by Drea Stein
She nodded politely at the couple, middle-aged, with binoculars around their necks. They were obviously bird watchers, as the husband had already put his glasses up to his eyes and was following the retreating flock.
“Some paté?” Sean said, his eyebrow arched.
She sighed. Her mind was definitely not on food, but it didn’t seem as if she’d get to focus on anything else.
Chapter 21
They had finished off their lunch quietly, actually sharing it with the couple who, as it turned out, were staying at the Osprey Arms. Darby had been gracious, giving the couple all the right information they needed to plan a nature walk for the next day.
Sean had watched her carefully, the way her lips were slightly swollen from the kisses he had plied them with. She kept shooting him looks, under lowered eyelashes, so that he felt himself once again grow hard with desire. He even went into the water to cool off, but really because he couldn’t stand being so close to her without wanting to touch her, pull her into his arms, and hear her moan his name again.
The couple, Ann and Bob, were in no hurry to leave the cove, and so Darby had looked at her watch and said they had to be off, sending him an arch look that had him thinking about all kinds of possibilities.
They packed up everything, Darby only brushing against him one time, a subtle, seductive touch that had his skin flaming and his heart racing.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he murmured in her ear.
“Why not?” Her voice dripped innocence.
“Because if you keep doing that to me, I can’t be responsible for my actions, no matter who’s watching.”
Her lips quirked up and it was all he could do not to grab her and kiss her right there, but he was well aware of Ann’s interested eyes on them.
“Well, perhaps we better had go back to town and find someplace more secluded.”
“Lead the way, sugar.”
They paddled back. It felt hotter, and the breeze had died. “It does that toward the evening,” Darby said, explaining the lack of wind, as they dipped, switched, and dipped their paddles into the water.
He was enjoying this, the nice steady rhythm, the sounds of the water, the tangy smell of the salt.
“So how is it, city boy?”
“What makes you think I’m a city boy?”
She laughed easily. “The look of fear when I told you we were going in these little things. What did you think—I was going to borrow one of Chase’s yachts?”
“Does he have one?”
Darby shook her head. “A nice sleek sailboat, but it’s for racing, not pleasure. And I don’t think he would lend it to anyone. His brother has a nice little runabout but Jackson’s not around, so the boat’s not in the water.”
“I could get used to this. It’s sort of like riding a motorcycle in city traffic. You’re small, but fast,” Sean said, as a jet ski raced by.
“See, I knew you’d like it. Can’t beat being close to the water. Still, next time, we could try one of those.” She pointed toward the Jet Ski, and Sean admitted to himself that there was something exhilarating about the idea of speed.
They were also at the marina. Darby managed to land her kayak without a bump and leap gracefully onto the float. She pulled him up and he extricated himself, once again feeling his stomach drop as the float dipped beneath his weight.
The sun was well off to the west, starting its march towards the horizon. She looked so efficient standing there, in her bikini top, tying up lines, taking out gear, that he stopped her, pulled her toward him, and kissed her.
It was a long, slow, gentle kiss and he drew back once and looked at her eyes, searching for an answer. He saw it there, in the need that matched in his own, and he was about to tip back in when there was a loud call from up above.
“Hellooooo!”
“Not again,” he said, his teeth gritted.
“Sean, there you are.” It was a woman’s voice and it was annoyingly familiar. A shadow fell across the float and Darby pushed herself away and looked up, not pleased by what she saw.
“Mandy,” Sean said. “I didn’t think you’d be coming out here.”
“Well, when you stop returning my phone calls, you leave me no choice but to hunt you down.”
He turned to Darby, who all of a sudden had made herself very busy with a coil of rope. “Darby, this is Mandy Peyton, my publicist. And Mandy, this Darby Reese . . . .” He stumbled because he wasn’t quite sure how to introduce her. A baker, a lawyer? A friend?
“How nice to meet you,” Mandy said, in a voice that even he could tell meant that she could care less about who Darby was.
“And you as well.” The ice was plain in Darby’s voice.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He wished that Mandy would just disappear, but she showed no sign of going anywhere.
“Sean, I just must talk to you. Surely you won’t make me come down there?” Her voice sounded pouty even to his ears.
He looked at the ladder that led from the upper dock to the small float they were on. Mandy, as usual was wearing one of her silky blouses and a black pencil skirt, as well as shoes with heels so high it was a wonder she could walk in them.
“You should go,” Darby said, with her back half turned to him. “Don’t you have a dinner to cook?”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration rising in him. He wanted to pull Darby close to him, whisper in her ear that he wanted to see her later but he could tell that such a gesture wouldn’t be welcome. “I had a great time. I’ll call you.”
“Sure, whatever.” Darby was already busy again with the boats.
“Sean, yoo hoo, up here—seriously, I have something very interesting to discuss with you.”
“Coming.” He climbed up the ladder.
Mandy threw her arms around him and tried to kiss him on the lips, but he dodged it and let it slide across his cheek. “Shall we?” she said, slipping her arm through his and leading him up toward the hotel.
