But that was too freaking bad because he couldn’t have her, especially not now.
Everyone had seen the photo of Michele in his lap at the convention. They would assume he couldn’t keep it in his pants. And they’d take Michele down with him. He was glad no one knew who she was and he planned to keep it that way. He wouldn’t tarnish her career with his own smutty one.
This whole fiasco only proved his point about how different they were. This was why he couldn’t marry someone who loved him or love them in return. No matter how good Michele felt in his arms, how amazing her lips tasted, he couldn’t touch her again. He’d only ruin her.
He pounded nails as hard as he could.
By midday, Chloe showed up at the work site. She was about to duck under the chain when Jeff called to her, “You can’t come in here without a helmet. Construction site rules.”
“Then you come out!”
Hell, no. “Can’t. Busy.”
She gave him the stink eye. “Hey, can you throw me your helmet?” she asked a worker who was taking his lunch break.
“Sure, pretty lady. As long as you bring it back.”
Plopping the helmet on her head, she swung her leg over the chain and stomped toward Jeff. “You aren’t returning my calls. What’s wrong with the new phone I bought for you?”
“I turned my phone off. Too many crazy women calling for a good time.” He wasn’t joking. He held a nail between his teeth while he hammered another one.
“Come on, Jeff. Stop, so we can talk about what happened. I feel terrible.”
She looked terrible. Hell, he didn’t mean to hurt her, too. He put the hammer and nails down. “It wasn’t your fault.” No, this whole thing started and ended with him.
She pulled him away from the other workers before saying, “I’m worried about you. You’ve got to stop thinking you can’t connect with people. Feel. By that picture in the paper, it looks like you feel something with Michele.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She put her hands on her hips just like she used to do when she was a little girl. “That might be the official story, but I know it’s bull. You did make a real connection with her. I can see it in your reaction.”
He couldn’t look her in the eye. “Everything is fine.”
“Really? Then talk to Michele. The poor girl doesn’t deserve to be ignored.”
He looked down at his hands. They still ached to touch her. They still belonged to a man who could turn Michele’s life into a media circus. “I can’t be near her right now.”
Chloe let out a deep breath. “Because you like her. A lot. And you’re scared.”
He didn’t respond.
“So, what are you going to do about the chef competition? Those three women are waiting for your answer. Which one will you choose?”
He still had no idea. He knew which one he wanted, but was she the best one for the job? Everything was even more confused than before.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “One more event. We could invite the townspeople from Pueblicito to view the plans and the building site. The chefs can prepare their finest hors d’oeuvres and we’ll see which one comes out the best.”
It wasn’t a terrible idea. The sooner he decided who the chef would be, the faster the marketing team could start the promo machine and drum up interest.
The sooner Michele would be gone...or permanently a part of the dream he was creating. “Okay.”
“This coming weekend Dad has something going on, and he’ll want to be at the event. How about the weekend after that?”
“Yeah. If the chefs are okay with staying that long. I suggest having Dad increase their bonus.” Twelve days. He could throw himself into his work and not have to think about anything until then. Not even Michele’s soft skin. The memory of her on his lap crept into his thoughts. Since he didn’t have a nail, he pounded his thigh to obliterate the vision.
Chloe shielded her eyes from the sun and studied him. “You should talk to Angel, or...someone. I really think it would help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He rose to go back to work, but then turned around. “Check in on Michele. Make sure she’s doing okay. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“Or you could talk to her yourself.”
He walked away.
He’d find someone else to date tonight. Someone he couldn’t hurt.
It was time to start looking for a bride.
* * *
Michele was coming to grips with the fact that Jeff was avoiding her. It hurt.
She thought they’d had something special, but apparently, she’d read the situation incorrectly. She’d only been a one-night fling for him. And it hadn’t even been a full night.
Part of her had known that truth at the time and yet she’d climbed on his lap anyway, because his lips and touch had felt oh-so good. She’d allowed herself to believe she could heal a playboy’s heart. She’d risked her dreams and responsibilities on that hope.
Playing with fire only seemed to make her burn for more sizzling kisses, more caresses, more Jeffrey Harper.
He was the opposite of what she should be focusing on—taking care of her sister, learning how to cook again, finding a man to love her, starting a family.
But what she felt for Jeffrey didn’t matter. She needed to put her energy into the one thing that did matter—landing this job.
There was one final competition, a sort of winner-take-all. She’d been asked to prepare hors d’oeuvres for a large party to show off the restaurant project. She knew this was a big deal for Jeff and was determined to do her best.
Sitting in her room, Michele scoured the internet looking for good Italian recipes, not finding anything that grabbed her. Nothing was good enough for Jeff’s special night.
Closing her eyes, she whispered, “Help me, Mom. I need a little magic.”
A light breeze came in through her window, lifting her hair off her face. Suddenly, she smelled sage, and rosemary. Opening her eyes, she squealed.
She knew what she was going to make.
