The old building she leased from Mr. Thompson looked vastly different from when she’d first seen it. Wolfe’s crew did an outstanding job renovating the structure. It no longer looked like an abandoned shell.
Now? Miranda eyed it with the feeling of a small child at Christmas. It looked brand new, like it had been created just for her. True, the smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air, reminding Miranda of a survivor given a new lease on life. “You and me both,” she told the building as she made her way inside. “We’re survivors.”
The chrome on the ovens reflected lighting tucked in hidden recesses. Her footsteps echoed off the tiles as she walked past shelves filled with baking supplies and confectionary. This place was her new kingdom, she thought, surveying the kitchen like a new mom gazing at her baby.
Miranda frowned, noticing a film of white powder on the counter just above the jute sacks where the flour was stored. Because she insisted on making her own bread and pasta from scratch, it was important that she had a wide variety of flour on hand. I’ll have to remind the incoming crew about keeping the area clean.
She wiped the counter, casting a critical eye over the other surfaces. At least all other utensils, baking pans and dishes were stacked uniformly in their cupboards. She smiled, remembering the rush of activity earlier in the day. Given the chaos, it was a minor miracle how neat and orderly everything else was. Bonus points to the crew.
She headed to her new office adjacent to the kitchen and flopped onto the couch. She was exhausted. All she really wanted was to go home. Funny how she considered Wolfe’s apartment as home. It jarred with the reality that they barely spoke with each other.
Miranda stared down at the office carpet. Their conversations were limited to hello and goodbye. Wolfe was obviously avoiding her. That hurt. Miranda had stopped trying to talk. She pouted. He can interpret my silence anyway he wants.
Her assistant manager, Lexi, entered the room, joining Miranda on the sofa. She heaved an exhausted sigh, and Miranda immediately felt bad. “Sorry to keep you here so late.”
Lexi summoned a smile. “That’s what assistants are for: to assist.” Her expression turned serious. “I’m glad we’re done with all the interviews. I didn’t realize finding the right crew for a catering business would be so hard.”
“Searching for applicants is easy. It’s going through their resume and appraising demonstration of their skills that’s the hard part,” Miranda rubbed her shoulders. She felt stiff from being on the go all day. “So, what do you think about this new crew?”
“We have eight waiters, two kitchen assistants, three cooks and two bakers. That should be enough for your event du jour,” Lexi said drily. She suddenly sat up. “You know, that Guido guy, the last one who came for the interview? He made really great dough. I swear it tasted like your pizza crust.”
“We hired him, didn't we?”
“I almost turned him away because the position had been filled. He literally begged me to give him a chance. He stayed after all the others had left and helped clean up the kitchen. I thought that was a class act. I said the job was his if he could submit valid papers, ID and all that stuff. He looked disappointed and claimed he had no certificates to show and that he baked on instinct.” Lexi smirked. “Just like someone I know.”
“Tell him he’s hired. We can work on his papers later. If he’s as good as you claim, then we need him.” Miranda couldn’t disappoint Wolfe and Diane. “The party is in two days.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t forget about your uber babe boyfriend and his equally uber mom. You’ve really arrived, you know that?”
Miranda shrugged. Teasing her about Wolfe was Lexi’s new favorite pastime. Her assistant claimed that it was her mentioning Hawkins Pharmaceutical that had brought him to the center that night. Miranda had tried pointing out how preposterous that was, but Lexi shook her head. “Any way you look at it, it’s fate,” she countered.
Miranda couldn’t burst the girl’s bubble. She kept the sordid truth of the relationship firmly to herself.
Lexi turned to Miranda, her face alert with curiosity. “You’ve never told me exactly how all that happened. You say you will but you never do. C’mon, spill the details. I’ve been dying to know.”
Miranda shrugged. “What’s there to tell? I called to make an appointment. He asked me to come to his office. I did. The rest is history.”
“You talk as if there are billionaires cluttering the streets of New York City,” Lexi complained. “I meant...were there fireworks? Was it love at first sight? Sex on the first date? The juicy stuff. If it were me, I’d light up the Manhattan skyline for one Wolfe Hawkins,” she giggled.
“We had similar interests. It was just like you said when you convinced me to go see him when I was desperate for a guarantor.”
Lexi closed her eyes and sighed blissfully. “Just like a fairytale.”
“More like a cheap novel really.” Miranda grumbled. She caught the look Lexi gave her and felt moved to explain. “We’re not talking right now.”
Lexi looked astonished, then giggled. “That’s even better. Make up sex is so kinky.”
Miranda rolled her eyes and stood, motioning to the door. “If only it were that easy.”
***
In a dark corner four blocks away from Dream Kitchen, a figure lurked in the dark. He took care not to be seen.
A car approached, its headlights blinking intermittently. It sidled up to the corner. The figure in the shadow emerged, recognizing the signal he was waiting for. He approached the car.
The driver’s window lowered. “Did you get it done?” The unseen person within asked.