Chapter 22
“Look, Mandy, I really can’t talk now.” He had led Mandy inside the Osprey Arms, wanting to get her out of Darby’s sight.
He didn’t have anything pressing; in fact, he wanted nothing more than to go find Darby and pick up where they had left off.
“But I came all this way to speak to you,” Mandy all but purred.
“I have a restaurant to run. Dinner doesn’t cook itself,” he reminded her.
“Well, you won’t have a fish left to fry if you don’t talk to me. So, either spare me five minutes of your time or I stop working my ass off for you.” The purring quality had left Mandy’s voice, to be replaced by lethal calmness. And a threat.
He recognized it, had seen it in action. He knew that was what made Mandy so effective at her job.
“Fine,” he said. “You have five minutes.” He gestured toward a cluster of leather chairs in the lobby. Like just about everything else at the Osprey, it had a view of the water from double height windows.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere more private?” Mandy asked, the humming quality back now that she had gotten a concession from him.
There was no way he was going to let Mandy into his room. He had made the mistake of getting involved with Mandy once, when they had first met, before they had even started working together. The romantic nature of their relationship had petered off fairly quickly and by mutual consent, but Mandy was a born flirt and took pleasure in making sure people knew that she was the most important female relationship in his life. Until he’d seen Darby’s reaction to Mandy, he’d never minded that before. He would need to explain to Darby that his relationship with Mandy was strictly business.
“Right here is fine,” he said, taking a seat so he could keep an eye on the water. Funny, for a guy who’d grown up solidly landlocked in the middle of the country, he was starting to become awfully fond of the water. For one wild moment, his mind flashed back to how Darby had felt in his arms, the way her skin had hea
ted at his touch, the way her eyes had looked into his.
“Earth to Callahan.”
Reluctantly, he pulled himself back to the present. “So what brings you out to Queensbay?”
She gave a look around, dismissing the place. He didn’t exactly disagree. They had revamped the menu but were still working on the décor.
“You have an offer on the table.”
Mandy had disagreed with his partnering with Chase. If it wasn’t Manhattan, Mandy thought, it didn’t count. What Mandy didn’t realize was that Chase had offered him a real-deal partnership. He wouldn’t just be the chef; he’d be an owner, too. And if things went well here, which he fully intended that they would, he would have the capital, leverage, and reputation to expand. In Manhattan, this type of opportunity would still be years away.
“I’m committed here,” he said.
“This might be worth rethinking that,” Mandy said, her voice dripping with persuasiveness.
He waited a moment, and then sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?” Opportunities had been limited after the incident with Will, so he should be thankful that things were starting to look up, shouldn’t he?
“There’s a new cable channel. All about food and cooking.”
“Isn’t there already one of those?” he interrupted.
Mandy shrugged. “Well, this is a new one. Younger, hipper, and all that.”
“So I’m interested, why?” He started to rise, impatient. He could hear a rising din from the kitchen and wanted to go find out what the commotion was all about.
“Because they want to you to be the host of your own show.”
“My own show?” He sat back down. “What about?”
Mandy paused, flashed him a sideways smile, and said, “It’s a cooking competition show.”
“Don’t they have one of those?” he said, again.
“Well, this is sort of in reverse. You’re getting people that have been nominated as the worst chefs, and you’re supposed to put them through some sort of tough love boot camp.”
“So you mean that I have to go on national TV and be mean? No thanks, Mandy. I thought I was trying to repair my reputation, not solidify it.”
“But it films in LA, Los Angeles—you’d get to go to where it’s warm.”
“It’s warm here,” he pointed out, getting ready to get up and go and see what was going on.
She put an arm out, pulled him back down. “That’s because it’s summertime. LA’s warm all year round. They’d want you to start right after Labor Day. The producers like your tough guy rep and want to parlay it into a full-time show.”
“Isn’t there a show like that already?” he asked, starting to get up again. He’d come here to stop being the guy who yelled at people, who was wound so tight he was liable to blow at the slightest provocation. He was here to start over. And he had, more than that, he was building the right kind of reputation.
“But it’s your own show.” Mandy reached out again, her hand grasping his arm and pulling him back into his seat. “Sure, it’s been done before, but that’s not the point. We already know the camera loves you. Sure, lots of people around the city saw you on TV, but this will be national, international. Think of this as a steppingstone. Instead of trying to whitewash your reputation as a bad ass, we get to work with it. Trust me—there are a lot more people who are going to want to watch you yell at people than who are going to come here to eat your surf and turf.”
“It sounds like a pretty crappy gig,” he said, trying to sound firm.
“Does it matter? It’s TV, it pays well, and even George Clooney got his start on a bad TV show. How hard could that be?”
“Sometimes it’s harder than it looks.”
“Look,” she said, reaching out and touching his arm, “I know you think this is important, owning your own restaurant, but this is TV, national, and it could be a platform, make you bigger than this a lot faster. I know you came out here because you felt like no one in the city was giving you a chance to be a partner. And because of what happened. But now, with a real TV show, one that plays to your strengths, I think you’d have just about anyone you want knocking at your door.”
