by Cat Schield
“You know I will.”
That was the great thing about Dae. He had a limitless reserve of optimism. Even when his situation had been truly bad in Bali, he’d just grinned and said that things would get better. And they had because Ashton had traded cooking lessons for surfing lessons and discovered the kid had a natural aptitude and a fantastic palate.
“Shall we go check out your new apartment?” Ashton gestured toward the exit.
“Lead the way. How are things going with the new show?” Dae asked as Ashton got behind the wheel of the SUV he’d rented and started the engine.
“I’m not sure. They’re still demanding I give up The Culinary Wanderer.”
“You gonna?”
“The producers haven’t stopped pushing Africa for next year and you know how I feel about it.”
“Maybe you should forget about them. Do the show in New York.”
Sound advice. Vince had been urging him in the same direction. Even his own brain was telling him to dump the travel show and move on to bigger and better things. And with the Phillips producers digging in their heels about doing next year’s show in Africa, there didn’t seem to be any good reason to sign a new contract.
So why was he having trouble letting go?
“That’s probably what’s going to end up happening,” Ashton said. “I’ll know more next week when I go meet with them. They want me to make a pilot for some people to look at.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have a few ideas.”
None of which felt quite right. When they’d first approached him, Ashton had known exactly what he wanted to do. But as the negotiations lengthened, the more he learned about their concept for the show, the less confident he was that it was the sort of thing he wanted to do. And yet, the opportunity to take his career to the next level was a temptation he couldn’t reject out of hand.
Once he’d settled Dae in his new apartment, Ashton returned to the hotel. Dae’s questions had prodded him into action.
He was beginning to wonder if they would ever see eye to eye on this project and what would happen if they didn’t. After his last round of recipes had been rejected by the producers as too exotic, Ashton was finding it hard to come up with anything that excited him. Was it supposed to be this hard? Ashton didn’t remember ever having to struggle like this to make anything happen in his career. Sure, he’d worked hard. Pushed himself to the limits of his energy and beyond. During his years filming The Culinary Wanderer, he’d been chilled to the bone, taken shelter from a tropical storm in a shallow cave, broken his arm, sprained his knee and been grazed by a ricocheting bullet. In the days before he’d landed his first television show, he’d worked for arrogant chefs who’d made his life hell but hadn’t cared because it had been all about the food.
This was different. The executives of Lifestyle Network weren’t thinking about good food or interesting stories—they wanted big numbers, and to them that meant doing something everyone could relate to. Ashton didn’t think that would ever play to his strengths. Unless Vince was right and they were just hiring him to up their beefcake quotient.
The thought both amused and horrified him.
Ashton pushed aside the notes he’d been scribbling for the show and went to work on the more immediate problem. Figuring out Batouri’s menu. Harper would expect culinary perfection and a cohesive plan for how that would happen. Impressing her should have been secondary in his thoughts. But he liked what happened when she dropped her guard and that only happened when he surprised her.
Unfortunately, an hour after sitting down with his thick notebook filled with recipes he’d gathered over the years, inspiration still eluded him. He was on the verge of picking ten at random when he heard the clink of china and looked up as Harper slid into the booth opposite him.
* * *
When Harper first entered the restaurant and spotted Ashton at the corner table he seemed to prefer, she realized they were both stuck in a rut. Him, sitting in the dim restaurant brooding. Her, tracking him down like some infatuated groupie. Which she was. But her reasons for coming here were a little more complicated than simple hero worship.
Last night, she’d left the restaurant feeling calmer and more grounded than when she’d arrived. Perhaps he wasn’t the most reliable or altruistic man she’d ever met, but his brand of roguish charm had provided a much-needed distraction.
Today he was bent over a notebook, a cup of coffee at his elbow. It was the first time she’d ever seen him this utterly focused on his work. Usually he was a whirling dervish of energy. Flamboyant and passionate while interviewing chefs, directing staff in the bright stainless-steel kitchen or conveying his vision for the decor, gesturing broadly to emphasize whatever point he was trying to make.
As she studied him, some of her anxiety faded. Even sitting still, his body hummed with energy. Yet last night, he’d been an oasis of peace in her otherwise chaotic day. The experience had surprised her. She’d stayed to chat with him, looking to be distracted for a little while. With Scarlett’s teasing still occupying her thoughts, was it any wonder she’d been contemplating what being with him would be like?
She’d assumed all he could offer her would be mind-blowing sex with no strings. Her perception had changed when he shared that he’d left home at fifteen and never looked back. She was certain this was something few knew. Why had he given her a glimpse of the man behind the celebrity? He was more complicated than she’d imagined and that spurred her fascination with him to new heights. It also made tumbling into bed with him a lot riskier than she’d first thought.
Her head told her to turn around and walk out the door. Life had become complicated enough without falling for Ashton Croft. But curiosity drove her forward. She simply had to know what he was working on.
