A part of her wanted to storm after him and give him a piece of her mind- but, of course, she wasn’t brave enough. She devoted herself to comforting Tad instead. She managed to staunch his tears with a tight hug and a cup of tea, and then kept her promise to take him out to the park.
Chapter 16
Assholes. They weren’t going to get away with this!
Paul left his lawyer’s office feeling marginally better about his situation. He was glad that he’d had his contract with the restaurant thoroughly reviewed before he signed it. A few extra provisions had been squeezed in related to his continued employment- and the procedures that had to be followed if the partners wanted him out. They hadn’t followed any of them, which meant at least that he was entitled to a hefty severance pay and contractual damages. He could probably get his job back if he wanted to force the issue. The lawyer and Paul had both been surprised when he said that he didn’t.
Things hadn’t been right at the restaurant for a long time. Now that he had made the break, Paul could look back and notice how his enthusiasm had slowly guttered and died. His association with Chatterly’s reminded him of nothing so much as the end of his marriage to Phoebe. He had entered into the whole experience with enthusiasm, thinking it was supposed to make him happy, but things had never been a perfect fit. He was disenchanted, and then annoyed and slowly estranged until things finally reached their tipping point.
However, just because Paul acknowledged that his breakup with the restaurant had been a slow train coming, it didn’t mean that he fought down his vindictive streak.
The New York Times had been by to review the day after he left, after all- and the reviewer did owe Paul a favor. He made a quick call, pleased to discover that the story hadn’t gone to press, and aired his concerns about the “management” and “hygiene” issues in the kitchen. He couldn’t wait to get the paper on Sunday! His actions might have been vindictive, but at least they made him feel in control again.
It was almost five p.m. by the time Paul caught a cab and headed back to Central Park West. The streets were jammed with cabs, and the sidewalks were equally mobbed with people trying to get home from work. It had been years since Paul had been on the streets at this time of day, and he watched the throngs with fascination.
The cabbie laid on his horn at a bottled-up intersection and muttered an apology along with a curse.
Paul shrugged indifferently. Earlier that day he would have been infuriated by the delay, but now he was feeling much calmer. His urge to fight had, for the time being, been sated. Now he just wanted a nice warm shower and bed- with Bridget, of course.
He smiled at the memory of his nanny. He had only seen her for a second that morning on his way back from the restaurant, but he remembered how pretty she had looked in her simple jeans and clingy sweater. Of course, he’d been furious at the time. He was in such a blind rage that he had no idea what he’d screamed at her. He had a vague recollection that he told her she was fired- although, of course, he hadn’t meant it. He yelled that at his commis all the time. He had just lost his temper, but Bridget was going to make everything better. She would hold him and tell him that he was absolutely right about the situation- that what the partners had done was outrageous, and that they were going to be sorry in the end, and then she’d comfort him.
Paul glanced at the clock on the dashboard, wondering how long he had to wait until Tad could be tucked into bed. A nice night curled up next to Bridget would set the world to rights again.
When Paul got home he could hear that Tad and Bridget were playing a game in the boy’s bedroom, but he wasn’t quite feeling up to facing either of them just yet. He knew he owed them both an apology for the way he had behaved earlier. Paul was really bad at apologies though, which was primarily because he never bothered with them.
He was never in the wrong.
Well… never usually in the wrong at least.
He was certain he had yelled at both of them, although his memory was still hazy as to exactly what he had shouted. Maybe an apologetic gesture would go down better than a verbal apology? People were always spouting on about actions speaking louder than words!
Paul shut himself away in his bedroom, smiling to himself. He already knew exactly how he would make things up to Bridget. As for Tad… well, they had been talking about buying him a fish tank. The three of them could go out the next day and pick out an aquarium and some fish.
Paul took a shower and changed into some clean clothes, ignoring the nagging little voice that was whining and arguing that he wasn’t making an “apologetic gesture” at all; he was trying to buy his son’s forgiveness.
