The Perfect Ingredient (Dare Valley)

by Ava Miles

  “Don’t tell me what I have to do. Oh, and by the way, I know you’re not with that Tattooed Chef guy. It was all over Twitter that he’s with someone else. You’re a real bitch for trying to make me jealous, but then I realized you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t care about me.”

  That’s what he’d concluded? Then her inner voice schooled her. He was partially right, of course. “Maybe I just wanted you to leave me alone.”

  “No, babe. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have fought with me. You certainly wouldn’t have cried.”

  Like she needed to be reminded of that momentary weakness. She shoved at his chest. “Stop saying all these things.”

  “No,” he said, yanking her against his hard chest.

  His mouth pressed hard against hers, hot and filled with the promise of more lust than she could take. The edge of his anger was there when he bit her bottom lip, and even as she pushed against the rock hard muscles of his abdomen, her mouth was opening to let him inside.

  He tore away her defenses again with just one kiss, stroking her tongue just like she remembered, like she wanted. She bit him lightly too, wanting more contact, and he understood because his mouth slanted across hers as they danced on the warm sidewalk. His hands settled on her hips, and he rocked the hard length of his body against her. She moaned, coming alive again, unable to stop it, and tilted her head to the side for an even deeper, wetter kiss.

  A car honked in a staccato beat, breaking her trance. Good God, she was kissing Blake on the street like she was out of control.

  She was out of control.

  She jerked her head back and had to force herself to ignore the magical press of his hand on the small of her back, one of her biggest arousal points. And he knew it, of course.

  “We’re on the street,” she said and realized she was panting.

  “I don’t give a damn,” he breathed, pressing his face into her hair. “God, I’ve missed your smell. I would wake up and still smell you on the pillow next to me—even when I was sleeping in a hotel on the road. I almost hated you for that.”

  She understood. She’d had her own memories to combat.

  “Let me go.”

  “No,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “Let’s go inside. I want to make love to you so bad it’s killing me.”

  With Blake, it had never been anything else but making love. “I’m not having sex with you again, Blake.”

  “It was never just sex, and you know it.” His breath hissed out when she remained aloof. “Fine. Let’s talk then. Dammit, how many more times are you going to make me beg?”

  He was begging, and it couldn’t be easy for him. She knew he had his pride.

  Touchdown whined, but Blake didn’t let go of her. “It’s okay, boy. Mommy’s being stubborn, but she knows we love her.”

  How many times had he said that when the two of them would get into a little tiff over something like him not loading the dishwasher or cleaning up the sink after he’d shaved? The little things she sometimes missed about being married.

  Even though she wanted his hands on her, craved them and all they could do to her body, she forced them away from her. This time, he didn’t fight her.

  “Blake, I’m moving to Dare Valley. You’ve just started training for another football season. This is over.” Squatting down, she hugged Touchdown to her chest, and dammit if she didn’t feel tears pop into her eyes. “Bye, boy,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  When she stood, Blake’s eyes were narrowed and his mouth was pinched. It was the same expression he’d had when the team lost the Super Bowl a few years back. Like everything in the world hurt right now and might never be right again.

  “Goodbye, Blake.”

  Before she turned, she saw the thick chords of his throat move. Touchdown barked once, but she didn’t look back.

  Then the beagle started barking like crazy, and Blake didn’t stop him.

  Tears ran down her face as she started to run, but she still didn’t look back.

  If she did, what remained of her resolve would crumble, and she would fly straight into his arms.

  Chapter 36

  Being in New York City with a local would have been enjoyable if Elizabeth wasn’t so freaking nervous twenty-four seven. Terrance fortunately attributed her nerves to some residual disbelief that she was his perfect ingredient.

  And the usual nerves about meeting his friends.

  In his lofty penthouse apartment with its impressive view of Central Park, he did his utmost to set her mind at ease, making love to her as his bottle-green eyes stared into hers, then introducing her to his favorite restaurants and gourmet markets. He even showed her the rough neighborhood where he had been born, then brought her to the Hell’s Kitchen restaurant that had changed his life.

  His old friend and mentor, Manny Caruthers, the tough chef who’d kicked Terrance’s butt into shape was older now, but he still looked like he belonged in a biker gang.

  “Manny, this is Elizabeth. It turns out my perfect ingredient isn’t an ingredient at all…it’s her.”

  Manny hugged her like a teddy bear, and said, “Your quest has ended at last, T, and with an angel no less. Elizabeth, it’s wonderful to meet you.” Then he grabbed Terrance in a hearty embrace after releasing her. “I’m so happy for you, kid.”

  Elizabeth’s heart had almost burst with love in that moment.

  After their restaurant shifts, she met Terrance’s chef friends, and they drank late into the night. Everyone was nice to her, but he was right. They were a rough crowd and the lot of them cursed like sailors. She’d thought poker players were mouthy, but they had nothing on the people in the restaurant business. Terrance only lost four hundred dollars to the Cuss Fund that night, and his buddies teased him unmercifully about it. His pronounced New York accent returned as he spoke to his friends, and it caused lust to simmer in her belly.