Grabbing a cup from the wait station as she passed, she slid into the booth beside Ashton. He’d been lost in thought, but looked up as the cushion shifted with her weight. Without questioning her reason for joining him, he took her cup and filled it with coffee from the stainless-steel airpot.
“Checking up on me?”
“Do I need to?”
“Probably.” He flipped through the notebook, displaying pages filled with his bold handwriting. “I’m going a dozen different directions.”
“I never expected you to second-guess yourself.” She pulled his notebook toward her. “I always picture you jumping off the cliff without checking to see if there’s a safer way down.”
“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me a little.”
His claim made her grin. “Then my work here is done.”
“Not even close. You need to help me finalize my menu.”
“Me?”
“For someone who doesn’t eat, you have one of the best palates I’ve ever known.”
“I eat,” she protested. “I just make sure it’s healthy. And I exercise a lot. Running helps me think.”
“If you ask me, you need to spend less time in your head.”
“I don’t remember asking you.” Her mild tone kept harshness out of the retort. “But that hasn’t stopped you from offering your opinion in the past.”
“Stop trying to provoke me and pick a dish that appeals to you.”
Resisting a grin, Harper focused on Ashton’s notebook. She’d never had a relationship where she felt comfortable being playful. In New York the men she dated were serious types whose pedigrees would satisfy her mother. Ashton didn’t fit that mold. And her grandfather’s opinion of him was what mattered to her. Henry Fontaine appreciated Ashton’s rise from humble beginnings. Her grandfather had built his hotel empire through hard work, too.
After a while, Harper found herself unable to choose a single dish from the recipes he’d jotted down, which only caused her admiration for Ashton to grow. Each dish sounded better
than the last. The man was nothing short of brilliant. She saw why he was having trouble settling on his menu. He had enough here for ten restaurants.
“Any one of these would be perfect. It’s too bad you can’t make them all.” She slid the notebook back toward him. “You should do a cookbook. One of the things your television show didn’t do was spotlight your talent.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “I’ve missed cooking. It’s part of why I’m looking at doing a kitchen-based show for Lifestyle Network.”
Harper sighed. Because his other restaurants were critically well received and extremely profitable, she hadn’t been able to understand his lack of focus when it came to Batouri. Now she was beginning to realize it was a timing issue. He’d put his television career ahead of the restaurant at every turn. And now he was entertaining the idea of a new project. No wonder he was finding it too difficult to settle down and focus on the mundane details required to make the restaurant successful.
“We’ve come too far to change things now,” Harper began, determined to voice her concerns. “But I have to ask if you’re truly committed to making Batouri successful.”
“Of course.”
When she’d first approached him about the restaurant, she’d hoped they’d form a partnership. Blinded by her admiration for his talent, she hadn’t realized that Ashton liked to fly solo.
“It just seems as if your attention isn’t one hundred percent focused on this project.”
“I’m in negotiations for the next season of my show, but most of that is being handled by my manager. I’m committed to getting the restaurant up and running.”
She hoped that was true, but what was going to happen when this new show took off? He already had four other restaurants and The Culinary Wanderer. Now a new show?
“Will you have time to do both shows plus manage all your restaurants?”
“I’m not sure I’m going to be doing The Culinary Wanderer much longer.”
Disappointment raced through her. “You can’t stop.” What could possibly provide him the same thrill as filming in a country where travel was risky due to political upheaval or in remote locations that few outsiders bothered to visit? Playing it safe wasn’t Ashton’s first priority. “That show is wonderful.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he told her. “But it’s a sticking point in the negotiations for the new show. They want me to be exclusive to the Lifestyle Network.”
“Why exclusive?”
“They’re planning on promoting the hell out of the new show and the exposure will lead to bigger things.”
“And that’s what’s important to you?” Part of her recognized it was none of her business, but she couldn’t get enough of his travel show. She’d seen every episode at least three times. “I thought you loved traveling to out-of-the-way places and meeting new people.”
“I do.” He rubbed his temple with his palm. “It’s just that I’m looking for new challenges and this new show fits the bill.”
“You’re sure you can’t do both?”
“You were just asking me if I was going to have time.”
“That was before I realized you were going to stop doing The Culinary Wanderer.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
She wished she’d kept quiet. Badgering him with her concerns wasn’t constructive. He wasn’t a man she could control. In the past nine months she’d learned that lesson all too well.
“It’s none of my business. I just love your show.”
“Thank you.” Ashton put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. “I’ll make several dishes I’m on the fence about including on the menu. You offer your opinion and we’ll get everything finalized tonight.”
Harper knew it was an unnecessary exercise. No matter what she suggested, he would select his menu based on his preferences. But she appreciated his effort to put her mind at ease.
“Sure.”
“Come back at eight?”
She slid from the booth. “See you then.”