It was getting late however, and Tad would be going to bed any minute. Paul didn’t want to excite or upset the little boy before he went to sleep, so he stayed hidden in his own room for the time being. Maybe he could ask Bridget for her advice? She always knew just what to do. His lips curled up into a smile when he thought about Bridget. Soon, very soon, he would let himself go to her.
Paul waited until he heard Bridget leave Tad’s bedroom and walk down the hall towards the kitchen. The anticipation was killing him, but he gave her another ten minutes. Sometimes Tad decided that he needed an extra hug, or a glass of milk, or the monsters scared out from under his bed, before he fell asleep properly.
Once Paul was as sure as he could be that Tad wasn’t going to be creeping out of bed tonight, he went in search of Bridget. She was in the kitchen, wiping down the counter tops, which were already gleaming. He couldn’t imagine letting anyone else potter about in his kitchen, but watching Bridget moving around in his private space was actually a turn-on.
She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Paul meant to surprise her. As she put some clean cutlery away in one of the drawers he sidled up behind her. He slipped his hands around her body.
Bridget gasped and stiffened. Paul chuckled huskily, and continued paying his attentions. He really wanted to just bend her over and peel down her jeans. He was just about to follow through on that desire when Bridget wrenched herself out of his grasp.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, cheeks flushed, fingers toying nervously with the necklace that she was wearing.
Paul’s harsh frown returned. “What do you think I’m doing?” he snapped, covering his embarrassment, and hurt, with anger. Bridget had never pulled away from him before.
“I don’t know,” she stammered, and then her eyes took on a hollow, flinty look that Paul didn’t like one bit. “But then you aren’t sleeping with me for my brains,” she hissed, folding her arms across her chest defensively.
“Bridget!” Paul’s eyes bulged out of his head. “What are you talking about?”
“Earlier! You said-!”
“Earlier?” Paul interrupted, and then his frown darkened. “This is about earlier?”
About him getting fired? Didn’t Bridget want him now she knew? He would never have believed that of her, but he was instantly reminded of his ex-wife. Status was everything to Phoebe. Perhaps he had misjudged Bridget? Now that he wasn’t Mr. Head Chef of Chatterley’s anymore she didn’t want to let him touch her?
“I see,” he said stiffly.
“You see?” Bridget sniffed. Her bottom lip trembled dangerously. “Well I’m glad one of us does!” she cried, and then she ran out of the kitchen and made a break for her room.
A part of Paul wanted to chase after her; the part of him that couldn’t bring itself to think so badly of a woman he had come to care for as much as he cared for Bridget. But another part of him, perhaps the part that remembered Phoebe, wasn’t about to let him be taken in by another manipulative woman.
Paul slunk back to his room, feeling dirty and unsettled. Had he really misjudged Bridget so badly? If that was the case, why was she currently sobbing in her room? She had closed the door and the sound was muffled, but it was still obvious that she was crying. It didn’t make any sense. Then again, that seemed to be a theme in his life just about now.
A voice in the back of his mind warned him that he wasn’t being fair. He was harsh with Bridget when he first returned from the restaurant. Surely that was a more rational explanation for her behavior? He knew that he should march into her bedroom and talk this out before things got worse, but he wasn’t in the mood for talking. He wasn’t in the mood for anything other than licking his wounds and brooding about his shattered future.
Suddenly exhausted, he sank down onto his bed. He’d take care of it tomorrow. Everything had to look better then.
Chapter 17
“Nanny? Nanny, wake up!”
Bridget resisted the little voice and insistent tug on her shoulder for as long as she could. Despite the fact that grey morning sunlight was streaming through her windows, she was exhausted. She had lain awake for hours, reliving the horror of the afternoon. Sleep, when it came, refused to offer any refuge. She dreamed about being in Paul’s bed, but with a nightmare twist. He was laughing at her.
“Nanny?”
“In a minute, Tad!” Bridget said tightly. She didn’t want to speak harshly to the child- not after what Paul had done the day before- but she couldn’t pretend to be pleased that he had woken her up. She wanted to avoid the day for as long as possible.
