by Carol Grace
"It is a contest. Between you and the next guy. If you don't know that now, Ellie, you will soon."
It was the first time he'd called her Ellie. It made her realize the magic was gone. Their relationship was strictly boss and employee, or if things went well—investor and investee.
"Thank you for the information," she said. "I'm quite aware of what a commitment running a restaurant is. And I'm prepared to make it. I'm sorry you weren't on duty when you should have been. I might remind you, it was your idea to go to the circus."
"I know that. I'm not blaming you. I'm blaming myself."
She sighed. "I haven't got time for this, Jack. I have a big day tomorrow and I have to get some sleep. Don't come by for me tomorrow. I'll be there at seven." She hung up before he could protest.
From now on it was strictly business between them. He said he didn't blame her for the lapse in his work ethic, but she thought maybe he did. After all, she was the one who'd told him about the circus. She was the one who told him he'd never had a childhood. He was trying to prove he could make up for lost time. There went that theory. Oh, well, she'd tried. And she'd had a good time. She thought he had, too. Maybe that was a good way to end it. If there was anything to end.
The next morning she told April and Gwen she'd fill in for May. They didn't sound surprised or particularly happy about it. After all, that's what they expected from her. That's what everyone expected from Cinderella. That she'd do her duty. That she'd put in the extra time and wouldn't let anyone down. After all, wasn't that what she was doing for Jack?
Hastily, running on pure adrenaline, she put out a buffet breakfast for the members of Jack's group— scrambled eggs with chives and cheddar cheese in a chafing dish, hot biscuits and homemade strawberry jam. Fresh orange juice and coffee. From what Ellie could see as she filled the chafing dishes on the sideboard in the dining room, the group seemed a little subdued that morning, but who could blame them? And maybe she seemed that way to them, too. If they'd noticed her, which they didn't seem to. Never mind, she was used to being the invisible one, the one in the kitchen. That's why the night at the symphony had been such a shock. A nice shock, but one she'd better get over fast.
She only caught a glimpse of Jack once in the dining room. He was talking earnestly with a few of the men, and he looked so incredibly fresh and wide awake and sexy, his dark hair curling damply as if he'd come straight from the shower, he took her breath away. How did he do it, when she'd barely had the energy to dab on some lipstick, run a brush over her hair and throw on a pair of stretch pants and a sweater? At the moment she felt like she was running on one cylinder. She'd never let it show, especially not to him, after what he'd said about the restaurant business. She wanted to exude energy, and self-confidence. But it was hard after only a few hours' sleep with a full day ahead of her.
Back in the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee and caught her breath. She'd only made breakfast for twenty, but she felt as if she'd just run the Bay to Breakers Race across the city of San Francisco.
She had to admit, seeing Jack had sent her pulse into overdrive. The fact that he was so unattainable probably had something to do with his attraction for her. That must be it. Hopefully no one suspected. Especially not Jack.
When he finally appeared in the kitchen, she hopped off her stool and started chopping celery. She wouldn't give him reason to lecture her about the energy it took to run a restaurant. He mustn't even guess she was the slightest bit tired.
"Great breakfast," he said.
She smiled brightly. "Thank you. By the way I'll be gone for a few hours after lunch."
"Gone? Where?"
"I have to help Gwen and April with a tea. May got sick and they need me."
He scowled. "I need you. I'm paying you. Three meals a day and a tea, too? Isn't that too much, even for you?"
"What was it you said, no nights off, no vacations. I'm in the food business, Jack, and there's always someone who's willing to work harder. So I'd better get used to it, don't you think? That is, if you're still thinking of investing in me."
He walked across the room, stopped inches in front of her and looked into her face. "Of course I am. But you look tired." Damn, why hadn't she taken the time to apply some blush on her cheeks this morning? She hated it when someone said she looked tired. It made her feel defensive.
"I'm not tired," she insisted, her chin up and her shoulders back.
"Let them get someone else," he said, his face so close to hers she could see the lines etched in his forehead. Was he worried about her or about his own dinner?
"If they got someone else, they'd have to pay her. And who would they get? Who would do what I do?"
"You think you're irreplaceable?" he demanded, gripping her shoulders tightly, his blue eyes shooting daggers.
"Today I am. Don't worry," she said, taking a deep breath as the warmth from his hands traveled toward her heart. "I'll have everything ready to go before I leave for the tea. And I'll be back in plenty of time to do the dinner. It's a standing rib roast. I'm making the sauce this morning. It's a snap, believe me. The least labor-intensive of all the meals, and it will be delicious, I promise."
"I don't doubt it for a minute. What worries me is that they're taking advantage of you," he said.
"Maybe. But I left them in the lurch this week because of you, so I kind of feel like…"
"So blame me, but don't go."
"I have to go. I told them I would. This is ridiculous. You won't even know I'm gone."
"I'll know," he muttered, and he dropped his hands. "How are you getting there?"
"They're picking me up in the van."
"Take my car."
"What?"
"You heard me. I'll be here all day. Take it."
She could just hear April and Gwen when she showed up in Jack's car. The snide remarks, the sly looks, the outrage, the envy.
