Food styling had never been Cooper’s thing in culinary school. But this took it to a whole new level. Precise. Methodical. What Sloane was doing was an exact science she could write the book on.
She didn’t acknowledge him again until the very last shot when she looked up and, after a fleeting blink of confusion, seemed to remember that he was there.
“You don’t happen to have milk here, do you? Or cream? And a tall glass?”
Cooper saw where she was going with this and jogged to the kitchen. The milk may have been a day or two expired, but its only purpose in life was to look good next to a molten chocolate cake.
That, it could do.
Right as Sloane had the shot lined up, something occurred to Cooper. “Wait. Just a minute.”
He hurried into the kitchen, opening drawers and slamming them, upending packing materials and dishes until he found a plastic bag and tore it apart with his teeth on his way back into the dining room. He placed the teal-striped straw he’d gotten from a vendor in the glass of milk and stood behind Sloane to survey it from her vantage point.
She whipped around, a glimmer of life in the wide blue-gray eyes he now noticed were rimmed with brown. “You’re a genius!”
“I’m glad my sole contribution pleases you.”
After snapping the last photo of the molten chocolate cake, Sloane heaved a sigh and plopped into the chair. “You don’t mind if I eat this, do you?”
Cooper shook his head, mind blown. “Go ahead.” He laughed. “But the milk is at your own risk.”
She rubbed on hand sanitizer and polished her spoon with a wipe before digging into the cake. “Mmm. This is so good.” The cake’s liquid chocolate center pooled at the corners of her mouth, and Cooper tore his eyes away. “They’re going to be lining up for this cake alone—mark my words.”
“We’ll see about that. It’s about the only thing I like to bake. I’ll take a knife and a skillet any day.”
Sloane’s head snapped up from the cake. “What’s so bad about baking? It’s pretty much the best thing ever.”
“There’s no...improvisation in it.” Cooper pulled out a chair from Sloane’s table and sat on it backward. “It was my least favorite thing about culinary school. Everything has to be so measured and set in stone or else it turns out awful.”
She took another bite and chewed it delicately, staring at the rich, gooey cake in front of her. “Set in stone isn’t always awful. Here.” She handed him the camera, her white-collared shirt draping open at her smooth, pale neck. Her thumb rotated the dial, demonstrating how to scroll through the pictures.
They were exactly how he wanted to represent the bistro. The lighting, the angles, the food...it was all amazing. She’d really done it.
“Not bad for a measly blogger, is it?” Sloane narrowed her eyes, a half-smile curving her lips.
“These are perfect, Sloane. Seriously.”
She scraped her spoon against the bottom of the ramekin, avoiding his eyes. “You didn’t seem to think I had much to offer when we met the other day.”
“Sloane, that didn’t come out the right way at all.” Cooper dropped his head in surrender. “I’m sorry I said it like that. Clearly, I need you to make this happen.”
“I know.” Sloane’s voice was even. Not arrogant, just stating the obvious. “That’s why I’m here. It really was a logical move to put your focus on online marketing for this project. You’re attracting a different crowd, Cooper. J. Marian has the soccer mom and older crowd down, but this—” she indicated the room “—your people are different. They’re waiting to find you online.”
She was right. And the confidence in her voice told him she knew how to make that happen.
Memory card clutched tightly in his palm, Cooper walked around the back of the Town Car to thank Sloane after the last of her serving props had been loaded in the trunk.
To his disappointment, the distant, professional version of her had returned the minute their conversation reached a lull. Maybe feeding her chocolate cake was the magical key to unlock her. To give her permission to relax a little.
Before he could reach her window, she was gone with a swift wave and a tight smile, leaving a deluge of questions in her elusive wake.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRAFFIC WAS SO backed up with cars arriving for the soft opening that Sloane’s driver could go no farther. She had to walk two blocks to Simone, camera bag bouncing against her hip. This was one of the reasons she never wore heels, even for nice occasions. No amount of beauty was worth the blisters.
