by Rita Hogan
“I love you too, Uncle Landon.”
He stood where he was for a moment longer, watching them leave through the front entrance, before turning to head back to his office.
Olivia was as still as a statue while observing the exchange, her heart hammering in her chest, the dream she had two nights ago fresh in her mind. She had been afraid to close her eyes last night, concerned she would dream of him again. Olivia couldn’t afford to dream about Landon Gray; it weakened her resolve. Yet, seeing him walk into the lobby with the little boy in his arms and watching how he kissed both children made her feel worse than the dream had.
When he disappeared around the corner, she allowed herself to breathe. Focus Olivia, she said to herself. It had become her mantra since arriving in Patagonia.
CHAPTER SIX
Natasha heard the beep of Gaston’s car locking, signaling his arrival home from work. She sighed and wondered at the short burst of joy which filled her heart. After seven years of marriage, she was still moved by her husband. He had the ability to make her madder than anyone else, but Gaston never failed to elicit the tender emotions which left her wanting him more now than when she first fell in love with him.
When she heard the door to the garage open, she stood up from the couch to meet him in the kitchen.
“Hi, baby,” Natasha greeted, happy to see him.
“How is my chéri, this evening?” Gaston reached for his wife, pulling her close. “You always smell so good. Me, I smell like a kitchen.”
She giggled at the heavier French accent he chose to use when he was trying to be funny.
“Good enough to eat.”
“Mmm, do you want to join me in the shower?” he offered, kissing her on the lips.
Pulling away from him, Natasha gave him a mock look of consternation. “You have a one-track mind, Gaston.”
“Of course, I do, but remember who started it.” He began tasting the side of her neck.
Even though her husband had a point, she chided him but wasn’t ready for him to stop. “We’ll have time for this later. Go take your shower and then come sit with me so I can talk to you.”
Concerned by the tone in her voice, he pulled his lips away from the delicate skin of her neck to make eye contact with her. “What is it, mon amour?”
Natasha kissed him soundly on the lips. “Shower first.”
Reluctantly, he let go of his wife and made his way to their bedroom.
Before settling back on the couch, she went to the fridge to remove the fruit and cheese platter she had prepared.
Gaston worked three nights a week at the resort, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He usually ate before coming home, but it was earlier in the evening. Natasha often prepared a light snack for him.
As she waited for her husband to return to the living room, she thought back to when they first met. If anyone had told her during those first few weeks of his tenure at the Grand Vue that she would be marrying the handsome Frenchman, she would have scoffed. Murder was more likely to be the outcome. At one point he had made her so furious she saw herself wrapping her small hands around his neck and squeezing as hard as she could.
SEVEN YEARS AGO
“I am going to kill him! Promise me you’ll visit me in prison!” Natasha practically roared the statement as she stood up from her desk.
The young executive was not prone to emotional outbursts. Normally she was very calm even during the most stressful negotiations. As a woman working in a man’s world, she had often found herself being goaded by powerful men. Always, she exhibited confidence, firmness, and a natural cunningness that helped her to win many of her deals, but also aroused a high level of respect from her counterparts and direct reports.
There was something about the new executive chef she had hired that provoked her to near madness. The fact that he was French hadn’t helped their rocky relationship off to a good start. Of all the different types of men she had encountered from various countries, the French had been the most challenging. Their pride and general disdain for Americans had been evident in her dealings with them.
Hearing his sister’s outburst, Landon walked out of his office right as she was walking by his door. He could see the tiny vein toward the top of her right temple pulsing, a sure sign that she was hotter than hell. Several strands of her light blonde hair had come loose from her perfectly coiffed twist. Her grey eyes were more vibrant than normal.
“Hey, Sis, word of advice,” Landon admonished as she stomped past him. “If you’re planning to storm the kitchen and rail into Chef, make sure there isn’t an audience.”
Natasha eyed her brother, but did not comment as she continued on as fast as her black Louboutin pumps could carry her.
It was after lunch and the only staff in the kitchen were a few sous chefs who were prepping for the evening dinner rush, and Gaston. He was giving an employee direction on a particular way to slice the Japanese eggplant. Everyone, including Chef, looked up when they heard the door open forcefully.
Heeding her brother’s advice, Natasha demanded in a loud firm voice, “Everyone out, now!”
The workers didn’t move immediately. Rather they looked at Gaston, as if seeking his permission to vacate their work stations. He nodded, which only served to infuriate her more. The sous chefs dropped their knives and spoons, scrambling to make a hasty exit.
Natasha threw the menu she held in her hand on top of the stainless steel counter. “Who do you think you are to outright defy me? We talked about this, and I said no truffle-based dishes or Beluga caviar and what do I see on the newly printed menu?” She was shouting at Gaston. Knowing she should stop, yet too angry, Natasha couldn’t control herself.
