The Sparkling One

by Susan Mallery

  “You’re perfect.”

  Francesca wished she could fake a blush, but she didn’t know how. Instead she straightened and pulled her hand free. “Jeff, I heard you’re seeing someone. I’m not the kind of woman who gets involved with taken guys.”

  “I’m not taken,” he said easily.

  “But Brenna said there was someone else.”

  He shrugged. “I date. There’s no one special in my life.”

  She happened to know he was living with the bimbo, but she wasn’t about to let him know.

  “Oh. Wow. That’s…interesting.”

  “Is it?”

  She heard the hook snap as he took the bait. “Jeff, come on. Of course it’s interesting. After nine years of watching you with my sister, this is exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my fantasy.”

  For a second she thought she might have gone too far, but after sucking in a breath, Jeff grinned. The idiot.

  “You’re my fantasy, too,” he admitted. “I’ve been waiting for years for you to tell me you wanted me, too. Come on. Let’s go get a hotel room. I want to fuck your brains out for the next three days.”

  Bingo. Francesca shook her head. “No, thanks. Amazingly enough, I’m going to have to turn down that very romantic offer.” She picked up her purse and started to slide out of the booth.

  Jeff looked confused. “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving. I have what I came for.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, I know.” Careful not to disturb the tape recorder in her purse, she pulled a second one out of her pocket. Earl had suggested the duplicate. They had made her feel twice as secure.

  She punched the rewind button for a couple of seconds, then shifted to Play. Jeff’s voice was tinny but clearly audible.

  “I date. There’s no one special in my life.”

  “The woman you live with will probably find that really fascinating,” Francesca said. “Although I’m guessing the ‘fuck your brains out’ remark is going to be the real kicker.”

  Jeff turned pale. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Playing dirty. Back off on the winery, or the bimbo gets a copy of the tape. Clear enough?”

  Jeff swore, then lunged for her. Francesca might have only made it to a green belt, but she knew enough to sidestep him and turn gracefully while he tumbled to the ground. In the process he bumped several patrons who were trying to balance their drinks in the crowded bar area. There were cries of “Watch out!” and “What the hell are you doing?”

  While a tall, burly guy who looked very unhappy and very wet grabbed Jeff by his shirt, Francesca made her way to the exit.

  She’d given the valet an extra twenty to keep her truck handy. Now she climbed into the cab and headed for the freeway. Ten minutes later she was driving north, back for home. Mission accomplished. The winery was safe, Brenna could go after Jeff for repayment of her effort to put him through school, and Francesca had done her good deed for the week. She was thrilled…and fighting the need to throw up.

  “I’m sorry,” David said miserably.

  Mia paced the length of her living room. It was late—after midnight—and they’d been at this for hours.

  “It didn’t mean anything,” he told her for the hundredth time.

  Forty-eight hours after denying his relationship with Julie, David had showed up on Mia’s doorstep and come clean. Claiming it was little more than prewedding jitters, he’d confessed to hanging out with her, some kissing, and nothing else. Mia had yet to decide if she believed him.

  “It meant something to me,” Mia told him. “You didn’t just cheat, you were sloppy, you publicly humiliated me, and then you lied. In the face of all that, ’I’m sorry’ seems feeble.”

  She continued to pace. As she walked past him, he reached out and grabbed her. “Mia, you’ve got to forgive me.”

  “Why?” She glared at him. “Give me one good reason.”

  “Because you still love me.”

  She did—because she was a fool. She still loved him and wanted to marry him. She wanted to move to Washington and explore the city with him. She wanted to get her graduate degree, a great job with the State Department, and have David in her life. She had a plan, and he was as much a part of it as anything else.

  “Why would I ever trust you again?” she asked.

  He hung his head. “I don’t know. How do I earn that back?”

  How did he? Was it possible? Could something broken and shattered be put whole again?

  He stepped close and gathered her against him. “Don’t send me away,” he begged. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll do anything.”

  She believed him. At that moment he would do anything. But what about in a few weeks, or a year? What about the next time things got difficult? Would he work it out or would he run?

  “Are you really sure you want to marry me?” she asked.

  He stared deeply into her eyes. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. You’re my world, Mia. Only you.”

  He picked her up and she let him…mostly because being in David’s arms was where she belonged. Because she loved him. Because it seemed that Marcelli women were destined to make fools of themselves over the men they cared about.

  The phone rang shortly before nine the next morning. Katie munched on toast while she reviewed her to-do list. There were exactly twenty-seven items, which should take her about six hours. That left plenty of time for last-minute things she might have forgotten. She had already had a forty-minute conversation with one of her staff, and a conference call with three others.

  “Hello,” she said, her attention mostly on her list.

  “Katie?”

  She froze. There was something horrible about the voice. Familiar, but horrible. Apprehension crawled up her spine, leaving her suddenly very, very cold.

  “Yes, this is Katie Marcelli.”

  “It’s Jerome.”

