by Lilli Feisty
“And Nick? He’s still working out as your chef?”
“Yeah. About that. I’m so sorry he was rude to you that night.”
“No biggie. The guy obviously has some anger-management issues.”
She laughed. “Yes. Sometimes he does.”
Bear’s voice turned serious. “But he treats you well?”
She threw a spear of asparagus into the basket. “What do you mean?”
“You know. Does he treat you well? I was a bit worried about you after that night. I wouldn’t want to see you dating some asshole. You deserve better.”
“Oh. I-I’m not dating Nick. He just works for me.” But the words faltered on her tongue.
He cocked a brow. “Really?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“It just seemed like you two have something going on.”
“We don’t. We do—I mean, I don’t know.” Other than the cook-off incident (which Phoebe was now realizing she was going to have to eat crow and apologize about), things with Nick had been going well since that night at the bar. They’d certainly wasted no opportunities to have sex. But that was as far as it went. Now, she wanted to bring it up. To discuss things with him. But just the thought—the fear of being rejected by him—made her heart clench with pain.
“Honestly, Bear. I’m not sure what to think.”
“Do you like him?”
She paused. “I really don’t know anymore. Sometimes, yes. Sometimes I want to punch him in the nose.”
He laughed. “I know what you mean. Okay, let’s switch subjects then. How are things working out at the café? He’s doing a good job?”
“He is. I had a lot of doubts at first, but he seems to have settled in. Settled down.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“It’s just that I never thought I’d see the day Phoebe Mayle would give up control over anything.”
“Shut up! I’m not that bad. Am I?”
“Sometimes.”
She shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m learning. Hiring Nick was a good thing.”
“I’m glad, Phoebe. You know I’ve always cared about you. You’re one of my favorite people in the world. I want to see you happy.”
“Thanks, Bear. That means a lot.” Just then she felt her cell phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and flipped it open.
“Hi, Jess. What’s up?”
Her niece’s tone of voice was frantic. “Nick hasn’t shown up.”
Phoebe’s blood went cold. “What? It’s past four.”
“I know,” Jesse said. “He’s not here. I’ve tried his phone like a million times, and he’s not answering.”
Phoebe pushed herself to her feet. “Damn him.”
“What do I do?”
“Start prepping. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Bear stood next to her. “What’s wrong?”
“I guess I spoke too soon. Looks like I have a missing chef on my hands.”
Bear immediately assumed the take-charge attitude that made him so successful in his travels. “What can I do?”
She bit her lip. “I hate to ask…”
“Then don’t ask. Tell me.”
She hesitated only a second. She didn’t really have a choice.
See what happens when you depend on others?
She couldn’t think about that now. Instead she took an invoice out of her pocket. “Thank God you’re here, Bear.”
“I’m glad I can help.”
She handed him the invoice. “I just need this order filled. Everything’s listed. I have almost all the vegetables pulled; they just have to be boxed and shipped. UPS will be here at five.”
He took the piece of paper and gave it a glance. “No problem. I promise to take care of it. Go deal with the café.”
She gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. But she frowned as she jogged to her car. Where was Nick? She didn’t want to think he’d bailed on them, not now, when she’d just started to trust him.
But tidbits of conversation came floating back to her…He’s here to get his life back in order…Was that what he’d done? Had all her conclusions about how Nick had changed, had become so much better than when he’d first arrived, actually meant he’d only accomplished what he needed to do?
The thought made her stomach turn.
That couldn’t be true. She was jumping to conclusions again, being nonsensical. Just like when Nick had won the cook-off. She’d assumed his plan had been diabolical, to show her up and beat her, but he’d really just been playing on her team.
So he was late. For the first time ever. That didn’t mean he’d ditched them. In fact, the more she thought about it, she started to worry about him. She hoped he was okay.
Just as she was starting her car, her cell phone rang again. It was Jesse, probably calling to tell her Nick had shown up.
“Hi, Jesse.”
Her niece’s voice sounded strained. “Um…”
“What?” Phoebe’s heart stopped for a minute. “Is Nick okay?”
“I think so.”
“Then what’s up?”
“I just got a call from some guy in Hollywood. He was looking for Nick, said he couldn’t reach him on his cell.”
Phoebe’s blood went cold as she turned the key in the ignition. “Is that all he said?”
“No, he was also wondering if we knew what time Nick had left here. Apparently they want him at some party tonight.” Jesse’s tone of voice sounded defeated and let down.
“Listen, Jesse. I’m sure this is all one big mistake. Nick wouldn’t just up and leave us. We’ll figure it out.”
“I hope you’re right, Pheebs.”
Me, too, she thought as she peeled out of the driveway.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
For the millionth time, Nick glanced at his phone. Still no fucking cell service. He’d been driving three hours. He’d been trying to reach the café the entire time, but as soon as he’d left Redbolt, his service had dropped. And in his haste to leave, he’d forgotten his phone charger.
