“Yours either,” he said, provoking Kyra to give a wave of dismissal. “Why do you deny it? You work two jobs.”
“I suppose I don’t think of cooking at the Carver Center as a job, exactly.” Besides, she worked two jobs out of necessity, not choice. “But go on. I want to hear about the creation of Ceres.”
“The head chef at the country club, Greg Ebersole, reamed me out the first night I worked there because I screwed something up. He reamed me out the second night for another mistake. And it went on like that for about a week. Since I didn’t quit, he decided maybe I was okay. When a group of us from the club went out on my mother’s boat on our day off, he came along. I wanted to keep my job so I stocked the fridge with his favorite kind of beer.”
Will’s voice warmed as he looked into the past.
“We got pretty drunk and he started talking about this idea he had that people wanted healthy fast food. Not only that, the food sources should be organic and local. I was only a teenager but something about his passion made me pay attention, and the idea stuck with me all through college.”
“Is that why you took the business minor at Brunell?”
He nodded and sat down beside her. “I wanted to escape the law but I needed an alternative.”
He took her hand and placed it on his thigh, idly running his fingers over her knuckles. The warm pads of his fingertips brushing her skin made it hard to focus on his story.
“When I graduated and was staring the prospect of Harvard Law in its grim face, I called Greg and asked him if he wanted to partner with a know-nothing, inexperienced kid fresh out of college who happened to have some great connections.” Will shook his head in reminiscent disbelief. “I don’t know why the hell he said yes, except that all great chefs are a little crazy.”
“He said yes because you’re brilliant, hardworking, trustworthy . . . and well connected.”
Will stared straight ahead, lost in the past.
“So how did you get started?” she prompted.
His lips twisted into a smile that derided his younger self. “I wanted to open ten locations all at once to make a significant splash. Greg explained that my idea was insane and whittled it down to four. So I scouted sites and raised funds while he found suppliers and worked on the menu.” Will smiled. “I remember the late-night taste tests. God, some of his recipes were bad. That was my only talent with the food: being the target customer.”
“You certainly knew that my lamb wrap was out of balance,” Kyra said.
Will snorted. “Your dog Shaq would have known that.” He flexed his fingers around Kyra’s. “We opened four Ceres at the same time. It’s a miracle the whole thing wasn’t a total fiasco.”
Kyra could picture Will dashing from one restaurant to the next, making sure everything went smoothly. “Did you still have your ponytail then?”
“No, I needed to look respectable when I went begging for money.” He ran his hand over the back of his head where the ponytail once was. “Did you know that my father wouldn’t invest a penny in Ceres?” Will’s tone was bitter. “But he didn’t tell his friends not to invest, so I guess I should be grateful for that.” He turned to her. “I’ve never told anyone but Greg that. Didn’t want them to know that my own father had no confidence in me.”
Kyra turned her hand to twine her fingers with his. “He might have wanted you to be able to say you succeeded on your own. You showed everyone, including yourself, that you didn’t need his help.”
“You’re attributing far more paternal sensitivity to him than he has ever demonstrated.” But she could see the stubborn denial in the set of his jaw soften. “Maybe I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.” He stood and helped her up with their joined hands. “Back to the salt mines.”
Will swiped an app that hailed the water taxi. While they waited on deck, he pointed out the especially interesting boats. No more sharing of secrets from the past because he was putting the protective walls back up again. Kyra missed the raw, vulnerable Will.
As the skiff bounced over the waves toward them, Kyra interrupted the flow of smooth chitchat. “Your secrets are safe with me. I won’t betray them or you.”
He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “That’s why I told you.”
Then their cheery skipper was maneuvering the skiff up to the ladder. Kyra had left her feet bare and managed not to rip any seams or fall into the harbor as she clambered into the small craft.
“Had a nice afternoon aboard the Royal Wave?” the boy asked, as he eased the skiff away from the sailboat.
Kyra choked on a giggle when Will grinned and said, “It was very satisfying.”
