“Maybe I’m luckier than they are. I don’t know. But I refuse to believe so poorly of everyone. You must have a really negative outlook on life.”
Chapter 4
Rhys gazed at her. “Negative? Me?” He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said something so bald-faced to him. There were definite advantages to her not knowing who he was. The Sophie who wanted to please Mr. Blackwell so much would never have told him her opinion like that. And was she right? Did he have a negative outlook on society?
He definitely thought what he’d said–he’d had far too many people work for him who cut corners and slacked off every chance they got. He’d fired them all.
Then again, Sophie wasn’t like that. Nor Janet, nor Raymond. He had many employees who worked hard and did their best on a regular basis.
Sophie shrugged. “Maybe not. I don’t know you that well. But if you think everyone in the world is a slacker, then yeah. You have a negative outlook.”
“Not everyone’s a slacker. But there are a lot of them.” It wasn’t just the employees he’d fired for not doing their jobs; it was the “friends” who glommed onto him just so they could feed off the edges of his wealth. That’s why he didn’t have many friends. He had a hard time telling who really liked him and who just liked his money.
Sophie flipped a page in the cookbook. “It’s all in how you look at it. I’ll admit there are a lot of slackers. But I prefer to focus on the people who aren’t slackers, the ones who are working hard every day and trying to make something of themselves. There are a lot of that kind of people, too.”
How was it that this woman had so little compared to him, and yet she could see the good things in the world while he only saw the bad? She was amazing.
All the more reason for him to get out of here. The last thing he needed to do was admire the very woman he needed to keep his hands off of.
He slipped one last cookie into his mouth as he turned. His eyes fell on the cookbook a split second before she flipped the page. Mac and cheese. Not just mac and cheese, but a mac and cheese recipe with his nanny’s handwriting on it. Rhys stabbed a finger at the book, chewing madly. When he’d finally swallowed the cookies, he said, “Back one page. The mac and cheese.”
She turned the page. “That’s not fancy enough. I need to impress Mr. Blackwell.”
How could he make her understand without giving himself away? “See that handwriting in the corners? That’s Blackwell’s old nanny from when he was a kid. And see what she says there?”
Sophie tipped her head to the side at the same slant as the writing. “‘William’s favorite.’”
“He loves that mac and cheese,” Rhys said, thanking heaven that he’d been called by his first name, William, back then. When he’d turned eight he’d insisted he be called Rhys from then on. “You’ve gotta make it for him.” He held himself back from begging, but just barely. Even the thought of that dish made his mouth water, bringing back memories of his childhood and his nanny, Emma, who he’d loved like a mother.
Squinting her eyes at him, Sophie said, “Just how well do you know him? How could you know what his childhood favorite was?”
He could lie. Lie more, that is. Continue to expand the lie until it wrapped around them both. Or he could evade. That seemed the better part of valor.
Rhys grabbed another cookie and shoved it in his mouth, smiling around it. He shrugged and motioned at his full mouth.
Sophie huffed a breath. “Fine.” But she wrote ‘mac and cheese’ and the page number on her pad of paper.
Success.
And now Rhys needed to leave, before he finished the cookie and she could ask him more questions. He backed toward the door.
“No more cookies for you,” she said. “Those are for Mr. Blackwell.”
He nodded, still chewing. When he reached the door, he swallowed. “See you later.”
He heard her soft “Bye” as the door swung shut behind him.
He couldn’t get over how different this Sophie was from the last one. The last Sophia—the odd, skinny little cook who had accused him of harassment. He’d called her ‘Skinny’ in his head, but had never been anything but professional to her in person. Not like the way he’d been with the current Sophie.
The current Sophie might actually have a case, the way he’d been throwing himself at her. But Skinny hadn’t been his type, and he’d never touched her, never so much as leaned in her direction. That hadn’t stopped him from having to fight her in court. His lawyer was still tangling with her. Would it never end?
All the more reason to stay away from Sophie. She had her baggage, but he had his own. And the last thing he wanted was to end up in another harassment case. This one was bad enough—Skinny was doing her best to drag his name through every tabloid in the grocery store, all in an effort to gain a sizable settlement.
She was yet another slacker hoping for a payout.
But for now, he had other business to take care of. He found Janet in the front hall. “Did you get my message?” he said. He knew she had; Janet read his texts immediately, even in the middle of the night. He’d had to stop sending them except during working hours or she’d never rest. This is who Sophie meant when she talked about people wanting to do their best. People like Janet.
“Of course,” Janet said. “A party next week will take some work to plan, but it’s doable.”
He didn’t really like parties, particularly when he had to host them, but his niece’s sweet sixteen party had been thrown into disarray because a fire had gutted the reception hall. So he planned to throw it for her himself. For her, he’d even show up and mingle.
“We’ll need some help in the kitchen,” Janet said. She pulled a pad of paper from her pocket, consulting notes and making a few extra as she talked. “I haven’t spoken to Sophia yet but I’m sure she’ll need some assistance, and that’s not counting the servers and bartenders.”
“Bartenders? The guests will all be sixteen.”
