Perfectly Matched: ...And the Rest of the Matchmaking Chef Books

by Maddie James

  Suzie laid a hand on his forearm. “You’re right, Scott. Tonight is not the night. Go upstairs and sleep here tonight, then you can get up early in the morning and catch her. You’ll do better on a good night’s sleep.”

  He supposed that was a good idea, but he really doubted that sleep would come to him at all. For the first time in his adult life, he was truly scared about losing a woman. The thought panged him so deep that he didn’t know if he would ever get over it.

  ****

  Much as she hated to admit it, her father was right. Damn it.

  She’d put her parents up in her spare bedroom, convincing her mother that it wasn’t safe to drive back to Knoxville in the dark in this neck of the woods. Her mother cringed at the thought of the locals, as she called them, being out and about at night. In truth she really wanted them gone, so she could ponder all of what had transpired this evening in private, but that wasn’t happening. They weren’t leaving without her, or so they had said. So staying the night in her apartment was the only option.

  At least now it was quiet. Her mother had finally stopped uttering inappropriate things to her father on the other side of the thin wall. Her mother. Seems she’d finally spilled the secret to her father, telling him that she owned Jeaneva. Of course she was never hip on her leaving New York, anyway, so this was probably just the way to get her to come back home. Her father really didn’t need her; he just wanted to control her.

  Her brain drifted—not to sleep, but just wandering over every nuance of conversation she and Scott had shared since they’d met a week and a half ago, every gesture, every look on his face...

  She hadn’t ignored any red flags, had she?

  Her stomach hurt, tied up in nights. At one point she had gotten up and retrieved her laptop, doing an Internet search on Mr. Scott Matthews. Her father’s tabloid, Insights, carried several articles. She never read that thing. Didn’t believe anything in it was true. But she read this article through and through. And others.

  If she knew her father published lies, then why had she reacted that way when he showed her that picture?

  “Because it wasn’t only about the tabloid, was it?”

  No, it wasn’t. He was not honest with her. According to other things she read about him, he’d lost his job at Bianchi due to the scandalous affair and other assorted playboy type shenanigans. She was so confused at this point about what Scott was, and wasn’t, that she could barely get past the fuzzy haze to figure out her next step. But there was one thing she did know, and that rang true in every article or photo she saw of him across Google.

  Scott Matthews was a player.

  And she had allowed him to play her like no other.

  Come morning, she’d worked through it all to the best of her ability, and now, as her father helped her mother into the cab they’d had to summon all the way from Knoxville very early this morning, she knew she was making the right decision. Legend had been a good idea, but her time here was through.

  Pulling the heavy door to her candy shop closed, she twisted the key in the lock, ran a palm down the smooth painted surface once last time, and paused in bittersweet reflection for just one brief moment. Finally she lifted her head for one last glance into the shop, straightened the sign on the door, and turned toward the street.

  ****

  “I am so going to have to fix this.”

  Suzie sat in the passenger side of Brad’s jeep looking at the front door to Bittersweets. Scott had been here earlier, came back to the B&B, and then silently retreated up the mountain to his cabin. Her husband had told him he could stay there as long as he needed.

  They were parked right in front of the store. Brad leaned closer to Suzie from the driver’s side and peered out the window. “I can’t believe she closed the place.”

  It was true. Suzie stared at the big sign tacked on the door. It was not only closed, but closed permanently.

  “Do you think she’s really gone?”

  “Yeah, I do. Did you see the look on her face last night?”

  Suzie nodded. “And the one on Scott’s face this morning was even worse.”

  “I have never seen him so dejected,” Brad added.

  “I figured that. Scott doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to go into depression over a woman.”

  “Scott usually juggles at least three women at the same time. Or at least he did when he was younger.”

  Suzie sighed. “Well, this only means one thing.” Turning in her seat, she looked to her husband. “He loves her. And I have to get to work.”

  “Oh?”

  “And you are going to have to bear with me on this, okay? I may need to go out of town.”

  Brad’s gaze narrowed. “What are you going to do, Suzie?”

  “Not me. The Matchmaking Chef. She is so going to fix this mess.” She motioned toward the steering wheel. “Now, get going. I have work to do. Move it.”

  Brad immediately saluted and threw the Jeep into gear. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Sigh. She loved that man so damned much.

  Chapter Ten

  Three weeks later

  Of all the things Jillian Bass thought she would never do in her life, work for her father was at the top of the list. But here she was, corner office with a Times Square view, nice big mahogany desk taking up half of the space, an administrative assistant that was, if anything, overly attentive, and a staff of people to do her bidding. All she did all day long was sit in meeting after meeting, make a few decisions, crawl home brain dead and fall into bed, and start it all over again the next day.

  Boring.

  Where was the creativity in that?

  She wanted to plunge her fingers into fondant and dip the tips in chocolate. Eventually, she would take over her realm as the president of Jeaneva Chocolates, but for now she was appeasing her father with a short-term stint here at Bass Publishing Conglomerates—which she hated with a passion but would tolerate for the time being. Her father had been such an ass, lately, until she had agreed to come work for him. At least he was more pleasant when he was bossing her around.

