“I don’t know,” she answered, “I just do. It’s like this…and I don’t think I can explain it any better…since I was a kid, I’ve been a very oral person…” she smiled in answer to Gabe’s grin before she continued. “I can put something in my mouth and deconstruct it. It’s like working backward from the finished product to the original raw materials. You know, like time-lapse photography, only backward. I guess it’s the same way a sommelier tastes wine. Take M&M’s for example.”
“The candy?” Gabe asked.
“Yeah, the candy. Each color has a unique flavor.”
“They all taste alike to me,” he said.
“Not to me,” Eva replied. “When I was a teenager, we used to do blindfold taste tests with M&M’s. Probably more than ninety-five percent of the time, I could guess which color I had in my mouth. It’s become a little harder since they added some new colors—the new ones all taste alike to me—and they got rid of my favorite, light brown. Those were the yummiest, followed by green, yellow, red, and then dark brown. Orange brought up the rear.”
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll give you that, but how do you know what seasonings go with what? Trial and error?”
“No, not at all. First, I know what I like. Second, my goal is to bring out or enhance the underlying flavor of whatever I’m working with, not hide it. If I’m working with something I want to hide, then I shouldn’t be using it in the first place. You would be surprised at what goes together. Sometimes it’s very unexpected, like salmon and maple syrup.”
“You’re kidding?” Gabe interjected.
“No, I’m not. I love salmon, but not the way most restaurants prepare it. Salmon is a very oily fish, very rich. And if you take that oily fish and then add more fat, like, say, you cook it in butter or olive oil. For me, the fish becomes so rich that I find it inedible. I actually get sick, really sick, when I eat it. I think that the fat in the salmon alone is enough. That’s why I never add fat when I cook it, and in fact, I actually like to dry my salmon out just a little, pull some of the fat out, maybe with a sweet, spicy, smoky marinade, and then grill it or pan sear it just as it is.” She looked up from her work. “Have you ever eaten salmon candy?”
Gabe laughed. “Can’t say that the thought has ever occurred to me.”
“It’s wonderful. I can eat a whole big bag in one sitting. I’d be happy to make you some,” she offered.
“I’d like that,” answered Gabe, still smiling. “But is there anything you don’t want to work with? Any food you won’t eat?”
“You already know that I don’t eat red meat,” replied Eva, tossing a pasta salad. “I have a rule—I refuse to eat anything that plays when it’s young. Won’t do it. I eat fish. I’ll eat a little chicken or turkey, if that’s all there is, but for protein, I mostly stick to eggs and dairy products. We raised cattle and pigs, my dad still does. I loved those babies. To me, eating them was like eating the family dog. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“But you cook meat.”
“Because that’s what my clients want. I don’t cook it for myself.”
Gabe was curious. “So what else don’t you like?”
“I detest tarragon.”
“Tarragon?”
“Yeah,” Eva replied. “It’s an herb that everyone, and I mean everyone, says you should pair with fish. The stuff gags me. As far as I’m concerned, if you use tarragon with fish, all you taste is the tarragon and to me, it tastes way too sweet. I can’t stand it.” Eva thought for a moment. “Call me crazy, but I don’t like Portobello mushrooms, either. Everyone else seems to think they’re a great meat substitute so I get offered grilled Portobellos a lot. I like them fine when they’re young, you know, criminis, Italian brown mushrooms? That’s all Portobello mushrooms are, old criminis. I like intense flavors, but the flavor of a Portobello is too intense for me, especially when they’re grilled. Oh, and I’m not all that fond of lobster mushrooms, too fishy. Fishier than fish, in my opinion. A bad lobster mushroom tastes like a nasty fish that’s a week too old.”
