by Cat Schield
That she spotted him so fast made him smile. She felt it, too. This irresistible pull between them. How had he ignored it until now? Oh, she was good at hiding it. And he hadn’t exactly given her any reason to feel more than irritation toward him. He wanted to strip her layers of professionalism away and get to the firecracker below. How hot would the fire burn? And for how long? With fireworks, the thrill was in those seconds of exhilarating danger. The breathtaking waterfall of light. The big boom that lingered in the chest even after the sound faded.
Still, it might be worth sacrificing her goodwill to experience the rush.
“What brings you here?” He sipped the Scotch, felt the burn in his chest.
“I’m returning your go bag.”
He’d been so focused on Harper he hadn’t even noticed that she was towing his bag along.
You’re slipping.
In the places he traveled, being distracted for even a moment could be trouble.
“The deal isn’t done with Cole yet,” he reminded her. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it hostage for a bit longer?” Maybe take it back to her suite. “I could pick it up later.”
She parked the bag beside the booth. “I’ve lost my taste for blackmail in the past few hours.” Her gaze flicked to the glass and then to his mouth.
His heart tapped unsteadily against his ribs. “Anything you’d like to talk about?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Was it the alcohol that was making him light-headed or the way she was staring at him as if she wondered what he’d taste like? She reached for his glass, and he figured she was going to chastise him for drinking up the restaurant’s stock. Instead, she lifted the tumbler to her lips and tossed back the last ounce of Scotch. He expected her to come up coughing as the strong liquor hit her throat. Instead, she licked her lips and smiled, her eyes thoughtful and distant.
“My grandfather loves Scotch.” She set the glass back on the table and turned to go.
“I’m a very good listener.” Ashton claimed few virtues. Giving a speaker his full attention was one. But would she trust him to share what was going on?
Harper hesitated before facing him once more. “My mother came into town unexpectedly.”
Ashton relaxed, unaware until his lungs started working again that he’d been holding his breath. “I noticed the air between you two wasn’t particularly cheerful.”
“Do you have a good relationship with your parents?”
He shook his head, the twinge in his gut barely noticeable. “I left home at fifteen and never looked back.”
“I’ve read everything ever written about you and I’m pretty sure that wasn’t part of your history.”
He knew better than to be flattered. “It’s a story for another day. We’re talking about you.”
Her gaze was steady on his for several seconds. “My mother moved to Florida when I was eleven, leaving me in New York with my father who was rarely home. At the time I hated her for not being around, but as I grew up, I realized that being away from her criticism gave me the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them without being afraid she’d make me feel worse.”
“I’m not sure many people would be as unaffected by their mother’s abandonment as you are.”
Harper gave him a wry smile. “Don’t for a second think I’m unaffected. I’m just realistic. My mother didn’t abandon me. She fled a situation she’d didn’t like. Penelope isn’t someone who stands and fights when she can run away and go shopping.” Harper shrugged, but she was far from sounding nonchalant. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little more bothered than I let on.”
“It’s nice to hear you admit that.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you and I haven’t been able to figure out why.”
“You like me?” Her breathless laugh wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.
“Very much,” he admitted, more than a little disturbed by the way her delighted smile transformed her into a stunning, vivacious woman.
“After the way I’ve hounded you these past nine months?” She shook her head, and the career woman took over once more. “I think you’re just trying to charm me. If this is your way of changing my mind about Chef Cole, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“So suspicious,” he taunted. “That’s not it at all. I’m starting to come around to your opinion about Cole. As for the way you’ve acted these past few months, I get it. This hotel is important to you. Batouri will make a statement and depending on how it does, that statement will be good or bad. I’d be a hypocrite to criticize you for doing whatever it took to make sure Batouri is a complete success.”
“That’s awfully accommodating of you.”
Rub me the right way and I can be very accommodating.
But that’s the sort of comeback she’d expect. “Does your mother visit you in Las Vegas often?”
“Never. She hates it here.”
“Must be important for her to show up then.”
“She needs my help. Which is different. She usually takes her problems to my grandfather because he’s a man and taking care of women is what men do.”
“That sounds very traditional minded.”
“It goes against everything I believe in. I’m a modern career girl.” A trace of self-mockery put a lilt in her voice. “She disapproves of my choices. Thinks I should have married a tycoon like my grandfather and dazzled New York society on his arm.”
“That seems like a waste of your intelligence and drive.”
“It’s hard being a disappointment.”
“I agree.” This they shared. No matter how much either of them accomplished, they weren’t living up to their parents’ perception of success. “It spoils what you’ve achieved, doesn’t it.”
She looked surprised by his insight. Her gaze became keen as it rested on him. “It does.”
He lifted the bottle of Scotch. “Do you want another drink?” He was dying to watch her swallow another glass. And then lick her lips again. There’d been something so decadent, so wickedly un-Harper-like about the deed.
