Skinny Bitch in Love

by Kim Barnouin

  “I’m up in Bluff Valley,” I said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Today’s field-trip day for my cooking class. We just made pizza with veggies we harvested ourselves.”

  “Tell me you’re free tonight. I need you to be free tonight.”

  “If you can drive me home tomorrow. The class needs to go back tonight, and we came in one car.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight,” he said. “I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Me, too,” I whispered, caught off guard.

  As usual when it came to Zach.

  “Maybe I’ll finally get to see that hidden tattoo,” he said.

  “Maybe you will.”

  “EVA!” Sara shouted from the front passenger seat of Eva’s car. “Where the hell is she already?”

  Eva had been in the car, about to drive off after hugs and food baskets from my parents, but then she’d called her husband to make plans for when she got back to Santa Monica and ended up getting out of the car to talk in private.

  Which left Sara alone with Duncan, who sat in the backseat, flipping through his little notebook.

  “She’s been gone for like fifteen minutes,” Duncan said. “I have to get back.”

  “You’re an ass, Duncan Ridley. I just want you to know that,” Sara said, turning around.

  “Sara, I like you. I really do. But I’m just not ready to get involved with anyone.”

  “Well, you could have said that before we had sex.”

  Duncan threw up his hands and flung himself back in his seat.

  This was my cue to go look for Eva so they could talk privately.

  I walked around the side of the house and found Eva kicking rocks. She was crying, blackish-brown mascara streaks down her face.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She whirled around and dabbed at her eyes. “He’s such an asshole!”

  There was a lot of that going around. “Your husband?”

  “All I said was that I’d had an amazing day at my cooking teacher’s farm and when I got back tonight, why didn’t I come over and we’d plan a weekend to a B&B up here. He said he had plans tonight. So I said how about tomorrow, and he has plans tomorrow, too. So I said I thought we were getting back together, and he’s like, we are, but I don’t want to rush things. And then it turned into this huge stupid argument and he hung up on me.”

  “Maybe it’s good that he wants to take it slow,” I said, having no idea what else to say.

  “You really think so?” she asked.

  “Well, you know him better than anyone,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “EVA!” came Sara’s very loud shout. “Come on, already!”

  Eva ignored Sara. “I just don’t know. I wish I knew if I could trust him. I want to.”

  “You just have to go with your gut. The gut knows everything.”

  She nodded and blew her nose and stared out at the distant evergreens. I was hoping Sara would come drag her away when Eva finally let out a deep breath. “I think you’re right about that. Thanks, Clem.” We started walking back to the car.

  Sara rolled her window back down. “Finally.”

  At her car door, Eva pulled me into a hug. “You’re a really nice person,” she said. “I mean, underneath it all.”

  I laughed, and she got in and buckled up.

  “Yeah, she’s so nice that she’s trapping me in this car alone with you two,” Sara muttered.

  “We can hear you,” Duncan said.

  And then, finally, Eva drove off.

  Twenty minutes later, the black Mercedes pulled up in the same spot.

  Chapter 14

  The entrance to the Silver Creek Ranch was a ridiculously ornate bronze-colored gate that swung open on both sides, a huge black swirly letter J on the left. About a half hour away from my parents’ farm, the Jeffries’s family ranch was more like a palatial estate. No mutant rabbits or pet sheep wandered around. And I couldn’t hear a sound—if there were cattle and horses, they were in soundproof barns. The grounds were manicured to look perfectly wild and natural, yet neat. Yeah. As expected.

  Zach drove us up the winding dirt road and passed a huge, sprawling white house with wraparound porches, balconies on the upper levels, and more flowers than at the botanical gardens. I could see smaller cottage-like homes in the distance, and, finally, a few miles down, Zach pulled up in front of a gorgeous stone house. Behind it was a red barn and open fields.

  “So I take it this is the Jeffries family compound,” I said.