Eva looked up from her cutting board. She grinned at Gabe. “And I hate green peppers. Red are fine, orange and yellow are fine, and just about any hot chili is better than fine, but a plain old green pepper? Sometimes I can’t even be in the same room with them…them and old-fashioned breakfast sausages. Ugh. The smell of either green peppers or breakfast sausages cooking makes my stomach turn. My mom is always careful when I go home for a visit because my dad loves breakfast sausage and one of his favorite meals is veal with green peppers and onions. She won’t make either when I’m around, poor guy.”
“I hate green peppers too,” said Gabe. “You asked me about food dislikes the first time we talked.”
“Yeah,” replied Eva, “I remember. I figure if I’m ever pissed off at you, I’ll hide green peppers in something.”
“Eva,” Gabe pitched his voice was low, “What do I taste like? If you were blindfolded, could you recognize me?”
She stopped what she was doing and walked slowly around the counter. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her chest to his. Eva laid her mouth against his ear.
“Of course,” she said softly, her breath tickling him. “You, Gabriel Abbott, are a sprinkle of Fleur De Sel de Guerande,” she whispered, her voice husky, and the front of his jeans grew taut. “Fresh maitake mushrooms sautéed in raw, unsalted butter with just a bit of marjoram.” She ran a hand along his hard length. “A slow swallow of Nonino grappa that I can feel all the way to my belly button.”
Eva slid down his body and dropped to her knees. She ran her fingers up the front of his jeans, drew down the zipper and freed him. Her palm stroked him, her fingers winding their way up his hard cock. She licked him, using just the tip of her tongue, savoring his taste, his feel, like he was her favorite flavor of ice cream.
God… Gabe groaned and closed his eyes, trying his best to remain upright. It took every ounce of control he had not to throw her on her back and bury himself inside her sweet heat. He wanted to let Eva take charge for a change. When he felt her lips slide around the head of his cock and her mouth close over him, he thought he might explode right then. Her hands slid around his backside. The muscles of his buttocks contracted beneath them. She pulled him closer. Eva began to suck. Gabe’s head dropped forward. He grabbed the edge of the counter and held on tight, thrusting into her mouth carefully, the movement of his hips matching her rhythm.
Moments later, Gabe pushed Eva away with a growl. He dropped to the floor with her, lay her down, quickly stripped off her shorts and her panties, spread her legs and impaled her in one motion.
“Jesus Christ…” he muttered.
“Gabe,” Eva cried out his name as she came.
Damn, she was wet and hot and tight.
Gabe pulled himself out of his daydream and he found himself staring out the window of his office, still thinking about what they’d done. He knew Eva’s taste. He’d know it if he was blind, deaf and dumb. He couldn’t describe hers with as much detail as she could his. But he knew the nuances of her taste like he knew the taste of his favorite cabernet. She tasted of musk and amber, brown sugar, a bite of black pepper, and just a hint of vanilla.
He felt, more than heard, his cell phone ring. He pulled it out of his pocket automatically.
“Gabriel Abbott.”
“Hello, Gabriel, this is Stephanie.”
Gabe paused for a moment. Stephanie was the last person he expected to hear from. Why was she calling him? Before he could ask, she spoke up.
“Gabriel, I’m calling to apologize for my behavior on Friday night.”
“I don’t think I’m the person you should be apologizing to,” he replied.
“Yes, I know, but I feel like I owe you an apology as well. It’s none of my business whom you date. We hadn’t made any commitment to each other.”
She sounded very contrite. Gabe decided to be conciliatory. “No, we had no commitment, but perhaps an apology on my part is in o
rder as well. I didn’t mean to lead you on and I’m sorry if I did. However, if you’re angry, be angry with me, not Eva. She didn’t know about you.”
“Yes,” Stephanie replied, “I believe that. I just wanted to tell you that I intend to put everything that’s happened behind us. I imagine we’ll be seeing each other from time to time and I’d like our relationship to remain cordial.”
“I’d like that too, Stephanie.”
“No hard feelings?”
“No hard feelings, Steph.”
“So how about I take you to coffee sometime this week, just friends. To make it up to you.”
