Cole had been the last to come down from his bedroom suite on the fourth floor. Everyone was seated in one of the twenty leather recliners that faced the movie screen. Collette sat front and center, her cup-holders filled with snacks—a treat because her mother always plied her with healthy alternatives.
“Hurry, Uncle Cole,” she urged, her cheeks stuffed with candy.
Cole moved to the fully stocked snack station along the far wall, next to the entry to the wrought-iron staircase. It was completely stocked with a variety of boxed candy, a popcorn maker, a soda fountain and an ice cream machine. He selected a box of Goobers from the stack on the glass shelves. “Where’s Mom?” he asked before opening the box and tossing a few of the treats into his mouth.
“She’s interviewing the new chef,” Phillip Senior said, kicking the recliner back and elevating his feet.
“Oh yeah?” Cole said. “Franco will be hard to top.”
Their chef of the last ten years had retired with plans to return to his native Brazil. His traditional dishes had impressed the family of chefs. Even Phillip Senior had begrudgingly admitted that Franco’s feijoada—a Brazilian beef, pork and bean stew—was better than his own.
Who would top that? he wondered.
Curious, Cole moved to the tablet on the wood-paneled wall and accessed the house’s security system. Every room of the townhouse was under surveillance. Except, of course, his parents’ suite, which took up the entire third floor and the six personal bedroom suites on the fourth and fifth floors.
He found his mother in the living room, seated on the light gray velvet sofa across from a young woman on the other.
She sat with poise and confidence in a stylish black pantsuit, her ankles crossed as she looked his mother directly in the eye. Her curly hair had been pulled into a topknot and her spectacles were perched on her nose. With her plump lips covered in red lipstick, he couldn’t help but think she had the air of a naughty librarian waiting to be untamed.
“Cole, close the curtains and kill the lights,” Lucas called over to him.
Cole forced his eyes away from the woman’s face to look over at the second half of the spacious floor that made up the library with its floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books. Like the other four floors of the townhouse, the entire rear wall was glass. He used the button on the light switch by the stairwell to close the soft gray velvet curtains. He dimmed the lights as well, just as the movie started. Although night and its darkness reigned, his actions would ensure a better movie-watching experience.
Instead of claiming a seat, however, he used the darkness to descend the wrought-iron staircase. It opened directly into the first-floor living room, but he paused, crossed his arms and leaned against the railing to watch the stranger from across the room.
She was beautiful. Her voice husky. Her confidence clear.
“I’ll be honest, Jillian, I am very impressed by your previous employers,” Nicolette said.
Jillian.
“I am very interested in someone used to decorum and discretion,” his mother continued.
“Of course,” Jillian agreed with a nod just before she glanced past his mother’s shoulder to look at him. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
He gave her his best smile—the one that had wooed many a woman over the years. Nice, easy, and charming, with the right amount of wile.
Jillian shifted her eyes back to his mother, but he saw the spark of interest before she did.
It made his pulse race, and he felt excited in a way that surprised him. He decided right then that he wanted Jillian, and he would charm the beauty right into his bed...
* * *
And he had.
And it had been glorious. Never had he had so much fun in a pantry.
Cole pushed away the hot memory. As he stood on the terrace of his suite in Monte Carlo, nursing her betrayal and his drink, he understood the chorus from the song I Wish by Carl Thomas because he wished he’d never met Jillian Rossi at all.
He felt used by her.
True, their relationship had been casual, but he’d still thought it had meant more to her than something to toss away without a second thought after more than a year of sharing time.
Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz.
Cole eased his phone from his inner pocket again. It was Gabe. It was just after nine thirty on the East Coast. His family had no way of knowing they were reaching out to him at odd hours where he was.
He answered the call. “Yeah?” he said.
“Hey, stranger.”
He chuckled before he took another deep sip of his drink. “How can I help you, big brother?” he drawled to the man who was older than him by two years.
They’d grown up close and had remained so in their adult years.
“Asking just what spurned this journey you’re on would be a waste of time, I guess?” Gabe asked.
Cole’s grip on his glass tightened. Usually, he and Gabe were honest with each other. In fact, Gabe was the only family member who knew of his relationship with Jillian. He knew his brother would keep whatever secrets he’d shared with him, but he was hesitant to share just how much Jillian’s and their mother’s actions had angered and disturbed him.
“If you sneaked off to San Francisco, believe me, I understand,” Gabe assured him.
Cole frowned as he sat on one of the lounge chairs. “San Francisco?” he asked.
“To be with Jillian.”
Cole’s gut clenched.
So that’s where she is.
He had made it his business to avoid knowing Jillian’s whereabouts. Out of New York was more than enough. “We’re done,” he said, his voice sounding cold even to his ears.
“You want to talk about it?”
She used ending things with me as a stepping stone for her career.
He could still feel her heel in his back.
“Nah,” Cole said with a shake of his head even though his brother couldn’t see him.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” he admitted with a begrudging smile.
The line went quiet.
