A Convenient Scandal. Kimberley Troutte
“Hell, no.” His insides shuddered. “No one from New York.”
“A local sweetheart? Is that why you changed your mind and agreed to come home?”
He frowned. “I’m not Matt. No one has ever waited for me.”
“Then who?”
“Beats me. Got any ideas?”
She cocked her head. “I don’t understand.”
“The great RW Harper proclaimed a marriage to be so and...” he raised his hands in surrender “...I’m tying the knot. Once a bride shows up and agrees to a loveless marriage.”
“No. You can’t get married without falling in love. That’s...not normal.”
“Must run in the family. Doubt Mom and Dad cared for one another.”
“And look how that turned out!” She gripped his elbow. “Please, Jeff. Reconsider. I want you to be happy.”
He patted her arm. “I don’t have a lot of options right now. In case you didn’t see it, there was another meme released this morning. It’s brutal.”
“I saw it.” She leaned against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Her small act of kindness tugged on the anxiety in his gut and made him question whether he should tell her what had really happened in the elevator.
Would she understand?
“You’re a good person who deserves to be loved. I’ll do whatever I can to help you find your soul mate, Jeff.”
“That’s not happening,” he grumbled.
“All you need to do is open your fourth chakra—your heart space. I’ll help you unblock it so you have a chance.”
Did she think he was emotionally constipated? Hell, maybe he was. “Give it up, sis. I’m a lost cause. Besides, I’ve managed this long without love, why find it now?”
“Oh, Jeff.” Her eyes were wet. “Managing is not happiness. I learned that the hard way. I can teach you how to let your feelings flow. To heal you.”
He didn’t want to offend her, but yoga wasn’t going to fix his problems. She was lucky she hadn’t acquired Mom’s “incapacity to love” genes like he had. Damned lucky.
“I’ve got a chef to hire and a hotel empire to build. And on that note—” he pushed himself up off the counter “—tell Michele Cox to come down in twenty minutes. She’ll be the last one tonight.”
“Okay.” Chloe started to walk out of the kitchen but turned back to give him a big hug before she left.
Jeff made sure no one else was around and then pulled up the application videos on his computer. He played the one labeled “Michele Cox.”
“...When the dishes are excellent, the patron can ease loneliness with a bite of ricotta cannelloni. That’s what I do. I make patrons feel happy and loved. I can do that for your new restaurant, too. I hope you’ll give me a chance. Thank you.”
Her voice and words were strong. Confident. So why did he get a sense that Michele was fragile?
He played it again. “I want to work for Harper Industries because I need to believe good things can happen to good people.” He pressed Pause so he could study her. Zoomed in closer. There. In her light brown eyes, he saw a look he’d seen in his own reflection.
It made his heart beat faster.
Michele Cox was a survivor, too.
Michele stood alone next to the island in the Harper family kitchen and pressed her palms against the cool marble countertop.
She closed her eyes and silently breathed in, I am a cooking goddess. Amazing and talented. And exhaled, I will create greatness. And then she threw her arms up in victory. It was a superstitious ritual, one she’d done before big cooking nights at Alfieri’s to focus her thoughts. It used to work. Tonight? Not so much.
Bad thoughts kept rushing in. Broken fragments of anxiety looped through her mind like a terrible song she couldn’t stop hearing.
Why do you think you can do this? You’ll mess this up.
It was Alfieri’s voice. She opened her eyes and squeezed her fists together.
She couldn’t make a mistake tonight.
Biting her lip, she debated long and hard before she finally gave in and pulled up her recipe on her cell phone.
That’s right, you have to cheat. You are nothing without me.
“Shut up, Alfieri!” she whispered.
Using her own recipe wasn’t cheating. She’d created it after all, but she usually didn’t need to look at it. She used to be able to cook by her senses, her mood and something she called “Mom’s magic.” Lately, though, she second-guessed herself about everything. Her mom and all the magic were gone.
Michele put the phone on the counter in front of her where she could see the recipes and began.
The sage-rosemary bread was baking and the pan with lemon, olive oil and Italian white wine and spices was heating up nicely. The kitchen smelled divine. She stuffed squid with prosciutto, smoked mozzarella and garlic cloves and gently placed them into the pan. Lightly, she drizzled the squid with her secret homemade truffle sauce. Her special linguine noodles cooked on the back burner and the arugula-basil-chardonnay grape salad with light oil and lemon dressing was up next. Everything looked perfect...except...something felt off.
She had a sinking feeling she’d forgotten to fill the last squid with garlic. It wasn’t hot yet. If she hurried, she could snatch it back and fix her error. She turned the heat down and used a slotted spoon to carefully recover the squid from the pan. The truffle sauce made the darned thing slippery to handle and it plopped out of the spoon and into the pan again. She wasn’t wearing an apron because all of hers had Alfieri’s name on them, so when the oil splashed up, it spotted her silk blouse. The one people said brought out the amber color in her eyes.
“Gah! Thanks a lot, you slimy sea booger!”
“Miss Cox?” A deep voice came up behind her.
The surprise caused her to jerk the spoon and catapult the squid from the pan into the air. She lunged and caught it before it hit the floor tiles. Cupping the drippy squid behind her back, she straightened her shoulders and rose up to face...him.
Jeffrey Harper’s large frame filled the space, blocking the exit. There was no way she could flee or pretend he hadn’t seen her glaring faux pas. The way he was looking at her? He’d definitely witnessed her launch food into the air and catch it with her bare hand.
“Mr. Harper. You startled me.”
He stepped closer and her heartbeat kicked up even more. He wore a white linen shirt—unbuttoned just enough so she could glimpse glorious red chest hair—and jeans that molded perfectly to his legs.
The casual version of the man was sexier than the one she’d seen on television.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation with...” He cocked his head toward the pan and a beautiful copper-colored bang fell onto his forehead. He tossed his head to move it back into place. “Slimy sea boogers.”
Could a person die from failure?
She steeled herself to be the recipient of his disgusted look—the one he used in the episode when he’d seen rats running across a cutting board in a hotel’s kitchen. Instead, she saw...amusement?
“I wasn’t having a conversation