by Peggy Jaeger
“Seems to be the general consensus.” He took the proffered glass.
He made his way to the other side of the room, ignoring the stares and whispers of the crowd, found the lounge, and knocked. “Kandy? It’s Josh. Can I come in?”
It was Gemma who answered. “Yes.”
The sisters were seated in twin floral Queen Anne chairs, Gemma reclining back into hers, arms crossed over her chest. Kandy was opposite, head wrung in her hands.
“Cort thought you could use this,” he said, handing her the champagne flute.
He’d expected tears, but was surprised to see Kandy’s beautiful face pinch in a scowl, her eyes flaring with sweltering anger and venom when she looked up at him.
“Thanks.” Kandy took the drink and downed half of it in one gulp.
When she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, the corners of Gemma’s mouth lifted and she asked Josh, “What did you do to the turd?”
“Explained he needed to leave, put him in the elevator, and made sure he went down in it.”
“Made him how?” Kandy asked.
“Little persuasion trick I know. His wrist’s gonna be sore tomorrow. Maybe for the next few days.”
“You physically removed him?” Gemma asked.
Josh almost laughed at the excitement in her voice. He shrugged. “Yeah. He was going to follow Kandy if I didn’t.”
“Please tell me you have unmarried, available brothers at home,” Gemma said.
It hurt to keep the smile from his face, but he did. “Three, in fact.”
“Are they all like you? No, scratch that.” She sighed, the sound wistful. “I doubt there’s anyone like you.”
“If you mean are they all workaholics and career-driven, then no. They’re not like me. But they are available.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” She glanced at her sister and said, “Well, looks like my work here is done. She’s all yours now.” She stood and kissed the top of Kandy’s head. “Evan Chandler is an egotistical, phony prick. Remember that.”
“How could I forget it?” Kandy grabbed her sister’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Thanks.”
When Gemma left, Josh took her empty chair. “You okay?”
She took a deep breath before saying, “Mad, but okay. I underestimated him.”
“How so?”
“I didn’t think he’d have the guts to crash my party. I thought he was too much of a wimp to risk it after our last encounter. Guess I was wrong.”
She stood and crossed to the vanity. Peering at her reflection, she ran a lazy hand through her hair, fluffing the curls. She caught his gaze, watching her, in the mirror. “Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”
He’d considered it. But the weary look in her eyes told him he was better off asking Stacy or Gemma. “No. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. Otherwise, you’ve got a pretty fancy shindig going on out there.” He cocked his thumb in the direction of the ballroom. “Maybe you want to get back and enjoy it. Bask in the adulation,” he said with a good-natured grin.
She turned to him and her eyes softened. When her lips moved upward into a small, lazy smile, the dimples dancing, his legs went a little soft and he was thankful he was seated.
“Yeah,” she said, moving to him. When he stood, she linked her arm in his. “Thanks. You’re right. Let’s go have a party.”
He returned her smile, glad he could help.
“You’re not so bad, Keane. This bodyguard thing might be fun after all.”
It was a moment before he trusted himself to speak. “I aim to please.”
Chapter Four
“There you are.” Reva ran up to them when they came out of the lounge. “Harvey wants you. The press has arrived.”
“Sell-my-soul time,” Kandy told Josh. “I need to do this solo.”
“Sure.” He unwrapped her hand from his arm and squeezed it. “I’ll be close.”
She smiled at him and winked. “Where?” she asked Reva.
“Over by the faux fountain.”
“Who?”
“The Times, People, Food & Wine, the Post, and Gourmet.”
“Okay.” She took a breath and smoothed her dress from waist to hem. With a huge, all-teeth smile she headed into the lion’s den with her head held high. She ambled over to her publisher, wound her arm into his, and, after a quick peck to his cheek, greeted the press.
“What’s the first printing on this one, Kandy?”
It was Little who answered. “Million and a half copies,” he said. The pride in his voice was difficult to miss.
“You’re still number one on our nonfiction list for your last cookbook,” the New York Times reporter said.
“With a little luck, when the list is revised this week, I’ll be one and two,” Kandy said with glee.
“What’s your next project?” the Food and Wine reporter asked.
“Well, we need to finish shooting the season premiere. Then we move on to the Thanksgiving special, and the Christmas one right after that. In fact,” Kandy said, “you can ask my director all about it. Cort, come here.”
Mason adjusted his jacket and moved through the throng to stand on the other side of Kandy. Linking her arm in his, she smiled again at the media. “You all know Cort Mason.”
A few photographs were taken and questions asked and answered. Gemma moved about the group, shooting from different angles and perspectives.
Kandy answered all the mundane and predictable questions put to her. But her mind wasn’t on the gaggle of reporters all wanting her attention. It was centered on the man standing close by. He looked totally at ease watching her, one shoulder relaxed against a column, hands folded in his tuxedo pants pockets. But she knew he was anything but. If she wasn’t mistaken, his languid posture belied the coiled tension she’d sensed in him when he led her back to the ballroom. The hard muscled fortress of his arm pressed against her hand as she held on to it was tight and taut, like a spring ready to be released.