“Non-alcoholic drinks, of course. Mostly sodas, but we can also provide some nice punches. Having a few bartenders scattered around who can dole out the drinks will help keep things orderly.”
Orderly. He’d expect nothing less from Janet. “I feel almost bad dumping a houseful of teenagers on you.”
A trace of a smile crossed her face. “I welcome the challenge.”
Rhys laughed. “And music? You’ll get a deejay?”
“I already reached out to a few well-recommended deejays to get estimates. And I asked the maids to start deep cleaning this morning so everything will be ready in time.”
He’d known she could manage it. That’s why he’d felt confident about committing to host the party, even on such short notice.
“I’ll speak with Sophia this morning,” Janet said.
“Good.” A thought occurred to him. Did he dare reinforce his mac and cheese request so soon after making it? “Could you also tell her that I’d like to eat casually one night a week from now on? She makes excellent food, but I also like hamburgers and hot dogs and comfort food.”
Janet dipped her head. “I’ll tell her. Any night in particular?”
“Doesn’t matter, as long as I don’t have guests.” He rarely had guests, so that wasn’t much of a constraint.
His mouth was already watering, thinking about the amazing mac and cheese his nanny used to make. Hopefully Sophie would be able to put together ‘casual food’ and ‘mac and cheese’ and come up with the right answer.
Rhys and Janet reviewed a few other household issues then he proceeded into his home office. He should really go into the office in the city but he didn’t feel like it. Today was Saturday. Monday he’d have to go to work soon enough.
Chapter 5
Half an hour after Rhys left, Sophie still sat at the kitchen island poring over cookbooks. Some were hers, some—like the one Rhys had gotten so excited about—had been in the pantry when she started working at the mansion. After Rhys pointed out Mr. Bla
ckwell’s nanny’s handwriting, Sophie watched for it on every page. It rarely showed up, but when it did, the information was invaluable.
Sophie jumped when Janet appeared next to her.
“We need to talk,” Janet said.
Oh, great. Nothing good ever came after that opening.
“Mr. Blackwell is throwing a last-minute sweet sixteen party for his niece next weekend. We need to talk about a menu and what help you might need in the kitchen.”
Then again, that didn’t sound so bad. “How many people?”
“Three hundred. The party was originally supposed to be held at the Mercer Reception Hall–you know, the one that burned down a few days ago.”
Her mind skipped over the number as though protecting her from it and went straight to the fire. “How awful. I imagine his niece isn’t the only one scrambling for a new location.”
“Indeed. Luckily, she’s the only one we’re going to have to accommodate here.”
Janet was probably having conniptions thinking about all of those teenagers invading her territory. Internal conniptions–she’d never show something as common as emotion to anyone around her. Still, Sophie liked her.
“Any idea what she’d like to eat?” Sophie said. For sixteen-year-olds, fine dining might be a bit too much. At the same time, wealthy kids were raised on the stuff so who knew? She stamped down a spurt of fear at the idea of preparing dinner for three hundred.
Janet whipped a sheet of paper out of her ever-present notebook and handed it to Sophie. “Here’s what she originally ordered from the reception hall. Mr. Blackwell said we don’t have to replicate it exactly, but this should give you a good idea.”
Sophie scanned the list. Mostly hors d’oeuvres with some desserts at the bottom. “No main meal?”
“Apparently they mostly want to dance. They’ll need enough finger foods to graze throughout the night, but no–no actual meal.”
Sophie’s heartbeat slowed a little. “That will make things easier.” She put the paper down. “Why don’t I put some ideas together and then we can review them?”
“Very good. And you’ll need help in the kitchen, I assume?”
“Yes, definitely.” Sophie thought for a moment then told Janet how many people she wanted, their skill level, and how far in advance of the party she’d need them.
Janet madly took notes. “I’ll speak with the employment agency about getting the help you need. When you have the proposed menu ready, let me know. We’ll need to get on top of the shopping very soon.”
“Of course.” Sophie had already started flipping through cookbooks before Janet even left the room.
How exciting. How totally thrilling. She thought she might throw up.
Chapter 6
Sophie didn’t see Rhys for the next few days but she barely noticed. Each day flew by as she prepared and refined the menu, detailed the grocery list and began early preparations. She listed out what she and each of her temporary employees would do, complete with timelines, in hopes everything would go smoothly.
She’d never cooked for so many people at once in her life.
The Montgomerys had had many dinner parties when she was there, but never a large party like this. And even if they had, she had been sous chef, not head chef. It would have been hectic but she wouldn’t have felt this weight on her shoulders. If anything went wrong with this party, she didn’t want it to be the food.
In the middle of everything else, Janet brought Mr. Blackwell’s niece to visit Sophie’s kitchen. The girl, Tamara, reminded Sophie of the girls from Clueless—perfectly pedicured, fantastically clothed, and carelessly wealthy. All the same, Tamara seemed pleasant and not at all condescending as they were introduced.
Sophie had laid out samples of all of the hors d’oeuvres she planned to serve. She went down the line, explaining what each one was as Tamara tasted them.
All of a sudden, Tamara squealed. “This is amazing! This one is definitely my favorite. The others are all great, too, but I love this one!”
