A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series)

by Grace, Sorcha

  Sensing the meeting was over, I rose and Hutch, always the gentleman, followed. “Any questions for me before you go?”

  “Not really.” I should have left it at that. I knew I should. But I didn’t. “You mentioned you were cocky about three things. One is cooking and I have to admit, those were the best beignets I’ve ever had. What are the other two?”

  We paused at the entrance, and he gave me a lazy grin. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  I nodded, not sure at all.

  “You aren’t going to find anyone who can cook, play guitar, or fuck better than I can. I’m cocky, but I live up to the hype.”

  I didn’t have a response, but was saved when Hutch leaned forward and kissed me on both cheeks. I caught his scent again and a glimpse of the tattoos that began on the side of his neck and snaked downward. Just what artistic wonders lay under his shirt? I blushed and stepped away.

  “Call me, beautiful,” he said, seeming to know exactly what I’d been thinking. “I’ll be waiting.”

  ***

  I stepped out of Morrison Hotel and into the bright sunlight, made even brighter by the contrast to the dark interior of the restaurant. I only paused for a moment to get my bearings because I knew exactly where I was headed—to WML Capital Management. I figured it was about a thirty-minute walk up Michigan Avenue, but I didn’t mind. The sky was clear and it was brisk, but not windy, plus I needed the time to get my head on straight.

  The project sounded great and Hutch Morrison was hotter than hell. Though he wasn’t really a temptation, I wasn’t completely immune to his playful flirting, and that made me want to be with my boyfriend. The boyfriend I was lucky to have. The boyfriend I was madly in love with. The boyfriend I was ready to tell whatever he wanted to know about me.

  I thought about what I was going to say to William. Whenever I was in his presence, he tended to overwhelm me. He wanted me in his bed tonight but today, I needed to have a calm, rational, adult conversation with him. No fighting. No stand-up sex in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking all of downtown Chicago—at least not right away.

  I walked quickly, passing men and women in heavy winter coats, enjoying the rare sunny day in early February. For the moment, I was one of the faceless and nameless in the crowd, caught up in my own thoughts as I strode purposely toward my destination.

  William and I had shared incredible chemistry from the moment we’d met. He’d pursued me, and though I’d resisted, I really didn’t mind being caught. He was gorgeous and thoughtful and really, really, really amazing in bed. I never even had a chance.

  The fact that he could give me more orgasms than I could count in the space of a couple of hours didn’t make me fall in love with him. I fell in love with the man who loved to cook, who sang off-key, who made wine, and who still held on to a hope for his family, even though all seemed lost. He was loyal, protective, and tender.

  Deep down, I knew I could trust him. I trusted him with my body, and I could trust him with my secrets and my heart. And I wanted to be with him. No matter what. Yes, he drove me crazy when he took off without letting me know. Yes, all of his money got in the way of our relationship sometimes. But I loved him, and that meant I would take the good with the bad. I just hoped he would give me the chance.

  I wasn’t prepared to let everything slide, however. This stalker thing—having me followed on the sly and sending me the photo proofs—that had to stop. If he felt better having his security team look out for me, fine. But I wanted to know about it.

  As I crossed over the Michigan Avenue Bridge, I took a deep breath of the cold air. My cheeks were tingling and my fingers, even inside my coat pockets, were numb from the cold. I was so lost in thought, I almost passed William’s building. I caught myself in time and entered through the revolving doors. The elevators were straight ahead, and I waited with several men in business suits until one arrived. I could see myself in the reflection of the elevator doors. My cheeks were pink from the cold and my hair was windblown. I didn’t smooth it or straighten my scarf. This was who I was.

  Finally, I stepped in and pressed the button for the top floor. A couple of the men glanced at me curiously, but I moved to the back and didn’t make eye contact. I remembered the first time I’d come here. I’d been with William then, in his private elevator, and he’d pushed me against the wall and kissed me savagely, taking my breath away. The memory of his hard body pressed against mine, his tongue thrusting between my lips, his hands in my hair was enough to make my legs weak and my breath come in short gasps. I curled my hands into fists, eager to see him, to touch him, to kiss him.

