“No worries. Are you carrying something?” She held up the brightly colored bag she used for errands. “Ahh, I thought I saw a pink handle.”
“Groceries. I decided to make a pot roast.” Piper paused. If his meeting was canceled, did that mean he would be home for dinner?
“Will that be a problem?” Frederic asked when she checked.
Before today, she would have said no. While Frederic’s schedule kept him out of the house most nights, there were times when he stayed home and expected her to cook. All those nights happened before they’d danced together, however. Those few minutes in his arms had colored their relationship. An ordinary activity such as cooking now had a more intimate flavor.
But the inability to separate last night and today was her problem, wasn’t it? When push came to shove, Frederic was still her boss and she still his housekeeper.
Offering a smile, she replied in as casual a voice as she could muster. “Why would it be a problem? Cooking is part of my job, isn’t it? I mean, the title is housekeeper-slash-cook.”
“Yes, but when I mentioned staying in, your voice sounded a little...off. Made me concerned.”
“I was calculating cooking times in my head is all. To make sure I don’t serve you too late.” Please don’t ask what time I consider late because I’m totally making things up.
“You don’t have to worry about the time. I’ll eat whenever the meal is ready.”
“Well, I better go change uniforms and get started. Oh, by the way,” she said, remembering. “I called the carpet cleaning company. They’re closed for vacation. I made a note to call them next week.”
“That’s not necessary, you know.”
“It is if you want to get rid of the coffee stain.”
“No, I mean, changing. You don’t have to switch uniforms on my account.”
“You might change your mind when you realize how badly this jacket smells like today’s seafood lesson.”
“I meant you don’t have to wear a uniform. Put on your regular clothes.”
But she always wore a uniform. The employment agency insisted. To maintain a barrier between staff and the house or something like that.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a couple days. There is no reason you should have to keep changing from one uniform to another and back every day. You should be comfortable.”
Comfortable while cooking for him. Yeah, that wouldn’t feel domestic at all. “Thanks,” she told him. “I’ll do that.”
* * *
A short while later, the kitchen smelled like beef and onions. Piper breathed in the familiar scents to calm her nerves. Get a grip, she told herself. It’s no different from any other night. In fact, this was a good reminder to keep her head on straight. As her little stare-fest in the living room proved, she was crossing the line from attractive boss to being attracted to her boss—something neither of them needed.
Her attention shifted to the phone on the counter. Odd. She had two missed calls. She must have been so engrossed in chopping vegetables she didn’t notice the phone vibrating. Both were from Patience. Wanting to know how the painting search was going, no doubt. Piper wasn’t going to have much to tell her. John Allen hadn’t returned her phone call yet.
Only, Patience’s voice mail wasn’t about the painting. It was about her and Stuart Duchenko. She replayed the message twice to make sure she heard her sister correctly. Difficult, since Patience was sniffling throughout.
Oh, Patience. Sick to her stomach, she dropped into one of the kitchen chairs and stared at the call screen. You’d think after everything else, her sister would catch a break.
“I can smell dinner from up in my office. It smells delicious.”
“Thanks,” she replied, attention stuck on the phone. She didn’t even bother to look up when Frederic joined her.
“Something has upset you.” His arm reached across the table and brushed the top of her wrist, drawing her attention. “Is it about the painting? Did Monsieur Allen have bad news?”
“No, I’m still waiting to hear from him. My sister left her job.” Her thumb wavered between texting and calling direct. Video chatting would be best, but she didn’t know if Patience had her laptop.
Frederic drew up a chair and sat down. “She is no longer working for Ana Duchenko? Why not? I was under the impression she cared about the woman.”
“She does. Problem is she cares about Stuart Duchenko more.”
“The nephew who is searching for the painting. I didn’t realize they were...friends.”
Piper had to smile at his use of euphemisms. “According to her voice mail, they aren’t ‘friends’ any longer. They had a fight about something in her past. She was crying, so I couldn’t understand the whole message. I’ll find out more when I call her back.”
Piper’s eyes dropped back to her phone screen. “And here I thought after everything she’d been through, she’d finally found happiness.”
“Everything she’d been through? I don’t understand. Yesterday you said you both suffered through tough times.”
“We did. But Patience suffered more, or at least I think so.”
“What do you mean?”
Piper exhaled. She hadn’t planned on sharing the story with him, but now that she opened the door, she might as well walk all the way through. After all, Frederic opened up about his eyesight, right?
“Do you remember when I told you that no matter how tough life got for us, Patience found a way to make it better?”
“Yes.”
“Well, life got real tough. Like the two of us living in a car tough.”
She tried not to cringe at his sudden sharp breath. “You—you were homeless?”
“Only for a week or so.” Yesterday’s sympathy had returned to his voice. Hearing it left a sour taste in her mouth and so she rushed to erase it as quickly as possible. “It was right after my mom died. Soon as we could afford to, we found a cheap motel room and then later an apartment.”