“I should get back to work.”
“See you tomorrow night.”
“Text me when Chef Cole agrees to come work for you.” She started to leave, but then paused. “Thanks for listening.”
He suspected voicing her gratitude hadn’t come easily. “Anytime. You know where to find me.”
Shaking her head in exasperation, Harper spun away and headed toward the exit, her stride purposeful. Whatever sharing she’d done, it was now over. Ashton was left with an increased appreciation for Harper Fontaine.
These past few months he’d assumed her arrogance was a natural byproduct of her family’s money and connections, that life was a breeze for her. He’d been as guilty of stereotyping as his critics often were. To be fair, her confidence had always been dent-free.
Now he realized there were a few pinholes in her armor.
And they had more in common than he’d have ever guessed.
* * *
Harper pushed lettuce around on her plate, her appetite deadened by the smell of cigarette smoke. The suite would have to be deep cleaned before any guests could be booked in here. Over dinner, her mother had refused to speak about the blackmail. Harper’s impatience was growing with each minute that ticked by. She set down her fork. It clattered on the china. The discordant sound startled her mother.
“We have to talk about why you’re here.”
“I don’t want to.”
“If you expect me to give you three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I’m going to need to know why you’re being blackmailed.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Did you kill someone?”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“That’s a relief,” Harper muttered. She left the table, needing activity to think. As she crossed the room, a dozen ideas sprang into her mind. She picked the most likely one and turned to confront her mother. “You stole something.”
“I’m not a thief.” Penelope stubbed out her cigarette and reached for another, but Harper beat her to the package.
“No more smoking.”
Her mother glared at her. “You are trying to provoke me into telling you something you’re not ready to hear.”
Why not? Harper mused. Her mother had been aggravating her for years. “I’m trying to figure out what could be worth three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“Actually it’s a million.”
“A mill...?” Harper crushed the cigarette package in her fist.
Penelope pouted. “It’s a small price to pay compared to the consequences.”
“What sort of consequences?”
“Life or death.”
Now her mother had gone too far. “This is serious, Mother. You need to talk to Grandfather.”
“I can’t. He’d demand to know why I was being blackmailed. I can’t tell him.”
“Give me some idea what the blackmail is or I’m going to call him.”
Penelope shot her daughter a wounded look. “There are some indelicate photos that if they got out would be very damaging.”
Unsure how her conservative mother defined indelicate, Harper sought clarification. “Surely it can’t be that bad.”
“It could ruin us.”
Us?
For a second Harper wasn’t sure whom her mother was referring to. Penelope certainly hadn’t worried about her daughter’s welfare when she ran off to Florida.
“Who is ‘us’?” she questioned, her voice scarcely audible.
Her mother looked startled. “Why you and I, of course.”
Harper knelt beside Penelope. Taking her mother’s hands, surprised by the icy chill in her fingers, Harper squeezed just hard enough to capture Penelope’s full attention.
“If this involves me, you need to tell me what is going on.”
“I had an affair,” Penelope whispered, unable to maintain eye contact with Harper. Her mother was something other than mortified. She was afraid. “If that came out—” She broke off and shook her head.
Was something besides her mother’s reputation at stake? “Who was it?”
“I met him at an exhibition of wildlife photography in London. His work was being honored.” She released an impassioned sigh. “His photos were amazing.”
“You had an affair with a photographer.” Harper didn’t know what to think. She had little trouble imaging her mother dallying with a duke or an Italian prince while in London, but a wildlife photographer?
“He was exciting and handsome and I couldn’t get enough of his stories of Africa. He actually lived in the bush for ten months to get one particular shot of a group of lions.”
Harper couldn’t stop herself from drawing a parallel between her fascination with Ashton’s adventures and her mother having an affair with someone who lived dangerously. Harper winced away from the comparison, dismayed to think she was more like her mother than she’d ever imagined.
“When did you have this affair?”
“Your father was out of the country a great deal.”
“Before you split.” Is that what had caused her mother to go to Florida? Had she been banished for being unfaithful? That seemed awfully unfair considering her husband’s rampant infidelities. “Did Daddy know?”
“Not at first. I was very discreet. But in the end he figured it out.”
“Why did you and father stay married when that’s obviously not what either of you wanted?”
“What makes you think either of us wanted a divorce? Your father married me to cement a deal for Henry to buy my family’s hotels. It was never a love match. I received security in exchange for ignoring all his affairs. It wasn’t as if he intended to marry any of those women he slept with.” Penelope sipped at her wine. “As for my brief indiscretion—” her mother offered an indifferent shrug “—I was out of the country and I knew I’d never see him again.”
Yet thirty years later keeping the affair from being revealed was worth a million dollars. Was it just her mother’s overdeveloped sense of propriety at work or was there something more going on?