But fortunately, there were no torrential downpours or hurricane-grade winds. The sky was clear, a pleasant breeze wafting through her filmy aubergine dress. Just cool enough that she knew the warm flavors and comforting atmosphere would be spot-on.
Now she knew exactly how to begin her article.
With one gloved hand on the polished copper door handle, she paused to take a deep breath and tried to drown out the sounds of the crowd inside.
One. Two. Th—
The door flung open, careening her into the restaurant. Her camera bag slid down her arm, and she was mere inches away from eating some serious floor when two solid arms caught her around the waist and shoulders and lowered her to the floor at a much safer velocity.
“I’m really sorry about that,” a booming voice said. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”
Sloane looked up to see perfect white teeth surrounded by a charming smile. And a face that looked oddly like Cooper’s.
“Hello.” He drew out the last syllable suggestively as his gaze moved from her face to her peep-toe flats and back. Holding on to her hand just a little too long. “Have I met you before?”
Sloane felt a gentle tug on her elbow. The real Cooper appeared at her other side, syrupy eyes filled with irritation for the man he’d just pulled her away from.
His look turned to concern as he faced her. “Are you all right?”
“I—” She darted her gaze between him and the person who’d spared her from certain humiliation. Same height, same muscular build, same chiseled facial structure and cleft chin. The other man had reddish-brown hair to Cooper’s mocha color and eyes so dark they were almost black in place of Cooper’s honey-flecked ones. “You’re...?”
“Brothers.” Cooper sighed. “Sloane Bradley, meet Owen Cooper. Director of marketing at J. Marian Restaurants.”
“Twin brothers.” Owen’s million-dollar grin was a stark contrast to Cooper’s flat reluctance. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Cooper rolled his eyes. “Sloane is the food writer helping with the launch.”
“Nice to meet you, as well.” Sloane’s voice came out shaky, no doubt compounded by her heartbeat’s seismic proportions. Was it her almost-fall and rescue that was whipping her into a tachycardia? The two very good-looking men on either side of her? The warmth of Cooper’s hand still holding her elbow?
And, goodness, did he clean up nicely. Cooper’s eyes practically glowed in the low lighting. His now stubble-free jawline could cut glass.
Sloane’s stomach dipped as she recognized the Cooper patriarch approaching, motioning his sons to him with a commanding expression. Cooper gave her an apologetic look before following his brother.
With their backs turned, she took the opportunity to smooth the hem of her dress and rearrange her Spanx in one stealthy movement.
She took in the room. So. Many. People. Just breathe. She only had to do this for a few months. Then things would return to normal.
When Sloane turned, Mr. Cooper was still speaking to his sons in a hushed tone. He was dressed in a dark, textured dinner jacket that looked fresh from the tailor. The woman at his side—gorgeous, with a sparkling planet on her ring finger, long white teeth that seemed to go on for miles and half his age�
�said nothing.
Unsure where to go or what to do, Sloane scoped out the restaurant decor. Cooper had pulled everything together in time. And he’d added a touch of elegance with low lighting and rustic burnished candlesticks on every table.
But the best part? Massive canvases of the photos she’d taken had been hung on each wall, flanking a huge black-and-white portrait of an older woman—probably seventy or so. The contrast and lighting of the photo highlighted her lined face, wide cheekbones, and deep set of her eyes in a way that showcased her strength and dignity. Though her mouth was set in a firm, thin line, there was a sparkle in her clear eyes that spoke volumes about her and also made her very French. Made Sloane want to know her.
She tore her gaze from the portrait and turned to the Coopers. Owen was deep in conversation with a woman she recognized as a network news anchor while Mr. Cooper and his wife moved on to more schmoozeworthy pastures.
“Come with me.” Cooper’s low whisper startled Sloane and sent shivers down her spine. “I know just the spot for you.”
