“That doesn’t mean she’s here to do harm.”
His mother snorted. “Son, you’re a fool. You need to tell her you know the game she’s playing and if any mention of her visit becomes public we’ll sue.”
“You don’t know what Allie plans. Since you never read the articles Dad said Mr. Blakefield had written how do you know Dad didn’t lie?”
She shook her head. “After your father’s death I believed I would never hear from Peter again. The restaurant had been sold. We were on our way to live in Europe with my parents. We had a good life there. Though I was content in Italy you decided to return so I came with you.”
He nodded. “I had a dream and made it happen. I don’t understand your fear or your anger.”
She covered her face with her hands. “There’s more.”
“What?”
“After your father’s death Peter approached me and wanted me to stay with him, asked me to be his mistress and send you to some private school. He wanted to take care of me. I blamed him for Victor’s death. He denied writing the articles. I screamed how I couldn’t believe I’d ever loved him. I refused to be his kept woman.”
Greg put his arm around her shoulders. “You did what you felt was right. Why did you marry Dad when you didn’t love him?”
“I was pregnant.”
Greg felt a chill. Was Allie anything like her father? “So this Blakefield wouldn’t marry you.”
She shook her head. “Victor was your father. Peter and I never…you know. When he refused to take over Le Provencal I broke the engagement. Victor comforted and seduced me. Peter learned about the pregnancy. He vowed to get even and he did.”
Greg felt a surge of relief. “Are you sure Blakefield wanted you as his mistress. Maybe he wanted to marry you.”
Her face reddened. “He was married. His wife was dying. What else could he want? He’s sent his daughter to bring more harm to my life.”
Greg sank onto a chair. He didn’t know what to believe. Had the past happened the way his mother believed? His parents had been dramatic. How many nights had he heard breaking dishes and shouted arguments? He looked at the clock. Midnight. Allie waited. “I have to go.”
“To her?”
“I have to learn the truth.”
“If she’ll tell you. Remember who her father is and what I told you.”
He escorted his mother to her car and returned to the kitchen. “Mike, lock up.”
As he strode toward the complex he wondered what he would face. Truth or lies.
* * *
Allie paced from one end of the living room to the other. Midnight had passed and Greg hadn’t arrived. When she’d arrived at the apartment she hadn’t bothered to change clothes. Thoughts of Greg’s mother made Allie feel cold. The woman had acted as thought she’d faced an enemy not someone who could benefit Five Cuisines.
The idea of an ancient feud made no sense. What happened in the present was important. Why was Mrs. Ramsey so bitter?
Allie had no intention of bashing Five Cuisines. A rave was her goal. The fabulous food and the brilliant décor fascinated her. Bad reviews weren’t part of Good Eatin’. The magazine featured restaurants with excellent food or unique appeal. Greg’s fit both categories.
The doorbell rang. As she reached for the doorknob she felt like a prisoner headed to the gas chamber. The affair had blazed hot and fast. She didn’t want the ending before all delights had been savored.
She opened the door. “Come in.” When he didn’t take her into his arms she knew the end had arrived. She bit her lower lip. She wouldn’t cry. “You can leave. You look like your decision has been made.”
He glared. “Then you are Allison Blakefield of Good Eatin’.”
“Yes.”
“The woman who can make or break a restaurant with an acceptance or rejection with one review.”
She shook her head. “We don’t publish reviews good or bad.”
“No, you just spread the word you’ve decided not to feature a restaurant.”
“Never happened. If we would have done that we would have been sued. That has never happened.”
“Why didn’t you let me know who you were?”
“Maybe for the same reason you never mentioned you were Gregory Ramsey, chef and owner of Five Cuisines.”
He shrugged. “Who I am shouldn’t matter.”
She nodded. “Neither should my identity.”
“Why did you come here?”
“To visit the restaurant and try the food a dozen people I know spoke about. I sent you a letter. You didn’t respond. My father forbade a feature. I wanted to use my own judgment.”
He glared. “My mother told me about his hatred of my father. She mentioned the articles bashing Le Provencal, the restaurant my grandparents began and my father took over.”
“Our magazine doesn’t bash.”
“Are you calling my mother a liar?”
“Perhaps she was mistaken. Does she have these articles? Surely proof is needed when an accusation is made.”
He stared at the floor. “Mom didn’t read them but she watched my father burn them.” Greg turned toward the door. “Fifteen years ago your father offered to take care of my mother after my father’s death.”
Allie shook her head. “Did he plan to kill her?”
“Hardly. He wanted her for his mistress. He was married.”
“How do you know this?”
“He offered her an apartment. He wanted me to go to some private school. What else could she think?”
“I’m not asking him.” She fisted her hands. “Just listen to me. Because she couldn’t manipulate Dad, your mother broke their engagement. She betrayed him with your father. Dad never saw her until after your father died. Though he still cared about her he offered to help. That’s all.” She opened the door. “Just leave.”
“Why did you really come here?”
“I told you and I’m not repeating myself.”
He stepped into the hall. “Do you seduce every chef or owner before you decide to do a feature?”
