone so far. Arctic air and the chill beside the lake had taken me off-guard. I’d remembered my hat but not my gloves. Big surprise. My hands were numb, aching from the bitter cold. On the way home, I stopped to get coffee and warm my frozen fingers. Suddenly hungry, I realized I had nothing but yogurt at home. There was an organic market on the next block, so I walked over and picked up groceries.

  More accustomed to shopping for lingerie than fruits and vegetables, I collected a shopping basket and picked out whatever looked fresh. I was in a hurry because Laird was tied up outside. Everything went well until I reached the grapes. It was hard not to think of William when I saw them, but I pushed him out of my mind, selected some, and kept shopping.

  I could do this.

  *****

  The next night I shared a cab with Beckett to the Hilton for the ball. Alec was meeting us there, and Beckett was a bundle of nerves. He must have asked three times if the suit he’d chosen looked good.

  “Beckett, it’s an Armani. You can’t go wrong.” I wasn’t used to Beckett acting insecure. He was usually confident about fashion and style.

  “Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

  “No. You’re rocking that suit. You look great. Alec won’t be able to concentrate on work once he sees you.”

  Beckett gave me one of his signature grins. “Thanks, Cat. What about these shoes?”

  And we started all over again. I didn’t mind Beckett’s incessant chattering and worrying because it distracted me from thoughts of William. I had dressed carefully in a fitted, black sequined, V-neck dress, by a designer my mom loved. I liked the dress because it was both fun and flirty. It showed off my cleavage, and even though I didn’t want to see William tonight, if I did, I wanted to look good.

  We finally arrived, and I’d been so busy worrying about seeing William and listening to Beckett, I hadn’t paid attention to where we were. Once we walked into the hotel, I put my arm on Beckett’s sleeve to stop and gawk. The hotel was gorgeous, the mammoth entrance ornamented by plush rugs and soaring columns. Soft lighting gave the place grace and elegance as did the gold medallions and molding on the ceilings and the paintings in muted colors. I wished I’d brought my Leica and knew I’d have to come back to shoot this place. I turned three hundred sixty degrees, seeing different angles in my mind, before Beckett took my arm. “You haven’t ever been here?”

  “No.”

  “Just wait. You’ll love the Grand Ballroom.”

  He was right. The ballroom was huge, lit by ten crystal chandeliers that glinted on the ornate plasterwork. A mezzanine overlooked the space, and ruffled drapes added elegance. Tonight that elegance had been juxtaposed with funky lighting, thumping music, and the best-dressed, most beautiful people I’d ever seen. The energy was high. Sumptuous scents tantalized, gourmet concoctions sizzled, the DJ blasted my favorite songs, and celebrity athletes mingled with those of us considerably less coordinated.

  Alec spotted us quickly and made sure we had drinks and samples of the culinary offerings. He introduced us to Fresh Market execs we hadn’t met, those not involved with the art department. I tried to make conversation, but it was difficult with the loud music and my worries about running into William. I kept telling myself to stop thinking about him. The place was packed. There was no way I would see him, even if he were here.

  Alec made sure our plates were always full. He knew the best offerings from each chef and bartender. Everything was delicious, and after a few drinks, Beckett dragged me toward the dance floor. I tried to say no, but he was such a good dancer, I finally gave in. We danced to several songs, and then Alec joined us, and I said I had to go to the restroom. I didn’t want to get in Beckett’s way.

  Once I was off the floor, I watched them and smiled. Alec couldn’t keep his eyes off Beckett, and the look on Beckett’s face told me he was flirting big time.

  I walked around and stopped to watch one chef cook. It took me a moment to realize the chef was Ben Lee. When he took a break, I leaned over to say hi, and he gave me a warm hug. “Catherine! What a great surprise! Where’s your boyfriend? I don’t want to get in trouble.” He held his hands up to indicate he wasn’t touching me.

  “He’s not my boyfriend anymore, so you’re safe. What are you making?” I asked to change the subject.

  “It’s a new take on grilled cheese. Try it.”

  I ate Ben’s yummy dish and then wandered away, looking for other delicious offerings. I would gain five pounds by the end of the night, but I’d probably lost that much from being sick and depressed about the breakup.

  “You’re Catherine Kelly, right?” someone asked.

  “Right,” I said, turning. It was a Fresh Market exec. I remembered that he was a VIP. He was young with blondish brown hair and hazel eyes, and he had a nice smile.

