by Cat Schield
“But—”
“Trust me.” His deep voice broke into her protest, his soothing cadence catching her off guard.
“I do.” That’s not what she’d meant to say.
But she knew it was true. They might have had completely different philosophies on how to accomplish something, but he had proven time and again he was as capable of getting things done as she. Deep down she knew he’d plan a fantastic menu and win the love of customers and critics alike.
That it would happen in the frantic last hours before the door opened was what made her crazy.
Famous dimples flashing, he countered, “No, you don’t. From the minute I showed up here I’ve rubbed you the wrong way.”
Harper stared at him in helpless fascination. This was the Ashton Croft she’d been dying to get to know. The man who charmed smiles from people who’d seen nothing but hardship and violence. The dashing adventurer who’d on occasion gamely hiked into dangerous surroundings to share a meal with locals and educate his viewers about what was unique to the area. It was always intriguing and often stuck with her long after the credits rolled.
“If you knew that, why didn’t you try rubbing me the right way?” Harper regretted the words the instant they left her lips. They sounded like flirtatious banter. “What I meant was...”
Ashton shook his head, stopping her flow of words.
* * *
Not once since they’d first met nine months ago had she given him any hint that her interest in him went beyond his skills in the kitchen. Plagued by unruly flashes of lust for the überprofessional businesswoman and not wanting anything to interfere with the negotiations for the Las Vegas restaurant, he’d ignored his disobedient hormones and kept things strictly business.
But as they neared the date for the restaurant opening, he found it harder and harder to stop seeing her as an attractive—if too serious—woman.
It made him crazy that he couldn’t accept that she wasn’t interested and move on. This was Vegas. There were thousands of women arriving every day looking to have a good time. Perfect for a frequent flier like him. He rarely stayed in the same location for more than a few days. The time he’d spent in Vegas these past few months was the most settled he’d been since leaving New York City ten years earlier.
A low chuckle vibrated his chest. “Please don’t try to explain it,” he said. “I think it’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“That’s not true.” But she went no further.
“I think it is.”
Ashton had watched her walking the line between frustration and diplomacy with finesse and grace these many months. He wasn’t completely oblivious to how hard he’d made her life.
At the beginning of the project he’d been excited to put his creative stamp on Las Vegas. He hadn’t understood until it was too late how difficult his ideas would be to communicate. He’d demanded changes that irritated the designers and caused forward progress to halt. Forced by his filming timeline to oversee the restaurant from thousands of miles away, he’d found few things that met with his approval. The layout of the kitchen wasn’t to his satisfaction. Numerous shipments of lighting and furniture samples didn’t meet his expectations.
Then there were the filming delays caused by the Indonesian weather. Days of rain threw off their schedule. The crew joked that their ratings would skyrocket if they captured him soaked through, his clothes plastered to his body, but no one wanted to venture out into the mud and damp.
“Why don’t I tell Cole he blew the interview and then fix something delicious. You can tell me what’s bothering you while we eat.”
“The lack of a head chef is what’s bothering me.”
“There has to be something else. You’re not usually so testy.”
“I’m not testy. I simply don’t have time to eat with you.”
“Five minutes ago you were ready to sit down and taste everything Cole had prepared.” He crossed his arms and regarded her solemnly. “So I have to ask, what is it about my food you don’t like?”
“It’s not your food. I ate at Turinos while you were executive chef and the food was brilliant. You don’t seriously think I’d invite you to open a restaurant here if I didn’t love your cooking.”
“Then is it me you don’t like?” He held up his hand to forestall her denial. “I’ve been told I can be difficult to work with.”
She took a deep breath and let it out, releasing some of the tension. “You’ve been murder to work with, but I think the restaurant’s going to be worth every name I’ve called you.”
Her bluntness made the corners of his mouth twitch. “You’ve called me names?”
“Never where anyone could hear me.”
“Of course.”
“Meaning?”
“Just that you’re too much of a lady to ever let loose.”
“And there’s something wrong with being a lady?”
In the back of his mind a rational voice warned that he was baiting her. At the beginning of their association he’d often lobbed provocative statements her way. But she’d been far too professional to react and eventually he’d stopped aggravating her. This conversation felt different. As if she’d let the mask slide and was giving him a taste of her true self.
“Only that you never seem to have any fun.”
She wasn’t the only one who’d done her homework. He knew about the contest she was waging against her half sisters to one day take over as CEO of the family business. She’d had a phenomenal amount of success in her career, but Harper wasn’t one to rest on her past achievements. In that way, they were alike. No one could put as much pressure on Harper as she put on herself.
“I have a great deal riding on the success of my hotel.” She wouldn’t stop until she had everything exactly the way she wanted it. “And you aren’t one to talk. You barely take any time off between filming The Culinary Wanderer, promoting the series and managing your other restaurants.”
