Lila hung up the phone and realized that she was no longer exhausted. A thin tendril of anxiety had worked its way into her stomach, roiling around the bad food and causing it to sour. "Oh shit," she breathed. How was she going to get ready for a meeting in less than 24 hours with her first potential client, and she hadn't even unpacked her underwear?
Lila started praying for a miracle.
As she dug through her closet after at last getting her clothing unpacked and hung, Lila realized she really would need that miracle. She’d never held a professional position. Working in the kitchen of her mother's friend, who'd owned a no-frills family restaurant in her hometown, had not built up a wardrobe suitable to her current aspirations.
She'd never had to meet clients or sell herself to anyone. Mostly she tried to hide herself in the back behind a heavy apron, maybe because she thought no one would buy her. But she couldn't hide out if she wanted to be a successful business owner. And that meant making a great impression.
Unfortunately, she'd had no time to consider her wardrobe. Now it was too late. "Double shit," she murmured, coming to the realization that it would be inappropriate to show up in the jeans and t-shirt she usually preferred. "Do I even own a dress?"
Turns out she didn't, not really. She had a few faded sundresses that she wore around the house when she was feeling lazy, and one going-out dress that featured black spangles and a fun flared skirt. But black spangles wouldn't work for a two o'clock business meeting.
Then her hands came across an unfamiliar fabric and she pulled the garment out.
And wished she hadn't.
It was gray, some polyester blend. Huge shoulders and big black buttons running down the front of an oversized blazer, with an equally unflattering gray pencil skirt. It wasn't hers. It was her mother's.
Lila walked to the mirror and held the outfit up to her. It was too large, but she thought a bit of bagginess was a small price to pay to look professional. Well, at least semi-professional.
As she stared into the mirror, a faint scent lifted to her face. Lila frowned. Mom. The clothes smelled like her mother.
Before she realized it, she was face-down on her double bed, sobs wracking her body. It had been a couple years since her mother had passed. Died, she reminded herself. No need for euphemisms. The thought made her cry harder, as did the awareness that it still hurt like hell sometimes.
"I hope you'd be proud of me, Mom," she whispered into her comforter. "I'm going for it in a big way. So if you have an in with the Big Guy up there, see if you can pull some strings for me."
Of course the office was downtown, amid the tall buildings that shone with the reflected afternoon sunlight. Lila was glad she'd left obscenely early for the meeting or she wouldn't have had time to find parking. Portland, Oregon wasn't NYC, but that didn't mean traffic was a piece of cake. Her dwindling savings in the forefront of her mind, Lila hunted for an economy lot. Unfortunately, most of these seemed to border the Burnside Bridge and the teeming masses of homeless humanity. Pity and fear mingled in her guts as she looked for someplace where she wouldn’t return to find her a sprinkle of broken window glass as the only remnant of her missing car.
By the time she parked her old Ford Escort in a corner lot and hoofed it down 2nd Ave to the correct location, she was thankful that she didn't own a pair of heels as she'd never have made it on time. She'd worn flats, dull black flats and nude pantyhose.
Lila rolled her eyes at her own appearance. She was a slip-on tennis shoe type of gal, and pantyhose were anathema. Like some kind of strange nylon prison for your legs, with crotches that never fit right and the structural integrity of a collapsed soufflé. Still, there was one good thing about the too-large outfit of her mother's: she didn't have to wear a body shaper.
The building housing Drake's office was tall and modern but surprisingly attractive. Glass windows the color of the Mediterranean shone within their white stone confines. As she walked through the spacious lobby to the elevators she admired the tasteful decor. A huge bank of windows let in the sunshine which reflected off polished floors. Her eyes flowed over paintings hung high above comfortable couches, each carefully accented by invisible lighting.
The elevator itself was a marvel, the outside doors gold, the interior a deep red, with a mosaic tile floor. Lila rode up in silence, adjusting her outfit, praying that she wouldn't make a fool of herself. A new client, especially if he was in the same income bracket at Brice Masterson, would help her build her business. And hell, if he liked her cooking, perhaps he'd recommend her. That was Lila's biggest hope, as she couldn't afford decent advertising yet.
Cart before the horse, she reminded herself. You still have to harness this one before you can lasso another.
The elevator doors opened. Lila took a deep breath and stepped out into a reception area that was just as impressive as the lobby downstairs. A round desk stood in the middle of luxurious carpet and rich cream walls. Behind the desk sat a fashionable woman, a wireless headset attached to one ear.
"Welcome," she said when Lila approached. "How may I help you?"
Trade outfits with me, Lila thought, eyeing the receptionist's trim figure encased in an attractive designer suit jacket and skirt. Heck, swap bodies with me.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Drake. I'm Lila Johnstone."
"Of course, Ms. Johnstone. If you'll just follow me..."
Lila was expecting to have to wait. Businessmen were perpetually busy, always running late while brokering high-stakes deals, and she was just a caterer. She thought she'd have time to sink into one of the plush white chairs scattered about the expansive reception area and collect her thoughts. Get ready for the big pitch. Instead the receptionist ushered her down a hallway to an imposing door.