“Yes.”
“And no one saw you?”
“No one. I made sure they were both away from the kitchen when I did it.”
“Good.” The driver tossed a wad of cash onto the pavement. The car was gone before the man had even retrieved it.
***
D-Day for Miranda’s first catering event arrived. From the moment she opened her eyes, she was wound up like a coiled spring. She scrambled out of bed, intent on getting to Dream Kitchen for an early start. It was imperative that all went well. Today was akin to a coming out party, with Miranda, a debutante cook making her mark on the Big Apple’s glitterati.
She walked out of her bedroom, careful not to disturb Wolfe, probably still asleep. For once, she hoped she wouldn’t see him. Their cat-and-mouse game of repeated avoidance with each other had only added to her uncertainties, but this morning, she relished the distance.
Her heart insisted that Wolfe was giving her space, allowing her time to sort through her feelings. But her childish pride was frightened at the thought of a rebuff if she made the first move. Instead, she allowed a wall of coldness to grow between them, a wall that now felt insurmountable.
As Miranda walked into the kitchen, she saw Wolfe at the coffee machine. She stopped in her tracks. For a moment, she wondered if she was hallucinating.
Wolfe looked up. No hallucination could give her the same feeling of electric shock that Wolfe’s eyes did as they fastened on her. “Good morning, Miranda.”
“Hi.” Miranda gulped. “I wasn’t expecting to find you up so early.”
“Big day,” he replied.
Miranda hesitated. Big day for him—or for me? She was lost for words, given their situation these last few days.
“Would you like some coffee?”
Was this fate throwing her a line? Maybe they could patch things up between them. “Thank you. That’d be great.” She pulled up a chair and waited for her cup.
When it came, she took a sip and almost gagged. It was too bitter. Wolfe must have dumped the whole bag into the coffeemaker. Seeing him watching her, she smiled. “This is good.” She had no intentions of destroying the fragile thread linking them together.
Wolfe pulled up a chair and studied her face intently. “Miranda—”
“Wolfe—” She said at the same time.
Wolfe grinned. “You go first.”
Miranda bit her lip to keep from smiling. “No, you go first.”
“About the other night,” Wolfe began.
“That was entirely my fault,” Miranda cut in. “I-I was having a bad day...and was feeling harassed. I shouldn’t have lashed out. I apologize. And I want to thank you for convincing your mom and allowing me to cater the party tonight.”
“Okay.” Wolfe looked relieved. “Friends?” He stretched out his arm for a handshake.
Miranda took his hand. She was caught by surprise when he pulled her into his arms. But it felt good. His embrace reassured her. Miranda’s worries vanished instantly. His touch was everything she needed to face the challenge ahead.
Wolfe bent his head, whispering in her ear. “I missed you.”
“Me too,” she whispered back.
“If I didn’t know how anxious you are about tonight, I’d be tempted to drag you back into the bedroom.”
His words sparked an instant rush of desire. Miranda wanted nothing more than to lose herself in Wolfe’s embrace. But Diane Simpson’s face loomed. She needed to be at the Dream Kitchen. There was so much preparation to be done. The working crew was all new. There was bound to be some problems and she had to be ready for anything.
Reluctantly, she wiggled out of his embrace. “If I mess up tonight, you’ll only have yourself to blame. I wonder how you’ll explain that to your mom.”
Wolfe chuckled, and then released her. “It’s a good thing you’ve got this.” He suddenly looked hopeful. “Maybe we have time for a...”
“...quickie?” Miranda laughed, shaking her head. She knew herself. And she knew him, too.
Miranda headed for the door. On the threshold she stopped, spinning around. “Hey, Wolfe?”
He looked at her, expectancy clearly visible in his face.
“You make the shittiest coffee in the world.” Miranda ducked out the door before he could retaliate.
Wolfe’s laughter followed her as she walked towards the elevator. The sound lifted her, like she had tiny wings on her feet. Miranda felt a wave of confidence. Today was in the palm of her hand.
Chapter Ten
Miranda was in her element at the Dream Kitchen, as she gathered her newly hired crew. Boosted by the unexpected reconciliation, she was even more inspired to make Diane’s event perfect. She cleared her throat, all eyes turning toward her instantly.
“I know all of you have special skills and talent that you would like to put on display today. But today—today is not the day to do that. Today, I need you to be extensions of me. Everyone will do exactly as I say when I say it. If I tell you that I need the dough inside the oven for forty-eight minutes, I mean exactly that. Not a minute more, not a minute less. I want all ingredients cut and weighed precisely according to my specifications. Today is all about me, because my success today will ensure that you have a job waiting for you tomorrow, next week, next month, or next year.”
The crew nodded. They realized the significance of this day’s event. If Miranda created an impact, the demand for their services would blow through the roof.
