The Billionaire's Holiday Obsession

by Nadia Lee

  When she went out to the living room, Iain was already there, watching some music show on TV. The hosts laughed uproariously, but Iain’s face didn’t reflect humor. Maybe it just wasn’t a very funny joke.

  Or maybe he just didn’t laugh when he didn’t have to. She’d noticed that earlier about him. He’d laugh and smile, but something about his eyes said he was just going through the motions. She might have been worried if she hadn’t glimpsed the genuine affection for his family in his gaze.

  “You ready?” Iain asked.

  “Yeah. Do you know when the bus—?” She winced. Of course not. Why would somebody like him take a bus anywhere? “Never mind. I’ll look it up.”

  “Don’t bother.” He got up and pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. She took them. They were warm. “Take my Audi in the garage. You can’t miss it.”

  She felt her jaw go slack. “What?”

  “You want to drive there. The car has a GPS with the restaurant address programmed. It’s not that far.”

  “If there’s no bus around here, I can walk.”

  He looked at her freshly shampooed hair and scrubbed face meaningfully without making eye contact. “This is L.A. You’ll get all sweaty and gross.”

  “It’s winter. I’ll be all right.”

  “It’s L.A.,” he repeated. “You will get sweaty and gross.”

  Jane paused. Iain was right. She hadn’t needed a jacket. “But—”

  He shrugged. “And if you walk, you’re probably going to be late. But hey, it’s your job interview. Do what you like.” Then he turned to the TV show.

  She clutched the keys in her hands. She didn’t want to take his car, especially one as expensive as an Audi. If she put even a scratch on that thing, she wouldn’t be able to get a place of her own. No matter how much she economized, she’d never be able to afford the loan payment and rent plus repairs on an Audi and still have money left for food.

  On the other hand, if she showed up sweaty and gross like Iain had said, she wouldn’t have a job to make any money in the first place. Cursing under her breath, she walked out with the keys.

  * * *

  Iain let out a shuddering breath when Jane left. Finally! he thought and rolled his shoulders. Now he could breathe more easily, and his skin didn’t feel as tight and prickly anymore.

  She’d take his Audi. He was sure of it. He didn’t know why he’d insisted. Probably because he really wanted her to get the job.

  Maybe Mark was right that she wouldn’t make a ton of money, but she didn’t have to work for Mark forever. Later she could move to some other restaurant that might hire her as a cook and pay her what she deserved—enough so she could get a decent place of her own and move out. He felt responsible for her well-being in L.A. He was the one who’d brought her here, although now that he thought about it, maybe he should’ve insisted on taking her to Paris, West Virginia. Surely she had family or somebody who could’ve helped her.

  He turned off the TV and sat on the floor with his legs folded Indian-style and his butt on a throw pillow. Then he closed his eyes for meditation. He’d been completely centered and calm for the last thirteen years. He wasn’t going to let Jane throw him off balance.

  Chapter Eight

  In the Éternité parking lot, Jane climbed out of Iain’s Audi on shaky legs. She’d driven like a scared granny, and other drivers had honked at her. Ugh. If she’d had her Chevy…

  Her lower lip trembled at the memory of what Gio had done to her car, and she firmed her mouth. That was all in the past; she was out of his reach now. She finally had what could be her first real break. And she was determined not to blow it.

  When she went through the back door for employees, the maître d’ saw her. She couldn’t remember his name, but he took one look at her and gestured at her to follow him. They went through a narrow well-lit hall. Finally he stopped and knocked twice. “Fresh meat!” he called out then left.

  She swallowed. Maybe “fresh meat” was French for “a fantastic new prospect.”

  “Come in! I don’t ’ave all day!” came a gruff accented voice.

  She went inside. The office was as cramped as most restaurant general managers’ she’d been to. A man sat behind a desk with stacks of papers and ledgers. He smelled like burnt leaves—maybe herbs. His presence reminded Jane of an oak tree that grew in her family’s front yard.