Anger boiled to the surface. Though she wanted to slug him she kept her hands firmly fisted. “That doesn’t deserve an answer. Get out before I say things I regret.”
The moment he cleared the doorway she slammed it shut and slid the bolt into place. Anger clashed with a sense of loss. For a few days she had hoped. His accusations sliced like a knife carving a roast. She dashed tears from her eyes and gulped deep calming breaths. Time to cut her losses and return to the city.
Losses? What was she thinking? She’d had a narrow escape from what could have been a disaster. She’d had a short fling with a sexy man who had turned out to be a jerk. Deep inside she’d hoped for more but hope had charred to ashes. There was no way to change what had happened. The desire to prove him wrong simmered. She would find a way.
In a rush she packed her things and checked to see the balcony doors were locked. She hurried past the doorman, wheeled her luggage to the car and tore out of the parking lot. As she crossed the GW Bridge she remembered she still had two reservations at Five Cuisines.
Tough. She wouldn’t cancel. Let the empty tables be seen as a mockery. Maybe Greg and his mother would worry that she would trash the restaurant. Would serve them right.
* * *
Greg retreated to his apartment. Why had she been so angry? So he’d asked her the questions nagging him since the scene at Five Cuisines with his mother. He’d been the one she’d spied on. He’d been ripe for an attractive, responsive woman. They’d connected, had terrific sex. He’d hoped for a deeper bond. What a foolish idea.
He stripped and turned on the shower. The heap of clothes reminded him of last night’s love-making. He yawned. Exhaustion slid over him like a rubber glove. After showering he gathered all the towels and dropped them in the hamper. He pulled on fresh briefs. At the bedroom door he paused. The rumpled covers surely retained the scents of passion. Silk scarves dangled from the headboard. He
grabbed his robe, a spare pillow and a plush throw. Rather than change the bed he opted for a night on the couch.
He stretched on the sofa and jammed a pillow beneath his head. Using the remote he clicked on a late night talk show. The voices droned and the images flickered but failed to derail his thoughts.
He hadn’t known who Allie was. Had she truly been unaware of his identity? Exploring the idea at this moment meant leaving his comfort and trying to talk to her. He doubted she would let him inside. In the morning he would confront her. The droning voices and sheer exhaustion sent him to sleep.
He woke with the dawn. Though part of him considered heading upstairs he needed the calming effect of his morning exercise routine. The dull sky and heavy air made his efforts seem harder than usual. After completing the Sun Salutation he strode to the edge of the terrace and climbed the wall to stare at the second floor.
Was Allie awake? He didn’t owe her an explanation but he must consider she hadn’t known who he was. He’d never posted his picture on the restaurant’s website. He had no page on any social media. He stared upward and saw no light. She must have overslept.
Greg jumped from his perch. He showered, shaved and dressed. Since today was Saturday he was due at Five Cuisines before ten to make preparations for lunch. Sunday’s schedule had him arriving at the same time.
He dashed upstairs and pounded on the door of Steve’s apartment. When she didn’t answer he knocked harder. Had she walked to town for coffee? He hurried downstairs and called a greeting to the doorman.
“Joe, did you see Steve’s guest this morning?”
The man shook his head. “The night man said around two AM she carried her luggage to her car and tore away like the devil rode her exhaust.”
Greg swallowed the curse he’d nearly uttered. He returned to his apartment. Nothing could be done before Monday. He felt sure the magazine offices were closed until then. He wouldn’t go after her especially since he had no idea where she lived.
Chapter Five
When Allie woke she felt as though she’d spent the night battling demons. Why had she returned last night instead of waiting until this morning? She growled as the reason appeared. Anger and avoidance of Greg had propelled the flight. When she recalled the wild ride she shook her head. She’d been fortunate the roads had been deserted and she hadn’t had an accident. Greg’s comments and his questioning her honesty had pressed her flight. She’d definitely exceeded the speed limit.
She rolled out of bed and dressed. By the time she finished her first cup of coffee she felt alert and in need of action. There were those articles Mrs. Ramsey had said her father had written. The woman hadn’t read them. Lies. Proof needed. How? She would head to the office archives where back issues of all the magazines were kept. She grabbed her bag and keys.
When she reached the building where the magazine group had their offices she parked in the basement garage and rang for admission. The security guard admitted her. “Forget something?”
She shook her head. “Need to do some research. I’ll either be in my office or the basement archives. An hour or two will see me gone.”
“If you haven’t left I’ll check on my next rounds.”
“Thanks.”
Allie took the elevator to her office, unlocked the door and switched on the light. She sat at the desk and booted the computer. Greg said his father had died fifteen years ago. She needed the date for the archive search since the supposed articles had been written before he died. Hopefully there would be more than one copy of the issues she needed.
Finally she found a small obituary. Out of curiosity she searched for Le Provencal. After identifying the right one she checked for articles and found several. There were citations from the health department for unsanitary conditions. Then she found mention of a law suit citing several cases of food poisoning. Did Greg know anything about what had happened years ago? What she’d found were better reasons for a failure than any supposed reviews. She printed all and went down to the archives.