When she’d first set eyes on him that afternoon she’d thought him handsome in a rugged, visceral way. Now, resplendent in a sinfully well-fitted tuxedo, he looked film-star perfect, as if he’d just stepped out of a 1940s black-and-white romantic comedy.
All in all, he was just the kind of man she’d always fantasized about having in her life and knew in her soul she’d never get. Men like Josh Keane were married to their careers, much the same way she was. But where a woman would compromise, a man wouldn’t. She’d learned it firsthand when she’d hit the fame wagon. Men expected the woman to be the one who’d make the time for the relationship to work while they pursued their goals and ambitions. The few relationships Kandy had been involved in had all ended the same way—except for Evan Chandler. She’d dumped him. The others had walked away when she’d been unwilling to make concessions in her professional life to satisfy their egotistical needs.
Would she ever find a man who’d be willing to put her desires ahead of his own? Experience had her doubting it.
After twenty minutes, Reva broke into the crowd and announced they were finished. With smiles and handshakes all around, she thanked each of them for coming, all the while ushering them from the room.
When they were gone, Josh pushed off the column and moved to her. “She’s good at that,” he said, nodding toward Reva.
“No one’s better,” she said. “You hungry?”
“I could eat. Why?”
She leaned in closer and, sotto voce, said, “I’ll deny this to my death if you ever repeat it, but the food Harvey ordered isn’t great and I’m starving. I’d like to slip away and get something more substantial.”
“Isn’t it a little rude to leave your own party?”
A grin spread across her face like wildfire. “Yeah, but I don’t care. We all have to work in the morning. I’ve had enough smiling, mingling, and answering questions. I want to eat, have a hot bath, and jump into bed.”
A heartbe
at passed and she couldn’t read what was written in his eyes as he stared at her.
Finally, he shook his head once, side to side, and said, “Okay. You’re the boss.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she replied. “Let’s go.”
Without speaking to anyone, they exited a back door of the ballroom.
“You’re sure no one will be mad at you for leaving?” he asked as they rode the elevator down to the waiting limo.
She shrugged. “Mad? No. A little ticked off, maybe? Reva will be. So will Harvey. But they’ll get over it. And there’s always the possibility no one will notice we’re gone.”
Josh snorted. “Forget it. You’ll be missed before we get to the car.”
“Where to, Kandy?” the driver asked as he held the door for them.
“You like pizza?” she asked Josh.
“Isn’t it a food group?”
Laughing, she told the driver to take them home.
“I thought we were going for pizza,” Josh said.
“We are. The best in town.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Josh removed his tux jacket, undid his bow tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He watched as Kandy set the oven temperature and took out a large plastic bag from the refrigerator.
Her kitchen was a study in culinary artistry. The appliances were all state-of-the-art and top-of-the-line steel. Two double ovens, side by side, sat between a ceramic, deep-welled double sink on one side and a full eight-burner range complete with hood on the other. The refrigerator was massive, and, from what Josh could see, every shelf was fully stocked. A separate, two-door freezer was installed alongside, and an industrial dishwasher completed the operational side of the room.
Sage-colored marble countertops sparkled under recessed ceiling lights. A suspended steel rack dipped down from the ceiling providing easy access to several sparkling pots and pans. She’d done the walls in tiles of a muted green, the floor a cacophony of Moroccan-inspired curlicues. One entire wall was devoted to cabinets and closets, painted pure, bright white, their hardware matching the pattern on the floor. Josh guessed if he opened just one cabinet he’d find enough nonperishable items to feed half the building for a week.
“This dough needs a few minutes to soften up,” Kandy said. “What do you like for toppings?”
He didn’t even stop to think. “Mushrooms, pepperoni, ham. Pineapple’s always good.”
“A man after my own stomach,” she said, reaching into the refrigerator again. “I’ve got all those, plus some sliced meatballs. Sound good?”
“Sounds like heaven.”
“Here, you chop these.” She handed him two large portobello mushrooms and a knife.
He let out a low whistle. “I know S.W.A.T. teams who don’t have weapons as good as this.” He held up the knife, inspected it, then carefully laid it down on the counter and moved to the sink to wash his hands.
“Only the best utensils.” She kicked off her shoes and joined him.
Without the extra inches she came to just below his ear. She squirted liquid soap into her hands and rubbed them together, her long fingers lathering the soap into frothy bubbles as they scrubbed from palm to nail, back and forth, her skin growing slick and slippery with each movement, the bouquet of floral scents tickling his nose.
She grabbed a tea towel after rinsing her hands, while he said, “Your mother never showed tonight. After the buildup you and Gemma gave me, I was looking forward to meeting her.”
Her lips twisted into a dry smirk. “Don’t worry, you will. She likes to drop by the studio unannounced. I never get any work done when she does because the crew goes wild for her.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
She unwrapped the pizza dough and began shaping it into a ball.