“Not necessary,” said Gabe. “You don’t have to worry, I’m not one to hold grudges against friends and business associates.”
“No, really, Gabriel, it would make me feel better.”
“Sorry, Steph, but I’ll be leaving town later this week and I have a lot to do.”
“Maybe I can have a rain check?” she asked. “When do you get back?”
“Not for three or four weeks. I’m not quite sure. Frankly, Steph, it might be awkward. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression and I’m with Eva now.”
“Yes, of course,” Stephanie replied. “I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
“No pressure, just the facts. Sorry. It’s never been my intent to hurt your feelings,” added Gabe.
“You haven’t,” claimed Stephanie. “Don’t worry about it. Have a nice trip.” Her voice sounded a bit clipped.
“Thanks. Goodbye Stephanie.” Gabe clicked off. Well, he thought, that’s one way to get rid of an inconvenient hard on.
Marsha entered his office. “I’m holding plane reservations for this Friday and I’ve arranged for six interviews on Monday and Tuesday. Over the next few days, I can try reach the rest of the students and their families. Between the schools in Chicago, those in Minneapolis, Milwaukee, and in Omaha, we should be busy for several weeks.”
“That’s about what I figured,” replied Gabe. “Sounds good. Go ahead and purchase the tickets.”
“Will do. Why was Stephanie Lindstrom calling?”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Do you hear everything that goes on in my office? I’ll have to remember to close my door.”
“It’s my job. Why was she calling?”
“To apologize.” Gabe explained to Marsha what had happened between Stephanie and Eva on Friday night.
“Good for Eva,” she replied. She said, “Don’t trust the apology. She’s working some angle.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Gabe. “Seems pretty straight forward to me.”
“That’s because you’re a man,” Marsha replied. “An apology from a man is likely to be exactly that, an apology, because men aren’t big on apologies, so if a man says he’s sorry, then he’s sorry. An apology from Stephanie Lindstrom? That’s another animal altogether. I don’t trust her,” she repeated. “She’s up to something.”
“Marsha, I think the cake has gone to your head. She’s all talk. A woman like Stephanie isn’t going to go after someone who doesn’t want her. I made that clear.”
“Well,” said Marsha, “She may not go after you directly. She may try a sideways approach.”
Gabe laughed. “I think you’re reading too much into this, Marsha. She’s not going to waste her time. Besides, I have nothing to hide.”
“No,” agreed Marsha, “But you do have someone to protect. Eva.”
Gabe stared at his assistant for a moment. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Even if Stephanie was vindictive, what do you expect her to do? Hire a hit man?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Marsha, you don’t think much of members of your own sex, do you?”
“Oh,” said Marsha, “On the contrary, I think very highly of members of my own sex. I just know the difference between a pit viper and a harmless garter snake.”
“You have nothing to be worried about. Eva will be fine. Stephanie’s a lawyer, for God’s sake. She knows where to draw the line. She wouldn’t risk her sterling reputation over something so petty.”
“Depends upon her definition of petty.”
“Marsha, you overestimate my charms. I doubt I’ll hear much of anything from Stephanie unless it’s about business. Which you and I need to get back to if I’m going to spend time with Eva before we leave.”
“You’re the boss,” said Marsha, as she strolled to her desk. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Hey, Marcus,” Eva called as she walked into the office, “When are you guys leaving?”
“Shortly,” Marcus replied as he struggled to unplug his laptop. “Tom’s packing the car now and I need to get out of here. Will you be okay?”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine. It’s slow. The Whites are gone for another week. The Reardons have taken off for a month so I just have Sam and Mrs. Elkins, and I’ll manage the office. Ruth and I can handle the wedding this weekend. There are only thirty guests. We might have to decline any major last minute catering jobs, unless you want me to call you two to come back.”
“No cell phone service up there,” said Marcus. “We’ll be camping on the river. I’ll try to get into Guerneville a couple times to check in with you. Is lover-boy still out of town?” came Marcus’ voice from beneath his desk.
