by Lexi Aurora
But now we’re touching down; outside the window, there is no longer a miniscule city but a beautiful wooden lodge.
“Clearly, they don’t share my affinity for white, although it is a beautiful place.”
After Allan’s thoughtless comment, he rises and offers me his arm once again.
“Business time.”
We exit the helicopter with a wave to the pilot and another wave for a smartly dressed woman at the door of the wooden lodge I’d seen from the helicopter window. Over her spectacles, she gives us an intent falcon-like look, then opens the lodge’s door.
“Right this way, Mr. Dane, sir. The committee has been waiting for you.”
Allan shoots me a guilty look.
“If I’m going to be completely honest, I’m very late.”
Next thing I know we’re inside the wooden lodge, whose floors, ceiling, and walls are all as wooden as you’d expect. Although, I don’t have much time to take in my surroundings as I’m being conveyed to a chair at the head of a long wooden table. It’s less the table that has me stupefied but its occupants. From one end of the long maple structure to the other are New York City’s finest chefs, from Howard Pickler to Geniva Smith, all of them looking at us with ill-disguised irritation. For his part, Allan lets out a light laugh.
“Ah, yes, I’m over an hour late, I know. I’m sorry—you know how helicopters are.”
No response, so Allan gets up, spreads his arms.
“Ah, yes, so I had Polly set up this very impromptu meeting because I’m interested in advice. Your advice. All of you are respected and renowned chefs all working in New York’s top restaurants. So, it’s only natural that I’d like your advice on a culinary matter.”
Suddenly my whole body feels leaden, like it’s made of wood too. Now I not only have to convey the merits of my app to Allan Dane, a rich irreverent playboy, but also to a group of already unimpressed-looking top chefs, my idols who could just about kill me with a scornful look? And all that without any real preparation, impromptu to boot?
“But I don’t think I can do any justice to what Eva’s told me about by trying to explain the thing to you. I’ll let her take the stage.”
And before I can protest or run away or do anything, really, everyone at the table has turned to me expectantly. And so I stand there, stock-still, as at least fifteen sets of dignified eyes burn into me. Run, my brain is telling me. Say something. Say something or run. Since my limbs still feel leaden, I decide on the latter.
“I have an idea for an app. A cooking app.”
No reaction; maybe this wasn’t as ridiculous as I suddenly felt it was. Maybe I could do this after all.
“It helps regular people make delicious meals in the comfort of their homes. All they have to do is enter a list of the ingredients they have in their house, and then the app generates a delicious recipe using those ingredients. Of course, I haven’t decided on the particulars as far as appearance and the actual interface itself as well as many of the recipes themselves, but I would be personally involved in the development of these recipes, as I am a chef myself.” I sneak a look at the illustrious group before me. “Although, of course, I’m nowhere near the caliber of you all.”
A deafening silence, and the stiff group of people doesn’t move.
Chapter 5
A silence that I have to fill.
“So that’s my idea. A cooking app.”
Another horrible silence, in which Allan Dane, thank God, fills with clapping. Looking around, his “Am I right?” attracts no joiners. The easy smile on Allan’s face falls, while his narrowed stare circles the room.
“Well?”
A little bald man clears his throat.
“Do you really want to know what I think, Mr. Dane?”
A sardonic smile flickers across Alan’s face, while he waves his hand in a gesture of acquiescence.
“Of course. I invited you here for that, after all.”
“I think it’s an idea that has potential, sure, but ultimately won’t work. There are too many free recipes on the internet now, too many cookbooks readily available in any library or bookstore for the public to use. I just don’t think there’s a market for it.”
At this, a red-faced woman begins talking furiously, both her fists clenched into equally red balls.
“My thoughts exactly. What market are we trying to break into? Lazy people who can’t leave their homes to pick up ingredients for an actual recipe? The same lazy people who are probably so lazy they won’t want to cook in the first place?”