Her light tap received a "Come in," from the other side of the door. The well-dressed woman opened the door but did not enter, giving Lila a nod and smile. Another deep inhale, and Lila stepped through, not hearing when the receptionist shut the door behind her.
It wasn't the luxurious office that caught her attention, although it was gorgeous. Dark wood paneling was broken only by the occasional artwork and the massive picture window beyond the oversized desk. But it was the man behind the desk that outshone his setting.
He stood, a polite grin on his face. "Ms. Johnstone," he said, coming around the desk and approaching, sticking out his hand to shake hers.
When she touched his hand, electricity ran up her arm directly to her chest. It was him, the handsome devil from the wedding reception, the one whose speech had disgruntled the groom at the same time that it gave Lila delusions of grandeur. And now she was here, in his office, shaking his hand.
Holy shit, she thought, if he hires me, I'll be working under him.
That thought sent the blood right to her cheeks. And somewhere else. Somewhere much lower.
Chapter Four
Alex stood staring out the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, his thoughts scattered, his skin itching for no reason he could consciously understand. His mind was not on the view, although it was spectacular. He could see the Morrison Bridge and the river below it. The sun had broken through the clouds, setting alight the ripples across the water. But he wasn't thinking about the sparkle of what resembled a thousand gemstones on the surface of the Willamette River.
He'd asked her, and she'd accepted, and now he was going to shackle himself to Alana Morgan, for better or worse. 'Til death do us part. The years suddenly seemed to stretch out before him like the expansive view below. For a moment, he'd wondered what had led him here. What path had he followed to reach this exact moment in time?
After college, like an aspiring entrepreneurial cliché, he'd moved to New York City and started climbing the ranks. Alex had felt less like the proverbial racing rodent and more like a mountain goat, leaping for more and more precarious positions until he'd reached the top and been able to look over the heads of those below him. But he'd never really enjoyed the view from the tall tow
ers of Manhattan and he'd soon sought out other locales, free from the constant press of other people, from the lights and the traffic and the feeling of being alone in the crowd.
He'd bounced from city to city, from country to country, always making money, always building new connections, but it wasn't until he'd decided to check in on his old rival that he'd discovered the delights of the Pacific Northwest. His being in Brice's city had stuck in Masterson's craw so he'd lingered, enjoying inducing discomfort in his enemy.
But before long he'd realized he wasn't sticking around just to piss Brice Masterson off. He'd liked it here, liked the small scale metropolis that had enough hidden delights that he thought he'd never uncover all of them. Portland, Oregon might be off the beaten path for most multimillionaire empire-builders, but it suited him, and he'd moved the bulk of his operations west.
Now he was truly settling down, taking a wife and presumably building a family here in the City of Roses. But unlike the sweet-smelling bushes that bloomed so beautifully all around the city, Alana was more the hothouse flower variety. Striking and exotic, but apt to wither when taken out of her lush and perfectly-arranged environment. She was nothing like the woman he'd once imagined himself marrying, a open and caring woman who would put her family first, who'd see to everyone else's happiness before her own. Like his own mother, God rest her soul.
His reverie was broken by a knock on his office door. His next appointment had arrived. Which one was this again? Oh yes, the caterer. The thought put a wry twist to his lips. Of course. How could I have forgotten?
His receptionist showed the caterer in and left, closing the door behind her. But Alex only had eyes for the creature who'd walked in and now stood looking around his office.
The first thought that came to his head was: What a terrible outfit. Right behind that was: But not a bad body underneath. She was short, or maybe she just seemed so. Alana was nearly his height in the tall heels she favored, but this woman barely came up to his shoulders. And she was plump. Pleasingly plump, he thought, warmth filling him.
Get your mind on business and out of the gutter. He held out his hand and she shook it. Her grip was light, her skin soft, and the contact too short.
"Alex Drake," he said when he remembered to speak.
She blinked, a faint rosy glow staining her cheeks. "Lila Johnstone."
He motioned her toward a chair then took his seat. "You're the chef responsible for the Masterson reception."
She gave him an odd look. "Not a chef exactly. But yes, I catered the Masterson wedding."
"The food was fantastic. You have a gift."
She flushed deeper, a very becoming flush. Her voice was soft when she replied. "Thank you."
Alex nodded, the quiet huskiness of her words making his skin tingle. He remained silent for a moment, his eyes taking in her nervous motions as she straightened her blazer. Her ugly polyester blazer. But underneath...
He again reined in his unruly thoughts. "I want you to cater an event for me. A party for about fifty or so people, at my home."
Lila nodded, a small smile appearing on her face.
The grin gave him a sharp intake of breath. Her features were lovely, really. Hazel eyes shining beneath thick lashes. Dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, which only served to highlight her cheekbones and those luscious pink lips.
She spoke, and Alex realized he'd been quiet for too long. Get your head in the game. You're a soon-to-be married man.
"What kind of party will it be? I mean, what kind of food were you thinking about? Full dinner service? Buffet style..?" Her words petered out and he watched her swallow anxiously.
"Buffet, I think. It's a party, so a full dinner seems unnecessary."