“Yes… yes he is,” said Eva, her cheeks turning pink. “You just asked me that this morning. Here, let me get that for you.” Eva crawled under the desk and untangled the cord. She handed it to Marcus.
“You miss him?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’ve got it bad, Miss Eva. Very bad.”
“Yeah, well, it’s only been a week and I’ll see him when I go back to Iowa. He’s bringing his brother to the farm for a few days.”
“Oh, so your family can put him to the test?”
Eva laughed. “Something like that. They’ll probably make him run the gauntlet. I’m hoping they don’t beat him with farm implements.”
Marcus stuffed his laptop into its carrying case. He rose from the desk and slung it over his shoulder. “I doubt they’ll be that hard on him,” he said. “Besides, Gabriel Abbott strikes me as the type of man who might enjoy running the gauntlet. Perhaps even naked.”
“Marcus!” Eva shrieked.
“Hey, I may have my favorite cake, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy looking at the different flavors of ice cream.” Marcus grabbed his car keys and tossed the office cell phone in Eva’s direction. “Be good.” He headed for the door. “Oh, here’s the portable credit card unit, but Tom locked the business check book in the safe and he has the key, so do you think you can you cover if anything comes up? We’ll reimburse your expenses of course.
“No problem,” Eva called after him. “Have fun.”
* * * *
Friday afternoon, as Eva put the finishing touches on the two-tier wedding cake, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number, wondering if it was either Tom or Marcus. Neither. The area code was 415.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice asked, “Is this All Things to All People?”
“No, this is a personal cell phone number, but I work for All Things to All People.”
“Is this Miss Eva Raines?”
“This is Eva.”
“Just the person I wanted to speak with. I hear you’re a fabulous caterer.”
“Oh,” said Eva, “that’s very nice of you. But if I may ask, how did you get this number?
“A friend of mine, Gabriel Abbott. Listen, I’m having a little get-together at my home in Yountville on Sunday night. I know it’s last minute, but I hear you’re a genius when it comes to putting something on at the last minute.”
“Thank you again for the compliment,” said Eva. “May I ask with whom I’m speaking?”
“This is Jerry Harding. I’m with the firm of Harding and Harding in San Francisco. I have some out of town guests and I’d like to bring them
up to the Napa Valley for the day. I thought we might finish off with a small buffet, you know, appetizers, cheeses, desserts, that kind of thing.”
Something about the man’s enthusiasm seemed a little off. Eva couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she didn’t want to turn down a job if it could mean more exposure for ATAP.
“I don’t usually take work related calls on my personal cell,” Eva stated. “How did Mr. Abbott happen to give you this number?” She asked, keeping her tone matter of fact.
“Oh, Gabe and I go way back. We’ve worked on projects together for years. He’s spoken so highly of you. He said you’re always up for a last minute event, especially if the money’s good.”
That didn’t sound like Gabe at all.
“Mr. Harding…”
“Oh, please call me Jerry.”
“Jerry, I’m acting manager until next Wednesday. I’ll be happy to take some information from you and see what we can do, but I will need you to use our office number from now on.”
“No problem, Miss Raines. May I call you Eva?”
“Sure,” she replied, trying to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. Why would Gabe give my personal cell phone number to anyone? “I’ll need a few more details from you before I can decide whether or not to accept this job.”
Eva reached across the counter and grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper. The man, Jerry, answered all her questions without hesitation. Within five minutes, Eva knew the date, time, place, number of guests and the amount of money the man was willing to spend. It was an exorbitant amount for eight people. But then, he did insist upon one very specific caviar to go with a very specific wine. Eva would have to interrupt her prep for the wedding in order to make a trip into the city on Saturday morning to purchase the caviar and she’d personally have to contact the small, boutique winery to get the wine. They didn’t sell to retailers.
Beauty and the Feast Page 18