“I won’t deny that I’m busy, but I also take time to enjoy what I’m doing.” He cocked his head. “Do you?”
“I enjoy my work. I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t.” But beneath her vehemence was a grain of doubt.
She’d tried to hide her weariness with a careful application of concealer and blush, but he’d watched her long hours bite deeper into her energy each time he came to check on the restaurant’s progress.
“But there must be something for you besides work,” he said. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t gotten around to yet?”
“You make it sound like I’m sacrificing everything for my career.”
In fact, he hadn’t been saying that at all, but that she chose to interpret his question this way told him more than she’d intended.
“Everyone has dreams of something carefree and fun they’d like to do someday.”
“I agree.”
“Tell me one of yours.”
“I don’t get the point.”
Was she stalling? Trying to come up with something safe? “Humor me. What’s the first thing that pops into your mind?”
With her brows drawn together in exasperation, she blurted out, “I’d like to ride a camel across the desert and sleep in a tent.”
Ashton wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by her outburst. “Seriously?” He laughed. “That’s not at all what I expected you to say. I thought you’d tell me you wanted to...” He trailed off. They’d worked together for nine months and he knew so little about her.
“Wanted to what?” she prompted, wary curiosity in her warm brown eyes.
“I’m not sure. You aren’t the sort of woman I imagine wanting to run off to Paris on a shopping spree or lounge on a yacht.” She was too driven by timetables to enjoy such frivolous pursuits. “M
aybe something more serious-minded. A visit to a museum, perhaps?”
His suggestion didn’t meet with her approval. “You know, I’m a little tired of everyone criticizing me for being too serious.”
Whoa, he’d definitely touched a nerve there. “Who is everyone?”
“My family. My classmates when I was in school. Friends. Life isn’t all about play, you know.” She glanced down at her smartphone and frowned.
“It’s also not all about work.”
Sharp irritation sliced through her voice. “Says the man who rarely does any.”
“Well, well, well.” He flashed her a big grin. “That’s some hellcat you keep bottled up.”
She stared at him in consternation before sputtering, “That’s ridiculous. There’s no hellcat here.”
“You didn’t see the bloodlust in your eyes just now.”
Her jaw worked as if she was grinding something particularly nasty between her teeth. “I’ll admit to being a little on edge. You are not the easiest man to work with.”
“Maybe not work with,” he agreed. “But when you’re ready to have some fun, give me a call.”
In the quiet of the restaurant, Harper stared at Ashton with raised brows and lips softly parted. His offer wasn’t sexual in nature, but when he spied the hope that flickered in her melted-chocolate eyes, his perception of her shifted dramatically.
“I don’t have time—”
“For fun.” He scrutinized her expression. “Yes, so you’ve said.”
As a teenager, he’d fallen in with some dangerous criminals. Learning to read micro expressions had helped him survive. That he’d not picked up on the passionate woman concealed beneath Harper’s professional exterior pointed out just how complacent he’d become.
Time to wake up and start paying attention.
She cleared her throat. “Getting back to Chef Cole...”
“I’ll hire him if you spend an evening with me.” This time he was deliberately hitting on her.
She set her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Five minutes ago you were ready to pass on him.”
“Five minutes ago I didn’t realize just how starved for adventure you were.”
“I’m very happy right where I am.”
“When the first thing on your bucket list is riding a camel in the desert and sleeping in a tent, forgive me if I don’t believe your life is as satisfying as you’d have people believe.”
“I don’t have a bucket list,” she retorted. “And if I did, that wouldn’t be the first thing on it. It was just something that popped into my head. I remember you doing that in an episode of The Culinary Wanderer.”
“You’re a fan?”
“Before I get into business with someone I do my research.”
Sensible. But he hoped that hadn’t been her only motivation. Swept by the urge to see her let her hair down, literally and figuratively, he decided to ignore her verbal cues and concentrate on what she was saying with her body.
“And your research involved watching my shows? I would have thought you’d be more interested in hard facts such as the financials of my four other restaurants and the uptick in advertising revenue my show brings to the network.”
“All those things paint a very positive picture of you. I also spoke with a number of your employees and several of the crew who worked with you on your shows. As I said, I do my research.”
Obviously she knew much more about him than he knew about her. The imbalance bothered him. “Then you know the sort of businessman I am, and when I say I’m willing to hire a chef you favor, it’s not done lightly.”
With her gaze firmly attached to his left shoulder, she murmured, “In exchange for a night with me.”
“I proposed an evening.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the conclusion she’d jumped to. “You have a naughty mind if you think I’d barter hiring Cole for sex.”
Hot color flared in her cheeks. “That’s not what I was thinking.”
“Oh, I think it was. I told you that hellcat was going to get you into trouble.”
“I misspoke.”
“I don’t think so.” Now that she was off balance, he decided to keep her that way. “I think it was a Freudian slip. You want me. You just can’t admit it.”