  “Sit down.” He gestured at a green plastic chair.

  “Yes, sir.” She sat at the edge of the seat and kept her knees together, so they wouldn’t knock and betray her nervousness. This was it. The chance she’d been looking for in the last eight months.

  “Mark told me you are called Jane. I am André.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” They shook hands briefly. His was rough. Numerous scars decorated his huge paw and forearm.

  “You are from around here?”

  “No, sir, I’m from Paris.” His eyes lit up. Before he could remark on her accent, she added, “It’s in West Virginia.”

  “An imposter town!” His lip curled. “Then why are you so skinny? I thought only the ’Ollywood idiots did the air and water diet.”

  She didn’t think this was a good time to mention that she liked to eat, but it was difficult to do so without a job.

  “And your hand is too soft,” André said. “You ’ave never worked in restaurants before, am I right?”

  “Never, sir,” she said.

  “Sir, sir,” André muttered. “Am I that old now?”

  “But I want you to know,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’m hard-working and a fast learner. I’d be thrilled to have a chance to prove myself to you.”

  He snorted. “Bah! There will be no proving. You’ll be a dishwasher. I’m not crazy enough to let a girl who can’t even ’old a knife properly try to prepare food. Costs are high, and nothing can be wasted. You will be scrubbing pots and pans and working the small bit of derriere you ’ave off every day. You also need hard clogs, no canvas shoes nonsense in my kitchen. Understand?”

  “Sure. No problem. I can handle it.”

  He leaned back in his seat. “You’re crazy, but then I should’ve expected that from an American who is from ‘Paris’.”

  “I’m crazy about working,” Jane said quickly.

  He muttered something in French and then sighed. “I am going to let you in my kitchen. But only because I like Mark, not because I think you’ll be any good at it. You can start as soon as you fill out the paperwork.”

  Her heart pounded. At last, a chance to prove herself! She didn’t care if he was giving her this job because of his boss. She just knew if she had a chance to show everyone what she could do, they’d realize she wasn’t some stupid girl who was only good for taking care of a household and scrubbing toilets. “Thank you, sir.” When he gave her a daggered look, she flushed. “I mean, André.”

  “Yes, yes.” He rose and made shooing motions with both hands. “Now go find the maître d’. I ’ave work to do.”

  * * *

  When Jane returned to Iain’s place after filling out the mountain of forms the grave-looking maître d’ had given her, the penthouse was empty. She looked at the clock. It was already six. Where was Iain? She was dying to share the good news and thank him for helping her get the job. The pay wasn’t great, but somebody was willing to value her enough to give her money for her labor. That was as much as she could ask for at this point.

  And she couldn’t have done it without Iain’s help.

  Is that the only reason you want to see him so bad right now?

  She ignored the little question. It was natural for her to want to share the good news. It wasn’t like she had tons of people to do that with—her family would probably just scoff at it and want her back in West Virginia to take care of them. She considered calling Vivian, but she wanted to tell Iain first.

  Maybe he would be back soon, and he’d be hungry. Why not feed him something she cooked? Jane looked through the fridge and fou
nd two succulent looking chicken breasts, cream, butter and some veggies. In the pantry were some potatoes and craisins, and she started smiling.

  She peeled some of the potatoes, then dug out some stainless steel pots and pans and started boiling them. When the skillet was hot, she dumped some butter and seared the lightly marinated chicken breasts. She poured a simple sauce made with the craisins and herbs over the breasts and tossed the whole thing in the oven to finish. Then she quickly mashed the potatoes. Tastes were individual, but every man on the planet liked good mashed potatoes.

  Finally, she pulled out the chicken and let it sit for a bit. She glanced at the clock. It was seven now. Maybe he wasn’t coming home for dinner. She should’ve thought about that before going on a rampage in his kitchen. He was probably used to eating out at the finest restaurants that served raw fish and other exotic and beautiful things she would’ve never thought of.