"No."
"You can leave when you want to," he said as if she hadn't spoken. "They can't hold you hostage, and I know you'll be back in time."
"Jack, they're not criminals."
"I'm not too sure. I think they'd kidnap you in a minute, if they could, and force you to work for them again. I saw them. I'm a pretty fair judge of people, and I want you to be on your guard. I can't afford to lose you."
She laughed. April and Gwen kidnapping her?
"You laugh. But I'm telling you to watch your back around those three."
"Only two of them today, so I'm not worried. For one thing, I'm bigger than they are."
He gave her a long, leisurely gaze from the top of her head to her running shoes. The kind of look that caused her to feel like he was touching her everywhere his eyes went, scorching her skin as he went, then he nodded and handed her the keys to his car.
He might be right. Gwen and April might take their time about cleaning up after the tea. This way she could leave when she had to. Let them talk about her. Let them give her a bad time about using her boss's car. They might be so grateful for her help, they'd hold their tongues and forgo their normal criticism. She could always hope. "If you're sure…" she said, closing her palm around the keys.
"Sure," he said.
She turned back to the chopping block. "Thanks. Now I've got work to do, Jack." Maybe he wouldn't say anything about last night. What was there to say? He didn't have to tell her it was a one-time-only happening. He didn't have to tell her he was sorry he'd gone, or sorry he'd let her off so unceremoniously, or…
"I just want to say I enjoyed the circus."
"So did I." She picked up the cleaver. "See you later."
"Also, you should take the car tonight when you finish up. Then I won't have to drive you home."
She dropped the cleaver. He was trying to avoid her. She didn't know why that hurt so much. "Or pick me up in the morning."
"Right."
She told herself he was simply being considerate. And extremely generous. How many men handed over the keys to their expensi
ve sports car? He could have told her to call a taxi. She picked up her cleaver and started chopping with a fervor. But he didn't leave. He just stood there watching her.
"Was there something else?"
"The breakfast was great. Whatever happens, I want you to know your food has been superb."
"Thank you." She paused. "What's going to happen?"
"I don't know. That's the problem. I just don't know."
Chapter Eight
Jack was basically kidding about Ellie being kidnapped by her stepfamily, but he spent the afternoon worrying about her, anyway. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He had plenty of other things to worry about, as he'd hinted to her. He was either on the phone or in the seminar, schmoozing and trying to get a feel for how everything was going. When he saw Ellie return and park his car in the driveway, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He didn't rush out the front door to greet her, as he was tempted to do, didn't ask her how it had gone, he just watched her from the window walk around the house to the back door. Just knowing she was back made his tense muscles relax. He even felt different about himself, the project and the world. All because Cinderella had walked into his life? It didn't make sense.
More likely, it was just that he now knew dinner was on track. Because he had a creeping feeling that nothing else was. Like the success of this seminar, for one thing. He sensed something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was out of whack. It might have to do with last night, or maybe it was that the projects he'd lined up didn't excite the group. Whatever it was, he was worried.
When the teenagers came to help that evening, he made sure they knew they had to stay until every pot and pan was washed. He didn't want Ellie stretched to the breaking point. And he didn't trust himself to go into the kitchen after dinner. He had to stay away from her. He had to stay focused on the project, just in case there was something really wrong. Or was it doomed before it had begun?
He did the same thing the next day, hanging out with the participants and watching Ellie out of the corner of his eye. By the end of the week, he felt as though he'd been put through a ringer and hung out to dry, as Hannah would say. And that was before he got the word. The word was no.
Not one of the twenty odd members of the group was putting any money into his projects. Neither was Cole Hansen. Had he lost his touch? Had he picked the wrong people or the wrong projects? He didn't think it was the end of the world, but his father did.
"You were distracted," Spencer said on the phone. "I saw it at the symphony. You were with that woman. This is her fault."
Jack slammed the door to his office shut. He didn't want anyone, especially Ellie, who was still in the kitchen, overhearing this conversation.
"She had nothing to do with it," Jack said. Fortunately his father knew nothing about the circus. What if he suspected Jack intended to give Ellie the money, anyway? If he knew that, he'd be sure Jack had gone over the edge. Jack didn't know when he'd decided to do it. Was it the night they'd bumped heads? Was it when their lips had stuck together or when he'd tasted her crab cakes?
It didn't matter when or where, he was going to do it. He had to do it. It wasn't her fault the deal hadn't gone through, it was his. She deserved to get her restaurant. He'd stayed away from her for the past few days to give her some breathing room, and now he wanted to be part of her life again. Only a small part of her life, of course, just on the periphery. First, he wanted to see the expression on her face when he told her that she could have her restaurant.
"What now?" his father asked.
"Now? I'm not sure. I'm looking into some new ventures. Back to work. I've got some new ideas. But first I'm taking the weekend off."
"What? That doesn't sound like you. You haven't been yourself lately. Maybe that's why…"
"Maybe. But now is not the time for postmortems. I did my best. It's time to move on." Move on, yes, but to where? One place he wanted to avoid was his office downtown. Being out of it for this week had made him feel free.