As she exited the restaurant she glanced at her phone. She’d muted it before starting her conversation with Ashton, and now saw that she’d missed six calls and ten emails. Heaving a sigh, she lengthened her stride and headed for her office.
The interlude with Ashton had increased her anxiety rather than calmed her. She caught herself scowling as she rode the elevator to the administrative floor. It was just a television show, she reminded herself, unsure if that was all there was to it. For a half an hour once a week she got to escape the constant pressure of the hotel and travel with Ashton as he learned about elephant conservation in Sri Lanka or braved the Fairy Meadow Road in Pakistan.
The vicarious thrill was a secret she preferred to keep hidden because it didn’t sync with the levelheaded, hardworking hotel executive she was 99 percent of the time. Her compulsive desire to protect the secret left her questioning many of the choices she’d made. And she knew nothing good would come of doubting herself.
* * *
Ashton crossed his arms over his chest, the white executive chef’s jacket pulling tight against his shoulders. He had outdone himself. After Harper had left him that afternoon, he’d benefited from a creative surge that resulted in eight brand new entrées. Each one was something he thought she’d enjoy based on what had caught her attention in his notebook of recipes.
He’d gladly let her preferences define his menu. Batouri wouldn’t exist without her. In the past twenty-four hours, as he’d immersed himself in planning, he’d discovered a sense of purpose he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t in his nature to stop and reflect. Like a shark, he needed to keep swimming in order to stay alive. Or was it to feel alive?
At precisely eight o’clock, Harper entered the kitchen. His pulse jabbed against his throat as he surveyed her. She’d changed into a sleeveless wrap dress made with layers of ethereal blue-gray material.
“What you’re wearing reminds me of a fog bank I saw on a motorcycle ride in the highlands of Vietnam last year.” He paused, unaccustomed to sharing his thoughts when he wasn’t in front of the camera.
She tilted her head, signaling interest. “Tell me about it.”
“We had a couple days off from filming so I rented a bike and headed up into the mountains. As you can imagine, the road was narrow and poorly maintained. I’d meet cars and trucks careening around hairpin turns with no guardrails between the road and the sheer cliffs.”
“Sounds terrifying.”
“It should have been. I’d pass villages where kids ran out into the road. I was chased by dogs.” Amid all the craziness he’d felt both exhilarated and completely at peace. “At one point I glanced over my shoulder and down into the valley. A fog hung over the lush green far below.”
In those hours he’d not known where he was headed and hadn’t cared. The journey was everything. His time in Harper’s company was the same. He wanted to live in the present, but she was a woman who needed to know what lay ahead. How far could their relationship develop before she grew frustrated with his act-first, worry-later attitude?
“You got all that from my dress?” Her brow creased. “You should write those experiences down.”
“To what end?” It was one thing to put on a show for his television series; it was another to reflect on his personal experiences. “It was just a motorcycle trip.”
“One that few people will have the opportunity to experience. You have a knack for drawing in your audience. It will make your cookbook that much more appealing.”
“I’m not doing a cookbook.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“Because it would require you to sit still too long. Why don’t you collaborate with someone?”
“How about I collaborate with you?”
“Me?”
“Why not? It was your idea.”
“I don’t know the first thing about creating a cookbook.”
“But you could figure out what needed to be done.”
“I’m too busy.” But after a pause, she added, “We can talk about this after the restaurant opens.”
He could see that she was on her way to becoming his partner. Why he’d proposed the idea to her was immediately obvious. She possessed the organization and dedication to detail he lacked. Plus, he trusted her opinion. He could count on one hand how many people fell into that category.
“Fair enough,” he said, snagging her fingers with his and drawing her deeper into the kitchen. “Let’s get down to why you’re here.”
“Your menu.”
“I thought we’d start with a sea bass.” He went on to explain the other seven dishes he planned to make for her.
“They all sound wonderful. Good thing I brought my appetite.”
He’d prepared his sauces and assembled his ingredients through the afternoon so now it was just a matter of cooking the proteins and assembling the plates. Harper’s gaze followed his every move as he shifted between burners and oven. He worked in silence, concentrating on his process, but occasionally felt the pull of her rapt attention.
“Would you mind taking these out to the dining room?” He indicated two of the plates. “I’ll follow with the others in a minute.”
By the time he had the last of his dishes plated, she’d returned and grabbed three more entrées, leaving the rest for him. He left the kitchen and crossed the dining room to the same table they’d sat at earlier in the day. It was his favorite in the whole restaurant. Quiet, out of the way, but with the vantage of being able to see the whole room.
Candles in crystal holders sent light flickering through the medium-bodied, golden 2006 Chenin Blanc he’d chosen to pair with the sea bass and the truffle risotto. Harper’s eyes were bright with wonder as she surveyed their laden table and the assortment of wines he’d opened.
“I’m not sure how we’re supposed to eat and drink all this,” she said, sounding overwhelmed but delighted.