She nudged his ankle, which made him grin more. Then the kid gunned the motor so that speaking became too difficult. But Will’s fingers were still interwoven with hers, which wrapped her in a haze of contentment.
All too soon, they were in the Jaguar, headed back to Arion Farm. The closer they got, the more frequently Will lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck.
“Maybe we should just head for the helicopter,” Kyra said.
Will’s laugh held no mirth. “Don’t tempt me, Circe.”
“Hey, she turned men into pigs, although I think that was metaphorical. I would never do that to you. What a terrible waste it would be.”
He chuckled with actual amusement. “I see you are on the side of those who believe that men revealed their bestial side when in Circe’s company. She enslaved even the brave ones, the lions and wolves, with her sexuality.”
“As I remember, Odysseus, who was supposedly so determined to get home to Penelope, hung around with Circe for a year or so. She must have been amazing in the sack.”
“So you’re like Circe in that way, too.”
“A backhanded compliment if ever I heard one.” But a smug smile curled the corners of her mouth.
“And now we have arrived at the passage between Scylla and Charybdis,” Will murmured, steering the car through the gateposts that marked the entrance to his parents’ estate.
“Do you always revert to Greek mythology when you’re stressed?” Kyra asked, but she knew the answer. She had escaped into Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen. Will went farther back into the past.
“The Greeks understood the bloody side of family dynamics.” Will swung the Jaguar around the circle in front of the house that now held only about a dozen parked cars.
Kyra snorted. “They did have a tendency to kill their immediate relatives . . . when they weren’t sleeping with their mothers. Not that I’m implying anything like that about your family.”
“I’m relieved.” He put his arm around her waist and steered her up the wide stone steps and through the unlocked front door.
“Oh. My. God,” Kyra said on one long breath as they stepped into the entrance hall. Warm oak paneling covered the walls, and a huge pastel Oriental rug lay on the polished plank floor. Centered on it was a circular leather-topped oak table bearing an enormous china vase of fresh flowers. Paintings of horses and gilt-framed mirrors hung on the panels, and a staircase of the same highly grained oak rose to a wide landing before it joined with a gallery that ran around three sides of the hallway. “It’s not Disney World. It’s a real, live castle.”
Will shrugged. “Birds in gilded cages.” Settling his arm more firmly around her waist, he turned them through a wide arch and into a room that stretched from the front to the back of the mansion. Kyra had a quick impression of more oak paneling, a fireplace, and a ceiling with intricate plaster designs. Then she confronted the daunting array of faces turned toward her, their owners scattered around the various chintz-covered chairs and sofas with glasses in their hands. The hum of conversation came to a sudden halt.
Kyra felt a shudder run through Will while his grip on her hardened into a vise. It was so similar to his earlier reaction to Petra’s voice that Kyra got a bad feeling.
“Will!” His mother floated up from the chair in which she sat. “So glad you could rejoin
us. Let’s get you and Kyra drinks.”
The conversations began again, but Kyra caught people casting surreptitious glances at Will and her.
Betsy Chase beckoned them over to the built-in bar. “What can I offer you?”
“White wine would be great,” Kyra said, keeping it simple. What she really wanted was a double shot of vodka because the tension in the room was so thick she could cut it with the proverbial knife. Was Petra here?
“I’ll take care of it, Mum,” Will said, his voice so cold it made Kyra shiver.
“I know Schuyler went to the stables, but where did you wander off to?” Betsy asked, appearing oblivious to her son’s mood as she handed him a wineglass.
Kyra felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but Will’s composure shifted not a millimeter as he said, “Kyra had never been on a sailboat so I took her aboard the Royal Wave.”
“Isn’t she a little beauty?” Betsy asked, her face lit with enthusiasm. “And she handles like a dream.”
“She’s gorgeous,” Kyra agreed. “I’m not a sailor so I wouldn’t know about handling.”