  “I was impressed with your work on the kebabs. I’m glad you were chosen for the Fresh for Spring campaign.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad too. I’m sorry. I forgot your name.”

  “Mark Sanders. Are you from Chicago?”

  “Actually, I’m a transplant from California.”

  His eyes widened. “Whoa. How are you liking the winters?”

  “They’ve taken some getting used to.” I smiled.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  I shook my head. “I’d better not have another. I have work in the morning.”

  “Then how about a dance?”

  I hesitated. Why not? I deserved a little fun. “Sure.”

  Mark led me to the dance floor and took my hand. He was a good dancer and had an infectious smile. I couldn’t stop smiling either, until a movement in the mezzanine caused me to glance up.

  My gaze roamed over the railings and the curtained alcoves until I saw him. I froze and stared. He was dressed in a dark suit with a slate grey tie. His eyes were as grey as the tie and stormier than I had ever seen them. His hair was brushed back from his forehead, drawing attention to his strong jaw, which looked clenched with tension.

  “Catherine?” Mark asked. “Are you okay?”

  I glanced at him then back at the mezzanine. No one was there. Had I imagined William standing there?

  “Catherine?”

  “Sorry, Mark. I’m fine.” I fumbled. My heart raced, and I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of there. “I’m a little tired. I think I’m going to call it a night.”

  I knew I was being rude, but I walked off the dance floor. I steadied myself on a tabletop and stared at the mezzanine again. Had I really just imagined seeing William? Maybe I’d had too much to drink.

  I found Beckett and Alec and told them I was heading home. Beckett tried to convince me to stay, but I didn’t want to risk seeing William if he hadn’t been a figment of my imagination. I fled to the lobby, my heels clicking on the marble as I made my escape.

  “Cat Ryder? Is that you?”

  My heart jumped into my throat, and I skidded to a stop. A tingle of unease skittered up my back, making my hair stand on end. Slowly, I turned and glanced around the all but empty lobby.

  “It is you!” A compact man with a shaved head and a two-day growth of beard waved and strode up to me. He was dressed in a gray suit and tie, but I could easily picture him in a wet suit and sunglasses. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

  “Ryan,” I heard myself say. “What are you doing here?” The room tilted, and I felt as though I was walking through a dreamworld. It seemed like I’d known Ryan Lewis in another life. He gave me a hug, but my arms refused to embrace him. I stood stiff while he greeted me as though everything was normal. As though I was still Cat Ryder. He didn’t know I hadn’t been that girl for three years.

  “I could ask you the same!” he
said, stepping back. “Listen, I heard about Jace.” His expression grew solemn, and he reached out and rubbed my arm. “I’m so sorry. You got a raw deal, Cat.”

  I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. I couldn’t speak. I had to concentrate on blinking back the tears.

  “What are you doing now? I’m still with Sports Illustrated. This isn’t quite as fun as the surfing scene, but I’m moving up in the world. Are you working tonight?” He looked at my clutch, seeming to wonder where my camera might be hiding.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m not doing sports photography any longer.”

  His eyes widened. “Why the hell not? Cat, you were really good. One of the best—and I know the best.”

  My breath hitched, and I swiped at my cheek, where a rogue tear had broken loose.

  “Let me give you my card.” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a business card. I took it mechanically. “Call me if you want to get back in the game.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured, beginning to walk away.

  “Cat.” He grabbed my elbow. “It really is good to see you again. Call me. We could have lunch and—”

  A shadow appeared in the corner of my eye, and Ryan was shoved back. “Get your hands off her.”

  I gasped and stared at William. His eyes were icy blue, his face flushed with anger. He turned to me, his eyes softening. “Is he bothering you, Catherine? I’ll take care of this.”

  I shook my head, my senses reeling. Was this really happening? I’d never felt so torn between my past and my present. Was I Cat Ryder or Catherine Kelly?

  “Cat, what the hell?” Ryan said. “Call the guard dog off.”

  “Sorry,” I said to Ryan, but my gaze stayed riveted on William. My body swayed toward his, and I felt myself reacting to his closeness. He was gorgeous with those stormy eyes and that protective stance. I still wanted him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again and fled.

  Eighteen

  I had several meetings with prospective clients the next day and shopping to do. I hoped Fresh Market would call and ask me to shoot more for their spring campaign, so I justified the purchase of a new lens, a couple memory cards, and an upgrade for my editing software. Despite the fact I’d managed to cross tasks off my to-do list, I hadn’t distracted myself from thoughts of William.