“Fuck.” Now the battery had died, leaving him no access to any of his phone numbers. “Damn it.” He tossed his phone onto the seat next to him. His palms were so sweaty he could barely keep a grip on the steering wheel. He’d have to find a pay phone somewhere and look up the number of the café.
Yeah, the café you just up and abandoned?
What the fuck are you doing, Avalon?
Exactly what he needed to be doing. Exactly what he’d wanted to do since the second he’d left Los Angeles. He was going back.
Or was he running away?
He couldn’t help it. He kept recalling that hurt look of betrayal in Phoebe’s eyes when she’d stared up at him from the crowd during the cook-off. He’d been so happy to have won. He’d hoped his attempt would show that he did care about her winning, and about the café.
But she’d taken it all the wrong way. He could see it in her face. She hadn’t changed her mind. She thought he was a selfish prick. That hadn’t changed.
And he’d allowed it. It had made his plans to leave so much easier.
And that’s what felt like a knife stabbing him in the gut.
He’d let himself think, just for a second, that she saw something in him no one else had. She’d made him feel like more than some shallow status-oriented stair-climber out for nothing more than his own pleasure.
She’d made him want more from life.
Sometime during the last few months in Redbolt, he’d found he wanted so much more than to cater to the whims of the current Hollywood celebs. Nothing came close to the satisfaction he’d begun to feel at taking something Phoebe had grown in her own garden and turning it into a meal that he could share with the community. Friends. People he actually liked.
He’d begun to feel like they were a team.
He punched the steering wheel. How could he be so stupid? How could he so quickly forget what he really wanted? He’d let himsel
f be fooled. He’d let himself feel. He’d let himself love.
But Phoebe’s opinion of him had never changed.
Timing was a crazy thing, but just that morning, a call had come in that made it pretty fucking obvious what he was supposed to do. Some studio exec and his cronies were opening up a new restaurant, and the buzz was that it would be the next hot spot in Beverly Hills. They’d called Nick to see if he was interested in interviewing for the position of chef.
Yes, he was.
But he knew how these things worked. If you didn’t pounce on an opportunity, someone else would. This was a cutthroat business, which was why he’d done so well so far.
As soon as he’d hung up the phone that morning, he’d jumped into his Hummer and started driving. He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d simply gone. For about thirty minutes, he hadn’t looked back.
But now it was hitting him. Even if the experience yesterday had left a foul taste in his mouth, it was still irresponsible to up and ditch the café.
And he couldn’t help it. Even if it was all bullshit, he’d come to actually like the Green Leaf. He’d become very fond of the people he’d worked with—especially Jesse—and the patrons were becoming more like friends. He’d even started to not hate the mismatched decor and rustic tables and chairs.
But. The experience yesterday had been like a sucker punch back to reality. That wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was to go home. To Hollywood.
Still, he should have let them know what was going on.
To his surprise, he was scared to. He didn’t like the idea of letting them down; in fact, it made his teeth clench. But he dismissed it. Obviously, they expected nothing else from him. So what did he care? They wouldn’t be surprised. Not one bit.
He glanced at his phone. If he had cell service, he’d call Phoebe.
But it was dead. The battery had run down searching for a signal. So no calling Phoebe.
He could only imagine what she was doing right then.
Hating him.
But that was okay, because he was Nick the Prick. Selfish, driven, focused. Nothing else mattered except achieving his own goals.
So why was his gut churning with guilt? Why did he have the incredible urge to flip a U-turn and drive right back to Redbolt?
Why did he even care?
Six months ago, he wouldn’t have cared one bit. Six months ago, he probably wouldn’t have even bothered to call Phoebe. He would have just disappeared.
What had changed?
He’d gotten soft; that was it. All that time in hippieland had made his head turn into mush.
Nick pushed his foot down on the gas pedal. This was what he wanted; this was what he needed. He’d gotten so used to the low-key café that he’d forgotten the adrenaline rush of working in a real kitchen.
He’d forgotten what he’d worked for his entire life. And now he had the opportunity to get back on track, and he was feeling guilty about it?
Fuck that. He wanted this job. He wanted his life back.
He didn’t go to culinary school in Paris to make bowl after bowl of vegetarian pasta salad. Although Phoebe’s tomatoes were, by far, the best he’d ever tasted.
He hit the steering wheel. Don’t think about Phoebe’s tomatoes. Or her. Or oranges. Or chocolate or oysters or whisks…
Or her eyes, or her smile, or her wit.
Don’t think about it. Just drive.
He turned on his iPod and blasted some electronic music. The first song had a strong, pounding beat that made the entire car vibrate and thump. Yes. This was one of his favorite songs. He hadn’t listened to it in… months.
Yes. He needed his old life back. He could be at a club that night. Surrounded by beautiful women who didn’t make him think. Who demanded nothing. Who wouldn’t ever argue with him.
Yeah, he could probably have that tonight if he wanted it. He did want it. He really did.
“I can’t believe him.” Phoebe pulled her hair into a ponytail and yanked on an apron. “I really can’t believe him.”
Jesse looked up from the pile of onions she was currently slicing. Phoebe couldn’t help but notice she was becoming incredibly efficient with her chopping skills.