Gaston wiped his hands on a nearby towel, watching her with a hard steely gaze while she ranted. He calmly made his way toward her, stopping when he was about a foot away.
It was a strategic move, one of intimidation. Natasha wanted to step back, to put more space between them; but she refused, knowing it would show a sign of weakness. Instead, she inched closer to him, her upturned face closer to his and said harshly, “If you cannot respect my decisions as the owner of this resort then you can leave.”
Before she realized what was happening, Gaston reached for her shoulders, kissing her soundly on the mouth. When he let go of her, she raised her hand to slap him, but not before the chef intercepted the strike. Pulling her hand down to her side, he looked into her eyes and with a hard but calm tone to his voice, said, “If you, Madame, are going to rant and rave at me like a lunatic, I will silence you however I please.” Letting go of her hand, he continued. “I would have respected your decision had you truly given me a chance to explain my reasons; however, your prejudice against me won’t allow you to accept what I have to say.”
Natasha gasped at his words. “Why would I be prejudiced against you?” No sooner had she said the words when she realized he must know how much she disliked French men. At the word “prejudice,” she had been thinking of skin color; he had not.
Gaston saw the look in her eyes and knew he had been right. “Until you are ready to hear me out, I have nothing more to say to you. The menu doesn’t go into effect until next week. You have until then to decide what you want. Now if you will excuse me, I have to prepare for the dinner.”
Never before had Natasha been so far out of her element. The young executive was accustomed to swimming in boardrooms full of sharks, surfacing unscathed. She had learned from the best, her father, how to navigate through the murky waters of high-powered finance and shell games. Yet she didn’t know how to emerge from this without destroying every ounce of her dignity. Before she made things worse, she turned and left the kitchen.
When she entered the offices, everyone was quietly working, pretending not to notice her. Natasha went directly to Landon’s office and closed the door. He stood from his desk, quickly striding toward his sister. Throwing her arms around him, she laid her head against his chest and cried. “I’ve made such a mess o
f things, Landon. I don’t know what to do!”
“I don’t believe you’ve messed up as badly as you think.” He rubbed Natasha’s back, offering her comfort.
His sister lifted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me what happened,” he encouraged.
Natasha told him everything.
“So he kissed you?”
She nodded.
“You need to talk to him,” Landon encouraged.
“I can’t. I’m too embarrassed. I don’t know what to say.”
He shook his head. “The sister I know is strong and bold; you’ll figure out what to say and I think you’ll be surprised when you do.”
“What do you mean?” she asked again.
Landon smiled before returning to his desk chair. “Trust me.”
Why is he being vague? she questioned herself. Wanting to ask, she chose not to and simply left to return to her office.
When Natasha looked up from her computer to the clock on her wall, she couldn’t believe it was almost 11 p.m. Since her outburst with Gaston earlier that afternoon, she had closed her door and worked like a fool, trying to keep her mind off of the incident. It was Wednesday, and the restaurant had been closed for nearly two hours. She tossed her pen on the desk before rubbing her eyes. She would have to face him at some point; perhaps he was still in the kitchen.
When she opened the door to the utilitarian yet immaculate space, every pot and pan was in place and the floors were scrubbed to a gleaming white. She saw Gaston sitting at the stainless steel countertop drinking a glass of wine. There were no employees to be found, only him.
Wordlessly, he reached for a second glass, poured a cup of the Argentinean Malbec, and placed it beside him.
Understanding the invitation, she moved to the seat next to his and took a sip of the dark dry red, one of her favorites.
He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “So tell me why you hate French men so much.”
“Why do you think I hate French men?”
Gaston turned his gaze upon her. “I heard you say so. A couple of weeks ago, I came to your office to speak with you. I heard you on the phone and waited for a few moments to see if your call would be ending soon. I was about to leave when I heard you say goodbye. Before I entered your office, I heard you say to yourself how much you hate French men.”
Natasha wouldn’t look at him. Her cheeks were flushed with the embarrassing heat coursing through her body. “We never spoke, did we?”
“No, I was too angry to enter your office, so I left.”
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” This time she looked at him. “I shouldn’t have made the comment.”
He held her gaze. “Yet you haven’t told me why you despise my fellow countrymen.”
She took a sip of her wine. “Nearly every French man I’ve dealt with while sitting across from me in the boardroom has been arrogant and disdainful because I am a woman and an American. Outside of those same business meetings, most of them have tried to maneuver me into their beds, every single one of them married or attached. I find it disgusting. I always think about their poor wives and girlfriends back at home.
“The person I had been talking to that day was the worst of them all. The last time I went to Paris, I don’t know how he managed it, but I found him in my hotel room waiting for me. When I had security escort him out, he refused to negotiate the business I had flown there to conduct. Apparently when his boss found out, he went through the roof. The idiot called me the same day you overheard me. The conversation was to inform me that he was ready to talk.”