  He nodded like it was perfectly normal to basically have your own town for your relatives and staff. “We all have our own houses up here. Close enough that it’s family property, but far enough away so we don’t kill each other. The main operation is another few miles down the road.”

  Ah. That explained the lack of mooing. I got out of the car and sucked in an amazing breath of clean, fresh air, something that always caught me by surprise, even though I’d grown up in farm country. Side effect of life in the city. Zach took my hand and led me inside. Except for the gross leather couches, the house was Architectural Digest ready. In the large living room a huge stone fireplace took up an entire wall. Windows, another. The other two walls were bookcases and art. Not a dead-deer head anywhere.

  He didn’t stop in the living room as I thought he might. Or the kitchen. He led me to the back deck, where a bottle of champagne and two glasses were waiting for us on a table between two cushioned chaise lounges under a canopy of leaves from a huge, old oak tree. The sun had set but it wasn’t quite dark, and out here with all the quiet it was like Zach and I were the only two people on earth.

  Before I could say a word, he pulled me against him and kissed me hard, then looked at me, holding my face in both his hands before kissing me again, harder, deeper.

  “I’m crazy about you,” he said. “You know that, right?”

  Me, too, but I wasn’t crazy about that. “Maybe.”

  He stood so close to me, his arms around my neck. “I’m sorry about this morning. Nothing came out like I meant it to or wanted it to.”

  “But it did come out,” I said. “I do live in that dump. I do tack Skinny Bitch signs on lampposts. I am saving every buck to have the start-up costs for the new space I found for my restaurant. That’s my life. Your life is a family compound. And an amazing beach house and who knows what else. You own multimillion-dollar businesses and properties. You’re opening a steakhouse. I’m a vegan. Me and you? We’re not supposed to work.”

  “Maybe not. But I’m going to try, Clem.” He trailed kisses along my collarbone. “You?”

  I looked at him, into those blue eyes, and knew two things. 1) He’d had me at “hey” on the phone earlier and 2) I was already trying and didn’t think I could stop anyway.

  “You in?” he asked, tugging me closer against him.

  “Not if you’re sleeping with half of L.A.”

  He froze for a second. “I’m not. But I can’t make you any promises, either, Clem. I’ll be very honest with you—I thought I was going to marry someone, and she eloped with someone else. Blindsided me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to—” He stopped talking and stepped back.

  “Trust anyone again?”

  “Something like that.” He pulled me back against him. “I just know there’s something between us.”

  “Me, too.”

  He kissed me again and pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it on one of the chaises. I might own crappy shoes for visits to my parents’ farm, but when it came to bras and underwear, there was only sexy, black, and lacy. He stepped back and looked me up and down. Down and up. “Damn, Clementine.”

  He took off his T-shirt and was as amazing as I expected.

  Next went my jeans. Then his.

  And under the moonlight just beginning to filter through the leaves of that old oak tree, Zach easily found my other tattoo.

  Sometime during the past couple of hours, we’d moved to his bed, which
was huge and so comfortable I never wanted to get out. We lay naked on our backs on the cool white sheets, my head in the crook of one of his arms, his other arm slung across my chest. I almost couldn’t believe I was really here, that any of this was real, so how did this feel so right?

  He pulled me tighter against him. “I knew despite all those differences you keep bringing up that we’d be very, very, very compatible in the sack.”

  “You were right, too.”

  “I usually am.”

  I turned over and bit him on the shoulder for that.

  He pulled me on top of him. “Not letting you go.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “I keep forgetting to tell you because I’m either mad at you or you’re mad at me—I mentioned to a few friends of mine who own restaurants that a top vegan chef is designing a couple of vegan dishes for The Silver Steer, and they all want you. Everybody needs to up the model/celeb factor, and vegan offerings will bring them in, even if they’re not vegans. Figure on charging twelve, maybe fifteen hundred for the menu.”

  I sat up, a chill going down my spine. Why did this sound so slick to me?

  “And you’re not thanking me,” he said.