“Must have been terrifying.”
“I was more scared someone would find out and take me away. Patience promised we would stay together.”
“She kept her promise.”
“Yes, she did. She took the only job she could find to pay the bills.”
“Working for Ana Duchenko as a housekeeper.”
“The job with Ana came later, after I moved here. When I was a kid, she was a dancer in a club. A club where women were paid to dance.”
There was a pause as the full meaning of her answer sank in. “I see,” he said finally.
“She didn’t have a choice.” The defense came automatically, before he could say anything judgmental. “I told you, it was the first job she could find.”
Twirling her phone end over end, she thought about those dark days. Remembering how she sat shivering in a blanket in the backseat, crying because the only thing she’d eaten that day were the free saltines they swiped from the local convenience store. “For most of my life it’s been just me and Patience. Couldn’t have been easy being stuck raising a kid right out of high school.”
“I would think it was hard for both of you.”
He spoke frankly, exactly the way Piper preferred. Bluntness was so much better than pity or sarcasm.
“When she first got the job I was too young to understand what she was doing,” she told him. “Then when I was old enough...” Hopefully, her shrug filled in the blanks. When she was old enough, she sucked it up, for Patience’s sake.
“The argument your sister and the Duchenko nephew had? This is the information he discovered?”
“I think he learned a few of the more sordid details. From the sound of it, there were things I didn’t even know about.”
It made her wonder how many more difficulties her sister bore al
one for Piper’s sake. The guilt she carried on her shoulders pressed heavier.
Meanwhile, Frederic sat stiffly in his chair, drawing patterns on the table with his index finger. “Sounds as if both of you were very brave. I’ve known people who weren’t half as brave when life kicked them.”
Who? Certainly not him.
“If your sister is as strong as she sounds,” he continued, “then I am sure she will weather this storm as well. Did you not just say she always found a way to fix a bad situation?”
“You’re right. She did.” Patience was a survivor. A fact Piper needed to remember. “Being over five thousand miles away has got me on edge. I’m sure that once I have a chance to talk with her, I’ll feel better.”
In fact, her spirits were already beginning to lift, in large part because of the man across from her. “Who knows? Maybe once he’s had a chance to get over the shock, Stuart will realize Patience’s past is no big deal.” After all, life has a way of doing a one-eighty on you. Last week she would have been sitting here dealing with Patience’s message on her own.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“Listening. It was nice having a shoulder for a change.” Reaching across the table, she covered his hand with hers. It was a simple gesture, meant to be an expression of gratitude, but it sent warmth coiling through Piper in unexpected ways. She looked up, wondering if Frederic noticed her reaction, and saw that his eyes were dark with an unreadable emotion. Her pulse skipped.
“I should go call her back,” she said, standing. Her hand didn’t seem to want to separate from his; she had to force the command down her arm to make it move. “I’ll try to be quick.”
“Take as much time as you’d like,” Frederic told her. His attention was on the hand she had just released, his voice distracted.
Piper didn’t want to think about it. Pushing the moment from her thoughts, she headed toward her suite, her finger hitting redial before she reached it. Patience’s phone went straight to voice mail. “You can’t call me crying, then not answer your phone,” she said. “Call me back ASAP. Everything will be okay,” she added in a gentle voice.
Barely two seconds went by before a message appeared on her screen.
Doing better. Checking into a motel. Will call u later.
Soon, OK? Piper typed back. Love you.
Her sister would bounce back, Piper reminded herself as she tucked the phone in her back pocket. Frederic was right about her being a survivor. It still sucked though that Patience couldn’t seem to catch any happiness.
Maybe it wasn’t in the Rush girl DNA. What with them being common girls and all that, maybe they weren’t meant to be anything more. She tapped the phone against her lips. At least Piper was here making sure some of her sister’s sacrifices were worthwhile.
A thought came to her. There was one more thing she could do. She could talk to Stuart herself. Piper opened her email.
* * *
Frederic was moving about the kitchen when she returned a short time later. Whatever the thickness was that had been in the atmosphere before she left had eased. “Did you talk to your sister?” he asked.
“No, but she texted me. Said she’s feeling better.”
“You seem to be, as well.”
Yeah, she was. “That’s because after I heard from Patience, I decided to take a page from her playbook and do something to fix the situation. I decided to contact Stuart to see if I could make him see how backed in a corner Patience was back then.”
“Good thinking.”
“Unnecessary too. When I logged on, I found an email from him asking how he could make things right.”
Might not be perfect, but it was a start.
“There you go. He’s already over whatever news he learned. I’m sure that means they will talk things out.”
“I really hope so.”
All of sudden she saw that Frederic was setting the kitchen table. With two place settings.
“I thought we’d be more comfortable in here,” he said when he noticed her staring.
“We’re eating together?” All the other times she’d served him, he’d eaten in the dining room.
“Foolish for us to eat in separate rooms, is it not? Especially now that we are friends.”