Gaston was reluctant to admit it, but he could see why she hated French men. What he wouldn’t tell her was that Americans weren’t much better. They were simply more subtle about their affairs, careful not to broadcast their extracurricular activities.
“I’m sorry for your troubling experiences. I know one French man you would appreciate meeting.”
She looked at him, encouraging him with her eyes to continue.
“He is a man who started off life from humble beginnings. Through hard work and commitment, he made a way for himself as an educator. Eventually, he earned a professorship and ultimately became the head of the Pantheon-Sorbonne University, the most prestigious learning institution in France.
“This man taught thousands of people in his lifetime, but his three most important students were his children. Academics wasn’t his focus; it was the importance of being loyal, compassionate, and long-suffering that became his dissertation. His tutelage involved very few words; it was by his actions that his children learned the most valuable lessons in life.
“Because, he showed them daily how much he loved and cared for them, his wife, as well as his children, adored him. When times were difficult, they saw him persevere, never wavering from all that he held true.
“At the pinnacle of his success he was interviewed by a journalist who was doing a story about the great educator’s life. When asked what he felt was his most noteworthy success, the father answered, ‘I lived an exemplary life and I have lived it for the most important observers: my family.’ The man didn’t see his accolades and achievements as his greatest success; he saw the love and respect from his family as his most virtuous accomplishment.”
Gaston took a sip of his drink, staring at the glass as he set it back on the counter.
“Who is he?” Natasha asked in a quiet voice.
He turned to her before answering. “My father.” He sighed. “So you see, not all French men are like the pigs you’ve had to deal with in your business.”
She was silent for a moment. “I’m ready to listen to your reasons for the menu changes. I should have been more open to such a highly acclaimed chef. I hired you because you are the best in the business. I didn’t trust that. I was too focused on dollars and . . .” she paused, “other things.”
Smiling at her, Gaston gave her his reasons telling her that the menu needed to be elevated to a higher level to match the luxurious reputation of the establishment. They would lose some money at first, but heightening the value of their selections to include dishes made with fresh truffles and Beluga caviar would increase their sales. He alleviated her other concern about discarded inventory due to the items’ perishability. The executive chef estimated that the increased revenue would more than pay for any residual loss.
“Another thing to consider is not throwing away any of the aged product. On the very last day it can be served, I can use whatever is left to treat the employees. Consider it a morale booster. There is always a cost to making your employees happy. You can even itemize that particular expense in your general ledger.”
Natasha gave a hearty laugh, feeling better than she had all day . . . in weeks actually.
When her mirth subsided, she became quiet all of a sudden.
“Gaston, why did you kiss me?” The young executive couldn’t look at him when she asked the question.
She felt his finger on her chin and was surprised when he turned her head to make eye contact with her.
“Has kissing you fueled your hatred for French men?” he asked with some uncertainty.
Unable to talk, she shook her head.
“Good. I kissed you because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I first met you.”
Natasha remembered that day several weeks ago when she, Landon, and a few of the other executives sat on the stools in this very kitchen to watch Gaston work. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of him. His tall, sturdy build was stunning, but it was his hands which had caught her attention. The deft movement of his strong fingers and wrists were effortless. It was as if they knew what to do before he even thought about the ingredients and tools.
When he had plated the dish he was demonstrating to the team, he had turned his dark brown eyes upon Natasha. His hair was the same color, framing a face that dimpled when he smiled.
She hadn’t been able to look at him while she tasted the food. One bite was all it
took. She knew he was the right person for the Grand Vue.
The truth was, her mind, too, had been flooded on and off with thoughts of Gaston. Worried that he was like all the other men she had known from his country, it was better to dislike and provoke him than to want him.
Holding his gaze, she replied, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either.”
He smiled a slow grin. “Will you try to slap me again if I kiss you?”
Natasha placed her hands behind her back. Closing her eyes, she waited to feel the touch of his mouth on hers. She was exceptionally excited to feel them again, this time in desire and not in anger.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hearing the sound of the shower shutting off, Natasha blinked, smiling at the memory. Six months after that late night encounter, they had married. On that long ago evening, she knew there was no other man for her.
Falling in love had come at the right time for Natasha and her brother Landon. It had been four years since the accident and his attempted suicide. He had taken the words she had spoken to him in the hospital to heart and had made great strides toward moving on with his life.
By the time she met Gaston, she was no longer worried about Landon making another suicide attempt. He was working with purpose and making a name for himself in the family business. After two years of apprenticing alongside Natasha, her brother was ready to begin negotiating.
They had been in the middle of a battle over some prime property in Rio de Janeiro. An investor from England was hard-nosing them about profit percentages. Without his money, the deal would fall through and they would lose the pristine acreage for their newest hotel. If they accepted the investor’s terms, they would agree to a higher percentage of return than they had given to anyone else in the past. At that rate, the first five years would barely be survivable. The upfront costs were steep. Building, branding, and promoting the new resort would require a great deal of capital.