“I’m hungry,” he whined, finally goading her into action. She reluctantly peeled herself out of bed and allowed herself to be dragged into the kitchen, pausing only long enough to throw on her robe and catch a glance of her disheveled appearance in the mirror over the dresser.
She looked like hell- which was apt, since that was how she felt. Bridget dreaded facing Paul. Then again, why should it matter how she looked around him? He had made it abundantly clear, after all, that their relationship was about his convenience, rather than any actual attraction to her.
Bridget tried to pretend that realization didn’t hurt and steeled herself for meeting her employer. She expected him to be hanging around since he didn’t have work. She was surprised when the apartment was empty.
“Daddy’s gone,” Tad said in a tiny, frightened voice. “I went in his room first, but it was empty. He left a piece of paper on the table. There were lots and lots of words on it.”
Bridget’s head snapped around at the child’s words. “What?”
“In here!” Tad tugged her toward the kitchen, where she cringed to find a mess strewn across the counter. Tad had, apparently, tried to serve himself breakfast before waking her. A barstool was pulled in front of the open refrigerator and cereal was strewn across the floor. “I couldn’t reach the milk,” Tad admitted sheepishly.
Bridget bit her tongue. Tad was too upset already to withstand a scolding. She closed the fridge door and replaced the barstool, then stepped over the rest of the mess so that she could pick up the note:
Miss Parker, it began in a cool tone.
Have gone to inquire about employment possibilities. I include my check for last week and this week’s wages, along with a sum for any expenses you may incur on behalf of my son while I am away. If Atherton’s needs exceed this amount, please provide receipts for reimbursement.
I will advise you if my travel plans are extended.
-P. Devoe
Bridget dropped the note, feeling as if she’d just been slapped. From its tone, Paul could have written the note to a stranger- and not even a stranger that he respected- submit receipts for reimbursement indeed!
“What is it, Nanny?” Tad asked, munching on a bite of Rice Krispies now that Bridget had finally provided the milk.
“Nothing,” she muttered, and then corrected herself. Obviously, Tad deserved to know what was going on. “Your daddy had to go on a trip…it’s just you and me for a while. Do you think you can babysit me for a whole week?”
“Nanny!” Tad giggled, but then nodded his head, “Don’t be naughty or I’ll tell Daddy!”
“I won’t be,” Bridget responded, trying to hold the smile that was frozen on her face even though she wanted to cry at the thought of what Paul would think if Tad reported her. “Come on- eat up…if I’m very good today you can take me to the zoo.”
Tad hurried through his cereal and then allowed Bridget to wash him and put on his clothes. They had a busy day. The trip to the zoo was cut short by rain. Then they came home and played Candyland until time for supper.
Bridget was feeling lazy- and rather sorry for herself, and so she decided to order Chinese. Tad would only eat dumplings and plain fried rice- which meant that she had ordered way too much. She looked sheepishly at the pints of General Tso’s chicken, shrimp with garden vegetables, pepper steak and large fried rice. She half-considered throwing them away, but didn’t want them to go to waste. She could heat them up for dinner tomorrow, she told herself- only, she didn’t wait that long.
Bridget put Tad to bed, and then found her feet carrying her back to the kitchen, her hands reaching automatically for the fridge.
It was a few weeks now since she had ventured in here late at night. Paul had been keeping her busy. Caught up in her new romance, she had her eating on track for the first time in as long as she could remember. Her jeans were falling off her hips. Surely she was due a little splurge? The chicken had been so good…
Bridget took out the carton and gave herself a tiny serving. Then she had another…and another…and then the rest. She ate until it was gone, and then decided, since she was being a glutton, she might as well have the other boxes too. She crammed every bite into her mouth, along with a sleeve of biscuits that she still had hidden in a cabinet beneath the stove. She ate until her stomach was aching and she felt like she was going to throw up. Only then did she stagger back to her room.