After turning on the lights she located the Good Eatin’ section. She found the boxes for a year before Victor Ramsey’s death and three months after. She set the boxes on a table and perched on a stool. She opened the first one.
She laughed. She was in luck. Bless whoever managed the archives. There were three copies of every issue she wanted. Once she had fifteen copies she returned the boxes to the shelves and used one to carry her spoils. She returned to her office and examined each issue. Then she searched for the resolution of the law suit. After failing to learn more she packed the magazines and articles, told the guard she was leaving and went down to her car.
At the apartment she settled on the couch and scanned the magazines from cover to cover. By evening her eyes burned. She looked at the unread stack. Just four more. They could wait until tomorrow. So far there had been no mention of Victor Ramsey or Le Provencal.
Why had Mrs. Ramsey lied? Allie couldn’t think of a reason. Had her father written articles and never published them? But Mrs. Ramsey had said she had watched her husband burn them. The policy of all four magazines had been tuned to the Good in the title. Allie sighed. Who had lied? Had her usually cool father made a heated threat? Had Greg’s mother needed to blame someone for her husband’s suicide? Or had Greg’s father used a lie to cover his failure to make the restaurant succeed? Knowing what had happened with the lawsuit could explain a lot.
By Sunday afternoon she finished searching the magazines. She packaged them and added the printouts and a note. She addressed the box to Greg at the restaurant. First thing tomorrow she would call a messenger service to deliver the package.
* * *
On Monday morning Greg sat in his office at Five Cuisines and studied the menus for the following week. He checked the daily order sheets and printed the recipes for the sous chefs. Once he finished he reviewed the accounts for the past week. Even with several empty tables there’d been a healthy profit. The coming week was booked solid, a marvel for early summer when people were on vacation.
He frowned. Two of the empty tables had been Allie’s. He groaned. Thinking about her raised memories of the greatest sexual experiences he’d ever had. Even thought he questioned her motivation for visiting Five Cuisines he still desired her. He leaned back in his chair. Was she completely innocent of his mother’s accusations? Was it too late to make amends? How could he do that?
The bell at the door rang. Greg left his office and opened the door. A messenger waited. “Package for Greg Ramsey. Signature needed.” The man thrust a clipboard into Greg’s hands. He sighed and took the package. The weight surprised him.
When he reached his office he stared at the address. Manhattan, a street but no name. He removed the paper taking care to preserve the address. He suspected the package came from Allie and the address could help him find her. Using an address seemed better than calling the magazine offices and have her slam the receiver. He opened the box and the first thing he saw was a typed note.
Thought you should see these issues of Good Eatin’ from a year before your father’s death to three months after. There are no articles mentioning him of Le Provencal.
Greg sank on a chair. The note confirmed his suspicions. Why had his mother lied?
Out of curiosity he lifted the magazines and put them on the desk. He saw several computer printouts and removed them. As he read the words he frowned. There were three health department citations and an article about a lawsuit. What did these items mean?
He reached for the phone to call his mother and remembered she was out of town until Thursday morning. He needed to know if she had lied or had been lied to by his father. If the restaurant had lost the lawsuit the settlement could have been the cause of the failure; not the reviews that were never written in the first place.
What if that was the truth? If he wanted Allie in his life he would have to cook and eat crow fricassee, not a tempting idea.
* * *
On Thursday morni
ng Greg dialed his mother’s number. “Did you have a good time?”
“So so. I’m not one for casinos. Spa was great.”
“Could you come to the office?”
“Now?”
“There’s something I want to show you.”
“What?”
“Not something I can explain over the phone.”
“Don’t be so mysterious,” Stella Ramsey said. “You know how I hate surprises.”
“You have to see to believe.” He swallowed. She wouldn’t like what the package held. The contents of the box from Allie gave lie to his mother’s tale of his father’s death and the loss of Le Provencal. “Please, Mom.”
“All right but I can’t stay long.”
Fifteen minutes later she entered. Greg smiled. “Thanks.”
“So what is this big surprise?”
He handed her Allie’s note. “Read this.”
She gripped the paper and read. “What’s this supposed to mean?”
“I checked each issue of the magazines she sent and found no mention of Dad or the restaurant. Why did you lie?”
“I didn’t. I believed Victor. I remember how he and Peter had argued.” She clasped her hands in her lip. “There were problems in our marriage but I tried to make the relationship work. Your father insisted on unconditional belief.”
“I know you tried.” He handed her the printouts. “Citations and a lawsuit.”
When she looked up her eyes held a sheen of unshed tears. “I don’t understand. Our kitchen was always spotless.”
“The health department doesn’t make up stories. According to what I’ve read, the last one was posted the same morning the family who sued had eaten here. How much did you have to do with the restaurant?”
“Almost none. Your father insisted I stay home with you. He was a proud man and thought a working wife made him feel like a failure. Until you were ten your grandfather controlled the kitchen. Then he retired and returned to Italy.”
Greg nodded. “Maybe after that was when the problems began.”
Seducing the Chef (At First Sight #1) Page 5