“Gabe?” Cole wondered if the call had ended.
“One sec,” Gabe said, sounding distracted.
Cole knew his brother well, and Gabe was a thinker. That’s what made him the best choice to take over as CEO of Cress, INC.—if he hadn’t already turned down the position. “Leave it alone, Gabe,” he warned, knowing he was putting the pieces to the puzzle together.
“You’re not speaking to Mom, who pushed for Jillian’s new executive chef position...”
Cole jumped to his feet. “Gabe,” he snapped.
“Okay, okay.” He acquiesced. “Listen, I called because I need you to attend the Chef Gala.”
Every year Cress, INC. held a glitzy dinner party for all the chefs from across the country. Gabe served as the president of the restaurant division, and this event was essential to his brother. But it would put Cole directly in the room with the two women he was avoiding—Jillian and his mother.
“No,” Cole said firmly.
“Listen, Monica and I are announcing our engagement. I need you there,” Gabe stressed.
They had been brothers for thirty years. Never had they not had each other’s back. Not once. And there had been plenty of times that Gabe had saved the behind of his rebellious teenage brother hell-bent on wreaking havoc.
Cole released a long breath before turning to make his way inside his suite to replenish his drink.
“I’ll be there,” he promised.
Four
He really hates me.
Jillian took a deep sip of champagne as she stared across the original CRESS restaurant at Cole. When she’d walked into the Midtown Manhattan restaurant filled with nerves but still feeling beautiful in her elegant attire, she never assumed his anger was st
ill so visceral that he would barely glance at her when their paths crossed.
It was as if she hadn’t existed.
“Hello, Cole,” she’d said with a smile.
“Jillian,” was his cold and clipped response as he’d barely broken his stride past her.
It hadn’t helped that he’d looked dark and sexy in his tuxedo with a crisp haircut and groomed shadow of beard. Just a gorgeous man. With an equally devastatingly fit body. She remembered it well.
“Jillian! It’s so good to see you!”
She shifted her gaze to find Monica walking toward her in a white satin gown that fit her curvy frame like a second glove. “Wow. Love and lots of money suit you. You look gorgeous,” she exclaimed as they shared a hug.
They’d both served at the pleasure of the Cress family as chef and maid. During that time, they had been friendly but not close. Still, it was good to see her. And in that moment of nursing hurt feelings because her former lover had treated her as a stranger; Jillian could use a friendly hug.
“You’re the one. I love this,” Monica said.
She stepped back to eye Jillian from her upswept curls to her sheer black, exposed-corset bustier draped with black-sequined fabric across her breasts and around her waist to trail down one leg of the satin palazzos she’d paired with the daringly risqué top.
“Thank you,” Jillian said, trying to forget she’d wondered what Cole’s reaction would be to her ensemble when she’d selected it last week from an exclusive women’s boutique in San Francisco.
All for nothing.
“Congratulations on the new position,” Monica said, stopping one of the uniformed waiters who passed by with a tray of flutes filled with vintage champagne.
Jillian remained silent to the praise. Her eyes had locked on a beautiful redhead with reality-defying breasts, uplifted by the bodice of her strapless emerald-green dress, saunter up to Cole and press a kiss to his cheek. She wound her arm around his. The move was clingy and possessive.
“Ohhhhh,” Monica said, drawing the word out.
Jillian glanced over at her. “What?” she asked, feeling her heart pound.
“So, it was Cole with the naughty note of the ‘taste of you lingering on his tongue’?” Monica asked with a sly look before taking another sip of her champagne.
Last year, Monica had been cleaning the kitchen and found one of Cole’s sexy notes in Jillian’s monogrammed cutlery bag. When she’d attended her first event with Gabe at the Cress townhouse as his girlfriend—surprising everyone including Jillian—she had asked which of the Cress men had written the note. Jillian had kept the truth a secret.
Until now.
“What gave it away?” Jillian asked.
“The look you just gave Cole and Kimber,” Monica said. “So, I assume you kept your word of it ending once you left your job at the Cress townhouse.”
Silly of me. “Something like that,” Jillian said.
“Well, this should be good because the last thing Nicolette wants strutting around a Cress, INC. event is a woman with low IQ and high hem,” Monica said.
“I’m sure he’s just fine with both,” Jillian drawled, chancing another look across the restaurant.
They weren’t in the same spot.
CRESS, the first of the group of restaurants started by Cress, INC., was a beautiful, massive restaurant in hues of chrome and ivory with modern detailing and lots of lighting. A true showpiece.
Having been flown to New York, executive chefs from all eleven Cress restaurants had been put up in suites at a nearby five-star hotel. Phillip Senior and Nicolette were preparing a decadent seven-course meal for the gala dinner. It was a Monday and, with the restaurants closed, it was the perfect night to celebrate and motivate their chefs.
As she looked around the small crowd, Jillian was impressed by the attendees, including the stunningly handsome Lorenzo León Cortez. He looked so gorgeous in his light gray tux, matching silk tee and Native American neckpiece of black-braided leather and chunky turquoise. His long hair was pulled back from his handsome face.