Sophie couldn’t help but smile. Nothing felt better than someone appreciating her cooking.
Tamara favored the smoked salmon barquettes. “I can make extras of those if you like,” Sophie said. “They’re my favorite, too.” She immediately liked Tamara much better knowing they had that in common.
“Oh, yes, make extras. I’m sure all my friends will like it too.”
The girl finished trying all the rest of the hors d’oeuvres and gave them her blessing. “They’re better than what they were going to give us at the reception hall. Thank you for making my party so good!” She hugged Sophie and then–before anyone could stop her–hugged Janet, too.
Sophie wanted to laugh when she saw Janet’s wide eyes over Tamara’s shoulder.
Sophie still hadn’t met Mr. Blackwell himself. The man must hide away in the house. Or perhaps she was the one hiding away. She did spend most of her time in the kitchen.
When Rhys walked through the door an hour later, she realized how long it’d been since she’d seen him. Clearly, any friendship she’d thought was growing between them was all in her head.
“Here for more cookies?” she said.
“Sure am.” He headed straight for the cookie container. “How’re the preparations for the party going?”
“Pretty good.” Not for the first time, she wondered what he did around the mansion. He never had said. “And yours?” Maybe he’d tell her now.
“Good. It’s all coming along smoothly.”
Another vague answer. “What is?”
He paused. She knew what he was going to do before he did it. Sure enough, he shoved a cookie in his mouth.
He was hiding something. No doubt about it. But she couldn’t imagine what. So what if he was a stable hand or a gardener or a mechanic who worked on the cars? She’d already told him she wasn’t interested, so it shouldn’t matter if he had some crazy idea his job wasn’t prestigious enough.
Time for her to get direct. “What is it you do around here?”
He smiled around the cookie, sauntering over to her and grabbing her around the waist and waltzing her around the kitchen. When he finished chewing, he still didn’t speak.
Sophie tapped on his chest. “I asked a question.”
“This and that.” He leaned closer. “Why does it matter?”
She pulled away from him. “You’re keeping secrets from me and I don’t know why.”
“Maybe I’m scared you won’t give me any more cookies if you know the truth.”
“Hunh. I don’t give you cookies now. I just refrain from beating you when you steal from the cookie jar.”
Rhys laughed. “Beating me? I’d like to see you try.” He grabbed her around the waist again and pulled her toward him.
“You think I don’t know Krav McGraw or whatever it is?” She knew by the look on his face she’d mangled the name of the martial art.
“Now I don’t.”
“All right, fine. I don’t. If I wanted to stop you from eating the cookies, I’d have to be more devious. Like hiding the real ones and putting a batch in the cookie jar that were exactly the same as the real ones except with salt instead of sugar.”
His face screwed up. “That would be cruel and unusual punishment.”
“That would serve you right. I’m having to bake almost every day now.”
“I told you he liked them.”
“He’s not the one eating most of them.”
Rhys smirked. “That’s what you think. Or are you giving cookies to Janet and Raymond too?”
Sophie pulled away from him and took several steps backward. “Raymond has had a couple. Janet says she doesn’t like cookies.” Sophie couldn’t quite believe it, but if Janet didn’t want any cookies, she didn’t have to eat any.
Sophie had eaten her share. Just another reason she would never be thin. “So you just came for cookies?” She needed to get this conversation back on track.
He didn’t answer. “So what a
re you making for the party?”
“Finger food. Pot stickers, feta-stuffed watermelon, some other things. Should be good.”
“And you’ve got everything you need? Everything going smoothly?”
“You came here for a status update?” Who the hell was he?
“I’m just asking. No big deal. So–everything going okay?”
That was the third time he’d asked. Bullshit was this just a friendly question. Still, she didn’t know where it was coming from. She’d kept Janet apprised of her progress and Janet was reporting it to Mr. Blackwell. So why did Rhys need to know?
It couldn’t hurt to tell him. “Yeah, everything’s fine. On track.”
“Good. I want everything to go smoothly for Tamara’s party. She deserves it.”
“And who are you to her?”
He paused. “I’ve known her since she was little.”
And the plot thickened. Was this truth, or a lie upon lies? “Fine, don’t tell me anything. Be Mr. Enigma himself.”
“I will. Just one thing–save a dance for me the night of the party.”
“A dance? I’ll be back here the whole time.”
“Right, but you’ll be able to hear the music from back here. I’ll make sure to visit sometime during the evening.” He grabbed a couple more cookies. “You owe me that dance.”
He left before she could tell him that no matter how much she loved dancing by herself, alone in a dark room, no way in hell would she dance with him in the middle of a well-lit kitchen with other people around to watch.
Chapter 7
Rhys knelt on his knees as he planted a row of petunias along the edge of the area where the dance floor would be set up. Across the open area, his gardener Harris planted an identical row of plants. Harris didn’t really need his help, but Rhys loved getting his hands in the dirt.
Footsteps sounded on the stone walkway leading to where he knelt. They didn’t sound rushed—probably not Janet, desperately tracking him down for another last minute question. Maybe someone else out for a stroll.
Crazy About Curves: 10 Luscious Reads Page 81