Four Weeks Till Forever

by Nadia Lee

  Mark pulled out his vibrating phone as he got out of his car in front of OWM. This was call number three from his mother, and he could put her off for only so long.

  “Yes, Mother,” he answered.

  “What is the meaning of this?” came her low and furious voice.

  “Uh… Can you be a bit more specific?”

  “It’s all over YouTube!”

  “What is?”

  “You and two women fighting like trailer trash at Gavin’s company!”

  Oh. That… Crap. “We weren’t really fighting. I was trying to stop the woman from attacking Hilary.”

  “Hilary who?”

  “Gavin’s executive administrative assistant.” Somebody should really come up with a cooler and shorter job title for Hilary. It was getting to be a mouthful.

  She let out a soft gasp. “You got into a public brawl over some glorified donut fetcher?”

  “Gavin doesn’t eat donuts.”

  “Mark, I don’t know the people who put the video up on YouTube. I can’t ask them to pull it down without involving lawyers, which would only bring more attention to this…travesty.”

  “Then let it stay up there. Who cares?”

  “If Katarina sees it—”

  “Let her see it. She deserves to know what kind of person I am.”

  “But that’s not you, Mark.”

  “Yeah, it is. No false advertising, Mom,” he said, trying to leave the annoyance out of his tone. “Anyway I gotta go. Bye, love you.” He hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket with a long, shuddering sigh. His mother had changed so much in the last twenty years or so, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The mother from his childhood wouldn’t have been so set on playing matchmaker, or disapproved of all his ventures. Still, it was hard to be angry at her for being different now. She probably couldn’t help how she was. She was the product of her marriage.

  His parents might have been dubbed The Eternal Couple, but everyone who knew them even slightly knew that their marriage redefined the term dysfunctional. He couldn’t remember a time when his father hadn’t had a mistress, or when his mother wasn’t pretending not to know about the woman du jour. Of course, there wasn’t any point to her making a fuss about the situation. Thanks to the Pryce prenup she’d signed, she couldn’t even force her husband to go to couple’s counseling. And the agreement specified she would get nothing in case of divorce, regardless of who was at fault. Without love and respect, or the threat of being able to take her husband to the cleaner’s, she was powerless in her marriage. And the powerlessness had become so overwhelming and toxic, it colored everything she did. He didn’t understand why she hadn’t left his father earlier, while she was still young and beautiful, to start over. He’d seen photos of her in her twenties. She’d been stunning. Hell, she’d been stunning into her thirties and forties as well. She could’ve had a fresh new life and found happiness.

  Mark saw Hilary tapping away on her tablet inside the lobby. He glanced at his watch. It was just eleven forty-five.

  There were women who could be devoured in one bite, he thought as he opened the door and entered the building, but Hilary wasn’t one of them. She had a zaftig allure that was out of a different era. Tall, with wide shoulders and hips, she had a waistline that somehow pulled everything together and skin so smooth the light shone off it. Today she was gorgeous in another pair of those sexy shoes and a conservative office outfit that consisted of a black sleeveless top and skirt. Her lips pulled together into a lovely pout as she concentrated on the tablet.

  His fingers ached with the need to touch, but he sucked in a breath and mastered himself. He was too old and experienced to react like this.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” she said without looking up.

  “Let’s have lunch.”

  “Sorry. I’m waiting for a friend.”

  “Forget that. Your friend can’t get you what I can.”

  She tilted her head and looked up into his eyes. Her gaze was curiously blank. “You know, pursuing a woman who just broke up is never a good idea.”

  “I disagree.”

  “I’m really not interested.”

  “You said yes, remember?”

  She swallowed. “That was before I was attacked in the lobby.”

  Was that a flash of panic in her eyes? Huh. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” When she opened her mouth, he raised a finger. “You owe me. Don’t go back on your word.”

  “That was just for the party, not lunch.” She scowled as a text from Jo appeared. Sorry, can’t make it. Stuck with a hysterical client on the phone. “You know what? I’m really not that hungry, so I think I’ll just go back to the office and get some more work done.”

  As soon as she said it, her stomach let out a loud growl. A man walking by actually glanced her way. Mark swallowed a laugh as Hilary’s face turned bright red. “At least part of you seems to be hungry.”

  “Fine,” she said in a clipped voice as she put her tablet away. “You can buy me lunch.”

  He chuckled. Ah the ever-gracious Hilary. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun with a woman. “Did you like the flowers and chocolate?”

  “Yes. Thank you. They caught me by surprise. I thought they were from Walt.”

  “Please.” Mark shook his head, put a hand on the small of her back and gently guided her outside. “I’m pretty sure he’s never given you anything that extravagant.” That cheapskate doctor had never ordered the best wine on dates at Mark’s restaurants. Why? Because the best cost the most. Everything at the restaurants was superb, but if Mark had been dating Hilary? He’d get her only the finest because that was what she deserved.

  Until the three-month mark, right?

  The small muscle in his jaw jerked at the nasty reminder. Hilary walked next to him, and her skin glowed in the bright Los Angeles sun, her hair gleaming fire and her scent making his mouth water. He’d been fantasizing about licking and kissing the amazing slope of her neck since the day before. Beautiful women were a dime a dozen in L.A., but none of them drew him the way she did. She never let him get away with anything, and she was sharp and hard-working. Would he really get tired of her after three months?