  The things one does to keep peace in the family.

  She longed for Legend and Bittersweets but wouldn’t let herself linger there. Just a brief diversion once in a while. It was much too painful to stay there for long. The store was up for sale, in the hands of McClain Realty. The movers were supposed to sweep in early next week and pack up her belongings.

  Then it would be over for good, and she could get on with her life.

  Ugh. Those words had come straight from her father’s mouth a few days earlier.

  Thing was, she missed Legend, and the people, and the lifestyle there. But she had to forget it. It didn’t work. She belonged right here.

  Well, somewhere here, like, in New York but not necessarily here at Bass.

  Just bide your time, Jillian...

  Repeatedly, she popped her pencil eraser on her shiny desktop while staring out the window. “I wonder if Scott went back to Italy...”

  Stephanie, her assistant, simultaneously knocked and barreled in the door. She didn’t know why the woman even bothered to knock, barely a fraction of a second existed between knock and entrance. But no matter, the day was nearly done, and she was ready to get out of here.

  Stephanie laid a folder on her desk. “So, here is the article to be approved first thing in the morning, complete with pics. You know the drill. We go to press at ten, so we have to be quick about this one.”

  Yes, she knew the drill. She set the folder aside.

  Another one landed in her hands. “This is a pitch for a potential article from one of our leading writers. Ross said for you to get with him right away. Helluva story, he said.”

  Of course. They were all a helluva story in Insights. Jillian passed that one to the side, as well.

  “And here are some notes about the party tonight. The players, who you might encounter, what their stories are, etc.”

  Her gaze shot up. “Party?”
>
  “Didn’t Ross tell you?”

  Hells bells. No. “I am not going to a party tonight, Stephanie. I have a date with my bed and a good book.”

  Ever the efficient assistant, Stephanie rounded the huge desk, wiggled the mouse on Jillian’s computer, and popped open her email program. She glanced her way. “Have you even opened your email today?” A look of horror passed over the young woman’s face.

  Jillian shrugged. “To be honest I don’t think I’ve opened it all week.”

  The girl’s eyes grew even more round as she turned back to the computer. She moused and clicked for a few seconds. “Here.” She pointed. “Thursday evening, seven o’clock, Marriot Marquis hotel. The party is in a private suite.” She turned back to the folder and flipped some pages. “Here we go. The room number is there. All the information you need.” She handed the folder back to Jillian.

  Her brain hurt. All she wanted was to go home. It was a quarter past five, and she was going to have to somehow spruce up. No time to go home. And she needed a different dress. Shit.

  She grasped the folder. “All right, Stephanie. Thanks.”

  Smiling, the woman moved toward the door. “No problem. It’s my job.” Then she whirled back. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Ross said to be sure and take your phone with the good camera. He wants pictures of any celebrities you see.”

  Great. “Thanks, Stephanie. Will do.”

  She left, and Jillian collapsed in her oversized leather chair. “I hate my life.” And I miss Scott.

  ****

  Everything and everyone was in place. Perfect.

  Suzie looked about her and smiled. This was going to work. She knew it.

  She couldn’t have pulled it off without Patricia Plum, her television producer at The Food Channel. Suzie had been working behind the scenes in Legend until a couple of days ago, and Patricia was taking care of things here in New York. They had a taping coming up next week, anyway, for the second season of The Matchmaking Chef, so Suzie just came a few days early.

  Patricia had big connections, and that was what she had been counting on. Thank God Patricia was as adventurous as Suzie. Of course, Patricia owed Suzie big time, after all the work she did to find her a husband. She and Ames had been married for six months now and happy as little clams.

  So Patricia was game, and that was a very good thing.

  “All right. Let’s go through this list one last time.”

  Patricia leaned over the table and looked at the list with Suzie, who began with, “The press release was delivered to Bass Conglomerates, right?”

  Patricia nodded. “Ames acted as a courier and delivered it earlier in the week. Jillian was on the requested invite list.”

  “Good.”

  “The staff all knows to show up at six thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Piano player?”

  “Check.”

  “And they know to leave sharply when the piano player stops playing?”

  “Yes. They understand.”

  “The food order?”

  “All is set there.”

  “Oh, and who is going to the airport?”

  Patricia stepped back. “I forgot to ask Ames about that. Let me call him.”

  A little panic settled in Suzie’s gut. “Patricia, we have to get to the airport. That’s an important part.”

  She nodded. “I know!” She punched at her phone. “Ames!”

  They chatted, and Suzie went back to the list. She’d talked with hotel staff, had made sure

  Brad was following through with things on his end, and had already double-checked with the florist. She couldn’t think of a thing that was left to do.

  Patricia snapped her phone shut. “We’re good. I’d already mentioned it to Ames and had totally forgotten it. He’s going.”

  “Good.”

