by Sorcha Grace
Hutch might have seemed like a casual, down-home kind of guy, but his food was exactly the opposite. His style was elevated—incredibly formal, totally precise, and perfectly crafted. I wasn’t anything close to a foodie and even I recognized the guy was a genius. Morrison Hotel’s entire menu and concept changed on the chef’s whim every few months, and Hutch Morrison’s inspirations tended to come from rock albums. It was global news when he announced his next theme—and Sticky Fingers was about to kick off. Hutch called it “foods from his youth,” and said he wanted to explore simple, Southern fare. I didn’t see anything close to simple on his list, though I spied the brown sugar beignets with blueberry compote I’d already sampled. Tasso pork tenderloin with goat cheese grits, sugared blue bantam peas, smoked tomato and morel medley, and Jack Daniels reduction caught my eye. I couldn’t wait to try that dish.
“You’ve made a lot of progress on this.” And now that I had a picture of some of the dishes in my mind, I could start to envision the digital cookbook the way Hutch did. It was a genius idea, really, combining his culinary skills with sexy pictures of his dishes and a bit of food history. He’d fully refined the concept with this proposal—it was fresh and new and soon the world would get a candid peek into his world. Hutch was going to be a household name when we were done. I was sure of it.
“I’m not in the habit of wasting anyone’s time,” Hutch said in that slow Southern drawl of his, which seemed to indicate he had all the time in the world. “Especially not someone like you. I imagine William Lambourne keeps you plenty busy.”
I glanced up at him, feeling my cheeks heat. Was it that obvious I’d had sex twice this morning?
A slow smile spread over Hutch’s face. “Well, now, that wasn’t what I meant at all, but I’m sure he keeps you busy in bed too. I only meant you’re more tan than when we last met.”
“Oh. Valentine’s Day trip.” I smiled.
He sat back and crossed his tattooed arms. He was wearing black jeans and a charcoal grey T-shirt that showed off his pecs and biceps. “Let me guess. Private island? That seems like Lambourne’s style.”
I nodded. “Tropos. Four days. We had the entire island to ourselves.”
“Always wanted to go there.” He leaned close. “Tell me, Catherine, is that an all-over tan?”
I could flirt as shamelessly as him. “You’ll just have to wonder.”
He laughed. “That I will. Cold showers for me the rest of the week.” He lifted a hand and motioned a woman over. I hadn’t even noticed her, but obviously Hutch had. “Catherine Kelly, this is Angela Sylvester.”
He made room for her, and she slid into the booth beside him. Angela looked like she was in her late thirties. She was short and curvy, and wore her straight auburn hair pulled tightly back into a no-nonsense chignon, highlighting her striking bone structure and her deep blue eyes.
She held out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you. Hutch hasn’t shut up about you since you signed on.”
I gave Hutch a teasing look. “Oh, really?”
“He’s worse than one of my goddamn kids at a toy store. Catherine this and Catherine that. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to tell him to just shut the fuck up already.”
I laughed and liked her immediately. There wasn’t going to be any pretention with Angela. She seemed straightforward and open.
“So you have kids?” I said, wondering how she managed to be a mom and work for someone like Hutch Morrison. I imagined he was a bit like William. He wanted everything his employees had to give and then more.
“Three. Two boys and a girl, ages eleven, eight, and five.”
“Wow. You don’t look old enough to have an eleven-year-old.”
“Well, fuck me. I see why Hutch likes you so much. Keep this up, and you’ll be my new BFF.”
“Angela’s husband is a fireman,” Hutch added. “I’ve been trying to win him over from the dark side, but so far no luck.”
“The dark side?” I asked.
Angela shrugged. “He likes burgers and pizza, pasta and gravy. Meatballs. He doesn’t go for all the fancy-ass shit Hutch makes.”