Michele spent most of the next week in the Harpers’ kitchen. It wasn’t easy cooking meals next to the two other chefs she was competing against. They kept bumping into each other and fighting over the utensils, stove and ovens. All three chefs were making practice foods, getting them right.
Michele noticed that Freja was making a seafood cioppino. “You might want to rethink that one. Jeff hates seafood.”
Freja pulled her white-blond hair up in a beautiful twist. “How ees dis possible? He took me fishing, said he loved water. He even swims like a fishy.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Tonia said. “She’s just trying to get into your head.”
“I don’t lie,” Michele said.
Tonia shrugged. “We all know how you cheat.”
Michele shook her head. “Suit yourself. Make all the fish hors d’oeuvres you want.”
Freja looked at her ingredients, bit her lip and then put the fish back in the refrigerator. “I make something else.”
The day of the event finally arrived. Michele had practiced enough. It was as if Jeff had flipped a switch inside her. All that sensual energy he’d awakened had to be channeled somewhere and she poured it into her cooking. She sampled each of her hors d’oeuvres. They were fantastic.
She went upstairs to get ready. Would it be the last time she’d see Jeff? She was incredibly sad at the thought. But he’d moved on, apparently, and she should stop driving herself crazy and move on, too. They were two different people who wanted different things.
He’d said it by the wedding pagoda. You aren’t like me. You’re warm and caring. Sweet. I see you going for the wedding pagoda and the happily-ever-after, Michele. I hope it sticks fo
r you. I’ll take the no-drama, no-stress business contract in front of a judge.
Well, she hoped he was wrong. She wanted him to find happiness and love someday, too. Even if it was with someone else.
Michele showered, applied her makeup, dried her hair and put on her flowing black pants, pale blue halter blouse and matching strappy sandals. Jeff seemed to like her bare shoulders. And she liked when he kissed them.
Shut up, Michele! she yelled at herself. Jeff wasn’t going to kiss her anymore. And she shouldn’t be wanting him to.
She was here to be a five-star chef. Period.
Downstairs, people had started to arrive. She hustled to the kitchen and found Freja and Tonia had plated up their trays and were outside feeding the guests already. Darn it! They’d left her the two smallest, least attractive trays. She hurried. The first tray was for the fried giant ravioli stuffed with Italian sausage, spinach, parmesan, mozzarella, cherry tomatoes and a mixture of fresh Italian spices. In the center of the tray she had a tomato-and-red-wine-based dipping sauce that was to die for.
On the second tray, she placed her crostini, made with her homemade Italian bread. She’d kneaded savory fragrant spices, some of which she’d purchased from Juanita’s, into the dough and had toasted the slices perfectly. She’d spread a thin layer of olive oil and goat cheese on top of the toasted bread. Purple and black dry-cured olives with rosemary and orange zest came next. The crostini were gorgeous and reminded her of a midnight sky. They made her think of the stars she and Jeff had looked at together. Arugula topped the olives. Around the edges of the tray, she carefully placed delicious prosciutto-, mozzarella-and risotto-stuffed fritters.
Everything smelled good, looked good, and would taste great.
Her magic was back.
She was ready.
* * *
Angel sat on the couch in Cristina’s bungalow and checked the watch RW had given her for her birthday. They were late. RW and his family had already gone downstairs for Jeff’s restaurant unveiling. Angel’s sisters were coming, too, but Julia and Matt had stayed home because Henry was sick. Angel thought about Jeff’s predicament. Chloe, Matt and RW had all told her about Jeff’s childhood. Jeff had refused to join what he called “an intervention” and claimed he didn’t need their help.
From what the others told her, it was clear that Jeff did need some sort of help. Therapy was not a bad idea. Each of the Harper kids had their own crosses to bear because of the way RW and his ex-wife had raised them. The only role models Jeff had growing up were two adults who acted like they hated each other. Jeff had never known love and therefore thought he was incapable of giving love. But Angel knew differently. Hadn’t RW proved that he was a loving man to her? Jeff could do the same. He just needed a gentle hand to guide him toward the feelings he was bottling up. Maybe Michele was the nice one he needed.
Angel glanced at her watch again. If Cristina didn’t hurry, they would miss Jeff’s big speech.
“Come on, Cristina. What’s taking so long?” Angel’s patience was growing thin. It was stressful having the woman and her child staying in Casa Larga. Protecting so many people kept Angel on edge.
Cristina walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her. “Sebastian doesn’t want to go. Maybe I should stay here.”
“No, you need to get out of this bungalow and have some fun. I’ll get someone to watch Sebastian so you can take a break.”
Angel instructed one of the maids to babysit. She knew Cristina needed more than just a break for one night. The young woman craved the same things Angel did—a free life with her family outside the gang. But Cristina and her son could go somewhere else and be happy and safe. Over time, Cuchillo would lose interest in wanting to make Cristina pay for deserting the gang. And since Cristina hadn’t personally witnessed Cuchillo’s sadistic crimes, not like Angel, she wouldn’t be a strong witness for the prosecutor. Cuchillo wouldn’t have to hunt Cristina down and seal her lips forever.