  Her throat closed. “Jerome? What’s wrong? You sound awful.”

  In the background she could hear voices, then a low groan.

  “Katie, I’m so sorry.” Jerome sucked in a breath. “I don’t know, maybe it was the fish. Something.”

  Her tight throat made it difficult to talk. “What are you saying?”

  He swore softly. “We’re all sick. The entire kitchen staff has food poisoning. They’ve just admitted me into the hospital. All the chefs are here. They’re going to keep us at least a couple of days. There’s some concern that we’ve ingested parasites. We should all be fine, but we won’t be back to work for nearly a week.”

  The panic grew and her hands began to sweat. Fish? There wasn’t any fish on her menu. “What are you talking about?”

  “We had the tasting dinner last night,” he said weakly. “Remember? For the new restaurant menu. I’m sorry, Katie. There’s no kitchen staff. At least not at the hotel. They’re all here, or at other hospitals.”

  He continued talking, but she wasn’t listening. No kitchen staff? None? She had a party to put on in less than thirty-six hours. Over two thousand really well-dressed people were going to be expecting a fancy meal and fine service and what the hell was she going to do?

  18

  “Zach, you have a call on line three,” Dora said. “It’s Katie.”

  “Got it.” Zach punched the Off button for the intercom, then picked up the receiver and leaned back in his chair. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said with a smile. “Thirty-three hours and counting. Are you nervous?”

  He’d expected a laughing response from Katie, or a smart crack. What he got was silence.

  “Katie?”

  “I’m here. Do you have a second?”

  “Sure.” Something in her voice made him sit up straight and hold on to the phone a little tighter. “What’s up?”

  “There’s been an unexpected problem,” she said, her words more clipped than usual. “Last night the entire hotel kitchen staff had a tasting for the new menu for the hotel’s fine d
ining room.” She paused and cleared her throat. “Unfortunately they seemed to have cooked up some bad fish. Most of the kitchen staff is in the hospital, including Jerome.”

  Zach opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  “I’ve already spoken with the hotel manager along with the events manager,” she continued. “They’re willing to do whatever it takes to honor our contract with them. Outside staff can be brought in. Between that and my own staff, I’m reasonably confident that everything can be worked out in time. However, under the circumstances, I can’t guarantee that it will be perfect.”

  He exhaled heavily. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Me, either,” she admitted. “There’s a clause in our contract with the hotel that allows us to pull out at the last minute when they have a disaster like this. They wouldn’t be happy with that decision, but they can’t stop us. They would return all moneys paid to date. We would have the option of rescheduling there or at another location in the future. I’ve already contacted a temp agency. I can have a phone bank up in less than two hours. Anyone we can’t reach by phone will be visited in person. The hotel will cover that cost. Also, they’ll pay for dinner at a nearby restaurant for anyone who slips through the cracks and shows up anyway.”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Everyone is sick?”

  “Yes. Actually Jerome sounded awful. He’s in the emergency room right now, but we’re keeping in touch by phone.”

  Zach swore under his breath. He glanced at his watch. It was nine-fifty. “When did you find out about this?”

  “At nine.”

  “This morning?”

  “Of course. I got right to work on the problem.”

  “No kidding.”

  Katie had put together a rescue operation with options in less than fifty minutes. Why was he surprised? She gave a hundred and ten percent.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I didn’t think about that. You’re the client.”

  “The party is as much yours as it is the firm’s. We’re all in this together. What does your gut say we should do? Can you pull it off?”

  “I can get all the elements together,” she said slowly. “Will it be what it would have been? I’m not sure. Will anyone know there was a problem?” She hesitated. “Can I get back to you on those odds?”

  “That was ‘Katie, the owner of Organization Central’s’ answer. Now give me the ‘Katie, the person’s’ response. What can I do to make this situation easier for you? Do you want to cancel or bluff?”

  She sighed. “Oh, Zach, it’s a nightmare. I can’t believe Jerome and his staff got sick less than two days before the party. It’s not fair.”

  “Agreed. Tell me what you want.”

  He heard her writing on a piece of paper, then she cleared her throat. “Let’s go for it.”

  He tilted his head to cradle the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “That’s my vote, too. No one is going to want the hassle of rescheduling. Plus canceling at this late date may make the firm look flaky. Not exactly the image we want when we’re raising money for charity. It’s not going to help you, either. Let’s move forward and make it work. If there’s a problem, I’ll take responsibility.”

  “Because you hired me, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “If something goes wrong, the responsibility is mine, Zach. I’m the one who agreed to plan the party. While it’s not my fault the entire kitchen staff is sick, the buck stops with me.”

  He figured they could argue that point if it became a problem.

  “I have every confidence in you,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  She laughed, although the sound was more strangled than humorous. “How are you in the kitchen?”

  “I’m a fast learner.” He flipped through his calendar. “I’m in court most of today, but I’ll clear tomorrow. How’s that?”

  “Whatever you can give me would be great.”