“You make the fancy-ass shit too, honey,” Hutch reminded her. He looked at me and winked. “Angela is a self-taught cook, but don’t let that fool you. She’s one of the very best or she wouldn’t be my sous chef. The three of us will be working together. I don’t think I have to point out that with two beautiful women on either side of me, I’m getting the better end of the deal.”
We worked out the shooting schedule, and more than once I wanted my phone so I could enter dates into my calendar app. I hopefully dug through my purse yet again, but still no luck.
Fortunately, the schedule was something I could remember pretty easily, as it basically worked out to me being at Morrison Hotel twice a week for the next month or so.
“And bring your appetite,” Hutch told me when we’d finished. “I told you, pleasure before business. I’m going to insist on feeding you the next time you’re in my restaurant, Miss Catherine Kelly.”
“I’ll see you soon, Cat,” Angela said, heading back to the kitchen.
Hutch walked me to the door. I could see Asa parked in front through the glass, and it was comforting to know he’d been there the whole time.
“Thanks again for thinking of me,” I told Hutch. “I’m really excited about this project.”
“Honey, it’s hard not to think of you.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “But I’m not doing you any favors. You’re the best. No doubt on that score.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
“Yes, you will, and if you want to tell me any more about that all-over tan of yours, you know where to find me.”
I laughed and left the restaurant. Asa was immediately out of the SUV and opening the door for me. I’d felt totally safe in Morrison Hotel, but I shivered a bit with fear out in the open. Which was ridiculous.
I slid in the back and didn’t feel quite right again until Asa was behind the wheel and the doors were locked. I leaned my head against the back of the seat and took a deep breath. My mind went back to the darkroom and the helplessness of being locked inside. It reminded me of my recurring dream—the one I had where I was sinking in dark water and couldn’t raise my arms. I shivered, hating feeling helpless and hating that the incident yesterday had scared me so much.
I reached for my phone, thinking I’d text Beckett and see what he was up to, but then I remembered I didn’t know where it was. Fuck! When I got back to the penthouse, I was going to turn the place upside down until I found it. It was probably under the bed or in one of my suitcases.
It had to be.
Eight
Asa drove me to back to the penthouse, and as soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I heard voices. One was William’s and the other was a female voice I didn’t recognize. Interesting. William didn’t usually have guests, and he hadn’t told me he was expecting anyone. Laird’s nails clicked on the floor as he bounded over, pausing for me to scratch his ears before giving Asa a hopeful look.
“Want to go for a walk, boy?” Asa asked.
Laird gave a soft woof and danced around with excitement.
“Thanks, Asa,” I said, watching as he snapped the leash on and led my dog out. I felt a small pang of regret that I couldn’t go with them. I supposed I could have, but by now William and his guest must have known I was home. If I walked out, it would be rude. Taking a deep breath, I followed the sound of the voices.
“Catherine.” William crossed the living room with his long, confident strides and met me near a sleek modern corner table. He was still in the same clothes as this morning, but his tie was absent, his shirt was open at the neck, and his sleeves were rolled up. I guessed he’d been home for a while. I caught a quick impression of a young woman with blond hair before he pulled me into his arms. He smelled wonderful, as always, and he was warm when he embraced and then kissed me. On the cheek. I detected a hint of the woodsy, smoky scent of his favored bou
rbon on his breath, which meant he’d already had a cocktail.
Where were his lips, and why didn’t he press them to mine? That wasn’t like him. And who exactly was my boyfriend relaxing and having drinks with on a Tuesday without me, his girlfriend?
“I don’t think you’ve met my cousin Zoe.”
Well, that explained it. So this is Cousin Zoe, I thought as William pulled back and I could look squarely at the girl now standing next to an armchair that flanked the couch. I couldn’t exactly get all territorial over his cousin.
Zoe Smith wasn’t at all what I’d expected. She was really petite, maybe five foot two at most, with long, straight honey-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She could have been a model if she’d been taller. She was naturally very pretty, even with minimal makeup, and her bone structure was perfect. William or his aunt had told me she was twenty-six—we were about the same age—but in skinny jeans and a blue-and-white striped, scooped-neck, long-sleeve top, she looked younger. I would have pegged her at eighteen, tops.