Sean pulled his arm back, starting to feel like he was playing a broken record. If Mandy didn’t believe him, then who would?
“But I’m not that guy anymore. I’m not the guy who solves things by screaming his head off and then punching someone in the face. That was one moment. Sure, I was angry, but he pushed me. No one wants the truth; they just like to think the worst.”
“Does it matter what the truth is? Because, trust me, trying to convince anyone in town that wasn’t the real you . . . pretty much impossible.”
“But why?”
Mandy laughed. “Come on, Sean. You may not have been a bad guy, but I don’t think anyone ever called you a nice guy or a pleasure to work with. You were a bit arrogant and a hothead.”
“But,” he floundered. He’d worked in kitchens pretty much all of his life. It was hot, sweaty work, and there was always a lot of yelling. It was the way he had learned, and he had hated it, but when it came to running his own kitchen, he hadn’t even attempted to try something different.
“Look, your segments on that late show were great. But you should know that someone took a video of your fight with Will, and, well, it’s made the rounds to all the pertinent parties. It pretty much shows you yelling, throwing the first punch, and then the second and third. He didn’t even have a chance.”
“A video?” he said, his heart sinking.
Mandy looked at him smugly, aware that she had just gained the advantage.
“He didn’t try to fight back,” he said, remembering how one part of him had thought it odd that Will hadn’t had the guts to throw it back at him.
“Yup, a video. It’s on the Internet.” Mandy whipped out her phone, sighed as she waited for access to the wireless network and then handed the device off to him.
He looked. Someone had added music and some special effects—slow motion, double takes. He looked like some sort of crazed lunatic, and Will . . . well, Will looked innocent. No wonder no one would touch him.
“Look, I’m working on getting it taken down, but the damage is already done.”
“One mistake,” he said, feeling hopeless, handing the phone back.
“Yeah, one mistake, but this opportunity is a way out of here.” Mandy waved her hand, her blood red nails making a streak in the air.
“Here?” He looked around. “Did Chase know about the video?”
Mandy shook her head, and then nodded. “I think so.”
Chase had still given him a chance; that was all Sean could think about. It was hard seeing the evidence in black or white—or, in this case, full color. But there he had been, beating the crap out of some guy. God, it meant he was no better than his dad. After all these years, after all the distance he’d tried to put between himself and that poor kid from Indiana, here it was, rearing its ugly head.
Feeling a like sick puppy, he snapped his attention back to Mandy. “I’m committed to this,” he said. All he could think about was this was where he was supposed to turn things around. Hell, this was the place that had turned things around for him. Without Chase and the Osprey, who knew where he’d be.
“Look, maybe you could find a way to do both. This isn’t an opportunity you can just throw away.”
He shook his head. “I believe in the power of focus.” Even as he said it, he knew that he believed it. He’d been here just a few short months and already he was getting the kind of recognition with the Osprey that had eluded him in Manhattan. Recognition for something real: a reputation for excellent food and amazing service. Not the reputation as the cad about town.
“Fine.” She shook her head and crossed her arms. “But I heard Will Green is in the running for the show as well.”
He felt his eyes narrow. “Will?”
“Yes.” Mandy pretended to be very interested in the hue she’d chosen
for her nails.
“That bastard?”
“He’s almost as photogenic as you. Plus, he’s ruthlessly ambitious, and he’s been dating the production assistant.”
“He’s a sucky chef and a sneak.”
“Well then, someone should put him in his place,” she suggested, one eyebrow arching up.
“I thought I did by firing him,” he said, his anger flaring.
“Punching him out while you did it got you fired and him rehired. So, right now, he’s the one with the credibility and you’re the one cooking shrimp baskets for the geriatric crowd.”
“They’re not geriatric,” he said automatically, though his thought turned to Bob and Ann. Nice, pleasant, but not young.
“Whatever.” Mandy waved a hand.
There was a shout from the kitchen and then a crash. He shot up. “I have to go,” he said.
“Just think about it,” she called after him.
He waved his arm at her, his mind racing. “I’ll be in town for a while,” he heard Mandy say. He wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a promise.
Chapter 23
Darby took a deep breath. She had made it through lunch rush and now the deli was starting to empty out. Her dad still continued to text her, reminding her of things like where the extra ketchup and napkins were stored. Finally, her mom must have taken the phone away, or likely it was dinner time and he had actually enjoyed his meal enough to stop worrying about how life was going back in Queensbay.
Her back was sore and her feet hurt but it was all a good distraction from thinking about Sean. And Mandy. With her pencil skirt that hugged all her curves and low-cut blouse. Darby went to refill some salt containers. She used to wear pencil skirts and blouses. All right, maybe not as low cut as Mandy’s since the woman was going for a kind of sex appeal that was a little too obvious. Did guys really like that?
Maybe that’s what Sean liked. Someone obvious. And blonde. Darby sighed. She was never going to be able to compete with that. Besides, she was trying to take it slow. After what had happened with Will, she owed it to herself to keep things light, get to really know Sean before jumping . . . where? Into bed with him. Her mind might be telling her to take it slow, but every time he was around, her hormones sang a totally different tune.