“What I want is for you to hire a chef and get him trained to your exacting standards so I don’t have to worry about what happens after you leave.”
She’d taken refuge in exasperation, but it wasn’t fooling him.
“My offer still stands. Give me one evening and I’ll hire Cole.”
“Why would you want to spend an evening with me?” She looked as frazzled as he’d ever seen her.
“I thought you’d be interested in tasting the dishes I’m considering for the restaurant.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And that’s all there is to it?”
“Of course.”
She regarded him in silence for several heartbeats before replying. “Hire Cole. You need someone accomplished to run your kitchen while you’re off playing celebrity.” With that, she pivoted on her conservative black pumps and strode across to his bag. Snagging the handle, she pulled it after her. “I’m taking this as collateral,” she called over her shoulder.
It was a silly gesture—taking his clothes hostage wouldn’t prevent him from getting on a plane—and so unlike Harper, the consummate professional. Ashton’s gaze followed her, appreciating the pronounced sway of her hips. Thinking she’d put one over on him had injected a trace of strut into her stride.
“I will hire him,” Ashton promised her. “And you will spend the evening with me.”
“Sampling your menu.” Her words floated back to him.
He’d been right about the hellcat lurking beneath her skin. It had been asleep far too long and he was the perfect guy to rouse it.
His final shot chased her out of the restaurant. “I’m going to make it a night you’ll never forget.”
Two
Smugness from her encounter with Ashton lasted about a second as she strode out of the restaurant and headed toward her office. What had she been thinking to walk off with his luggage? He must think she’d gone mad.
Well, hadn’t she?
She’d agreed to an evening with him. Harper had no doubt she’d signed on for more than a private tasting of his menu. Which meant she was in big trouble. Already her mouth watered at the prospect of being the beneficiary of his culinary prowess. As long as that was the only prowess he plied her with, she might survive the evening without making a fool of herself. If he decided to test her level of resistance to his manly charms she wasn’t going to maintain her professionalism very long.
Her skin burned as she thought of how he’d called her on her assumption that he wanted sex in exchange for hiring the chef she preferred. Not once had she suspected Ashton was the sort of man to make such a sordid offer. So why had she jumped to that conclusion? Even worse, why had she lobbed the accusation at him? Naturally, he’d presumed her misunderstanding represented her deepest desires.
And he was probably right. For the past nine months she’d been complaining that the real Ashton Croft wasn’t as wonderful as the one on television. But that wasn’t exactly true. His persona on TV was charismatic and amusing. He was the cool guy everyone wanted to hang out with. The flesh and blood Ashton Croft was no less appealing. It was just that the travel series didn’t fully convey the masculine energy of the man. The rawness of his sex appeal.
Most of the time she focused on how frustrating he was. She was terrified of being bamboozled by his dimples and rakish grin. If he had any idea how easily he could knock her socks off, he’d probably go after a few other items of clothing, as well.
Harper shook her head at the thought. She was not going to sleep with Ashton Croft.
It would be different if they’d met in some exotic locale; she could see herself being one of his random hook ups. The next morning, she would chalk up the evening as an adventure worth having. Hadn’t she spent tedious hours on the treadmill imagining all sorts of spicy scenarios where she bumped into Ashton at a vineyard in Tuscany or on a walk around Dubrovnik’s ancient city walls? There they would share a sunset and he’d persuade her to join him for dinner. On a private terrace overlooking the Adriatic Sea and surrounded by candles, he’d take her into his arms and...
The faint smell of cigarette smoke ripped Harper from her daydream.
Parking Ashton’s go bag just inside the door of her office, Harper surveyed her formerly pristine sanctuary. Her mother’s ostrich leather Burberry holdall sat on the sky-blue sofa, half the contents scattered around it. An empty pack of cigarettes lay crushed on the coffee table beside a crystal tumbler with a pale pink lipstick stain. The elegant lines of a cream trench coat were draped over Harper’s executive chair. Her mother had definitely moved in.
Penelope Fontaine stood by the window overlooking the Las Vegas strip, her right hand resting at her throat, as if protecting the string of large black pearls she wore. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the cigarette pinched between the fingers of her other hand. In a black-and-white Chanel dress, with her long blond hair pulled away from her face in a classic chignon, she looked elegant and untouchable.
The sight stirred up memories of the day her parents had sat her down and explained that they were splitting up. Her mother needed to move to Florida for her health. Harper would remain in New York City with her father. Which basically meant she’d be alone with the staff because Ross Fontaine had spent most of his time avoiding the company’s New York headquarters and his father’s expectations. With Fontaine Hotels and Resorts’ extensive holdings in the U.S. and abroad, Harper’s father could be as irresponsible as he wanted without Henry Fontaine being the wiser.
“Mother, I would appreciate it if you didn’t smoke in my office.” Harper advanced toward Penelope, ready to pluck the cigarette from her mother if she didn’t comply.