Jack hung up and opened the door to his office.
In the kitchen, Ellie was hanging up her apron.
"Good news," he said.
"You got it?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"We got it. Thanks to you."
"But I didn't hear anything." Her nose wrinkled. God, she was cute when she was puzzled. "I mean they all just left after breakfast. No cheering, no celebrations?"
"Oh, you know, it's old hat to most of these guys. A million here, a million there. You win some, you lose some."
"What about you?"
"Me? I'm going to celebrate with you. We're going to look at locations for your restaurant. You said you wanted to be on the water."
"Well, yes, but…"
"Then let's go."
She looked as if she'd been shaken by a minor earthquake.
"What's wrong? Didn't you have faith?"
"I was afraid to. I didn't know how things were going."
"You never do with these things. I've got the classifieds here," he said, waving the newspaper in his hand. "What about South of Market, on the Bay. It's being gentrified, but there might be bargains to be had."
Ellie took her jacket from the pantry. She was dazed. After a half week of being ignored by Jack, she'd all but given up any hope of turning him into a normal human instead of a human calculator, not to mention getting her restaurant. She'd filled in for May more than once. April and Gwen had pummeled her with questions. Back at Jack's house, she'd cooked, but he'd stayed out of the kitchen. The girls across the street helped out, but Jack had been conspicuously missing. And now it was over. And yet it wasn't over. Not between the two of them. He was her investor.
Now he was here, and they were going out looking for a location for the restaurant. She felt like Rip Van Winkle, asleep for a long time, and finally waking up to a new and different world. A new and different Jack, anyway. "Well, sure, South of Market would be great, if it's not too expensive."
They ripped out the classifieds from the paper, then drove all over town, not just down by the Bay, but out at the ocean, too. Ellie was dressed in her usual, casual jeans and sweater, but darned if she didn't feel like Cinderella all over again, getting her wish at last.
They poked around vacant warehouses, investigated abandoned storefronts, looked into bona-fide restaurants for sale. There were so many, but nothing caught her eye. Nothing spoke to her. Nothing said, This is it. This is yours.
"See anything you like?"
"I like them all, but…"
"But you don't love them. You shouldn't settle for less. Let's keep looking."
They grabbed a crab cocktail on the wharf and ate from plastic cups while sitting on a small wooden bench facing the water. Fishing vessels and pleasure sailboats bobbed around in front of them.
"You asked me once what I wanted," he said, draining his bottle of spring water.
Surprised, she looked up at him. Surprised he remembered she'd asked, and more surprised that he'd tell her.
He pointed to a trim little boat with the name Mary Ann and San Francisco on the hull.
"A boat?" she asked. "Why don't you get one?"
He shook his head. "Too much work. Too much upkeep. No time to sail. Impractical."
Not too surprisingly, this from a man who'd grown up without toys.
"You have a model boat in your office."
"That's about as close as I'm going to get to having a boat. I can look at the model and dream, but I won't be tempted to sail away and never come back."
She raised her eyebrows. "You're afraid you might do that?"
"No, of course not." He got to his feet and pulled her up. "Let's go. I have a gut feeling we're getting close to finding the right restaurant." And that was the end of Jack's baring his soul to her, which left her with mixed feelings of regret and sadness. She would get her dream, but he wouldn't get his. She planted a smile on her face to cover her feelings, because she knew Jack wouldn't have wanted e
ven a hint of sympathy from her.
It turned out Jack's gut feeling was right. They were only steps from the restaurant of her dreams. It was a tiny little fisherman's shack between two big buildings where an old guy behind the counter sold fresh fish. They almost missed the place.
They stepped inside. There was sawdust on the floor and it smelled, not unpleasantly, of fish. Ellie looked at Jack. He looked at her. Something transpired between them. She wasn't sure what it was. A kind of understanding. A mutual agreement. Her heart fluttered. Was this it? She bought a whole flounder and asked the old salt behind the counter how business was. He shrugged. She walked around the shack, her heart pounding with anticipation, admiring the view from the dirty window, picturing picnic tables, food served family style to hungry tourists and locals.
Then she and Jack walked outside and stood on the sidewalk.
Jack grinned at her. "I can tell by the look on your face. This is it, isn't it?"
"But what if it's not for sale? And if it is, what if it's too expensive?" she whispered. "He's old, maybe he's tired of working, on the other hand…"
"I'll do the negotiating," he said. "You stay out here."
"But…"
She peered in through the window, watching Jack and the man talk. Jack handed the man his business card, and they shook hands. It didn't take long.
"I think we've got ourselves a deal," Jack said when he joined her on the sidewalk.
She jumped up and down and hugged him. His arms went around her, and he kissed her on the lips. She clung to him, her skin feverish, her heart thundering. It was because of the restaurant. Of course it was. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the fish seller standing at the window looking out at them. "Uh, we're being watched." Reluctantly she pulled away. "Are you sure about this?" she asked.
"Never sure until we get an agreement signed on the dotted line," he said briskly, apparently unaffected by their public display of affection. "But it looks good. You were right. He's tired of working. But his family didn't want him to sell. So he's going to tell them how much we're offering."