From his perspective, Josh was enlightened about just how erotic food preparation could be. He watched Kandy knead and massage the dough in a strong, steady rhythm, her hands fisting and pulling, then uncurling and yanking it with each movement to form it into the shape she wanted.
“No, I’m not. You’ll see for yourself,” she said. “She’s a tornado.”
“Is that why she doesn’t work for you?”
“What do you mean?” With a flick of her hands, she tossed the dough into the air. It spun and twirled a few times and landed perfectly back in her hands.
“You do that well.”
“Practice. Answer my question.”
While she continued to toss, he finished chopping the mushrooms. “I’ve seen for myself how much of your family works for you.”
“With. Not for. We’re all in this together.”
“Okay, with then. Aunts, cousins, siblings. Most of your recipes come from your grandmother. But your mother isn’t included in the mix. Makes me wonder why not.”
She placed the shaped dough onto a stone pizza wheel.
“Easy,” she told him, taking a quart jar of what he assumed was pizza sauce from the refrigerator. “She doesn’t want to work. Period.”
“She doesn’t have a job?”
“Nope, doesn’t need one.”
He took a moment, considering her statement and then said, “You support her, don’t you?” as she spread the sauce evenly over the dough with a wooden spoon.
Making concentric circles from the center outward, Kandy nodded, her attention on her task. “She deserves the luxury. She worked like a dog after my father left. We never saw her. She’d work, sleep, and on her days off, well, she’d be gone on her own.”
“Finding herself,” he said, watching her face for its reaction.
He was rewarded when she blushed.
“Yeah.” Silently, she arranged the shredded cheese over the sauce. “Hand me the mushrooms.”
“You’re good at giving orders,” he said, scooping them up and placing the pile in her outstretched hands.
When the heat of his skin came in contact with hers, Josh swore he saw a little flash of light ignite from the simple touch.
He wondered if she felt it, too, because she stood, rooted, her hands balanced under his as he opened them and dropped the mushrooms into her palms. Her eyes dilated and moistened as she gazed up at him.
“What else do you want me to do?” he asked.
She shook her head and he would have given anything to know what she was thinking.
“You can slice the pineapple,” she told him in a voice that sounded like it needed air.
He nodded, rinsed the knife under the faucet, and did as she asked. This time he waited for her to break the silence.
Kandy spread the meatball slices across the cheese, then took the cut fruit and did the same, layering each item with precision.
When she appeared satisfied her creation was perfect, she lifted the pizza wheel, placed it in the oven, and set the timer.
Josh sat silent throughout her movements.
When she turned from the oven, she asked, “Want something to drink?”
“Bottled water, if you have it.”
She took two from the refrigerator, gave one to him, and kept the other, then sat down opposite him.
They drank for a few moments in silence before Josh decided he’d put off asking the questions he needed to for long enough. Waiting for the pizza to cook offered him the perfect opportunity.
“I need to clarify a few things,” he said as a way of introduction.
“About?”
“What I’ve been hired to do. Namely, find out who’s been bothering you.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
He checked his mental list and placed certain items ahead of others. “First of all, a lot of people have your private phone numbers. Office, cell, home. Stacy gave me a list this afternoon; I was surprised it was so extensive.”
Kandy took a pull from the bottle. “I always want it to be easy for people to get in touch with me. There are times when I’m out of the studio and the office for most of the day, e
ither doing a location piece, touring, or at guest spots. It’s just easier if I can be readily reached.”
“That’s going to make narrowing down the field more difficult. Don’t get me wrong, it can be done. But for now, I’d like to give you another cell. One only I’ll have access to.”
“Why?”
“So you can reach me at any time, and vice versa. You can call from it, it can’t be traced, the number’s blocked to any incoming calls, so only I’ll be able to get in touch with you.”
“I don’t see why, but okay. You have this phone?”
“In my bag. I’ll show you how it works after we eat.”
She nodded. “What else?”
“I have to ask personal questions. Intimate ones. I know you value your privacy,” he added when she sat upright and squared her shoulders. “But in order to find out who’s been bothering you, I need to know about you, your friends, your family. I need to look at everyone as a potential suspect. And I need to know about things in your life.”
“Like what?”
“For starters, your breakup with Chandler.”
Her sigh was long and deep. “You said you weren’t going to grill me on him.”
“I’m not, Kandy. I don’t care who you sleep with, or have slept with. The private details of your relationship are just that: private. But I need to know what happened to rule him in or out as a suspect.”
“It’s not Evan,” she said, hands flat on the table, staring at Josh.
“You can’t know for certain. He surprised you once already by showing up tonight. You admitted you’d underestimated him. Maybe you have again.”
She took another pull of water, and then frowned. “What do you want to know?”
“What caused the breakup?”
She stared at him for a moment, then lowered her eyes. “He was using me to try and promote his so-called production company. He called my sponsors and the network executives and tried to get appointments with them, using my name, so he could pitch a project he wanted developed for television.”