Friends. Apparently, he forgot that he used the same term to describe Patience’s and Stuart’s relationship.
She watched as he moved from cupboard to table. She never noticed before, but he looked at the space in sections, presumably until the object he was seeking came into view. Methodical, but subtle and graceful at the same time. To the unknowing eye, he was simply a man in supreme control. Heck, he looked that way to her knowing eye. She couldn’t imagine him being anything but in control.
What was it she was supposed to remember about finding him attractive and being attracted?
“...going?”
He was looking in her direction waiting for an answer. “Should I assume from your lack of response that class did not go well again today?”
Right, he was talking about school. Piper shook her head. “No, but school never does go well, so it’s no big deal.”
“I am sorry.” His voice lifted at the end, as if he wasn’t sure he should offer condolences or not.
“Hey, like I said yesterday, great cooking is an art. Don’t all artists suffer?”
“Some do.”
“Well, so do some chefs. I’m telling myself that in the end, the hassle is making me a better chef.
“In the meantime,” she said, reaching for the cornstarch, “I’m learning a whole bunch of new ways to insult a person’s dinner. Today’s word was mundane. My sauce was mundane. I like to think it’s a step up from earlier this week when my food was uninspired.”
“I see your teacher is one of those instructors.”
“What do you mean, ‘one of those’?” she asked as she mixed thickener for the gravy.
“I mean the type who believes insulting their students makes for good motivation.”
“Assuming he is trying to motivate and not simply telling the truth.”
“The aromas in this kitchen suggest otherwise.”
It felt so good to have someone compliment her cooking, Piper decided to not worry about whether he was being polite and smiled instead. “Pot roast is one of my specialties. I’ve always been wicked good when it comes to New England cooking. Your country...” She waved her hand back and forth. “Not so much. I should have realized after I tried to make vichyssoise.” Good Lord, she hadn’t thought about that in ages. The memory made her laugh. “I think I was seven.”
“And attempting French cooking?”
“What can I say? I was a prodigy.” She left out the part about how if she didn’t cook, she didn’t eat. “Anyway, someone mentioned cold potato soup on TV. I figured it couldn’t be that hard to make, so I tried it. Ended up serving Patience a can of condensed potato soup straight out of the cupboard. No water or anything.” She could imagine what Chef Despelteau would say.
“I’m glad your skills improved.”
“Me, too. And for the record, I know how to make a kick-ass vichyssoise now. Patience refuses to eat it, though. Can’t really blame her. Too many canned soup dinners burned her out.”
Piper stared at the cloudy liquid in front of her. “She’s the reason I’m here, you know. In Paris. She never stopped encouraging me. Telling me I could do anything I wanted.”
“Like a good parent should.”
“She’d laugh if she heard you say that, but yeah, exactly like a parent. I remember when I got my acceptance letter. She was more excited than I was.” There was no way Piper couldn’t fulfill their dream after that.
Distracted by memories, Piper forgot she was supposed to be stirring the thickener. Th
e bowl slipped from her hands, bounced off the counter edge and landed on the floor.
Shoot. Cornstarch splattered the cabinets. That’s what she got for not paying attention. She reached for the paper towels only to collide with Frederic as he did the same. Their fingers linked together.
Just like that, the thickness returned to the atmosphere. Piper felt it pressing around them, like energy waiting to hum. She looked at their interlocked fingers and wondered why neither of them had pulled away.
“Guess this is the week for spills,” she joked.
“This is the week for a lot of broken rules,” he said, a strangely serious response to what was meant as a tension breaker. She’d been looking for something to distract from the pull of attraction gathering strength in her belly. Piper didn’t have to look up to know Frederic felt similarly. They were both breathing faster. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his head dip closer, intentions clear. If she said no, he would stop.
She met him halfway.
Their mouths slid together as easily as their hands. Piper sighed at how well they fit. Frederic kissed like he moved, each caress of his lips deliberate and sure. His hand still gripping hers, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her close. Just like dancing, she thought as her eyes fluttered shut.
A moment later, Frederic broke away. Shaking and out of breath, Piper leaned her forehead against his. Holy cow! Never in a million years did she think a kiss could feel like that.
Frederic looked shell-shocked himself. She took pleasure in seeing his hand shake as he swiped a thumb across her lower lip. “Your phone is ringing,” he said in a tight voice.
Phone? Piper blinked. Sure enough, she heard the sound of computerized jazz coming from her pocket. “Th-that’s probably Patience.”
“You should answer.”
Yes, she should. Balling the hand Frederic had been holding into a fist, she reached for the phone with her other.
Not Patience. The number on her call screen was unfamiliar. She didn’t know if they had telemarketers in France, but if this was one, she was not going to hang up politely.
“Hello!” a cheery voice replied. “Am I speaking with Piper Rush? This is John Allen. I understand you’re interested in a painting of mine.”
Beauty & Her Billionaire Boss Page 7