“How brief an indiscretion was it?” Curiosity overpowered Harper as she tried to imagine her mother as young, impulsive and happy. All three were a stretch.
Penelope shot her a repressive frown. “What does it matter?”
How could her mother not understand how fascinating Harper found all this? Harper’s whole life she’d had this image of her mother as the victim of Ross Fontaine’s adulterous wandering. Suffering because her pride or a sense of honor kept her from divorcing the man who made her miserable.
“I’m just having a hard time picturing you...” Harper couldn’t think of a way to say what was on her mind without it sounding like an insult.
“Engaging in a torrid affair?” Penelope spat out the words as if they tasted bad.
“I was going to say happy.”
The diamond on Penelope’s left hand sent out spikes of color as she waved away Harper’s explanation. “Happy is overrated.”
Was it? Harper considered her own life. Was she happy? Content maybe. Unless she compared herself to Violet and Scarlett and then she looked positively miserable. Being in love had certainly given her sisters a glow.
But it wasn’t just being in love, for often love didn’t last in a relationship. It was the fact that they’d found the other half of themselves. It wasn’t something Harper had imagined for herself. Her ideal life involved a large executive office in Fontaine’s New York City headquarters, rising profits, a cover article in Forbes. She didn’t think in terms of a private life. She couldn’t imagine having the energy to navigate the unpredictable waters of a serious relationship.
Once again her thoughts drifted to Ashton Croft and the awareness that spiked through her every time they occupied the same room. Regret rubbed at her. As much as he irritated her as a businessman, she was wildly attracted to the adventurous chef. If her responsibilities didn’t weigh her down, she wouldn’t hesitate to take those dimples of his for a spin.
“I don’t see anything about this situation worth smiling over,” Harper’s mother stated, her voice sharp and impatient.
Harper pushed Ashton out of her mind and resumed her mask of professionalism. “You’re right. There isn’t.”
“How soon can I get the money?”
“First thing tomorrow. What are we supposed to do? Gather the cash in a briefcase and drop it off at the bus station?”
Harper was struck with untimely amusement by the idea of her mother setting one Manolo-clad toe in such a place. But the urge to laugh vanished abruptly as she recalled Ashton’s assessing gaze earlier. In all likelihood he had the same opinion about her. Worse, he’d be right. She’d never been to a bus station or ridden a bus. She’d spent her whole childhood in New York City and had only used the subway once.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother said. “The money is to be wired. I’ve been given an account.”
“That’s safer.” And she’d bet Scarlett’s fiancé had a team of computer experts that could track the money to its final destination. “Give me the account number and I’ll take care of everything.”
Four
“Wow, boss.” Dae’s white grin split his tanned face as he toured Batouri’s kitchen. “Nice place you got here.”
The former Bali surfing instructor gazed around in admiration, taking in the pristine appliances and immaculate counters. Ashton had picked Dae up at the airport half an hour earlier and had intended to take him straight to the apa
rtment he’d rented, but Dae had wanted to see the kitchen first. Ashton understood. He’d been discussing the project with the young Balinese man for the past four months. Naturally, he was curious.
“Glad you like it. You sure this is where you want to be? You have no idea what Chef Cole is going to be like to work with.” Ashton had smoothed things over with the Chicago chef and persuaded him to accept the job at Batouri.
“Can’t be worse than you.”
Ashton ignored the taunt. “He’ll probably start you at the bottom. I’m not sure that’s the best use of your talents. I could find you something in one of my New York or London restaurants.”
Dae shook his head. “I like Vegas. It’s happening.”
After marking the first twenty-five years of his life by island time, Dae was looking for a little excitement. Ashton understood. Hadn’t he gotten out of Africa at twenty for the exact same reason?
“Just don’t lose your shirt gambling.”
“No worries.” Dae tugged at the tails of his bright tropical shirt. “No one would give me a nickel for this thing.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ashton began, before seeing that his protégé was pulling his leg. “That dumb island boy stuff isn’t going to get you too far.”
Dae winked. “It got me here and that’s pretty far.”
With a rueful grin, Ashton stopped playing wise old guy. The role didn’t suit him. Usually he was the one on the receiving end of advice, not the other way around. It was just that most of the time in Dae’s company, the ten-year age difference seemed more like twenty.
Ever since he’d brought the young Indonesian kid under his wing, Ashton had felt responsible for him. Owner of four restaurants with over a hundred staff, he had a lot of people depending on him. But that was business. With Dae it was personal.
A chance to pay forward against a debt he could never repay.
“I found you a place to stay not far from here. It’s on the bus line.”
“You know I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“Someone helped me out once. It changed my life.” Saved it was more like it. And Dae was far more deserving of help than Ashton had ever been. “The best way to repay me is to succeed.”