  After we talked, I reminded myself. I had the envelope with the proofs in my bag. We needed to talk about those before we touched or we’d never have the conversation.

  I was alone in the elevator for the last few floors, and when I stepped off, the floor was hushed and quiet. A handsome older woman sat at a circular desk guarding the doors to the inner office area. She gave me a cautious smile as I approached.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Wil—Mr. Lambourne.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. I…Just tell him Catherine Kelly is here.”

  The woman’s brows shot up and her eyes quickly perused my hair and clothes. Maybe I should have brushed my hair.

  “Just one moment, Miss Kelly.” She lifted her phone and spoke quietly into the receiver. Then she replaced it and smiled at me again. I shifted from one foot to another, feeling awkward until the door behind the receptionist opened and Parker emerged.

  “Miss Kelly. I’m so sorry not to meet you. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Hi, Parker. Call me Catherine, please. I’m here to see William. Does he have a minute?”

  “Come back with me.” She gestured for me to follow her into the inner offices. She keyed in a code and opened the door. This was the area where William’s private elevator opened. Obviously he had extra security to keep unauthorized individuals out.

  I followed Parker to William’s outer office, and she spoke as she walked—or teetered—on black stilettos. I wondered if her feet hurt by the end of the day. “Mr. Lambourne isn’t expecting you. He’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  She gestured to one of the fancy modern chairs near her desk. Dutifully, I sat, unbuttoning my coat and unwrapping my scarf now that I was warming up. Parker lifted the phone and spoke quietly. I heard my name but not much else.

  A moment later, she replaced the receiver and said, “May I get you something—a latte or a bottle of water? Whatever you like.”

  I wasn’t thirsty, but I sensed Parker wanted something to do. “Water would be great,” I said, looking around the reception area. Like William’s office, the décor was minimalist, but here and there Parker had managed to add a bit of color. A red pillow on one chair, a small colorful abstract print above her desk.

  She disappeared around a corner and returned a moment later with a cold bottle of water. She also held a glass filled with ice. I took both but set the glass down and drank from the bottle. My hands shook slightly, and I didn’t want to spill.

  I waited. Parker waited. She tried to look busy, but we were both just biding time. Finally, her phone buzzed and she snatched it up. “Yes. Very good.” She replaced it and stood. “Right this way, Catherine.”

  I jumped up and had a moment’s hesitation about what to do with the water bottle. I left it on Parker’s desk and gathered my bag. Parker opened the door to William’s office, and I stepped inside.

  It was exactly as I remembered—stark and stylish—and I looked toward William’s desk as Parker closed the door behind me. He was seated behind it, and immediately my mind flashed to our video chat from the other night. He’d been behind the desk then too, but he’d been wearing glasses. There was no sign of the glasses now, but I could still envision him behind the desk, watching me as I touched myself on screen. I felt my cheeks flame a
nd took a step inside. I wasn’t feeling as brave as I had on the way over. I felt very much the intruder.

  William stood up, his expression unreadable, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. His gaze snapped to the chair before his desk and then back again. I followed his look and noted we weren’t alone. The man in the seat across from William faced away from me, showing only the back of his head, but there was something familiar about him nonetheless.

  Something very, very familiar.

  Nineteen

  The man turned, and I gasped. It was Beckett.

  For a moment I couldn’t process it. Everything was strangely surreal, like a scrambled image that made no sense. Why was Beckett in William’s office? Beckett didn’t belong here. Beckett and William had nothing in common except…

  Me.

  Oh my God. I stumbled back a step. I took a deep breath, forcing oxygen into my chest, which felt tight with panic. Beckett had just accused me of thinking everything was about me. So maybe this wasn’t about me. That didn’t mean it wasn’t weird—my best friend and my boyfriend. Why hadn’t they told me about this? Was this something else they were hiding from me? Something bad? Had something happened to a friend? Someone in my family?

  “What is this?” I blurted out, looking from William to Beckett. “What’s going on?”