He led her to a table with a small chalkboard sign marked Reserved. Seated there were a blonde who looked fresh from the beach and a woman with the regal elegance of a politician’s wife—Marian Cooper.
Sloane sucked in a trembling breath. If she could have any superpower right now, it would definitely be invisibility. Cooper destroyed any possibility of that when he interrupted their conversation. “Ladies, excuse me.”
They turned toward him, mirroring his charming smile. Sloane flinched as his fingers brushed her bra strap and came to a rest on her lower back.
“I’d like you to meet Sloane Bradley, freelance writer and ambassador for VisibilityNet. She’ll be working to expand our presence on the web.”
Sloane listened closely for a dismissive air in his tone, still a little stung by his words a few days before. But if he still thought her job was ridiculous despite all of the help she’d given him, he hid it really well.
“Oh.” The blonde straightened to her full, runway model posture. “You’re a blogger, right? I think I’ve seen some of your recipes on Pinterest.”
Sloane swallowed a lump in her throat, wishing more than anything that Grace or one of her faithful blog commenters was here to do the talking.
“Yes, her recipes have built quite the following,” Cooper answered for her. “This is Trina Taylor, local reporter for the Dallas Morning News.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of you, too,” Sloane said. “You have quite the reputation around here.”
“Persistent?” Trina raised a shaped eyebrow.
Sloane nodded. “Yeah, something like that.” Though she’d never met the reporter in person, ruthless was the word people most often used to describe Trina. It was an excellent quality for a young journalist, but Sloane preferred to stay away from them in general. Maybe it was all the questions.
Cooper moved behind his mother’s chair. “And this stunning creature, as you know, is my mother, Marian Cooper.”
“Hello again.” A nervous laugh escaped Sloane, followed by an even more awkward wave, if such a thing was possible.
The older woman smiled, her familiar golden-brown eyes glowing. “Hi, Sloane. You’re welcome to sit at our table.”
Calmed by Marian’s drawl, Sloane pulled out the chair next to her. “That’s very kind of you.”
Cooper stepped aside as a server arrived with a tray of appetizers. His head swiveled toward the door, where people dressed in expensive suits and glittering jewels filed inside. “I need to say hello to a few other guests,” he said over his shoulder. “So I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy the evening. Let me know if you need anything.”
Trina dove right in when he was out of earshot. “So, Ms. Cooper, what is your role at the company these days? Are you here on official business?” She tore a leaf from the roasted artichoke and sucked it delicately. “Mmm. This is delicious.”
Part of Sloane was glad Trina wasn’t the type to pull her punches. Maybe Sloane would get some answers about this family that she didn’t have the clearance to ask.
“You want to know how they handle the jilted matriarch at these kinds of things?” Marian’s expression didn’t waver.
“That’s not what I was asking, but if you’re answering...”
Please be careful what you say! One wrong step and Marian could find herself snapped up in a proverbial bear trap, if the amusement twinkling in Trina’s eyes was any indication.
“Though I elected to focus on the City on a Hill Foundation, I’m still very interested in the company that has my name on it, even if I’m not involved with the day-to-day operations.”
“Of course.” Trina gave a little nod.
“But beyond keeping an eye on my investments, this is one of the biggest nights in my son’s life. Anything else is a nonissue.”
Good for her. Kind, but still firm. Jilted or not, the woman could hold her own.
Sloane glanced at Trina, measuring whether the reporter was daring enough to dig deeper. Not now, her firmly pressed lips told Sloane. But her calculating eyes said there would definitely be a later.
A silence settled over the table as they sampled the French onion soup. Sloane focused on picking out each ingredient in the broth as the hum of chatter in the room and the soft, dulcet French music whitewashed her senses into a warm calm.
Once she was thoroughly relaxed, she excused herself and pulled out her camera to take some action shots for her recap article. The hoity-toities were too focused on their food to notice her, which was exactly how she liked to keep it. She even captured one of the Dallas-Fort Worth area’s district attorneys midbite, staring at his croque monsieur as if it had been laced with some kind of love potion.