  The next day he fed her Zabar’s famous chocolate babka bread. Tried to teach her to whistle like a native to call a cab. Held her hand and pointed out his favorite landmarks in Central Park.

  She stayed in his apartment while he met Lane about the primetime network show. His meeting with Vince was set for the next day. So far he hadn’t mentioned having dinner with the man he only called Junior.

  She dreaded it.

  She feared it.

  She wasn’t sure she could stomach it now that she was actually in New York. Every time she thought of seeing Vince again, feeling his eyes crawl over her in that possessive way of his, she started to sweat and grow nauseous. She decided that if Terrance suggested meeting his banker for dinner, she could use her physical symptoms as an excuse. She wouldn’t be faking them.

  Jane hadn’t been over the moon about her going to New York with Terrance, but she’d asked for frequent text updates. Keeping her best friend in the loop was a lifeline.

  Even if the only update Jane really wanted concerned Vince.

  When Terrance came home from the network meeting, he was all smiles. He had a bouquet of tulips in shades of cream and magenta in one hand and a bottle of Dom Perignon in the other.

  “Lane called off my probation and approved the show,” he announced. “Said he’s finally convinced I’m serious about watching my temper and my mouth. I told him about the Cuss Fund and the money going to charity.”

  Even though the knots in her stomach were so tight they couldn’t be loosened by his news, she was able to smile. Finally. “Oh, Terrance. I’m so happy for you!”

  “Oh, and he was impressed to hear you graduated from Harvard. He went to Yale.”

  She’d told Terrance he should talk up their relationship and provide any nuggets of information about her background that would help his case. “Poor man,” she said in her most stodgy New England accent.

  “Are you ready to celebrate?”

  “Does a poker player pray for a royal flush?” she asked.

  Setting the champagne aside, he grabbed her with one arm and kissed her long
and deep. “Now all I need is for Harwick to agree to do the franchising for Mac and me. You’re my lucky charm, babe.”

  Even sated from his lovemaking an hour later, she didn’t feel like a lucky charm. She felt like a fraud.

  Easing out of bed, she watched him sleep. He would only take a catnap, she knew, but it was enough time to do what she knew she must, no matter how hard.

  She grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter and went into Terrance’s guest bathroom, locking the door behind her. Mac picked up on the third ring.

  “Elizabeth. How lovely to hear from you. How’s New York?”

  “Wonderful. How are things there?”

  “Great. I just ordered my new niece or nephew their first present. I couldn’t help it. It’s a onesie with The Grand’s logo on it.”

  Mac Maven might be a World Series of Poker champion, but he’d helped raise Abbie’s first child like his own. Seems he was just as happy to be involved this time around.

  “Mac, I need to tell you something, but you can’t ask me how I know it or why I couldn’t tell Terrance.”

  His silence made her clutch the bathroom vanity. She looked away from her reflection in the mirror, the shame too great to bear.

  “All right. We’ve known each other long enough for me to know you must have a good reason for asking.”

  “I do.” She took a breath. “You need to find another investment bank for your joint franchising deal with Terrance.”

  “Is Harwick & Taylor in some trouble financially?”

  She worried her lip. “No, it’s more of the ethical variety. I’d be happy to recommend some others to you.”

  “I understand. No need to make any recommendations. We can try my bank. It doesn’t have the reputation of Harwick & Taylor, but it’s one of the country’s top five investment banks for this sort of thing. I’ll tell Terrance.”

  “He’s meeting with them tomorrow,” she told him, acid churning in her stomach.

  “I know. I’ll call him tonight.”

  “Thank you for not asking any questions, Mac.”

  “You’re welcome…because I do have plenty of questions, Elizabeth. It seems the mysteries didn’t end when Vixen retired. I’ll let you go.”

  No, this subterfuge was worse than any Vixen had ever staged.

  She thought again about telling Terrance the truth, which she’d wanted to do at least a million times since coming to New York. But it wouldn’t work. She knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself this time, not after knowing everything Vince had done to her.

  “Bye, Mac.”

  When their call ended, she pressed the phone to her chest. It was done. Mac would be kept out of Vince’s clutches and so would another professional venture of Terrance’s. He would move to primetime now that his show had finally been given the green light, adding to his growing culinary stature as the next Wolfgang Puck. Vince’s bank would continue to finance his other products without interruption.

  She and her stalker wouldn’t ever meet in person. She would make sure of that.

  Everything was going to be fine.

  Maybe if she kept repeating it, she’d start to believe it.

  Chapter 37

  As Terrance rode the glass elevator to the top floor of Harwick & Taylor, he smiled at a few of the women staring at him. More than once since being back in town, he’d been stopped for an autograph or to take a picture.

  The street rat he’d once been had creds now.

  He wondered what his mother would have thought of that.

  The bank’s executive offices hummed with power and money, from the elegant gold nameplate of the bank to the diamond-studded logo shimmering under discreet lighting on the walls.

  When he arrived, he was immediately greeted and asked if he wanted anything to drink. Since he’d already had an espresso at his favorite breakfast place with Elizabeth, he asked for sparkling water. He could have asked for a mango lassi, and they would have jumped to make the unusual drink appear in under ten minutes. That’s how good this bank’s service was purported to be, although he’d never tested that.