“Also,” Miranda continue, “I don't want cussing in my kitchen. I want everyone to think of each dish as a child. You don’t cuss in front of your child. Praise it when it comes out perfect, cajole it when it refuses to cooperate, encourage it with love and sweet words. Hum, sing, or dance—do whatever it takes to make your heart and soul a part of what you’re cooking.”
As everyone dispersed, Lexi sidled up to Miranda. “And you deny talking to the mesclun?”
Miranda laughed. “You got me.”
Lexi shot her an appraising glance. “You seem especially perky today. Bet you had that kinky make-up sex I mentioned last night.”
“Not yet. Maybe tonight... if I get lucky.” Miranda winked.
She spent the rest of the day alternately breathing down the necks of her cooks and bakers, checking that her instructions were followed to the letter, and meticulously going over the checklist of things she needed to bring.
Diane Simpson sent word not to worry about utensils or the bar and drinks. That was a huge relief to Miranda. She ticked both off her list. Her biggest concern was having enough cambros to keep everything warm, especially her hand made breads, rolls, prosciuttos, empanadas, and miniature pizzas.
Miranda oversaw every menu item transferred to serving dishes. She ensured the cambros were placed carefully over the dishes, reminding the waiters not to stack them too high so nothing got crushed. The crew worked together in an efficient symphony that satisfied their chief conductor.
“Don’t forget to bring extra fuel cells for the chafing dishes,” she reminded Lexi.
“Locked and loaded,” Lexi replied as they headed outside.
Miranda cast a look behind her at the kitchen. “You’re sure we didn’t forget anything?”
“Girl, you went through that checklist like you were studying for the Bar Exams. And so did I. Yes, we have everything.”
Miranda nodded. “Okay. It's show time.” Nervous tension bloomed in her stomach.
***
The Guggenheim was a New York landmark. In a city famous for its skyscrapers, all competing for attention with height and lavish architectural embellishments, the museum’s squat, white edifice defied expectation. Its clean circular design, totally devoid of any ornamentation, earned the Guggenheim the distinct honor of being an icon.
As she stepped inside, a towering skylight resembling spiral ramps soaring high above into a glass domed ceiling drew Miranda’s eyes. She stared up. The sleek circular lines gave an impression similar to floating in limitless space. Miranda found herself among a group of tourists dreamily gazing at the skylight.
A tap on the shoulder from a uniformed female staff member brought her back to the present. “This way please, Miss Okafor. Mrs. Simpson said to expect you.”
The woman led her to the Ronald O. Perelman Rotunda where the party was to be hosted. The venue was a wide open room, perfectly in keeping with the rest of the museum. The staff member showed her a door that led to a smaller room. “You can use this space as your food prep area.”
Lexi dashed in. “The food trucks are at the back entrance. We’re ready to unload.”
Miranda looked at her. “Everything all right? You sound nervous.”
Lexi grimaced. “This place is impressive. It suddenly struck me how...big... this is.”
“Overawed?” Miranda gave her assistant a pat on her shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone...but me, too.”
“Miranda, you finally made it.” A familiar voice called out.
Miranda’s heart sank. Bruce Simpson hurried across the room toward her, dressed in a black and white tuxedo. Ever since she’d first met him at their engagement party, Bruce made her feel uncomfortable. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Maybe the man was just too creepy for her taste?
“Hi, Bruce. This is my assistant manager, Lexi.” Miranda motioned towards her assistant.
Bruce glanced at her, and pointedly turned away.
Lexi turned red at the snub. She walked away and headed for a small window with a one-way mirror that looked out onto the party venue. Despite her irritation, Miranda felt a stab of concern for Lexi. Her assistant didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. But losing her cool in front of Bruce would ruin everything.
“Is everything alright?” Bruce asked.
Miranda wondered at the tone in his voice. Bruce was the last person she expected to show interest in her work. “Yes, fine.”
“The food has arrived then?”
“The trucks are unloading as we speak.” He’s probably worried because I’m new to the business—and who could blame him? This was Diane’s big event. No wonder Bruce wanted it to go flawlessly. She’d been apprehensive herself when Wolfe first raised the idea. But after all the preparations they’d made, Miranda was confident.
“Alright then.” Bruce stuck his hands in his pocket and lounged against
the wall. “I’ll stick around, if you don’t mind.”
Miranda wished she could shoo him away. She glanced at Lexi by the window, watching the guests’ arrival. Lexi suddenly turned, waving at her to come over.
Miranda made her way to her assistant. “What is it?”
“Wolfe’s mom has arrived. The guests are starting to pour in.”
“Duh. Didn't you just meet ‘el creepo’ over there?” Miranda nodded her head in Bruce’s direction. “I’m sure they came together.”
Lexi snickered. “That man talking to Mrs. Simpson... Do you have any idea who he is?”
Miranda craned her neck to see. “Oh, that’s Simms, Wolfe’s security officer-cum-occasional chauffeur-cum-assistant. Wolfe probably sent him over to help with the guests.”
Fake Marriage with the CEO (A Billionaire Romance) Page 10