  Neither man answered. My heart pounded even harder in my chest. What was wrong? What couldn’t they tell me? They would have said if it was my family, so it had to be something else. “Is this what you’ve been so secretive about?” I asked Beckett. I looked at William. “Is this another thing you can’t tell me?” Still neither one of them spoke.

  I looked from Beckett to William and felt tears burn my eyes. I had to get out of here before I started crying. “I’m sorry. I can see I’m intruding. I’ll get out.”

  “Cat—”

  “No, Beckett. It’s okay. I’ll just go.” I looked at William. He looked concerned, and I didn’t want his concern at the moment. I just wanted to run before I started sobbing. The paper of the envelope brushed my arm, and I reached into my bag and yanked it out. “Here, you can have these. Maybe we can talk about it later when you’re…not so busy.” I tossed the envelope on the table in the center of the room and turned to leave. Before I could reach the door, William was beside me. He took my arm and swung me around to face him.

  “Catherine, calm down. This is not what you think. There's nothing secret about this.” He gestured to Beckett, who had risen now.

  “Really? Nothing secret? I didn’t know about it.”

  William’s hands rested on my upper arms, holding me firmly in place. I didn’t fight him. I was still holding back tears, but it was difficult to resist those stormy-grey eyes, especially when he had his gaze leveled directly on me. “Beckett has been wanting to tell you about this since the beginning. He stopped by this afternoon to ask if he could. He said he told you he signed an NDA.”

  “So?”

  “My big secret,” Beckett said. “Remember? I told you I was working on something but I wasn’t allowed to talk about it yet?”

  The puzzle rearranged itself again. So this meeting was about Beckett and William doing business? Together? I glanced at Beckett again. He was dressed in a suit. Of course it was a slim pastel blue suit with tight trousers, much different than William’s classic charcoal wool Armani, but like me, Beckett tended to dress creatively. If this was business, the suit made sense.

  “What does he have to do with the NDA?” I asked, pointing at William.

  But William answered before Beckett could. “I’m a financial backer in a new restaurant venture.”

  “Cat, I’m going to run a bakery,” Beckett said. “That’s the big news. And it’s not just any bakery.”

  I stared, trying to take in what Beckett was saying. This was huge. “Do you remember Emil LeClerc?” William asked.

  “No.” The name sounded familiar, but I was still reeling from the news that Beckett was finally going to get the chance to bake. He would finally achieve his dream.

  “Emil LeClerc catered the Art Institute dinner we attended,” William said.

  I remembered that dinner very well. It was my first date with William and my absolute worst date ever. William had been sweet and charming in the car on the way there but had changed completely once we arrived. He’d been cold and distant and completely ignored me. I’d ended up walking out without even saying goodbye. But I remembered William had praised Chef LeClerc, and I’d wanted to try his food. I’d run into Ben Lee that night, and Ben had remarked that he’d trained in France under LeClerc. Ben had given me a bite of a blini, but other than that I’d mainly drank my dinner. I never got the chance to eat much of the beautiful food.

  “I do remember,” I said. “Ben said you’d backed LeClerc’s New York City restaurant.” Suddenly my heart clenched. “Beckett, you’re not moving to New York, are you?”

  “No. LeClerc is opening a restaurant in Chicago.”

  “Not quite,” William added. His hands were still on my arms, and his thumbs were moving in circles, sending waves of warmth through me. “LeClerc is the name behind a French bistro concept restaurant that I and several other investors back. We’ll be rolling it out in Chicago in a new luxury boutique hotel opening in Lincoln Park. Bistro LeClerc will be in the hotel, and next door to Bistro LeClerc will be Patisserie LeClerc, a bakery.”

  “Pastries, Cat,” Beckett added. “Just like Paris.” His eyes shone brightly, and his face was flushed with excitement. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “The kind of delicacies you’re so good at making,” I said.

  “Exactly. And the patisserie is going to have a storefront and offer lots of fabulous confections. But we’ll also supply the bistro with all of its bread and desserts.”

  “And what Beckett has been wanting to tell you is that he’s been tapped as the head pastry chef for Patisserie LeClerc. If the concept succeeds here, similar outlets will open in Las Vegas, Miami, and Los Angeles. Beckett will oversee all of that.”

