Love Around the Corner
Page 18
“This is going to be really hard. And I haven’t even gotten to the entrees yet.”
Tara leaned in, voice lowered conspiratorially. “Just wait until dessert.”
* * *
Hours later, she finally left Elin Lang’s beautiful offices, her stomach full and her head buzzing with everything she’d seen and tasted. She couldn’t wait to tell Brendan all about it. Her phone rang as she waited for the crosstown bus, and she thought she’d get her chance now, while it was all still fresh in her head, but it wasn’t him.
“Hey, Kendra.”
“Tell me you can do Mrs. Simonsen’s party. The woman is calling me twice a day.”
“Ugh, Kendra, why does she even want me? I’m a total fraud.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I just came from this place I booked for Dan and Mariel’s wedding—”
“I can’t believe you can’t sneak me on to that guest list, girl. Do you have any idea who Dan Drake is friends with?”
“Sorry. When Mariel Kemper writes a Pulitzer Prize winning exposé about your mother’s death, I’m sure she’ll invite you. Anyway, you would not believe this caterer. This isn’t food, it’s art. Every little hors d’oeuvre’s so pretty you don’t even want to touch it, never mind eat it. But then when you do eat it...like, every flavor is perfectly balanced. And the entrees!”
“It’s a wedding dinner,” Kendra said flatly. “We’ve been to enough of them. ‘Do you want the chicken or the beef?’ and then it doesn’t matter which one you picked, because they taste the same.”
“Uh-uh. Not this chicken or beef. Chicken with tender porcini mushrooms and this beurre blanc that made me want to weep. And the beef! A bordelaise like I’ve never tasted in my life, with this fine dusting of horseradish shavings...just enough to add the perfect bite, but not enough to overpower.”
“Okay,” Kendra cut her off. “In addition to rubbing elbows with freaking Oprah, or whatever, you’re also going to get to eat the most amazing food that’s ever been cooked. Quit rubbing it in and tell me you’ll cook for Mrs. Simonsen.”
Gemma let out a sigh, certain that anything she produced would pale in comparison to what she’d just experienced.
“She upped her offer, by the way.” Kendra named the new per-plate figure.
Well. That decided it. Whether she was up to scratch or not, Mrs. Simonsen was willing to pay her handsomely to cook, and Gemma desperately needed the money.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Good. Now we should talk about Mrs. Baxter—”
“Kendra!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“He won’t budge?”
Brendan listened to the answer he knew was coming while he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Screw this day.
His lawyer said a few more things that amounted to “you’re fucked, change your plans” before he ended the call. Brendan sat back with a weary sigh.
Flory, his administrative assistant, gave him a sympathetic smile. “No go?”
“Not a chance. Not that I thought there was one.”
Flory pushed back from her desk. “I’m meeting my boyfriend for lunch. Want me to bring you something back?”
“Nah, I’ll order in. Thanks, though. Enjoy it. Tell Matteo I said hello.”
As Flory was shrugging into her jacket and gathering up her bag, the buzzer for the door downstairs rang. “I’ll let them in on my way out. Hang in there, boss man.”
Well, sitting there fuming wasn’t going to fix anything, and apparently he had a lunch meeting he’d forgotten about because someone was on the way upstairs to his tiny office. Was it the plumbing fixtures guy? Was that today or tomorrow? Brendan pushed back from his desk, ran his hands through his hair quickly, and stood to greet whoever he was supposed to be meeting with.
A frisson of electricity shot through his body as Gemma came through the door.
Her smile was uncertain. “The woman downstairs told me to just come up?”
“Flory. She’s my assistant. What brings you here?”
“You said you had an office in the neighborhood and I was curious. Have you eaten lunch yet? I brought food.”
His heart swelled to a ridiculous degree. “No, I haven’t.” Laying his hand against the back of her neck, he pulled her face to his and pressed a brief, hard kiss to her lips. “You’re a goddess. Here, let me make space.” He lifted a stack of tile catalogs off the corner of his desk and pulled the spare chair up.
“It’s smaller than I expected,” she said, looking around the office. “And a lot less fancy.”
It was two cramped rooms, up a flight of narrow, dark stairs, over a falafel place. Small and not fancy was putting it mildly. “Yep, it is. But it gets the job done and keeps expenses low.”
“At least you’re upstairs from King Falafel.”
“Is it good? I haven’t tried it yet.”
“Best falafel in Brooklyn. I’ve been trying to get Amen to give me the recipe for his tahini sauce for years, but he guards it with his life.” Gemma unpacked her bag, opening a plastic container of pasta and sauce and handing it across to him with a fork. “This isn’t much. Nowhere as good as a falafel from Amen. Just a bolognese and pasta.”
“Never ever describe your cooking as nothing much,” he said around a mouthful. “This is delicious.”
“Flory said you’d just gotten some bad news. What’s up?”
