My phone beeps again, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look down, expecting to see another text from Jonathan, but instead, I find one from Brad and wonder if he somehow read my mind.
We still on for tonight?
Me: Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.
Brad: Will meet you after work in the lobby.
I reply in the affirmative then immediately go and delete the texts from Jonathan, something about the action allowing me to push him to the back of my mind.
Stubborn man.
Chapter 10
“You're looking stunning,” Brad comments as I exit the lift wearing the simple black skirt and a pale blue silk sleeveless blouse that I wore to work this morning, knowing I had a dinner date as well.
I grin, blushing slightly, as I admire his tall lean build as he waits for me by one of the mocha columns in the neutral coloured lobby. With fashionably messy dark hair and even darker eyes, Brad is looking comfortably stylish in black dress pants and a crisp white shirt, which he’s left casually open at the neck. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbow, revealing forearms covered in colourful tattoos.
Pausing beside him, I give him a nudge with my shoulder in greeting. “You don't look so bad yourself,” I comment, feeling a little shy around someone so new to me. I take a deep breath and try to still the nervous butterflies that are flitting through my stomach. “So where are you taking me to dinner? Or I should say, where would you like me to take you to dinner? After standing you up last time it's only right that I pay to make up for it.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t hear of it. I actually thought we could go to Quay. It's got great views of the harbour, and it doesn't get so loud that you can't hear each other talk.”
“Quay? That place isn't very easy to get into with only a few days’ notice. How did you manage to wangle that?”
Placing his hand on my lower back, we begin to walk outside to hail a cab as we continue to talk. “I just know some people,” he says, scanning the busy Sydney street for some transport. “It's no big deal.” He raises his arm as a white taxi with its vacant light can be seen heading towards us on George Street. Then, opening the back door he guides me inside and gives the cabbie instructions as to where to take us.
“So, who do you know?” I ask, my curiosity, a tight pull in my stomach that I can’t ignore. “The chef? The owner?” Then, our conversation over drinks begins to revisit me. “Oh, hang on, now I remember. You mentioned that you work in hospitality when we went for drinks. Is Quay where you work?
He grins, his eyes crinkling closed a little as he looks at me, letting out a light chuckle as he shakes his head. “Basically, yeah.”
“Basically, yeah,” I repeat, as my mind goes over the few things I know about him. “Okay, I can play this game. Let’s see if I’m right…so, you were in my building, and when I met you, you were getting into the lift from the advertising floor, which means you either know someone on that floor, or you were there on business yourself.” He watches me, an amused smile playing on his lips as I lay out my observations. “Considering you were wearing a suit at the time, I'm assuming you were there on business. You've told me you work in hospitality, which at first I took as you being a waiter, or a bartender, or something. But now, I'm thinking it's more than that. I'm thinking…that you either own Quay or you’re the manager there, maybe even a...” I pause and meet his eyes, his eyebrows raised as he waits for me to announce my conclusion. “A chef. You're the chef." I grin, knowing I have it right as the pieces begin to fit together. "You are. You're Bradley Rae, the head chef they poached from that little boutique hotel. I remember reading an article about it.”
I sit back against the leather seat of the cab and let out a contented sigh, feeling very pleased with myself for putting the clues together.
“Well done,” he grins. “You’ve definitely got a knack for investigative reporting if you ever decide to quit interviewing celebrities for Voyeur Magazine.”
“Ah, someone else has been paying attention too,” I laugh, although he shakes his head.
“No. I admit I don’t quite have your skills, and I may have looked you up on Google after I saw you on the news last week.”
“Oh god. Don’t remind me. That was a huge nightmare. I should really explain that whole thing. I don’t want you to think I’m regularly involved with fighting actors and musicians. It was all just a crazy ploy to try and help my friend.”
“Hey, don’t mention it. It’s really none of my business. It happened. We’ve rescheduled our date, and I’m happy about that. I even prepared this really awesome almond and citrus dessert. You don’t have any nut allergies do you?”
“No. Not at all. It sounds amazing, and I’ll eat anything…well…except strawberries.”
“Strawberries? Why do they have such a bad rap?”
“I don’t know. Something about their smell and the texture of the flesh and the seeds. I just don’t like them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for future reference,” he says as the taxi drops us off outside the restaurant, and being a girl, I can’t help but smile at his comment that tells me he’s obviously very interested.
***
Dinner is amazing. Before tonight, I hadn’t eaten at Quay before. It’s one of those places that you need to book a year in advance because it’s so popular. You are literally overlooking Sydney Harbour no matter where you sit. The walls are curved glass so even in the centre of the restaurant, you still have a great view. And the food. Wow. It’s like my tongue is having an orgasm with every bite.
“Oh my god, I feel like my tongue has never tasted food before. These are all your creations?” I ask, as I sit across the table with Brad watching me amusedly. He’s been eating, but I think he’s enjoying the fact that I’m in food heaven right now, and he’s the one who took me there.
“Yeah. This is my menu. But of course, I didn't do all the cooking tonight. I just oversaw the prep work before I came to pick you up.”