  When this was over, they were going to have to lock her up in a nuthouse, Katie thought later that afternoon. Or she would have a heart attack, right there in the middle of the kitchen.

  She didn’t think her heart had stopped pounding since she’d received Jerome’s phone call earlier. There were fourteen thousand details to take care of, not the least of which was the reality of getting a kitchen staff in place in time to prepare the food for the dinner tomorrow.

  Her cell phone rang again.

  “Yes,” she said, automatically reaching for the pad of paper she kept with her at all times.

  “Hey.”

  “Jerome!” The man sounded as if he’d spent most of the day barfing his guts up…which he probably had. “Tell me you’ve got news.”

  “I have a grill chef for you. Madison. Just Madison. No last name.”

  “Like Madonna?”

  “Exactly. She’s great, and she owes me.” He gave her a number. “If she gives you any trouble, just tell her I said to mention Barbados.”

  Katie scribbled it all down. Great. Code words. She was beginning to feel as if she were living in a very bad spy movie. All she would need next was a herd of elephants trampling through the kitchen.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ve checked the inventory, like you said. Everything is here.”

  “You’ve got to get people cutting up the meat and vegetables. It takes time. Then prepare the marinade. Beef in tonight. Chicken in tomorrow. Shrimp goes in an hour before cooking. The vegetables have their own marinade schedule.”

  She dutifully wrote down everything he said. As the conversation progressed, his voice got weaker and weaker. Finally she took pity on him.

  “This is enough for now,” she said. “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay. We’ll have to talk about the chocolate next. You can’t just throw it in a pot over an open flame and expect it to be wonderful. I had plans for the chocolate.” There was a gagging sound. “I have to go throw up.”

  The phone disconnected before she could say anything.

  Katie tried not to think about Jerome’s afternoon activities. As she organized her notes, her phone rang again.

  “It’s your favorite florist,” a voice said cheerily. “The roses were trés ugly, so I want to make some changes. Same cost, but you’ll have to approve things. I’m sending a sample over right now. Is that okay?”

  Before she could answer, the events manager walked into the kitchen.

  “We’ve set the first table. Want to take a look, Katie?”

  She motioned for him to give her a second, then finished her phone call. A quick glance at her watch told her that the booths were being set up and that she’d promised to stop by and check on that. There were also the last-minute prizes to be picked up.

  She already had her staff running in forty-seven directions. Taking on the party was one thing, but filling in for the kitchen staff—especially Jerome, who coordinated everything about the food—was another.

  “I need a signature for the liquor delivery,” a voice called from the doorway.

  Katie looked at the uniformed man. “Did anyone go over the inventory with you?”

  “No. Were they supposed to?”

  She had an overwhelming urge to start pulling out her hair. Instead she said, “Yes. Give me two minutes. I’ll be there to go over it with you.” Then she looked at her cell phone.

  She was out of options and out of time. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t think twice. But she’d been disowned from the family, and to the best of her knowledge, no one was speaking to her.

  Still, she punched the buttons on her cell phone and listened to the ringing.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Mom, it’s me. I’m in trouble and I really need help.”

  Zach arrived at the hotel shortly after six the morning of the fund-raiser. He’d tried to get Katie
several times the previous evening, but she hadn’t been home. By the time he’d realized she was staying at the hotel and that he should try her on her cell, it had been too late. If she was getting any sleep at all, he didn’t want to wake her.

  He headed for the front desk and got directions to the kitchen. He half expected to find the place deserted, but even before he pushed open the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY he heard the pounding of loud music and the sound of voices.

  He wandered into organized madness. Several people were slicing vegetables. A tall Amazon-like woman in a chef’s hat dropped thousands of wooden skewers in a vat of water.

  “Zach! Shouldn’t you still be asleep?”

  He turned toward the voice and was amazed to see Grandma Tessa standing in front of a six-burner stove, stirring a giant pot.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I didn’t think anyone was speaking to Katie.”

  She smiled and shrugged. “We were angry, now we’re not.”

  Just like that? “What changed your mind?”

  “Katie needed help. Now come say hello properly.”

  Still considering what she had said, he crossed to her, bracing himself for the hug, kiss, and cheek-pinch greeting she’d turned into an art form. Grandma Tessa didn’t disappoint.

  As he rubbed the welt she’d left on his skin, he leaned over to get a peek at what was in the pot.

  “Ravioli,” she announced, then waved at the rest of the kitchen. “All of this is fine, but when Katie told me what had happened, I knew I had to bring pasta. First I cook it in the water, then later, I fry it.” She kissed the tips of her fingers. “Delicioso.”

  He saw dozens of bags of frozen ravioli lined up on the counter behind her. “You didn’t just make this last night, did you?”

  “No.” She laughed. “I keep it frozen, for company. There’s marinara sauce, too. Sometimes we have a party.”

  There was probably enough ravioli to feed an army. “Some party,” he said. “Invite me next time.”