“Flory is a blabbermouth. It’s just a rough morning.” Then he stopped, squeezing his eyes closed. He was so used to shouldering the hard stuff on his own that keeping it to himself was automatic. But he and Gemma wouldn’t be here, edging tentatively into a relationship, if he hadn’t finally told her the truth about what he was dealing with. Bearing his difficulties in silence wasn’t going to help this thing to grow. And he really wanted it to grow.
“I found something out yesterday. Something pretty shitty that has to do with today’s bad news.”
“What was it? The thing you found out yesterday?”
“Fourteen years ago, when Jimmy swept in to save the day?”
Gemma let out a low growl of annoyance. “Seems to me like you were the one to do all the saving.”
“Yeah. Well in addition to not really helping, he seems to have stolen Mom’s house.”
Gemma dropped her fork into her pasta. “What?”
He explained, as briefly and dispassionately as possible, what he’d discovered and how his mother had reacted.
“Brendan.” She huffed. “I can’t believe this. That absolute bastard. Isn’t there something you can do legally?”
“Mom signed willingly.”
“But she had no idea what she was signing!”
“And how do I prove that? That would require her admitting her brother swindled her, and she’ll never do that.”
“I can’t believe you’re so calm about this. If it were me, I’d be on a plane to Chicago right now to go take out Jimmy’s kneecaps with a baseball bat.”
“Believe me, the impulse is there. But it wouldn’t solve anything, and we’re not going to perish without the house. I can manage Mom on my own.”
“But you shouldn’t have to. You’ve been doing that all your life.”
“And I’ll keep doing it, Gem.” She needed to understand this about him and his life. His mother was a responsibility he would always have, fair or not. That was just how it was.
Her jaw worked as she stared at him. The Gemma he knew in high school would have kept fighting, certain she could win. Now, even though the injustice of it was still eating at her, she held her tongue, although he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. “Remember in high school, when you told me that it was okay to feel however I felt?” she finally said.
“Yeah?”
“You told me that because you could tell I’
d been holding it all in...all those messy feelings you get in grief that aren’t sadness. The anger, the selfishness. You told me it was okay to feel that way, that it didn’t make me a bad person or mean that I missed my mother any less.”
“I remember.” He remembered listening patiently the first time Gemma let her anger out, let herself rage at the unfairness of it all, let herself bitterly recount all she’d personally lost, the petty shit you were never supposed to acknowledge out loud. And then he remembered holding her in his arms when all that anger finally morphed into heart-wrenching sobs.
“You’re allowed to be angry, too.”
“I know that.”
“I’m not always sure you do. You just keep swallowing it down so you can be strong and do the right thing.”
“Well, somebody has to—”
“Yeah, I know. I know that better than anyone. I’m just saying...” She looked down. “I’m giving you permission to get mad with me. The same way you gave me permission when I needed it.”
He felt an almost unbearable pang of tenderness for her. That had not been easy for her to say. She’d opened herself up to him, and Gemma Romano had never liked being vulnerable. Doing it now, after all that had passed between them, had to have cost her a lot.
“Come here.” Leaning forward, he slid his hand around the back of her neck and drew her forward, kissing her. “Thank you.”
“So what was today’s bad news?”
“I got the final no on the property next to the DiPaolas. I was attempting to reason with them and convince them to sell to me. It didn’t work. Actually, let’s cut to the chase. ‘Someone’ is Jimmy Walsh.”
“Your uncle bought the building next to the DiPaolas? Why?”
“To fuck with me, that’s why. He doesn’t have a single holding in this market. He can’t do a goddamned thing with a lot that small and he knows it.”
“You really think he would be that petty?”
“I know he would. He fucking hates to lose. It’s all about power with him. He steals Mom’s house just because he can, and then spends more than it’s worth buying a commercial property he can’t use just to keep me from making a deal. That night you saw me in front of DiPaola’s? I’d been on the phone with him listening to him gloat.”
“What an asshole.”
“I agree completely. But in this game, he’s Goliath and I’m David. All I can do is work around him until he gets bored and goes to ruin someone else’s life.”
“Could he really ruin your life?”
“Nah. He can be a total pain in my ass, but he can’t ruin me, and that’s what’s pissing him off. He can’t control me anymore and he knows it.” Saying it out loud was calming. Jimmy had no power over him. He knew that, but giving voice to it made it feel real in a different way.
“He’s a monster,” Gemma said, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “I’m sorry.”
He felt better, he realized, having unburdened himself that way. He’d never done it before, always feeling he had to handle it all alone. But he wasn’t asking Gemma to handle anything for him, he was just telling her what was on his mind. And she was there for him, supporting him, on his side in a way no one had ever been before. That felt...well, the sensation was so new he wasn’t sure how it felt. Good. It felt good.
He set his empty container aside and reached for her hand. “Yeah, he is, but he’s already gotten enough stage time today. I’d rather think about you.”
“Me?” Her saucy grin was one he hadn’t seen from her since he’d returned, at least not meant for him. “What are you thinking about me?”