  Jesus. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Thankfully, Hilary distracted him by saying, “I thought he was trying to get me to return his bracelet.”

  “Keep it or pawn it,” Mark said roughly. “You shouldn’t have to give it back because he’s a two-timing jerk.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Hop in the car,” he said, opening the door to his Bugatti. “And let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see.” He drove, weaving in and out of the early lunch traffic. “Just so you know, somebody put the scene at the lobby from yesterday up on YouTube.”

  She covered her face. “Oh no.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Mom saw it.”

  “Oh my god. She and how many other people?”

  He shrugged. “Who cares? Most of them are strangers anyway, and the person who should be ashamed of himself is Walt.”

  Dropping her hands, she looked outside and sighed. After a few moments, she asked, “Why lunch?”

  Several flippant responses leapt to mind, but he chose honesty. “I need to make people think we’re a real couple before the party.” He gave her a quick grin. “So sit back and enjoy the courtship phase, where I’m trying to get to know everything about you.”

  She laughed, the sound reluctant and repressed at first, then growing more free-flowing as she shook her head. Was there an odd undertone of disbelief and semi-horror? Maybe he’d imagined it. “What’s there to know?” she said. “I’m a pretty boring person.”

  “I don’t think so.” A boring woman wouldn’t have had the confidence to stand tall and proud, despite the ample curves that had somehow become unfashionable in the
last few decades. A boring woman wouldn’t have the brainpower or emotional control to manage the schedule of somebody as dynamic and busy as Gavin. And a boring woman definitely wouldn’t have possessed the silent siren allure that seemed to be all Hilary’s own. Mark found her irresistible.

  He pulled into an empty parking lot; before them was a semi-gutted building. “Come on,” he said, opening the door for her.

  She stepped out and stared at the dark and barren place. One of the big front windows was missing; the other still had white tape crossing it diagonally. Some of the girders were exposed, and loose wires hung from the ceiling like vines in a jungle. “Wow. This is sort of unusual. Most people go to restaurants or a food court.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He cleared his throat. “The place is nowhere near ready yet, but the chef wants to show off some stuff. I figured I’d bring you.”

  “This is going to be another one of your restaurants?”

  “That’s the plan. French-Japanese fusion.”

  “What’s the name of the place?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. But inspiration will come. It always does.”

  “I thought you were going to start a new restaurant in Houston.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. There was one benefit to her working for Gavin: she heard about him. Now he just needed to make her more aware of him as a man. “I’ve been looking into some possibilities there, but I haven’t found anything that really catches my imagination.”

  She started toward the building, intrigued despite herself. “When are you going to open it?”

  “When it’s ready.” He gently took hold of her wrist, resting his thumb over the pulse point. He could feel it throb against his bare skin, and his heartbeat picked up its pace to match hers. His breath caught. How could this simple touch make him feel like he was fundamentally and inexorably connected to her? He found that he didn’t want to let go. “Come on. Our lunch awaits.”

  Chapter Four

  The interior was stark. The walls needed paint; the floor something other than the flat concrete surface. Panels of drywall were stacked in a corner, a circular saw lying on them with its cord hanging over the edge. The only section that seemed complete was the bar in the front—but then Mark was an expert bartender—and an open kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances and gas stoves and grills and everything else a chef could possibly want. Curved track lights lit the counter like a stage, and a stout, dark-haired man—probably the chef for the new restaurant—nodded at them.

  “What do you think?” Mark said.

  “I like the bar,” Hilary said.

  He laughed. “Who cares about the bar?”

  “You, apparently.” As she got close, she could make out intricate patterns on the counter that looked Asian. She didn’t know eastern art well enough to know if it was authentically Japanese, but she knew Mark didn’t believe in neglecting details. “So what kind of design theme are you thinking of?”

  “Clean. Minimalist. Lots of open space, but with a sense of privacy for the diners with strategic screens and translucent silk hangings. They’re going to be embroidered by hand, and each is going to be unique. I already have an artist who’s working on the designs.” His eyes bright, he gestured at the loft. “That up there is going to be turned into a special seating area for parties or business dinners or whatever. When people come in here, I want them to feel like they’re on a pleasure boat with the most incredible culinary delights. I’m also in the middle of formulating my own specialty cocktail recipes for the restaurant.”

  She had no idea how he was going to merge French and Japanese aesthetics, but if anybody could do it, it was him. People had thought he was crazy when he’d explained his ideas for La Mer. It would be surrounded by walls made of aquariums and serve the best seafood in the world. It’d turned out to be one of the most successful restaurants in the country. Everyone talked about it, and everyone wanted to go there. “I can see how this place could become something amazing.”

  He grinned. “You think so?”

  “Yes.” She grinned back. “I hope you let me in on opening night.”

  “You got it. A VIP table and the best champagne, on the house.” He pulled out a chair at the only table that had a cloth over it. “Please.”

  After she settled in, he sat down and draped a thick cloth napkin over his lap. “You have to tell me honestly what you think about everything.”