She looked at her reflection again, this time noticing how her stomach was protruding. Was it any wonder that Paul thought that she was so expendable? He’d be ashamed to have a real relationship with her. Even Richard had been embarrassed to be seen in her company. Paul was a famous chef! How much more ridiculous would he look squiring her around as he had in her dreams?
Bridget began to cry as she felt her heart breaking all over again. She simply wanted to be loved. She’d settle for being tolerated if it meant that she didn’t have to be alone. Was that so much to ask?
She crumpled into a ball on the floor, revolted all over again by the way that her stomach made it hard to wrap her hands around her knees, hating the softness of her body- hating everything about herself. Once again she’d been judged and found wanting. If only she were prettier, smarter, thinner- Paul would have loved her then! At least, he wouldn’t have treated her like this.
Thoroughly miserable, Bridget slinked away to bed and cried herself to sleep. Mercifully, this night was easier than the one before. When she woke up, she felt calmer- and finally had a plan.
If Paul couldn’t love her the way she was- if no one could- she was simply going to have to change!
“Oui…oui…je comprends…”
Paul nodded absently at the other men sitting at the table with him at a deserted restaurant in the Huitième Arrondisement in Paris.
It was almost five weeks since he had left New York. Things were finally falling into place. Paul felt like he’d circled the globe, calling in favors and pressing palms, trying to sort out his next move, but he was finally making progress. The men that he was meeting with were Middle Eastern investors that he had been referred to by a friend. They had a slew of vanity cafes in France, and were looking to expand their holdings to New York- but they wanted to invest their money and not their time. Paul was spine-tinglingly close to getting them to agree to a 100 percent financing deal that would leave him with 51 percent control. His stake would come from his agreement to cook and manage the place. They would provide the money.
Paul looked up when one of the men said something in excited Arabic. Their French mediator paused before he was able to translate.
“Ils-pensents que…” he began out of habit, before slipping back into fractured English, “They want to think it over for a couple of days.”
&nbs
p; Paul struggled to contain a sigh, but nodded. They hadn’t said “no.” It was a very good start.
Paul thanked the men and then stepped back outside, squinting into the sun. It wasn’t quite eleven. He had a whole day to spend in Paris- too bad he was all alone.
He stopped for a moment to think of Bridget. She would surely love it here. He could picture her standing on the picturesque bridges, or poking her head into the little patisseries and shops. He wondered if he could take her into one of the lingerie stores.
Paul squelched that thought quickly with a reminder that Bridget was off limits now. She hadn’t tried to call him since he had left, and he had not contacted her except to leave messages on her machine (cowardly placed at times when he knew that they’d most likely be gone) and to wire money from his rapidly-dwindling bank account to pay her salary and the bills at the house.
He missed her more than he was willing to say. She hadn’t been in his life long- at least, not as his girlfriend. It was strange that he missed her so much. Paul wondered about it. He worried that he might have fallen in love.
Well, you can just fall out of it! He thought, scowling as he headed back to the hotel. A small voice in his head begged him to call and try to work things out. He had intended to speak with Bridget before he ever left New York, but after their argument, he got a phone call from one of his friends tipping him off to the possible opening in Paris. In his race to make the first flight to France the next morning, he put his apology on the back burner for a little while. Paul was busy as soon as his feet hit the ground in Europe. That night, he was too tired to call. The next morning, it was too early. For the entire first week after his departure, something had prevented him from calling Bridget to make amends. After that, it seemed too late- and then, he wondered why Bridget never reached out to him. Through time and distance, it became harder to ignore his doubts and fears about their relationship. As many times as he had run the conversation through his mind, it still didn’t make any sense- but he was too proud to obey. He couldn’t risk discovering that he was actually right about Bridget and that she really was like Phoebe. He had to get a restaurant again. If he was head chef of a hot eatery, Bridget would definitely take him back. At least, that was his current hope.
Hungry for More (2012) Page 14