  She stood, surveying her work. Suddenly her meal looked silly. Roasted chicken breasts smothered in sweet and tart sauce made with dried cranberries and herbs? Ugh. And the homey gravy and mashed potatoes? Seriously?

  Iain was probably saving his chicken for something fancier, like a real French wine sauce made with cream and other delicious things that only someone like André could whip up. She probably owed him some brand new chicken breasts.

  The keys jingled at the door, and Iain walked in. He had a brown grocery bag in his hand. A long loaf of French bread stuck out. He sniffed. “Whatever you got there smells amazing,” he said. “Got enough for two, or am I supposed to fend for myself?”

  “Um.” She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel. “There’s plenty. I just got finished cooking.” She served the chicken and mashed potatoes. “Do you want some salad too?”

  “No. I only eat that when Mom’s watching.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the image of Iain forcing himself to eat his veggies in front of his mother. That was so sweet.

  Iain disappeared into a hall and returned with an extra chair for the dining table. “What’s the sauce?” he asked, sitting down. He poured a generous amount of gravy over his mashed potatoes.

  Suddenly the question made her throat close. She cleared it. “Um. Nothing special. Something I made with the craisins I found in your pantry.”

  “Huh.”

  She surreptitiously rubbed her damp palms against her pants. “I hope you don’t mind I made myself at home in your kitchen. It’s really lovely by the way.”

  “I don’t mind. I haven’t used it since I bought it. The housekeeper comes by every other day to cook and clean.”

  “Oh. I hope she doesn’t mind I used up the chicken then.”

  “She’ll thank you.” Iain bit into his chicken and grunted. “This is good.”

  “Really?” She cut a small piece and tasted it. It wasn’t bad, but compared to their super-fancy lunch, it was sort of…plain.

  “Yeah. I haven’t had a real home-cooked meal in ages.”

  “I thought you said your housekeeper cooked for you.”

  “It’s not the same thing. She likes to dump a can of cream soup into every poultry dish she makes. It gets old. And this is very good considering my kitchen’s somewhat limited.”

  “Don’t. It’s actually pretty nice.” Her family home kitchen was pretty limited too. The budget was tight, and there were seven mouths to feed.

  She watched Iain enjoy the food she’d prepared. He looked so content as he ate, and something sweet and happy unfurled in her belly. There was something so satisfying about feeding people good food she’d prepared with her own hands. And for some reason the fact that it was Iain enjoying her food made her warm and tingly all over, and she couldn’t help but smile.

  “So how did the interview go?” he asked.

  “Oh! I totally forgot! I got the job!” She grinned. “Thank you so much. I don’t think André was too crazy about me, but he said he was willing to give me a chance.”

  “Why do you want to work in a restaurant so bad?”

  “Just kind of seems natural that I get a job in one.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, you know.” Suddenly embarrassed, she shrugged. “I’m good at cooking. That’s really all I’m good at.”

  “Being good at something doesn’t mean that’s what you should be doing.”

  She frowned. “Are you skeptical about my chances at the restaurant?”

  “No. Just that there’s more to a vocation than being good at it. That’s all. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  Afterward, they didn’t talk much. She mulled over what Iain had said, but she couldn’t imagine what else she could be doing. This was what she was good at, and she didn’t want to doubt herself, wondering if she was doing the right thing by wanting to make it into a career. It was better than being stuck back in Paris and cleaning up after her family who didn’t think what she did was worth anything. What had they said?

  “Jane, come on. Who’s gonna pay you for cooking and cleaning? It’s just stuff you do,” her oldest brother had said.

  “What he said,” her second oldest brother had chimed in. “I mean, if you wanna get a job, that’s fine. I heard Mindy is looking for a cashier at her drug store. You’ll be good at it. It’s super easy too. You just scan, and the machine reads and adds everything for you, right?”

  “I don’t want to be a cashier. Besides people do pay for cooking. I’m sure Archie’s Diner pays its cook,” she’d said, her voice tight.