I lick my dessertspoon, the tanginess of marmalade mixed with a rich creamy almond ice cream and sweet meringue make my taste buds buzz in excitement.
“Well, I'm definitely impressed. Is this what you do with all the girls you meet in elevators?” I ask, reaching for my coffee and taking a sip to get that perfect mix of bitter and sweet after eating dessert.
He lets out a chuckle and relaxes back in his seat. “Not at all. To be honest, you're the first girl I've ever met in an elevator and actually wanted to take out. I had to be sure you weren’t really a ghost,” he laughs, referring to the joke I played on him when we first met.
I smile, biting on my lip as I gently place the china mug back on its dish. “That was a bit weird wasn't it?”
He shrugs. “Not weird so much as it was funny. Although, intriguing might be a better word for it.”
“Intriguing?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I was intrigued by what would make a beautiful girl, such as yourself, decide to play a prank on a random stranger. At first I thought you might have been filming it for YouTube or something. Then I realised you were just doing it for your own enjoyment. And that, intrigued me. I thought a girl with looks and a sense of humour would definitely be worth knowing.”
“I suppose I must be missing a bit of a filter,” I laugh, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s nice to know you think I’m beautiful though.”
“That could be my own lack of a filter.”
“Saying what you think is never a bad thing. It shows honesty and that’s something I most definitely appreciate.”
“That sounds like a comment from someone who’s been lied to before,” he queries with a raise of his brow.
I shrug my shoulders. “Haven’t we all?” I return.
“I suppose we have,” he nods, his eyes watching me carefully–interested. “So what did you think about your first visit to Quay?” he asks, changing the subject.
“I think it’s to
tally worth waiting a whole year for.”
“And yet, you didn’t have to wait that long.”
“And I feel very lucky as a result. But most people do wait a year, so I definitely feel the food is worth it. It’s like Christmas for my mouth.”
He chuckles. “I like that description of it. I should write that in the menu.”
“You should. You’d be even busier than you are now.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think I could handle being busier than I am now.”
“The life of a head chef at an exclusive restaurant is a hard one, huh?”
“It is,” he admits. “It’s actually very rare that I get to do something like this. I’m not the easiest man to date, I’m afraid.”
I lean forward, folding my arms on the edge of the table. “There’s that honesty again,” I smile.
He tilts his head slightly to the side. “Well, you need to know what you’re in for.”
“Ok. Lay it on me.”
“Well, I travel a lot while researching new menus. And when I’m home, I tend to work six out of seven days and even then I’m working on something at home.”
“A bit obsessed with your craft?”
“Sort of,” he smiles, reaching out to take a sip of his iced water.
“Ok, well, I’m not always the easiest person to date either. Not counting the whole, chased by the paparazzi thing from last week, normally, I can be a bit hard to pin down because I work a lot of nights to get my stories and sometimes I travel too. So, if this is something you’d like to do when we’re both free, then I suppose we can both work around each other?” I suggest, my brow raised in question as I wait for his response. I could have taken his whole ‘hard to date’ comment as a brush off, but something in the tone of his voice and his body language suggests that he’s just trying to warn me so his busy schedule doesn’t become an issue for us.
“That would be perfect because, I’m kind of in like with you,” he says, his voice gentle with a hint of amusement as he speaks.
Smiling, I sit back in my seat. “That happens a lot. I’m a pretty amazing person you know,” I respond, keeping my voice steady and cool. In truth, my stomach just did a little flip-flop thing. It’s been a long time since a man has said that he likes me. Actually, it’s been a long time since I’ve actually been around a guy I wanted to date.
After the whole incident with Marcus Bailey, I’ve done my best to keep my professional and my personal life very separate. And since my professional life does lead me to a lot of music clubs, concerts and parties, I find that my personal life is a quiet night out with a friend–it’s why Lisa and I got along so well, she wasn’t into the whole party scene either.
“Amazing and modest too,” Brad laughs, signalling to the wait staff that we’re finished. “Come on. I’ll take you for a walk along the harbour.”
“Whoa, that’s very romantic,” I tease. “Watch yourself Bradley Rae, or you’ll find that I’m in like with you too.”
He places his hand on my lower back and guides me toward the exit. “Well, that’s kind of the plan, you know. I have to be sure you remember me until we get the chance to go out again.”
“When a girl who survives on take out, meets a man with culinary skills such as yours, it could be a decade and she wouldn’t forget,” I counter as he leads me outside into the cool sea air. Once outside, we link arms, and slowly we make our way along the water’s edge to Circular Quay, chatting comfortably the whole way.
***
“I had a really great time tonight,” I tell Brad at the end of our evening as he sees me to a cab. “You’re a lot of fun.”
“Fun? Wow, I was hoping I was more than just fun.”
I rise on my toes and plant a soft kiss on his lips. “Fun is exactly what I need right now,” I whisper and he catches my face in his hands, bringing his lips to mine as he sucks gently on my lower lip, his tongue dancing lightly across the entrance of my mouth as it brushes upward, teasing my top lip with a promise of more to come before he pulls away.