The other thing I noticed right away was that Zoe carried herself like an athlete. The way she shifted to look at me as I walked in the room, the way she held a bottle of water in her hand spoke of a flexibility and grace that all the great athletes I’d known—mostly surfers—had carried. Another glance told me that under her clothes she was lithe and muscled. Maybe a gymnast? She was short enough but maybe a bit too willowy. Ballet dancer?
“Hi,” I said smiling. I started to take a step forward to shake her hand, but paused when Zoe didn’t move to respond and instead boldly looked me up and down. I noticed she had a tiny diamond stud in her nose and another in her eyebrow. Edgy. I wondered what the Lake Forest crowd thought of that.
Zoe nodded and gave me a tight smile, then sat in the armchair. If William noticed my aborted attempt at approaching her or the tension between us, he didn’t show it.
Okay then.
William sat on the couch and pulled me down beside him. He tucked me against him and settled his arm around me. I could see the ice in Zoe’s eyes as she watched us.
“So as I was saying before we were interrupted,” Zoe said, with a look in my direction, “you can tell the Board to change the charter and the by-laws of the Foundation to admit directors under thirty.”
“I’m not going to do that, Zoe.” The tone of William’s voice suggested they’d been over this before. “There’s a reason the by-laws have an age stipulation.”
“You’re under thirty, so why can’t anyone else on the Board be under thirty? That doesn’t seem fair. ”
“It’s not about fair. I’m the head of the goddamned Foundation, Zoe. And I didn’t make the rules, remember?” William spoke patiently, but his voice sounded strained. “Why are you suddenly so interested in the Lambourne Foundation anyway?”
The Lambourne Foundation? It sounded vaguely familiar, but I had no idea what it did. I felt like I should contribute to the conversation in some way—say something meaningful—but I had no clue where to jump in. Plus I didn’t love how Zoe was glaring at William and me.
“Because I would like to become more involved. I know after this fall everything is going to change, and I thought it would make sense to have another family member on the Board. Someone you can trust.”
William clenched his hand on my arm and blew out a breath. “Zoe, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I—”
He cut her off with a curt wave of his hand. “Save your bullshit for Abigail and Charles. There’s no way you’re ready to dedicate yourself to a life of philanthropy and good works. I know you and you don’t have a...”
Zoe cut him off. “Yeah, well, maybe I do. Maybe things are different for me now. How about that? And I do pay attention to things, William.” Zoe narrowed her eyes and clearly wasn’t going to back down.
I was shocked. I had never seen anyone interrupt William, especially when he was in a mood like this. Even I was intimidated by him. But Zoe had a slight smile on her lips, like she was enjoying this conversation and causing a reaction. It was the kind of thing I expected of siblings, or people raised as siblings, but it seemed like maybe she should have grown out of it by twenty-six.
She continued. “I don’t see why the Foundation is spending nearly two million dollars on that school breakfast project, for example. Did you know there’s a federally funded USDA program that provides assistance to low-income school systems? How do you know the Foundation’s funds are actually being used for meals if schools are receiving federal aid for the same thing?”
“You haven’t read even one of the executive summaries prepared by the consultants I hired,” William countered, and I could tell he was almost ready to spiral into a full-on tirade. “Something like sixty percent of Chicago public schools have students on free or reduced lunch, which means—”
“Please. I’ve done my homework. Do you know what the Foundation should have spent that money on? Another proton therapy machine for the Lambourne Cancer Wing at Chicago Hospital.”
William released my arm and sat forward, his shoulders tense. Now she was really hitting below the belt, and her smirk said she knew it. That wing was William’s special project.
“Maybe...” I began, thinking I might diffuse some of the tension. But Zoe cut me a look that shut me up, and William didn’t even seem to notice I’d spoken.