  “Cat, I’ve been dying to tell you,” Beckett said, moving toward us. “I’m so bad at keeping secrets, especially from you. But I couldn’t take the chance I’d fuck it up.” He held his hands up. “Not that telling you would fuck it up, but I had to sign the NDA, and I’d never signed one and was paranoid. Everything happened so fast.”

  “Once we knew LeClerc wanted Beckett, we moved quickly,” William added.

  “Forgive me, Cat?” Beckett pled. “It’s not the same if I can’t celebrate with you. Don’t be mad, okay?”

  “Oh, Beckett.” I stumbled away from William and gave Beckett a huge hug, my eyes welling with tears. I was so glad things were okay between us again and so happy for Beckett. I squeezed him tightly. This was an amazing opportunity. I could see that quite clearly. It was exactly the kind of opportunity I’d always wanted for Beckett and the kind he had never dared dream of. He was so talented, though, and he totally deserved this. I pulled back and looked Beckett in the eye. “I’m so happy for you. I’m sorry I was such a complete ass. Again. Let me make it up to you. I’ll throw you a huge party to celebrate. It’s going to be awesome.”

  “No parties yet,” Beckett said. “Technically, I still can’t talk about it. But I really wanted to tell you, and that’s why I came to William’s office. I just signed the contracts at the lawyer’s offices a few blocks from here. I came over to plead for leniency.”

  “Beckett, you’re completely forgiven. We’ll party in a few weeks.”

  “As soon as PR makes the announcement, you should be good,” William added.

  “PR!” Beckett squealed. “I’ve never had PR people—I mean, technically they’re LeClerc’s people. He’s the star, but I don’t care. Next I’ll be lunching with my agent.”

  “It won’t be long before you’re a star too.” I squeezed his arm. Both of us were grinning like idiots.

  “See, this is why I had to tell you. William told me he thought it would be oka
y right before you got here. I was going to call you the minute I got home, but you beat me to it. Champagne at my place later?” Beckett winked, clearly thrilled beyond measure.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “I can’t wait.”

  He gave me another hug, then looked at William. “And I think that’s my cue to depart stage right.” He moved to shake William’s hand. “William, thanks for everything. Catch you later, okay?”

  “Later,” William said with a bemused smile.

  Beckett moved toward the door. “Cat, call me…” He held his hand to his ear in a phone gesture. He gave me a meaningful look, opened the door, and then he was gone.

  William and I were alone. Suddenly, flutters erupted in my belly. I was so nervous. It was one thing to imagine telling William I loved him when I was a half a mile away. It was another when he was standing right in front of me, his smoldering gaze raking over me. It was all the more nerve-wracking because he looked so fucking hot in his suit. It fit him perfectly, and he looked completely cool and powerful in it. But I also knew he looked as good out of it as he did in it. We were standing there, saying nothing, and I had to be the one to break the silence. “I'm so happy for him,” I said, gesturing to the door. I was pretty sure William knew how happy I was for Beckett—he’d been right there when I’d burst into tears—but I rambled, just to keep talking. “I’ve always thought that all of his talents weren’t being utilized in food styling. Part of me worried that he was just doing it for me, so I could get work.”

  William nodded, listening with the same intentness I imagined he showed everyone from world leaders to little old me. Suddenly, I felt so unsure of myself. And the more insecure I felt, the more I babbled on, telling William more things he already knew. “Beckett has been my best friend for a decade. He’s been such a great friend. He's the most selfless person I know. He deserves this. He’s really talented. You know that, right?”

  “I do,” he said, saving me from babbling on. “Catherine, you have nothing to worry about. I met Beckett because of you, and I did recommend him. But he landed this on his own.” As usual, he seemed to understand what I was saying even though I hadn’t spelled it out. “Beckett impressed LeClerc,” William said, putting a hand on my back and leading me toward his desk. “And that’s no easy feat. Beckett’s an immensely talented pastry chef, and you’re right—he deserves this and more.”