  “I can try, but I do need to go back in an hour or so.”

  “Gavin can tie his shoes without you for a little while.”

  She chuckled. “People give me entirely too much credit.” Still she couldn’t deny a small pleasure at hearing Mark praise her professional capacity. It was important—the only thing she could count on, really. No matter what anybody said, people didn’t stay the same. They changed…generally for the worse…and let her down.

  A server she remembered seeing at La Mer brought out a small appetizer of green crepes made with avocado, cream cheese and smoked salmon. A giant raw shrimp joined the plate, its succulent body bathed in light, lemony sauce. “This is really good,” she said after a bite.

  “Think so?”

  “Uh-huh. Where did you find the chef?”

  He popped a small piece of crepe in his mouth and nodded with approval. “I met him in Marseilles.”

  “French?”

  “Well, ah, yes…”

  Okay, that had sounded dumb. She resolved to do better. “How did you get him to come over?”

  “He said he wanted to work at a place where his talent was appreciated. Apparently he thought I appreciated his talent the most.”

  “You like his food.”

  “Yes. There’s nothing to really nitpick. He’s one of the most brilliant cuisiniers I know”—Mark leaned across the table and brushed the back of her hand gently—“although you shouldn’t tell him that. His head might get too big for that chef’s hat.”

  She chortled to hide her reaction to his touch and reached for her glass. She didn’t know why his barest stroke made her want to take his hand in hers. “All right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The rest of the lunch was excellent, but not quite as leisurely as she would’ve liked since she had to go back to work. The entrée was sea bream in the most delightful butter sauce with the barest hint of wasabi. Somehow they worked beautifully together to compliment the firm, fleshy fillet. The final course consisted of slivers of hard cheese, fresh berries and crème brûlée.

  “Mmm, my favorite,” she said, taking a big bite.

  “I don’t know anybody who doesn’t like crème brûlée.”

  “Too bad. I’d help them finish their dessert.” The top was caramelized to perfection, the sugary film extra sweet and crisp. She sighed with pleasure. “Do you know how to cook?” She was always curious about that.

  “Me?” He blinked like the notion was somehow unthinkable. “No.”

  “Not even the most basic stuff?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you own so many restaurants.”

  “Exactly. I own them. I don’t cook in them. If I did the places would go bankrupt.” He flashed a quick grin. “But I’m good at making drinks. So when a new restaurant opens, I might bartend for a few weeks to see how things go. And to say hi to people who come by.”

  Mark had lots of friends, most of them well-connected and wealthy. Mark’s restaurant menus didn’t have prices on them. If you had to ask, you couldn’t afford the meal.

  Unless you were one of his Quarterly Girls.

  “What?” Mark said.

  “Huh?”

  “You had an odd look just now. What is it?”

  Surprised at his observation, she took a sip of her ginger ale to give herself time. “Well. I was just thinking about your reputation.”

  “Ah.” He leaned closer and gave her a wicked smile. “The whole awesome lover thing? I have to tell you, it’s entirely deserved.”

  “Not that.” She felt her cheeks heat like a yo
ung girl’s. What about him made her smile so easily and blush? It was like she was back in her teenage groupie years or something.

  “You know—”

  Her phone beeped, and she almost jumped. “Sorry.” She held up a finger. “Let me just check that.” It was a reminder about the big banquet for a charitable foundation Gavin was involved in. She needed to follow up on a few details and have a conference call with the organizers to finalize everything. With Gavin’s wife Amandine still without an assistant, Hilary was taking on more work to smooth things out with their philanthropy projects. “Oh shoot. I’m sorry, but I really do have to get back to the office.”

  “No problem.”

  As she stood up, he took her hand. The touch sent shivers along her arm, followed by heat unfurling in her belly. She swallowed. Good god, this was dangerous. She shouldn’t be attracted to somebody as bad for her as Mark would be. She started to pull away until she noticed his disarming smile. This contact meant nothing to him—it was something he did because he was Mark. It’d be ludicrous for her to make a big deal about it.

  “Thank you for the lovely company, Hilary. I enjoyed it very much.”

  “Me too. And the food was amazing.”

  “So,” he said, eyebrows raised expectantly, “about our next rendezvous before the party…”

  The man was relentless…even if he did have a pretty good French accent. “Why do you need a date to this party? It’s just a family thing, right?”

  He looked at her for a moment, then said, “If I show up solo, I’m going to be set up with a woman my mother deems perfect for me.”

  “So?” Maybe his mother knew just the type of woman her son wouldn’t dump after three months.

  “I’m not interested. I’m not the kind of guy who does commitment.”

  Hilary laughed. “It’s just a little set-up, not a marriage.” When he didn’t laugh, she peered at him. “Isn’t it?”

  He shook his head grimly. “I’m pretty sure they’re picking out china even as we speak.”

  She pulled her lips in. She didn’t want to help him out. Associating with a playboy who threw her off her equilibrium was equivalent to standing next to a ticking time bomb and hoping it wouldn’t go off. On the other hand, she owed him one, and he was asking for a relatively simple favor. “Fine. I said I’d go. You don’t have to take me out for the entire month.”