Angel wished she could be that lucky.
Fourteen
“Thank you all for coming.” Jeff stood next to the newly framed restaurant, the sky peeking through the bare wood bones. He lifted his voice so everyone in the crowd could hear him while searching the faces for Michele.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t.
He wanted to see her.
There had to be fifty people from Pueblicito there to take a look at the new building and taste the food from the competing chefs. Shareholders, Dad had called the townspeople. It appeared that RW Harper was going to donate a percentage of the hotel and restaurant profits to them after all. At least, Jeff hoped that was the case, otherwise his father had suckered him into lying to these people.
“As you can see, the restaurant is coming along nicely. We expect to be open for business right on time.” It was going up fast and even in its early stages, it looked amazing.
The crowd cheered.
Pride bloomed in his chest. This was what it felt like to be proud of his accomplishments. Damn, he’d missed this feeling. It surprised him that he was so thrilled with a project that involved the home he used to hate. Working with his father had been better than he ever dreamed possible.
“The plans for both the restaurant and the hotel are pinned up on the wall for you to review at your leisure, but let me set the mood first. Pretend you have just arrived in Plunder Cove, weary and hungry. You walk up those steps...” He pointed to a grassy hillside. The steps had yet to be made. “...and see this wood-sided building, both rustic and charming, with views out to the Pacific Ocean. The shape, the wood, makes you think of—”
“A pirate ship!” someone in the crowd interrupted.
He nodded and one of the old women in the crowd, called out, “Knew you’d do this right. We’ve got faith in you, Jeffrey.”
He pressed his hands to his chest and made a tiny bow. Then he went on to describe his vision for the restaurant. Freja passed by him with a half-empty tray. Tonia was on the other side of the patio surrounded by a group of hungry people. “And please, eat up. We have three of the finest chefs in the world here with us tonight. Enjoy.”
He scanned the crowd.
And then he saw her.
Standing off to the side holding her tray, Michele was watching him. The look on her face resembled pride—in him. It made him want to grab her, press her up against the wall and kiss those pretty lips. Ignoring all the warnings going off in his brain, ignoring everything he’d told himself as he’d stayed away from her for days, he strode toward her, determined to pull her away and get a taste.
He’d drink until he was full and then he’d think about the reasons why he shouldn’t have her.
A man bumped into him. “Water!” the guy choked.
Another person started coughing, and another. Someone behind him said, “We need flan, or milk. This stuff is too spicy!”
Jeff looked around. One guy had tears running down his face while his wife tried to console him. What was going on?
“I thought it would be sweet.” A woman walked up to Michele and pointed. “My husband can’t eat spicy peppers. He might have to go to the ER because of you!”
Michele blanched. “What?”
The three sisters from Pueblicito came to her aid. Nona said, “I love the sauce. Habaneros are my favorite.”
“Me, too,” Flora nodded.
“Just the right kick,” Alana added.
“Habaneros?” Michele looked at Jeff, her face pale. “I didn’t put peppers in the sauce.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, I...don’t think I did...” She bit her lip, indecisive. She tasted the sauce and her face went eyes widened. “There are peppers in this sauce.”
Jeff ran his hand through his hair. Every molecule in his body, especially those below his waistline, screamed at him to ignore the mistake and give her a
chance. Let her stay. No, make her stay. But would he let Tonia or Freja continue in the competition if they messed up as badly as Michele had with the sauce when it wasn’t her first mistake? Maybe not.
Deep down he knew he wanted to forgive any mistakes Michele made because he wanted her. He couldn’t be objective about Michele. With her he was in a constant state of need. He shouldn’t feel needy when he was supposed to be in control. She was ruining him in more ways than one. His gut burned as if he’d swallowed a whole habanero chili.
He had to grow up, be the boss he was supposed to be and let her go. He turned to the serving staff and asked them to bring water and milk right away.
“Michele, I don’t know what in the hell happened, but this is unacceptable. You know how important this night is for me,” he said. “I need a chef who is consistent.” Disappointment and sadness gripped him. He had to cut her out of the competition, which meant he might never see her again.
“I know, Jeff. I’m sorry. This won’t reflect on you. It’s not your fault, it’s my responsibility. I’ll clean it up before I go.” The sparkle he loved so much was gone. She raised her voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize that the sauce was too spicy. Anytime there is a mistake in the kitchen a good chef always makes it right. Please do not leave yet. I will create something special for you to cool your tongues.”
Before she ran back to the kitchen her gaze met his. “I’m sorry.”
The three sisters from Pueblicito cornered Jeff.
“You were too hard on her.” Nona eyed him ferociously.
“Yeah, she’s a nice lady who makes great food,” Alana agreed. “Did you try those giant ravioli? I’m gonna be dreaming about them for weeks.”
“I like the ball things and the olives. Michele was my favorite. Those other two chefs?” Flora shook her head. “Not even close.”
A Convenient Scandal Page 11