“Maybe something’s wrong. Just because we got that call doesn’t mean he left for L.A. I’m worried.”
A bitter laugh escaped Phoebe’s mouth. “Don’t give him that much credit. Lester at the gas station saw his Hummer speeding by on the freeway. And Nick was headed south at quite the clip, according to Lester.”
“What are you saying? That Nick just up and went to L.A. without telling us?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying. I knew I never should have trusted him.”
Jesse shook her head. “We don’t know that yet.”
“Oh, I know all right. I know exactly what that man is capable of.”
Jesse’s eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Phoebe.”
“Don’t be. We don’t need him.” Phoebe glanced at the fixed-price menu for that evening. Because Saturday night had become so popular, they’d started doing the set menu on Friday as well.
“Oh, hell.” Phoebe read over the menu. “I can’t cook any of these things.”
“Let me see.” Jesse took the menu and gave it a quick scan. “Hmm. I don’t see anything on here that looks too difficult.”
“Really? Really?” Phoebe realized her voice was starting to sound hysterical. But she couldn’t help it. “We’re booked solid with reservations, people are expecting the fixed-price menu, and we don’t have a chef. I’d say everything right now looks pretty damn difficult!”
Jesse came over and put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Seriously, Phoebe. You haven’t been at the café as much lately.”
“Great. Now you’re going to make me feel guilty?”
“No,” Jesse said firmly. “You finally learned how to delegate.”
“Yeah, and look how well that turned out for me.”
Jesse’s grip on Phoebe’s arm tightened. “Phoebe. Calm down.”
“But—”
Jesse gave her aunt another squeeze. “Seriously. We—I can do this.”
Phoebe paused and looked at her niece. “How?”
“Listen. Nick’s been giving me cooking lessons. I’ve learned a lot from him. And…”
Phoebe saw two light red patches stain her niece’s cheeks. What was going on here?
“And what, Jesse?”
“I’ve been practicing a lot at home. When you and Dad aren’t around.”
“What? Why have you been hiding this from us?”
Jesse’s cheeks turned the color of two ripe tomatoes. “Because I’ve been cooking meat. Lots of it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And I feel guilty. You know, about Dad.”
“But we’ve already discussed that. He would never tell you how to live your life.”
“I know, but… I still feel bad.”
Phoebe rested her backside against the counter. “Wow. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own life, I didn’t even know I had a secret chef living under the same roof.”
“Please don’t tell my dad.”
“I won’t. You know that.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Phoebe couldn’t help but smile at her niece. “When did you get so grown up?”
“I don’t know. Did I?”
“I think so.”
Jesse shrugged sheepishly. “I just like cooking. That’s all.”
“Well, I hope you like it as much as you think you do.”
“Why do you say that?”
Phoebe glanced at the menu in Jesse’s hand. “Because you’re the head chef tonight. Now let’s get going. You just tell me what to do.”
Jesse’s smile was blinding. “Okay. We’ll start with the truffle oil sauce…”
An hour later, Phoebe found herself in the storage room. She’d gone in looking for…what had she been looking for?
Looking around the
room, her heart hurt. Nick’s presence was everywhere. She saw him perched on the crate, lighting a cigarette. She saw him leading her around with a whisk in his hand. It was overwhelming to be in that room and know he’d abandoned her the way he had.
She’d been feeding off her anger all afternoon. It was better than the other emotions bubbling inside her.
Betrayal. She felt utterly betrayed by him. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to trust him. To rely on him. To like him.
To love him.
It hurt. It hurt so much, right in her heart.
How could he do this to her? Did she mean nothing to him? Nothing at all?
Obviously, that was exactly what she meant to him. He didn’t care about her, her feelings, or about anything except himself.
She wouldn’t cry. She did not want to cry.
Fuck. She was crying.
She hadn’t cried since her aunt and uncle had died. But now big, stinging tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. She couldn’t stop them.
She was shaking, and her legs were threatening to give out. She leaned back against the storage room door. The very door Nick had held her against as he’d used her.
Because that’s exactly what he’d done. Used her, in every possible sense of the word. Used her business, used her heart. Used her body.
And now, he was done.
If only it would be that easy for her to be done with him.
Sinking to the ground, she let the tears escape. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she let her head fall to her knees. She cried. She felt her heart actually ache. She nearly let the sadness take over.
But she didn’t. She had a job to do. She had a business to run. Two of them. And she didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity because she’d been stupid enough to fall for Nick the Prick Avalon.
It was her own damn fault.
She pushed herself up and wiped off her face. So this was what it felt like to have your heart broken. Suddenly all those stupid songs about love and heartbreak made perfect sense.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What the fuck are you doing?”
Nick glanced at Sherry, who was sitting on a plush leather sofa beside him. They were at one of Hollywood’s most trendy bars, and Nick was sipping a glass of fine tequila.
The entire place was filled with beautiful women. Trancelike ambience music played from a sound system, and the modern decor was trendy and hip.