  “I just want to make sure I’m the reason for the jobs—not because of favors millionaires owe each other. ‘Could you give the chick I’m sleeping with a break?’ That makes me sick.”

  “Jesus, Clem. How is this different than what Ty did for you with Skinny Bitch Bakes?”

  It was. Somehow.

  “I’ll tell them you’re not interested,” he said, his hands behind his head instead of all over me.

  “I want to do it, Zach. I just want to make sure I’m getting the gigs because of my menus and my food. That’s all.”

  “I’ll tell them yes, then. I’ll have my assistant email you their contact info. You’ll have those start-up costs a lot sooner than you expected—because of your talent, not me. Tell me about the new space.”

  I flopped onto my back and put his arm across my chest again. “It’s perfect. Just the right size. It’s not as cool-looking as the space for The Silver Steer—on the corner with those amazing windows and the arched door—but it’s a great little spot. Lots of foot traffic.”

  “So I really did steal that space from you? I remember you said that the first time I saw you—when you barged in and pushed past Clipboard.”

  I remembered that, too. How he’d leaned back in his chair to see who was arguing with Lady Clipboard. How immediately attracted I was. Now here I was in bed with him.

  “It’s not like I had the money to lease the place, so technically you didn’t steal it. But for the past couple of years, I’ve walked past that location every day thinking it’s where I’d open my own restaurant.”

  “Clementine’s No Crap Café.”

  “It’s the perfect location. And right across the street from my apartment. I love that red door. And the curved stone entrance. The way the light hits the big windows in the morning. Alice—she owns the hot yoga place downstairs—told me the tree in front of the place is over two hundred years old. A steakhouse in that perfect space? Makes me shudder.”

  “I thought I made you shudder.”

  I smiled at him.

  “I’m glad you found another location you like. And that I can help you out in some way. Once word gets around that you’re consulting on menu planning, you’ll get calls from all over L.A. Beyond, too.”

  “Did I say thanks? I meant to.”

  He pulled me back on top of him. “Don’t give anyone else my mushroom burger or blackened tofu,” he said, trailing kisses along my collarbone and neck. “They’re mine. You’re mine.”

  I never really knew it was possible to feel happy and kind of freaked out at the same time.

  He ran his fingers through my hair. “This is when you’re supposed to say ‘ditto.’ ”

  “I like ‘ditto.’ But I got seriously burned the last time I did ditto on that. I’m in, like I said, but this is still . . . ”

  “Still what?

  “Insane.”

  He laughed. “Insane, but good insane. So I eat meat, wear leather jackets, like how chemicals do a good job. I have ex-girlfriends. A commitment issue. I’m rich. I put a 3D deer sign, as you called it, outside your window. I stole your space for your restaurant. I waste fuel emissions. I can sometimes be an asshole. Anything else?”

  “Ha. I think you covered just about everything. Now you can start on me.”

  “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Come on. I’m a preachy vegan. There’s lots to start with there alone.”

  “I like that you’re a preachy vegan. And you’re actually not preachy at all, now that I think about it. I like you as is, Clementine Cooper.”

  “Ditto,” I said and pulled the covers over our heads.

  Zach drove me back to my parents’ house the next morning so I could say good-bye before we hit the road again. How weird was it to watch him shake hands with my dad and get hugged and thanked by my mom for what he did for us when Dad had been in the hospital?

  I’d only just slept with the guy and there were parents involved.

  They loaded him up with all kinds of fruit and vegetables from their fields and the Irish soda bread my mother had made that morning, then I once again found myself in the passenger seat of his sleek black Mercedes for the long drive back to Santa Monica.

  “What’s this?” he asked, picking up a small, oval-shaped fruit from the goodie bag my dad had packed us. “Some kind of orange?”

  “It’s a kumquat.”

  “At least I know my raspberries,” he said, grabbing a bunch.

  “Actually, those are salmonberries.”