  Sighing, Suzie glanced about and then to her friend. “I think our work here is nearly done.”

  Patricia nodded. “Agreed.”

  ****

  Wearing a little black dress that she had purchased for way too much money at a dress shop between her office and the hotel, Jillian punched the elevator button to take her up to a Presidential Suite on a high floor. Begrudgingly, she had stuffed the folder with the guest list into her purse, and made sure her cell phone was at the ready.

  “Let’s not disappoint Daddy,” she muttered.

  The door opened, and she crossed the large hallway, glanced to the numbers on the wall, and headed in the right direction. The party started at seven, and she doubted that most people would arrive that early. It was actually a ridiculously early time for a party. So she’d lingered longer than she’d intended at the dress shop, and then had to go back to her private office restroom to freshen up, had one thing to take care of at her desk before she left, and finally, here at fifteen minutes to eight, she was ready to join the party.

  It was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Music and laughter spilled from the room as she approached, the door latch pushed outward and preventing it from locking shut. She went on in.

  There was definitely a party going on here. People were everywhere. Pretty people. But no one she recognized, at least yet.

  Meandering into the room, she glanced about. The suite was large, and a baby grand piano sat in a corner with a man playing it and a woman singing some jazzy tune. Food trays were scattered about, and a girl with a tray full of wine glasses headed her way.

  “May I get you a glass?” she asked.

  “Chablis.”

  “I have some right here.”

  Jillian took the glass and paused as the piano player stopped playing and the girl stopped singing. When that happened, everyone in the room halted talking. And at once it seemed like they were all looking at her. She froze with the wine glass barely touching her lips.

  In the next second, everyone started heading for the door. Leaving!

  What in the world?

  Once in a while someone would glance her way and smile, but for the most part, they treaded in small groups toward the door and left. Not exactly sure what she should do, she contemplated that she should also leave, herself.

  As the last two people exited, the piano player and the singer, she took one step toward the door.

  “Jillian?”

  It was the voice that made her turn around. The room suddenly appeared a lot larger than a moment earlier. She scanned it, and her gaze landed on a man standing on the far end.

  “Scott?”

  He moved closer. “Please don’t leave.” With each of his hurried steps, her heart picked up its cadence.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He shook his head. “I was invited to Suzie’s review party for her next cookbook. But everyone seems to have left. Except you. I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Suzie’s cookbook?”

  He nodded.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out the folder. Quickly, she scanned the contents. “I was told this was a celebrity charity event to help kids in poverty overseas.”

  Shrugging, Scott stepped closer. “It sure is good to see you.”

  She had to admit, he certainly was a sight for her sore eyes.

  “I think we’ve been duped,” he said.

  Jillian thought about that for a moment. “No, I think we’ve been Matchmaking Chef-ed.”

  At that moment a knock came to the door, and a table for two filled with dinner rolled into the room. They waited while the server pulled up the leaves, adjusted the table cloth, and arranged the food.”

  “Anything else I can do for you, sir?” The server looked to Scott.

  “No. This looks wonderful.”

  He nodded and headed for the door. “Wait,” Scott said, digging in his pocket.

  The server shook his head. “No, sir. It’s all taken care of.”

  The door shut with a solid click after he left.

  “Now I’m sure of it,” Jillian muttered. “We’ve been matched b
y the master.”

  An odd silence fell between them, and Jillian was having a difficult time pulling her gaze away from the table. It wasn’t the food; it was that suddenly her heart had clutched, and more than anything, she wanted to make things right with Scott, but she wasn’t sure how.

  But Scott intervened by touching a forefinger to her chin and lifting it so she could look into his eyes.

  “Jillian, I don’t know why we are both here, but I’m not letting another minute go by without explaining some things to you. I should have told you about working for Bianchi,” he said quietly. “And all of that other stuff. But Jillian, I swear to you, that article in your father’s tabloid was not true.”

  She nodded. “I know that.” She did. She’d read enough about Scott over the past three weeks to know that her father’s writers were playing with fire and gross untruths. “My father is the liar.”

  “I heard you were working for him.”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore. I resigned before I left the office this evening.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Couldn’t do it.”

  “Jillian?”

  She hooked into his gaze. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, your chocolates, anything. Even if you tell me to go to hell and get out of your life, I want you to know that the night we spent together was more than a one-night stand for me. I care deeply for you. I... Oh, hell...”

  Stepping closer, he ran his hands over her shoulders and down to her biceps, squeezing. “I can’t get you out of my head. Jillian, come home with me. Come back to Legend. We can take it slow, get to know each other better, work all of this out. Just come home, please?”

  And those were the words that sent Jillian over the edge.

  Home. With Scott. In Legend.

  As her eyes spilled over with tears, she peered deep into his and replied, “I can’t think of any other place I would rather be.”

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  “Scott! Where is that chocolate syrup I use to drizzle over the Legend Mountain Butternut Creams?”

  Jillian shoved bottles aside in the pantry, looking for the item she sought.