  “The Mr. Harwicks will see you now,” the well-dressed assistant said, pausing politely before leading the way to the corner office.

  Referring to two people like that always amused Terrance. Upper crust manners. So pretentious. Why not say, “Senior and Junior will see you?”

  It didn’t bother him that they were stuffed shirts. He was thrilled to have gotten financing from the best investment bank in the country. Him. The kid from the neighborhood across town where kids got shot dead in gang wars and teenage girls hooked on the street to make rent when they ran away or were kicked out. Where garbage wasn’t picked up because the trash guys were too scared to come regularly. Where even the cops walked around with bulletproof vests on.

  He ran through the items on his agenda, minus the franchising deal with Mac. His boss’ call had surprised him last night, and he’d been left with more questions than answers. Mac had said he wanted to keep their venture separate—that he’d rather use his own bank. There had been something off about the whole thing, but since he trusted Mac, he let it go. They could talk more about it when he returned to Dare Valley tomorrow with Elizabeth.

  There were only four enormous offices on the top floor, two for Harwick and son, one for Taylor, and one for their chief financial advisor.

  Harwick Senior and Harwick Junior stood when he arrived in the conference room. The room held a long mahogany table used for the bank’s mega-conservative board meetings, the wood so shiny a person could use it to check if their poker face was working properly. His sparkling water was already there at the end of the table, to the right of Senior, who rose immediately. Junior, who was seated next to his father, stood as well and shook Terrance’s hand when he reached them.

  “Good to see you, Terrance,” the younger man said, with what looked like a tight smile on his face.

  Usually the man was oozing charm, calling him Chef T, but he was always more formal in the presence of his father. Harwick Junior liked to party with the celebrities, which is how Terrance had first met him. Both of them had been dinner guests at a friend’s house in the Hamptons, and Terrance had hit him up casually about the new line of products he was creating. Harwick Junior had played coy, but Terrance could always tell when he had someone hooked. They’d signed the deal soon after, with Harwick Senior present.

  He’d never cared much for the younger man—but he didn’t have to like the people he did business with so long as they were the best at what they did. And they were.

  “Good to see you both as well. Harrison, how’s the golf game these days?”

  The older man loved to talk about his frequent trips to the green. Terrance had polished up on his knowledge of golf so he could small talk with the best of them, but he’d been able to wiggle out of Harrison’s invitations to play at his club so far.

  Terrance hated golf. Didn’t see why some men could work so hard to get one small ball into one small hole. But he had his own eccentricities, of course. He’d been obsessed with finding his perfect ingredient up until a week ago, so he wasn’t going to point fingers.

  Their meeting went as he’d hoped. Mostly small talk, with some discussion of the strong sales the initial kitchen and gourmet products were showing. Harwick Senior always dropped in to give his august touch before leaving the details to his son.

  “Any news on the new TV show?” Harrison asked. “I expect you had meetings with them while you’re in town.”

  He leaned back, happy to see the cufflinks he’d bought at Tiffany’s wink out from under his Fendi jacket. He might not be wearing a banker suit, but he looked like he had money—in his own kind of way. Not the stuffed-shirt, matching belt, matching shoes combo so common in New York’s financial district.

  “All I can say is that there will be more positive news soon.” His smile was wicked sharp. Until the network’s official statement was released, he was keeping his mouth shut
. Anything else would be unprofessional of him.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Lane has a reputation for being a bit more conservative than his predecessor, but he’s a proven executive.”

  All Terrance cared about was that the man continued to support his show.

  “Vincent is going to run through more of your numbers while I move along to another meeting. It was good to see you again. We look forward to supporting more of your success.”

  Yeah, Harwick knew the TV show was going to make them all richer—not that the old geezer needed more money. But that’s not what banking was about. That Terrance understood.

  He rose when the gray-haired man did and shook his hand. “Thank you for making time to see me.”

  “Next time you’re in town, we’ll have dinner. I’m sorry I was already booked.”

  “No worries. This trip came together fast.” No one mentioned the Twitter event, thank God.

  “Business always keeps us on our toes. Vincent, I’ll see you later.”

  “Yes, sir,” the younger man said. “Shall we go to my office?” he asked, turning his mega watt smile on Terrance. “I can pull up more detailed numbers there.”

  “That would be great.”

  They walked down the hall to the massive double doors of Junior’s office. The interior boasted an impressive view of the city, a couple of landscape paintings Terrance would estimate at over twenty million each, and Harwick’s framed and embossed Harvard degree, which Terrance had always found too pretentious for words.

  Who cared where someone went to school? He’d been to the school of hard knocks and landed on his feet. And no one besides him needed to see his degree from the Culinary Institute of America. It had given him the keys to open new doors, sure, but it wasn’t what made him a sought-after chef. No, that came from somewhere inside himself.

  He wondered if Harwick had crossed paths with Jane and Elizabeth at Harvard, but surely she would have mentioned it. The man seemed a bit younger than him, but he’d never been a good judge of age.