  “I knew I was smart to hire you for The Silver Steer,” he said. “Salmonberries. Never heard of them.”

  My ringing phone interrupted me from saying something sarcastic about a restaurant owner not knowing anything about food. I glanced at the display screen. Gerry from Cali Bakes. I owed him two dozen scones and two dozen mixed cookies on Friday. Bet he was calling to double the order.

  “Hey, Gerry.”

  “Clementine, I’m sorry to have to say this, but I need to cancel my order for Friday. I’m afraid the scones I ordered Saturday haven’t sold. And I only sold one slice of the chocolate pudding pie. And it’s not just your stuff. I’m having to cancel orders from other vendors, too. Competition is crazy in Santa Monica.”

  Well, shit. “Will you check out my website—I added five new amazing things. Rosewater cheesecake cookies and—”

  “I wish I could, Clem,” he interrupted. “I love your stuff. But I’ll have to pass.”

  Ty had told me to expect calls like this and not to take it personally, that it was a reflection of a particular café’s business and not me or Skinny Bitch Bakes. But I still would have liked my cupcakes and cookies and scones to edge out other vendors because mine completely killed.

  “Well, thanks for trying me out. I appreciate that, Gerry.” We hung up and I leaned back in my seat.

  “What’s up?” Zach asked.

  “I just lost a client. A good one, too—Cali Bakes. My stuff didn’t sell.”

  “Sorry to hear that. And surprised. I’ve had your cookies and my sister didn’t shut up about that scone she had at your place. You’re an amazing baker.”

  The praise did make me feel better. “It’s just one client, right? No big deal.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. And it says more about the place, or the economy, than your pies and cookies, Clem. They’re probably just not moving a lot of baked goods. You lost one client, but you’re about to take on three more and branch out in a whole new way.”

  He filled me in on the restaurants that wanted me to design vegan menus—the two four-star steakhouses that needed to get more models and starlets in, and an Asian Fusion place that did have vegan stuff on the menu but no one was ordering any of it. I’d make good money, and he had no doubt there’d be more restaurants down the line.


  Thousand here, thousand there. Couple hundred here, couple hundred there. In a few weeks I’d announce a new cooking class, maybe two. That little spot up Montana would definitely be mine soon enough. Cali Bakes or not.

  “In fact, I wish I had one of your scones instead of this weird-looking fruit,” he said, one hand on the wheel, the other picking up a couple of salmonberries as he turned on to the freeway.

  “So you said you were trying to ref between your father and Jolie yesterday?” I asked. “Success?”

  “Took me a couple of hours of arguing with him, but I won. Well, Jolie won.”

  “He’s re-funding her life?”

  “Just her education—if she chooses an acting school that Meryl Streep or Robert DeNiro attended. And her apartment, since he decided it’s like a dorm while she’s studying her craft.”

  “That’s cool. What’s your father like?”

  “Loud, stubborn, intimidates everyone. You have to know how to work him, and Jolie usually does, but sometimes her pride gets in her way and she tells him to butt out. He’s crazy about Jolie, but his third wife got burned on the casting couch, so he was mostly just nervous for her.”

  “What’s the third wife like?” I asked.

  “About to be divorced.”

  “For number four?”

  “Yup. One of his lawyers, too. And she’s his age. Shocking. That had better be some prenup.”

  “My parents have been married for thirty years. Equally shocking.”

  He glanced at me. “You just have to get married for the right reasons. At the right time. Then you end up growing old together, picking kumquats and salmonberries.”

  “Yeah, but half the people in the world don’t do that. Something bad happens. Like the husband wants someone else.”

  “Or the wife.”

  Weirder than watching Zach Jeffries shake my dad’s hand and hug my mom was sitting in his black Mercedes talking about people’s marriages.

  “Well, at least your trip up here ended with good news for Jolie,” I said. “I like that girl.”

  “Me, too. And it ended with good news for me.”

  I shot him a smile.