She bent then, pulling a manila folder from the black bag she'd brought in and placed next to her chair. Having opened it and pulled out a sheaf of papers, she got down to business. "I have a list of possible menu items here. If you'd like to look them over and make some selections, I can give you a price quote."
Alex took the papers she offered, wishing there was a way to touch his fingers to hers but the hand-off was too quick. He rifled through the pages, the words a blur. He couldn't focus, not with her bright eyes watching him.
"I'm none too familiar with fancy fare," he said. He ate at some of the world's poshest restaurants, but right here, right now, he couldn't remember any one of the thousands of dishes he'd sampled.
And his accent was creeping out. It was normally kept under control, but something about this woman wrecked his concentration. "These names don't really mean much to me. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Of course," she said, her voice taking on strength as she started listing dishes. He let her talk for a few minutes, then held up his hand.
"Sounds great."
She raised a dark eyebrow. "Which one?"
Alex couldn't remember anything she'd said. "All of it."
Lila's lips quirked into a grin which she quickly banished. "Uh, I'm not sure about your guests, but that seems like a lot of food for just one party. Wouldn't you like to choose some dishes specifically?"
Alex frowned. He sounded like a fool. But he couldn't for the life of him recall any of her suggestions. Then an idea so brilliant that it gave him shivers appeared from the ether.
"Look, I trust your judgment. I've had your food."
The smile she gave him made his muscles tense. Then it prompted him to make his proposal. "How about this? You choose some dishes that you think would be appropriate, then you make a test run. I'll drop by, taste what you've made, and make my selection."
He watched her think it over. For a moment he thought she would refuse, and he held his breath, not releasing it until she finally replied.
"I suppose that's possible. I'd have to add the expense to your estimate. And I can't really give you a quote until you've made your selection."
"Of course," he said, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open to draw out some bills. "Consider this a deposit."
When he handed the bills to her, his fingers were finally able to touch hers. The contact was warm, and his body grew hot.
"This is...well, it's a lot, and if you aren't happy with the test dishes--"
Alex held up his hand, cutting off her words. "Like I said, I've tasted your food before. I'm sure it will be spectacular. The party is less than two weeks away, and I'd like to make the decision as soon as possible. When would be convenient for the test run?"
Lila's brow furrowed as she thought about it. "I'd have to shop for ingredients, organize the menu..."
"Tomorrow night?"
Her eyes flashed. Too soon? "How about the day after tomorrow?"
He grinned. "That would be fine. Make sure you leave your address at reception."
Alex stood and she followed suit. He came around the desk and she turned to move toward the door. Overtaking her, he managed to settle a hand on the small of her back. His blood fairly boiled at the touch.
"I'm looking forward to working with you," he said, his voice low. Gruff.
She looked up at him and he was momentarily lost. "Me too."
Lila stepped away, and he almost took a step toward her. But she was at the door. Alex let his eyes drink her in before she departed. He could see her curves, almost hidden beneath that awful suit. His concentration shot again, he opened his mouth and inserted his foot.
"At least I know your cooking is better than your choice of attire, cupcake."
Lila recoiled slightly. Like I slapped her, he thought. Drake, you're an idiot.
"Nice meeting you," she said, then scurried out the door, pulling it closed behind her.
* * *
Lila checked the oven once more before shuffling off to grab a shower. She didn't have much time before Alex Drake arrived and she wanted to be fresh for their meeting. As the water sprayed over her, she considered their interaction two days ago.
It wasn't a new topic in her head. In fact, she'd spent most of the last two days
wondering why she couldn't shake it from her mind. Not during the hours of careful menu planning. Not during the shopping trip to store after store to find the perfect ingredients. Not even during the walk she'd forced herself to take yesterday with the specific purpose of clearing her head so she could get down to business.
Although the walk had been pleasant, it hadn't done its job. She'd been distracted momentarily by the quirky atmosphere of Alberta Street located only a few blocks from her new digs, but the interesting shops and eccentric restaurants hadn't been enough to pull her mind off Mr. Alexander Drake, millionaire entrepreneur and star of her current fantasies. Memories of last night's dream in which they'd used his desk, but not to sign contracts, had her blushing under the shower's hot spray.
Tired of fighting it, she let her mind run over their meeting again. His presence had been powerful. Drake exuded confidence, a no-nonsense, captain-of-industry demeanor. And he'd certainly spoke his mind. That parting shot about her outfit rankled her.
What did you expect? He probably dates supermodels in designer duds. All of his clothes are probably made by 90 year old tailors in Italy or something.
Lila stepped out of the shower and started toweling off. So what if her mother's suit hadn't been a big hit? It wasn't her clothes he was paying her for, it was her food.
Despite her ego boosting intentions, some sick part of her expected to be put in her place. She was a caterer for goodness sake, the hired help. Not exactly a social equal. Nor a physical equal either. Alexander Drake could have posed for a marble statue wearing nothing but a devilish expression.
The thought made her blush, but the doubt behind it didn't fade as her cheeks did. Instead it filled her up to near bursting. Remember you're out of his league. You're here to make his food. He has no interest in anything more than a business relationship.
Worth the Risk: (A Contemporary Bad Boy Romance) Page 55