“Would you like a list? It’s been running through my head all morning.”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing a few highlights.”
“Well.” He reached for her hands, tugging until she slid out of her chair and straddled his lap. “You’re gorgeous, for starters.”
She hooked her hands behind his neck. “Go on.”
“And sexy.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And great in bed.” Sliding a hand under her ponytail, he brought her mouth to his, kissing her softly.
“That’s a good list,” she said breathlessly when he released her.
He reached up and stroked his fingertips along her cheek. “You’re also kind. Thank you for listening to me today. Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”
Her eyes went soft and a little glassy. “You’re welcome.”
“Now about that sexy part.” He kissed her again, this time long and thorough, and soon it was nowhere near enough. Her hands started on his knees, but soon slid to his thighs, and then up into his hair. The hand he’d had on her waist quickly found its way under the hem of her shirt.
Pulling back, she muttered, “When’s your assistant getting back?”
“Not until one.”
“Good.” Fingers gripping his hair, she brought her mouth back to his, her tongue plunging in to taste him.
He groaned and slid his hands up her firm thighs and around to grip her ass, tugging her forward until she was pressed against his rapidly swelling cock. She rocked against him, her breaths now coming in pants. Wrapping her ponytail around his hand, he urged her head back, running his lips and teeth down the arch of her neck, nipping at her collarbone, kissing his way openmouthed down her chest to the deep V of her cleavage. Closing a hand over her breast, he squeezed and she shuddered in his arms. He swept his thumb over the hardening peak of her nipple, which he could just feel through her layers of clothes.
“Fuck,” she whispered, pressing herself closer to him.
Yeah, that’s exactly what he wanted to do, but they didn’t have quite enough time for that, unfortunately.
“We should probably stop,” he murmured against the swell of her breast, squeezing again.
“Yeah, we probably should.” She rolled her hips against his, eliciting another pained groan from both of them. Jesus, she was going to make him blow his load right here with all their clothes on.
“Gemma...” His voice was hoarse with frustrated lust.
“I know.” She kissed him again, hard and deep, before pushing herself off his lap. She turned away, panting and tugging her shirt back in place. Brendan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands down his face, desperately trying to cool his boiling blood.
“Can you come over tonight?”
“Maybe? I’m not sure. Dad and I are closing together, and—”
“Got it.” They still weren’t there yet. He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the discomfort in his groin. It would pass. Eventually.
She took a step closer and laid her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready for everybody to know about us yet.”
He held up a hand to silence her. “It’s fine. Really. Take your time. And sneak over whenever you can.”
She laughed, pushing up to her toes to kiss him. The sound of the front door downstairs opening sent her scurrying back from him, hurriedly turning away to pack up the empty lunch containers.
Brendan ducked behind his desk. “Thanks for lunch,” he said.
She glanced up and smiled, a warm, sexy smile that he felt in his chest, and he knew he’d happily give her all the time she needed as long as he still got that smile from her. “You’re welcome. I’ll walk myself out.”
“See you around?”
“Yes, you will.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Do I hear a car?” Jess called from the top of the stairs.
Gemma whipped the front curtains open so she could see the street. “Just a FedEx delivery next door.”
The weekend of Dan Drake and Mariel Kemper’s wedding had finally arrived, and Livie was coming home for it. She hadn’t been home since Christmas. It was hard to say which of them was more excited for it.
“Ugh, when are they going to get here?” Jess said.
“I think fresh flowers are the fanciest thing the Romano house has seen since our grandmother died.”
Teresa laughed. “I just wanted it to look a little festive for Livie. It’s been months since she’s been home.”
John Romano came in from the dining room holding two beers, one of which he passed to Teresa before dropping a kiss on her cheek. “It looks great, honey.”
Although the moments of PDA between them were still a little bit surprising, it was adorable, seeing her father so smitten and affectionate after all these years. And Teresa was a gem. She’d been over all morning, helping to clean in preparation for Livie’s arrival, almost as excited to see her as the family was.
“The flowers are beautiful, Teresa,” Gemma said with as much sincerity as she could manage. “I love the vase you picked.”
Teresa’s smile was sweet and profoundly thankful, which just made Gemma like her more. She was trying so hard.
Gemma turned back to the charcuterie plate she’d set on the dining room table. Spudge, sitting at her feet—actually, sitting on her feet—stared up at her longingly, his tail thumping against her calf.
“Nice try, buddy. You’re not getting a bite of this. You’re finally starting to lose some weight and we’re not backsliding now.”
Spudge groaned in despair and dropped to the floor, resting his head on his paws.
In her back pocket, her phone buzzed with a text. Thinking it might be Livie, she scrambled to get it out. It was Brendan.
Are you free tonight?
Since that night at the park she’d slipped away to see him whenever she could manage. She hadn’t told anyone about him yet. It was obviously way more than just sex now. But were they going to last? They had a lot of baggage between them. They’d agreed to try, but she had no idea if they’d be successful. Maybe they’d implode under the weight of their history.