“Next time, let Kyra take the helm,” Betsy admonished Will. “That will be a treat for her.”
Kyra didn’t know how he managed it, but Will kept pouring scotch into the crystal tumbler without a waver or a drop spilled. “I’ll make sure to do that,” he said.
Only the volume of scotch he swallowed all at once betrayed any discomfort.
Betsy linked her arm through Kyra’s. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
“I’ll handle it, Mum,” Will said, reaching for Kyra.
“It will be my pleasure.” Betsy smiled at her son but her arm was like a steel bar holding Kyra prisoner. Will lowered his hand, although his face was tight with anger.
Farr sauntered up at that moment. “I’ll keep you company, William.”
Kyra refused to let her dismay show, even to Will. Finding the strength to smile with enthusiasm at both men, she said, “I can’t wait to meet everyone.”
As Betsy drew her toward the other guests, Kyra heard Will mutter, “You don’t have to babysit me, Farr.”
“Oh, the ingratitude after what I did for you earlier,” his friend shot back.
Now Kyra had to focus on the lions she was being thrown to. Betsy swept her by Schuyler and Twain, saying she knew them already. After that it was a mad blur of names and faces, but Kyra just put on her friendly bartender persona and made it through. Until Betsy stopped in front of two women sitting side by side on a plaid love seat.
“Kyra, I’d like you to meet Petra Bradenton-Crosby and Katie Phipps. Kyra’s an old college chum of Will’s,” she said to the ladies.
Kyra felt like she’d been socked in the stomach. Petra Bradenton-Crosby was stunningly beautiful but not in the way she’d expected. Kyra had pictured blonde hair, blue eyes, an English rose complexion, and the angular, athletic figure that so many of Will’s female acquaintances seemed to have.
Petra was darkly exotic with short-cropped nearly black hair, huge brown eyes, skin like cream, and a figure that would make Kyra’s customers at Stratus fall over themselves. She wore a beige linen sheath with tiny pleated details that screamed designer.
Even more startling, Petra smiled at her with what looked like genuine warmth and stood to shake hands. “Kyra, how lovely! Will so enjoyed his days at Brunell. It’s a pleasure to meet someone who was part of that.”
Kyra had been prepared to dislike Petra on sight but it was impossible. The woman radiated interest and attentiveness. “Glad to meet you, too,” Kyra managed to say, but it wasn’t easy when her jaw kept trying to drop.
Katie and Betsy strolled away together, so Kyra was left alone with the woman whose heart Will was reputed to have broken. Her friendly bartender persona deserted her.
“Let’s sit and be comfortable,” Petra said, sinking onto the love seat with perfect grace.
Kyra wished someone would rescue her, but she didn’t want to drag Will into conversation with Petra, so she kept her gaze resolutely away from his vicinity. “Are you from around here?” she asked Petra.
“Originally, but now I live in Manhattan. On the Upper West Side.”
Great, she was on the same small island with Will.
Petra continued, “But I travel a great deal, so my condo is almost a waste of money. However, having three major airports to choose from makes the travel easier.”
“What takes you away from New York so often?” Kyra asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“My work. I’m a fund-raiser for Doctors Abroad.”
Of course she was. Kyra wanted to groan. “What a worthwhile organization to work for!” she said instead. “I admire what they do so much. How did you get started with them?” She didn’t want Petra to ask what Kyra did to make a living.
“I began as a volunteer at a fund-raising event they held when I was in college.” Petra shook her head with a self-deprecating smile. “I only did it because the boy I was dating back then had organized it. But I got bowled over by the cause, and became more and more involved. When I graduated, it seemed natural to move into a job with them. And I’ve been there ever since.”
Kyra could see by the way Petra leaned toward her that she was going to ask a question, so she cast around for another way to throw her off. “Where have you traveled recently?”