“Fun is good,” he smiles and I nod, feeling a little heady after his kiss. He seems so kind and easy going that I didn’t expect him to do something spontaneous and passionate like that. It was disarming and made me feel a little out of control, but in a good way.
I pull away from him and look up into his handsome face. “Fun is very good,” I agree, before thanking him for dinner and getting into the cab to go home. Although, I don’t go back to my place, I still head back to my parent’s–I’m still not comfortable staying at mine because honestly, I’m afraid of the paparazzi. Not because I think they’ll hurt me, but because they’ll run any sort of gossip they can piece together. I don’t feel comfortable being watched, and there are some who don’t give a damn whether Jonathan and I are involved or not. They’ll find a story, and if they can’t find it, they’ll just make it up.
Chapter 11
When I wake the next morning, it’s to a text from Jonathan.
How was your date?
Frowning, I wonder how the hell he knows I went out and just hit the home button, exiting the message without responding. Before I can even put the phone down, another message comes through, explaining the first. It’s a link to an article that says I’ve moved on from Jonathan already, and shows a photo of me standing outside Quay with Brad, and another one of us kissing next to the cab.
Bloody paparazzi!
I roll my eyes, hating the fact that the people who write this shit share the same profession as me. It makes me glad I work for Voyeur though; it’s our company ethos to only report legitimate celebrity and world news. All news is approved, and we are committed to never buying paparazzi shots. Our photo shoots are done with permission when a person of interest lets us be a voyeur into their world (hence the name).
While I’m looking at the article, another text comes through.
I can’t believe you already moved on from me. After everything we went through together…
Rolling my eyes, I laugh a little as I switch my phone to silent and drop it in my bag, deciding that the best way to deal with Jonathan is to ignore him. Then I head out to the kitchen where I find my mother swearing over the coffee machine.
“You okay there?” I ask, watching as she slaps the top of it and exclaims that it's a ‘fucking useless piece of junk’.
“What? Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just the stupid coffee machine that has its days numbered,” she grumbles.
“Let me have a look at it,” I suggest, and she moves out of the way so I can switch the machine off at the wall outlet to give it a chance to reset.
“So, how was your date last night?” she asks while she watches me. “You got home early, so I'm assuming you didn't get up to any hanky-panky, which is very disappointing. I really think you could do with a little bit of rumpy pumpy in your life.”
I roll my eyes hitting the power switch on the coffee machine and waiting for it to go through its start-up sequence again. “Rumpy pumpy? God mum. Please don't try and talk sex with me. It's just disturbing,” I groan.
“Why is it disturbing? It's not like I don't have any experience with it. Your father and I still —”
“Don't even start,” I practically yell over the top of her. “I so don't want to know that you and dad are still doing it.”
“Why is that an issue? Your father is the same age as Brad Pitt, and you wouldn't turn him down would you?”
“Well yes, I would turn him down. There is no way in hell I'd get involved with a celebrity. Especially one as big as him. And comparing dad to Brad Pitt like that is all kinds of wrong. I don't want to know anything about your bedroom business. There are some things mothers and daughters shouldn't share.”
She pokes her tongue out at me like a child who didn’t get their way, as I hear the coffee machine click to signal that it's ready.
“There,” I say. “All fixed. Now you can have your coffee.”
“Do you want one?”
“No th
anks, I'm just going to go and grab a shower before work.”
“I still want to hear about your date, by the way,” she calls after me. “What does this Brad guy even do?”
“He's a chef,” I answer. “And that's all you get, or I’ll be late for work.”
“You’re no fun, Sandra Emily Haegen,” she calls after me, and I respond with a laugh as I shut the bathroom door.
***
When I arrive at work, it’s to a beautiful vase full of various types of blue flowers. I expect that they’re from Brad, after sharing such a lovely evening together last night, but when I read the card, I see the ‘J’ beneath the writing ‘these reminded me of your eyes’.
“You can’t be serious,” I say to myself, looking over the arrangement and admiring its beauty while I feel a little saddened that I can’t, in good conscience, keep it. So I pick it up and take it out to reception where a young girl called Erin is working the phones.
She smiles at me brightly as I approach with the large arrangement in my hands.
“Is there somewhere I can put these?” I ask when she finishes on the phone.
“You don’t want them in your office?”
“I’m allergic,” I explain, even though it’s a total lie. I just don’t want to get into why I’m getting flowers from a man I don’t like.
“Oh, well, I have some Telfast in my bag if you’d like.”
“No. No, it’s fine. I’ll just put them somewhere where everyone can enjoy them,” I counter, scrambling for something to say to cover up my fib.
“Well, they are beautiful. Why don’t you put them on the table in the waiting area? They’ll look lovely there,” she suggests.
“Perfect,” I smile, placing them on the white square low-line table in the corner of the room before taking the card from the stem and thanking Erin before heading back to my office.
With the card in my hand, I close my office door and pull out my phone and tap out a message to Jonathan.
A Beautiful Star (Beautiful Series, Book 5) Page 5