  “Aw, that’s different. Sam is a real cook.” Her youngest brother had patted his belly. “Besides, he’s real good.”

  She’d glared at him. “You saying my food isn’t good enough for you?”

  “Naw, why you gotta take everything so serious? I’m just sayin’ he’s good, not that you’re not.”

  “But you don’t think my cooking’s worth paying for.”

  “Well. You’re a girl. That’s what girls do.”

  What her brothers had really meant was that whatever she was good at wasn’t worth paying for. She wasn’t going to let the memory of them kill what little confidence this job had given her. She was going to show everyone she belonged in the kitchen just as much as a “real” male chef.

  * * *

  Iain helped Jane load the dishwasher despite her protest she could do it by herself. She had cooked, so it seemed like that was the least he could do. Besides it wasn’t that difficult.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d tried to dissuade her from taking the job. What the heck had he been thinking? She should work at Éternité, stay there long enough to get a decent raise and a place of her own. He couldn’t possibly kick her out when she had nowhere to go and he had an empty guest suite.

  Maybe he should just engineer something faster. Give Mark a little money so he could pay Jane better wages without having his business take a hit…then she could move out ASAP. She’d never take charity directly. But a little disguised help might work.

  Really, Einstein? Lying is the best you can come up with?

  Ugh. He shook his head. Never mind. It was a terrible idea, and Mark probably wouldn’t go for it anyway. His younger brother was strict about bookkeeping. That, among other things, made him a good businessman.

  His phone buzzed, and he checked the message. It was a text from his ex, Apple.

  Hey, hunky. I’m in town. Wanna join me at Z? My friends are here too.

  He smiled at that. Apple had been a great girlfriend—easy going and relaxed. The breakup hadn’t bothered her one bit, and she’d moved on to another guy, whom she’d broken up with after a few weeks. Apple could be restless in relationships.

  He looked at Jane puttering around the dining room and the kitchen. He should get out of here, so his skin would stop prickling, and his thoughts didn’t scatter every time she looked his way. Something about her bothered him. He’d thought it was her pain and pride he’d glimpsed in D.C., but now he suspected it was something else. If he didn’t know any better he mig
ht have thought he was attracted to her.

  Fine. See you in twenty, he typed. Then off he went, escaping his penthouse and the disturbing presence that was Jane.

  * * *

  Jane dried her hands and sat at the dining table, wondering what she should do now. The penthouse felt so big without Iain in it. She didn’t even have any of the ratty old romance novels she’d bought from a used bookstore—damn you, Gio!—and Iain’s place seemed completely devoid of reading material. There wasn’t a book or magazine anywhere…not even in the bathroom.

  Sighing, she pulled out her phone. She should look up some apartment possibilities. She couldn’t stay at Iain’s place forever.

  The rental cost twisted her gut. It was amazing how expensive everything was. She finally found a promising listing on the other side of the city from Éternité. It was shared housing, but she didn’t mind. It couldn’t be worse than living in a house with six men.

  She saved it so she could go visit in the next few days. She was going to stand on her own two feet in this new town and make something of herself. And when she was older and successful, she could look back and reminisce about the hardships she had to overcome…and how much kinder strangers had been compared to her own family.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning Jane’s eyes snapped open at five thirty and wouldn’t go back to being closed. She finally got up at six thirty and showered. Was this jet-lag? The time zone difference wasn’t huge, but it still seemed to affect her. She put on a T-shirt and shorts and grimaced. She needed to do some laundry soon or she wouldn’t have anything clean to wear to work later. Her wallet held three bucks. Probably not enough to pay for the clogs André wanted her to buy. Her bank account had some money, but she needed to save some of that for holiday gifts. As annoying and unsupportive as her brothers were, holidays with all their traditions were important to her. She just couldn’t bring herself to skip Christmas presents this year when she was already not going home for Thanksgiving. She hoped André wouldn’t notice her shoes.