“Oh, all over.” She held up the strand of carved wooden beads that cascaded down from her slender neck. “Some lovely ladies made this for me when I was in Kenya a couple of months ago. Wasn’t that the sweetest thing?” She let the necklace fall, her gaze fastened on Kyra as though seeking her agreement. “Last week I was in Los Angeles and Seattle. I’m trying to set up some highly visible events around the country to raise our profile.”
“You must be succeeding because it’s certainly a well-known and well-respected charity,” Kyra said.
“You are so kind to say that,” Petra said, but it was automatic. She expected the compliment. “I’m very passionate about the cause, so I tend to talk too much about it. Tell me more about you. Where do you live?”
Since Petra lived in New York, she’d insist on a specific locale. “South Harlem, on the top floor of a wonderful old townhouse from the eighteen hundreds. The heat is a little unreliable, but it has great charm.”
“That area is very popular now,” Petra said, nodding. “There are some real architectural gems for almost reasonable prices.”
Like Kyra could buy any of them.
“I work at an after-school care center nearby as the chief cook and bottle washer. And I do some bartending.” There, she’d told the truth and it hadn’t sounded so bad.
“I love kids.” Again it sounded a little rote, but her eyes were warm. “What ages do you work with?”
“What we call the in-between kids, eight through thirteen with some wiggle room. They’re too old for the preschool programs and too young for the teen programs, so they can get kind of lost. We offer them a safe, stable place with healthy food and quiet study facilities. And they can adopt rescue dogs in the K-9 Angelz program.” Kyra stopped with a short laugh. “I get passionate about my cause, too, I guess.”
Just then, Will walked up with Farr trailing behind him. “Petra. This is unexpected.” He bent and kissed the air beside her cheek.
A look of longing crossed Petra’s face and she tilted her head toward him, as though she hoped to have his lips actually touch her skin. “How have you been, Will?”
“Good,” he said. “And you?” His voice was polite but distant.
“Busy as ever,” she said. “Lots of traveling.”
Will nodded, the motion a curt jerk of his head. “I’m afraid Kyra and I need to head back to the city.”
Petra started to say something, then pressed her lips together and nodded. “Safe travels.”
“And to you,” Will responded, holding out his hand to Kyra. His grip was almost crushing as he helped her rise from the cushy love seat.
Petra nodded but her eyes were on the man beside Kyra. Even her body angled toward him, despite the fact that Farr took the seat Kyra had just vacated.
No matter what had happened between them, Petra still wanted Will.
Will tucked Kyra’s hand into his elbow and stalked across the room, forcing her to jog to keep up with him for the first few steps. When he noticed, he muttered an apology and shortened his stride. She could feel anger sizzling off him in waves.
His father and mother glanced their way and then left their guests to follow them into the entrance hall.
“Son, your mother wants to say good-bye.” His father’s voice crackled with command.
Kyra was afraid Will would keep on walking, but he halted just a few steps from the front door. He dipped his head to Kyra and murmured, “I’m sorry about this disaster. I’ll make it up to you.”
She gave his elbow a reassuring squeeze as he turned them both to face his parents. Twain stood with his arm around Betsy’s shoulders. Kyra couldn’t decide if he was showing solidarity or holding her back.
“I’ve asked you not to invite Petra to private family gatherings,” Will said.
Betsy made a graceful but dismissive gesture. “It wasn’t a family gathering. Just a few special friends lingering after the party. You needn’t have rushed off so rudely.”
Kyra felt Will stiffen. “You are not doing Petra any favors,” he said. “You lead her to think I want her here.”
“Why shouldn’t you want her here?” his mother said. “She’s a lovely girl, and she still cares about you.”
Kyra smothered a gasp. His mother had no idea how serious her relationship with Will was, and yet she was praising another woman in Kyra’s presence. Betsy was putting her on notice that she had other plans for Will.
Will took Kyra’s hand from his arm and lifted it to brush his lips over her knuckles. “I offer my mother’s sincerest regrets for her words,” he said, his eyes blazing with fury as he smiled down at her. The intensity of it made her shiver.
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