“He is exquisite,” Jillian said, remembering Cole being bothered by Lorenzo’s attention to her the night of Gabe’s restaurant opening.
“Zo?” Monica asked. “He’s Gabe’s best friend, so I plead the fifth.”
“You could have just said he’s not exquisite,” Jillian reminded her.
“I’m not built to lie,” Monica said, giving her a little wave before walking away with a wink.
Jillian cleared her throat and pressed her free hand to her belly before easing through the multitude of people toward Zo, who was standing at the L-shaped bar. He turned and did a double-take as she approached. She gave him a beguiling smile. He gave her a curious look.
Two can play Cole’s game.
“Hello, Lorenzo,” she said, looking up at his towering height.
He took a sip of his beer and eyed her with amusement. “Can I assume from the stares Cole is shooting at us that you’re over here to make him jealous?” His deep voice seemed to rumble.
Jillian instantly felt childish and rightfully so. “Yes,” she admitted, leaning her elbows against the edge of the bar.
Lorenzo chuckled as he bent a bit at the waist. “It worked,” he said before walking away.
Moments later, she felt heightened awareness—like a shiver. She knew before Cole stood beside her that he was there.
“What games are you playing?” he asked.
The cool scent of his cologne teased her.
“So now you know me?” she asked before taking a sip of her champagne.
“I never knew you to play games, Jillian, but then I realized too late I never knew you at all,” he said, his voice low enough for just her ears and cold enough to chill her to the bone.
Sadness waved over her, but she stiffened her spine and turned sideways to face his profile.
He’s so damn handsome. And I miss him. I want him. I... I... I...
Jillian gasped at the realization of the depth of her feelings for Coleman Cress.
I love him.
Cole turned his head to look at her.
Their eyes met. She shivered and had to close her eyes to break the connection before her feelings for him tumbled from her mouth.
I love you, Cole.
“Jillian?”
The sound of her name on his lips was her undoing. She opened her eyes to turn and walk away from him as fast as she could on her heels without falling. Her heart beat faster. Her pulse sped up.
Missing him? Desiring him? Wanting to sex him?
Fine.
Falling in love?
That was not a part of the plan.
Jillian reached the door to the hall leading to the restrooms. She paused at the entry and looked over her shoulder, still trembling from her revelation. Cole’s date was back at his side, but his eyes were on her across the restaurant.
With intensity.
I love him.
She turned quickly and raced down the hall, her hand on the wall, to reach the ladies’ room. As soon as she entered, she pushed the door closed and leaned against it for a few moments before moving to the sink to grip the edge of the counter. She studied her reflection. She felt afraid and excited.
Her breathing labored. Her heart pounded. Her pulse raced.
Just like that, everything had changed. Absolutely everything.
Damn.
* * *
Cole took a deep sip of his coffee with Kahlúa as he sat back in his seat at the line of tables set up for a family-style dinner for twenty-six guests. His parents sat side by side at one end, with Phillip Junior and Raquel at the other end. He looked along the table’s length, elaborately decorated with floral arrangements and candles, at Jillian enjoying a conversation with Xin Lao, the executive chef of CRESS VIII in
the Napa Valley.
She glanced up and he shifted his gaze away from her.
Earlier, at the bar, something had happened.
He’d seen a shift in Jillian’s eyes, and it had shaken his soul. As she’d rushed away, he’d had to fight the instinctive urge to follow her. Stop her. Question her.
Kiss her.
His gut clenched.
When she’d paused at the entrance to the hall and looked back, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her—and had struggled to stand firmly in place. When she’d turned to disappear down the hall, he’d felt regret.
Jillian Rossi was still in his system.
The first sight of her entering the restaurant in that strapless, almost revealing bustier with the wide-legged pants that emphasized her thick thighs, hips and rounded buttocks had him hungering for her. She was spectacular, and it had taken an Oscar-worthy performance for him to do nothing more than speak her name and move past her with a quickness when he’d first laid eyes on her.
All night, as his date had clung to him like Velcro, he’d watched Jillian without appearing to do so—something he’d learned during her days working in the family townhouse. He missed nothing. Every smile. Every laugh. Every introduction to a new person. Every handshake.
His desire and disdain for her battled deep within him.
“Cole? You okay?”
Kimber Locke drew his attention. He looked over at the Playboy model sitting beside him. Beautiful woman. Even pleasant to be around. Her role? To annoy his mother.
His parents had been busy preparing the elaborate meal for the night when he’d arrived. Once they’d stepped from the kitchen, free of their chef coats and in their designer evening wear, Cole had gently guided Kimber by her elbow through the crowd and into the direct line of vision of his parents. His mother’s look had quickly shifted from surprise and pleasure at seeing him to fighting hard not to reveal her disgust at seeing Kimber at his side. Nicolette’s private persona was different from the public one she’d carefully cultivated. For a brief moment, that façade cracked.
The Rebel Heir Page 5