Another silence, in which another top chef pipes up with some disapproval of his own, and then another, until the whole table is buzzing with their frenzied protests, all of which seem to be saying the same horrible thing—that my app is lame at best, idiotic at worst, and that there’s no way it’ll work. After a minute or so of this, Allan leans back in his chair, puts his feet up on the table, and takes the Lay’s bag out of his pocket. He only has to toss a few crunchy pieces and chew loudly for about half a minute or so before the table falls quiet again. The bald man’s bowling ball-like head rotates to face Allan.
“So, Mr. Dane.”
Allan takes his time chewing his latest chip before swallowing and sitting up a bit straighter. He throws out his hand.
“I think you’re all right.” He tosses his hand in my direction. “If we go ahead with this, this one here is going to put you all out of business.”
The woman jumps up, her red face making a vibrant a contrast to her white, button-up blouse as her strident voice does to her frail frame.
“That’s not what we said!”
Rising himself, Allan tosses another chip in his mouth.
“Oh, yes you did.”
Turning to me, Allan offers me his hand.
“C’mon, Eva, I’ve heard enough. Let’s go.”
I accept his hand but can’t just walk away like that.
“But, Allan…”
“What more do you have to hear? These chefs, these charlatans, are just like the rest of them—afraid of change. So afraid of change that they’re willing to do just about anything, including quash progress, to stop it.”
As we walk away, Allan pauses, then turns to address the group one last time.
“So, thank you all. I hope you enjoy staying here tonight. I was pretty sure Eva’s little app was a good idea, but now, after your most heated reaction, I’m dead certain.”
The tableful of furious chefs deliver us the most scorching glare I’ve ever experienced. If looks could kill, I’m sure we would’ve been struck dead on the spot.
It’s only once we’re out of the lodge and a good fifty feet away that I ask Allan, “Were you serious?”
At this, Allan offers me a chip.
“Why would you say that?”
I stop to give him an exasperated glare.
“Because you don’t take anything seriously, that’s why. You tell me half-truths and make fun of renowned chefs, put your feet up on the table and eat chips like a child. I don’t know what to make of you.”
Allan’s face wavers between amusement and hurt, settling on an expression I can’t place.
“I learned a few years ago that status isn’t all that important, not to me, anyway. It’s family, true friends that really matter, that should be respected. Even life, people take it so seriously that it becomes painful, every loss a heartbreak, even gain a glory. I used to live that way, and it used to work for me. Lately not so much. Not anymore.”
Now we’re stopped and it’s dark, though not so dark that I can’t see that Allan looks sad.
“I’m sorry for going off on you like that. It’s just been an intense day. So much has happened, I feel like I’ve been flung all over the place.”
A half smile.
“It’s all right, I do have that effect on people. I can be a lot to handle. But yes, Eva, I am serious. I want to back you and your app, and I’ll do so, provided you let me do the coding for it.”
&
nbsp; “Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” he says.
Then we stand there, looking at each other, this handsome billionaire and me. My heart’s beating so loud I’m worried he’ll notice somehow. It’s not my fault, though. Allan Dane is ridiculously, over-the-top sexy and right now he’s looking at me like I am too, like he wants me. The image of last night flashes through my head, his body pressed to mine, almost joined, the same hungry look in his eyes that’s there now.
I wrench my gaze away and address my question to the grass we’re standing on.
“So, what now?”
Allan takes a few seconds to respond.
“What now? Food time. The resort restaurant, to be more exact. I’m starving.”
I follow alongside, with a longing glance at his continued chip-eating, until it slips out of me.
“Can I have one?”
Allan’s answer is to hand me the entire Lay’s bag.
“It was yours originally anyway, remember? I was waiting for you to ask me during the meeting. I bet you really wanted to, didn’t you?”
I kept my lips sealed, didn’t say anything, but Allan could see it written all over my face.
“You totally did, didn’t you?”
My response is to dump the rest of the chip bag in my mouth. Once I’ve gulped them down, I turn to him with a shrug.