“What the fuck, Zoe? We already invested over twenty-five percent of this year’s annual budget on new therapies for the cancer wing. That’s ten times the amount we gave the school lunches program.”
Zoe rolled her eyes.
“Almost twenty million dollars, Zoe, and that includes starting two new clinical trials using gene expression profiling. Which you would know if you actually read the Foundation’s annual report. So, again, what the hell is this really about?”
I had no idea what any of this was about except that Zoe clearly wanted to piss William off.
And she’d succeeded.
She jumped up. “You never take me seriously. Any time I ask questions about the Foundation’s investment strategies, you blow me off. I’m a member of the family, and I should have a seat on that Board. Waiting another four years is stupid, especially if you won’t be as involved after this fall. I have great ideas now, better than Joe Saunders, your ancient outside director.”
“Dr. Saunders is only sixty-two and is the former president of the Chicago University Medical Center. He knows a hell of a lot more about cancer research than you do. And furthermore—”
“Oh, save it.” Zoe glanced at her phone, seeming completely oblivious to William’s annoyance as she cut him off yet again. “I’ve got to go. Mom and Dad are expecting to see me before they go out tonight, and I’m supposed to meet them at Gibson’s for a drink in like twenty minutes.”
Thank God.
I thought William would cross the room and throttle Zoe if she stayed any longer. I could see why he didn’t talk much about her. She was definitely as alpha a personality as he was. I couldn’t see her backing down any more than I could see William giving way. Maybe it was because I’d just come from Morrison Hotel, but the image of Hutch popped into my head. I bet his Southern drawl and effortless flirting could diffuse some of her intensity.
William stood, and I rose too. William nodded to the foyer. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Sure thing.” She glanced at the print displayed prominently on the wall. “Interesting choice.” Her gaze drifted to me.
“Catherine’s work,” William said, with a smile at me.
“That’s what I thought.”
Guess she wasn’t a fan of surfing shots. “Bye, Zoe,” I said before she turned away. “I’ll see you at the shower.”
She gave me another tight smile. “Right. And you”—she gave William a nudge and he nudged her right back—“I’ll talk with you later.”
As William saw her out, I sank back down onto the couch. At least now I understood what Lauren had meant by her
warning. What a... More than a few choice names came to mind.
* * *
William came back a few minutes later, running a hand though his hair and looking both annoyed as hell and slightly shell-shocked. I could relate.
“So that was Zoe,” I said. “You’ve never really told me much about her. I’m guessing you two don’t get along very well.”
“Not when she’s talks about things she knows nothing about, which happens a lot. What do you want to know?”
I shrugged. “For starters, where does she live? What does she do?”
He sighed and threaded a hand through his hair again. She’d really gotten to him. No one ever got to William, and I was fascinated.
“Right now, she’s living in Oklahoma City, and she’s in training.”
“Training? For what?”
“She’s a coxswain.”
“A what?” Knowing William, and seeing how much like him Cousin Zoe was, my mind jumped to all sorts of forbidden territory. I could just imagine Zoe in a dominatrix outfit, whip in hand, taming—swaining?—cocks. Did her mother know? Was there some sort of BDSM school in Oklahoma?
“A coxswain, Catherine. The US men’s eight team training for the World Championships is in Oklahoma City.”
There are championships? “Championships in what?” I sputtered.
William smiled for the first time since I’d seen him with Zoe. “Rowing. She’s a rower. You know, crew.”
“Oh.”
He shook his head slightly, obviously amused. “She rowed all four years in college, and then a few years ago, one of her former boyfriends convinced her to become a coxswain.”
“And that is...?”
“It’s the person who sits in the stern of the boat and steers. She’s in charge of coordinating the rhythm of the rowers. That’s the description anyway. In reality she yells out commands and tells the rowers to speed up, push harder, that kind of thing.”
I nodded. “Interesting.” Despite her diminutive size, I could see her yelling at a bunch of men with oars. And she obviously had the muscle to compete. There hadn’t looked to be an ounce of fat on her.