Trina’s chair was empty when Sloane returned, traded for a spot next to Cooper and Owen. Judging by the look in Trina’s eyes and the way she was half hanging on Owen, it seemed she was about to lap the Cooper brothers up with a spoon.
Nope. That was none of Sloane’s concern.
“Your son is an excellent chef, Marian.” She put her fork down after finishing her chocolate lava cake and leaned back in her chair. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to cut my Spanx off when I get home.”
Marian chuckled. “Yes, Graham’s always had a special talent when it comes to cooking. He and his sister were making us dinner when he was practically still in diapers.”
Sloane smiled at the image of a toddler standing on a chair and stirring something over a stove.
“We put him to work in our first restaurant when he was fourteen.” The smile vanished from Marian’s eyes. “There was a time when I didn’t think he’d ever cook again.” She blinked several times, and the twinkle was back. “He’s come a long way here.”
Sloane nodded dumbly as Marian’s words echoed against the corners of her mind. She’d practically lived under a rock for the past several years and even she knew enough of the story to see he wasn’t the same person. Though Sloane was beginning to get the feeling all she saw was the tip of a very jagged iceberg.
She scanned the room for Cooper and started when she found him looking directly at her.
Whoa. She felt like a dunk-tank seat had plunged her into water.
He smiled and gave her a little nod before returning his attention to the white-haired lady making animated gestures in front of him.
Distraction. Sloane needed a distraction from Cooper and locked her gaze on the black-and-white portrait of the older woman. If that was a stock photo, it was spot-on for the restaurant. “Do—do you know who that is in the picture?”
Marian turned in her chair for a look. “Did Graham not tell you?”
Sloane shook her head.
“That’s Simone. The woman this restaurant was named for.”
“Simone?” That couldn’t be her. The m
oisture evaporated in Sloane’s mouth and throat.
“My son rented her upstairs apartment when he moved to Paris, and she really got through to him when he needed it the most. If it weren’t for Simone...” Marian swallowed hard. “Well, I don’t know that I’d have two sons right now.”
Sloane nodded, transfixed on the photo as Marian’s words sunk in. With the record straight about her horribly false assumption of Simone, it was clear every interaction she’d had with Cooper needed a fresh interpretation.
“So, are you from this area?” Marian leaned her elbows on the table, the gold in her bracelet catching the candlelight. “What’s your story?”
I moved here because I couldn’t handle my hometown—and my hometown couldn’t handle me.
“No. When I graduated from college I basically took out a map, closed my eyes and pointed to a random spot.” Sloane sipped her water. “There are lots of good things happening in Dallas.”
Marian pressed her lips together. “Do you get to see your family often?”
What? Was this woman in league with her mother?
“We, uh, keep in touch.” Sloane crossed her legs and smoothed her dress.
Marian nodded, her eyes narrowed with understanding. She knew there was more to it, but unlike Trina, she was polite enough not to pry.
Sloane had been back to the place she grew up, that one-stoplight Indiana town, once since her high-school graduation. And that was only to pack a few things and ship them here.
“Well, you’ve done quite well for yourself with your website,” Marian said. “I appreciate everything you do for the foundation, and when I found out your line of work, I had to check out VisibilityNet. I’m looking forward to seeing where this partnership goes. Depending how this launch fares, I think it could lead to a bigger deal with this company.”
“Wow,” Sloane injected enthusiasm into her tone. “I think my bosses would give me their jobs if that happened. They would love the opportunity for a contract with J. Marian Restaurants.”
She, on the other hand, would love to go back in time and tell Blissfully Ignorant Sloane to never take her comfy job for granted. She looked up as a figure stopped next to their table, and Cooper Sr. aimed a searing glare at her before moving on.
With No Reservations Page 4