“We don’t all have the luxury of acting out whenever we feel like it, okay?”
Allan nods, shrugs.
“Everyone has the luxury; they just don’t act on it. Freedom is a state of mind, not a state of bank account.”
Now we’ve stopped in front of a lit-up building that’s presumably the restaurant, but I’m not ready to go in, not yet.
“Very poetic, Allan, but have you ever had a real job? A boss? I mean, have you ever even experienced real loss?”
In one swift motion, Allan rips the empty chip bag out of my hands. His face is contorted with pain and rage, almost unrecognizable.
“You may think you know me, Eva. You read a few tabloid articles, watched a billionaire special on TV, and you think you know what it’s like to be rich, to have things handed to you, but you have no idea. I won’t stand here and tell you it’s hard or worse than not having money; it’s not and never will be. What I will tell you is that living the high life comes with its own set of dangers those who’ve never been there can’t even fathom.”
Silence, then, “So, yes, I do get to act out, over and over again. And it’s great, because who likes being punished or reprimanded, really? Yes, it’s great until you realize just how little bounds there are, what happens if you let yourself spiral out as much as it’s so easy to do. I’ve had friends who’ve died on the high life, Eva, who’ve drank and pilled and fucked their way to oblivion—and never come back. And yes, I’ve experienced loss that you can’t even imagine. Poor people don’t have a personal claim on pain. So, don’t you presume to know a thing about what it’s like to be me.”
When I dare a glance at Allan, the chip bag is a crumpled ball in his hands. His eyes meet mine.
“I’m sorry, I… you just reminded me of something I don’t like to be reminded of. You’re right that I can be an ass sometimes. Everyone thinks it, though it’s only the true people in my life who’ve ever dared to say it.”
He grasps my hand and, this time, it feels like the hand of a different man, firm and warm.
“Thank you for being honest with me tonight, from start to finish. It shows I can trust you, and that’s important. For someone I’m doing business with.”
The last part he adds on awkwardly, as if to remind himself. Truth be told, with how close he is to me now, I need to be reminded too. This is your future business partner, your boss, Eva. Nothing’s going to happen with him. Nothing can happen with him. Eva, you know nothing can happen with him.
Allan looks at me like he’s expecting a response, so I say the second thing that comes to mind.
“Thank you for being honest with me too. I never expected you’d be so forthcoming, so…”
Allan shrugs, shaking his head.
“Neither did I. It’s annoying actually. I wish I could take back a good half of tonight.”
A strained laugh, and then he waves his hand about.
“Let’s go for dinner now.”
And then he takes my arm and conveys me through the intricately carved door before I can utter a word of protest. Although, truth be told, I wouldn’t want to protest. I’m starving and the inside of the restaurant is as stunning as the outside. The ceiling is a swirling flow of expertly woven wooden panels, while the floor is a deep blue marble. The black velvet dresses of the waitresses are the final touch.
“A table for two, please.”
I turn to see Allan talking to a gorgeous girl I hadn’t even noticed. All sharp planes and angular hollows, her face is a work of art. One that Allan hardly notices, even as she stops in front of our table and chirps, “Here you go!”
Once we sit down, however, she lingers, her gaze on Allan.
“Excuse me, sir, are you…”
He nods.
“Alas, I am.”
She giggles, and, as she leaves, throws another look over her shoulder. Allan, however, doesn’t even notice. He’s scanning the menu, shaking his head.
“Hm, they’ve changed it since I’ve been here last.” His gaze flicks up to me. “What do you say we order a tasting menu? That way if anything’s rubbish, we only have to endure a bit of it, and we get to enjoy a whole range of food. Then I’ll get to see you critique the food too.”
I put my menu down.
“All right, let’s do it.” I shoot him a sidelong look. “I’m really being put on the spot tonight, aren’t I?”
Another one of those irreverent grins.
“You can handle it.”
“How do you know?”
Allan shrugs, stacking his menu on top of mine.
“I just do. I don’t know, but I can just tell, could tell even that first day—you’re a fighter, and you’ve been through things. There’s something in the eyes of a person, I think, that says it, whether they’ve given up or not, how much they’ve been through. And the funny part about you, Eva Lynn, is that you’ve been through a lot and yet, still, you haven’t given up, haven’t let the world make you bitter—not yet. I admire that.”
I silently curse my once again burning-up cheeks but then make a show of shrugging. I need to keep my cool, otherwise I’m never going to make it through this meal.
“I’ve had my family and friends counting on me; there was never any real choice.”
Allan takes my hand, his eyes burning into mine.
“That’s not true and you know it. There’s always a choice, right and wrong, give up or persevere. There’s always a choice.”
And there’s something in those intent blue eyes that tells me he knows. On the waitress’s return, Allan requests a tasting menu and ignores her cheeky grin. No, instead his gaze settles on… me. My lips. Could he really be thinking of what it looks like he’s thinking of?
The ringing of his phone distracts him. Glancing at the caller, he immediately hangs up, shakes his head with a rueful smile.
“Moms, you know how they are.”
The question is a quick jab to the gut, but I look away, take a drink of my water so he won’t see it. And yet, he seems to anyway.
“Eva? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m just hungry.”
Which isn’t entirely a lie. Still, his anxious look scans my face.
“Was it something I said?”
I shake my head, nod.
“No. Yes. Kind of. Allan, it’s nothing, okay? My mom just died when I was young, that’s all.”
Silence.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Trust me to, after a night of saying the wrong things, say the worst thing possible.”
Shaking my head, now I’m the one clasping his hand.
“I mean it, Allan. There’s
no way you could’ve known. It was sudden. She had a heart attack; she was older. It’s been years now, I’m fine, really.”
I let go of his hand, ignoring the pang passing through me. I don’t care how much I want to, I’m not going to touch him again. I’m here for business, that’s all.
Still, Allan’s gaze is probing mine and, softly, he asks, “Can I ask about your dad?”
I drink the rest of my water until the ice cubes come and slide into my face.
“Of course you can. He’s better off, though not by much. I don’t think he ever really recovered from Mom’s death. He just got sicker and sadder, and now the doctors say he’s terribly ill. I had him with me for years and years, even as he started forgetting who I was and started thinking Mom was alive. I held out for three years like that, but when he almost killed my dog, I had to put him in a nursing home.”
With one mighty gulp, Allan’s water is reduced to a cup of ice cubes too.
“Shit, sorry again. It’s a good thing this isn’t a date, otherwise it’d be just about the worst possible one.”
Allan lets out an awkward laugh, shooting me a sidelong glance, which I return with a soft smile.
“You have nothing to apologize for. And anyway, even if this was a date, I don’t think it would be the worst either. Too many times people talk about all the unimportant things and don’t reveal themselves to the other person until it’s too late, until the person has fallen for the person they were pretending to be.”
Once again Allan’s gaze pierces through me.
“Sounds like you have some experience in this.”
With my straw, I play with the ice cubes in my cup.
“Yeah, I’ve had my fair share of romantic mishaps. But after I’d ended up with the fourth prototype of the same powerful but insecure man, I took a good hard look at, not them, but myself. Because, after all, it was me. I was the common element in all these relationships. I was the one who was attracted to this same type of man that I was essentially incompatible with, as alluring a catch-22 as it was. And the one thing I found was that I spent the first few months walking on eggshells with them, sugarcoating the truth, playing nice, giving in when I didn’t want to, never talking about the real things. And then, months later, by the time I was too tired to keep pretending, they became enraged to find that I was not the docile woman I’d pretended to be, just how they weren’t the kind, confident men they’d played at being. And so, we fought and fought. Over lost illusions, betrayed expectations. And each time it crashed and burned because we both fell for people who weren’t real, with personality creations that weren’t real either.”
