Cold Feet at Christmas

by Debbie Johnson

  The staff had come from an agency, and were excellent. Almost as good as Lucy and Pip, the girls who worked with Leah at the bistro. Back in her old life; the one she had a million years ago. She really must drop them an e-mail, let them know she was okay – and make that dreaded follow-up phone call to Doug.

  Since contacting him to prevent any future unfortunate police related incidents, she’d dodged all his calls. He’d left apologetic message after apologetic message, begging her forgiveness. Not, oddly enough, begging her to come back – but to call him so he could explain himself. Leah suspected Doug had realised what she herself now knew: they’d both had a lucky escape. Maybe he’d realised before she did, and that’s why he accidentally screwed the bridesmaid. Or maybe he was just a lech. Who knew?

  Stuff had to be sorted with him – there were bank accounts to be closed, her belongings to get shipped, and she owed him at the very least a civil conversation. It took two people to break a relationship as well as make it, and in his own way, he’d been good to her. Minor blip on the wedding day, but years of companionship and kindness before that.

  Still. Her first professional catering job in Chicago seemed to be a good enough reason to shirk Doug for the time being. In fact, it was helping her shirk all kinds of things. Like thinking about the fact that Rob, despite living in the same building, hadn’t spared her so much as a full sentence in the past three days. It was like he was on a word ration, and if he gave her too many, there’d be a national shortage.

  And despite being busy herself, Leah had developed a kind of unintentional radar for his routines. When he’d be coming back up from his office for lunch. When he went for his workouts in the gym. When he finally accepted the working day was over and retreated to his penthouse for a stiff drink. Well, she made that last bit up – she had no idea what he did when he got up there, but after fourteen hours of wheeling and dealing, it seemed a good bet.

  In fact, she had the sneaky feeling she was turning into the kind of scary stalker who hid behind potted plants just to catch a glimpse of her target. In fairness that had been just the once, and it was a pretty big potted plant. Rob hadn’t even noticed the rustling foliage, he was so distracted.

  Shoulders slumped, eyes tired, mouth set in a grim line. It broke her heart to see this new Rob, so careworn and stern. She ached to reach out to him, to massage the stress out of his shoulders, flirt with him ’til he couldn’t help but laugh. She yearned to see the old Rob again, to bring back some of the joy and energy they’d shared in Scotland. But he gave her zero encouragement, and treated her with nothing but polite civility. Bearing in mind he was also putting a roof over her head and providing her with a foot in the professional door of catering, she couldn’t complain. And yet, it stung. To be so close to him, and unable to capture any of the spark they shared in Scotland. Different world. Different Rob.

  Different me, she thought, contorting her arms behind her to snap the buttons on her skirt, smoothing it down over her thighs. She turned to view herself in the full-length mirror. It was almost exactly what she used to wear at the bistro – black pencil, black blouse. But with higher heels and more cleavage. Shiny hair, loads of slap, big fake smile under the bright red lippy.

  Almost as though she was trying to impress someone, her conscience whispered. Someone who’d morphed into a harsh-faced businessman with a phone permanently glued to his ear; a frown permanently scarring his forehead, and no time at all for idle chat with the hired help.

  She pulled a face at herself in the mirror. She was pathetic. She missed Rob more after a few days with him than Doug after several years.

  Luckily, she hadn’t had much time for moping. The kitchens in the basement of Cavelli Tower had become her new domain, and that was one change she was thrilled about. She couldn’t have asked for better equipment, or a better brief – unlimited budget, no need to turn a profit, and free reign to plan the menu. Dorothea was paying her what she suspected was way above the going rate for caterers, most of which she planned to give back to Rob, whether he wanted it or not. It was something she needed to do, for herself.

  And tonight would also be a great showcase for her, in front of a bunch of wealthy and influential potential clients. Cavelli Inc., it turned out, didn’t buy and sell reindeer at all. It bought and sold property, and invested in manufacturing and retail. The business had been started by Rob’s grandfather, who began importing olives and olive oil from Italy not long after he’d settled in Chicago.

  He’d spotted a market that worked, and grew it – starting off by supplying the Italian émigrés living in the city; the restaurants that served them, then expanding into the fine food market. From there he’d invested in some of the businesses he sold to, and the rest was Cavelli family history. His son, Paolo, had taken the company to the next level, and when he died of a heart attack eight years earlier, Rob took over.

  According to Dorothea, he’d almost worked himself to death since then, advancing the Cavelli name even further. She didn’t say it out loud, but it was obvious she was worried her son was setting himself up to follow in his father’s footsteps in more ways than one. Since she’d seen workaholic Rob first-hand in the last few days, Leah thought she might be right.

  She wondered, but didn’t ask, about the wife. About the wedding ring. About the incident that had left him so broken and bruised. It was none of her business. She would remain as distant and professional as Rob deemed appropriate. And she knew that if she’d asked Dorothea, she’d grass her up, and blow all of her attempts to honour the space he seemed to want between them.

  Yeah, right, she thought. Distant and professional. Respectful of personal space. That’s you, Leah Harvey. That’s why you’re wearing perfume seductive enough to make the whole smoked salmon on the slab sit up and whistle, and have enough cleavage on show to make a hooker blush. She pulled the front of her top up a few inches. Maybe it was too much…It was definitely too much. Her chest looked like dessert; two rosy blancmanges popping out to say hello. Another tug. A bit more covered. There. Perfectly respectable…Assuming you were a lap dancer.

  She had no time for wardrobe changes now, it would have to do. Rob probably wouldn’t even notice she existed, never mind what she was wearing. She needed to get down to the kitchens. Guests would be arriving in a couple of hours, and there were last minute preparations to be made. Herbs to be sprinkled. Cream to be whipped. Bread to be warmed. Several double vodkas to be downed in one.

  Leah grabbed her bag, and took the elevator down to the basement. The kitchens were next to the staff recreation room, a huge hall packed with all kinds of toys. Table football. Video games. Gym equipment. And a full sized sports court for those occasions when a working day wouldn’t be complete without chucking a ball around.

  As she passed, she heard the sound of scuffling feet squeaking on the shiny floor; of a bouncing ball, and familiar male laughter. It was the first time she’d ever heard the place being used, as most staff were still on their Christmas break. Knowing she could be about to kill the kitty, Leah pushed the door slightly to take a peek.

  Inside were Rob and Marco. She was no expert, but they appeared to be playing basketball. Rob had the ball, and was bouncing it in front of Marco, laughing and dodging his attempts to grab it from him. He gave it a final bounce and faked a move to the left. Marco lunged, missed, and fell to the floor. Rob leapt up, shoved the ball through the hoop, landed nimbly on his sneakered feet.

  His jogging pants were riding low on his hips; with a delectable arrow of soft black hair pointing downwards over his flat stomach. His chest was bare, golden skin covered in a light sheen, muscles taut and defined and gleaming as he did a mock victory dance around a grumbling Marco. Biceps pumped, abs standing proud, hair damp and curling around his face.

  Oh. My. God. I may have an orgasm on the spot just from looking, thought Leah, making a small squeaking sound in the back of her throat. Rob glanced up at her just in time to see the swing doors fall back and hit her o
n the bum, forcing her to stumble a couple weak-kneed bunny-hops forward, further into the room. And with no potted plants to hide behind, she had no choice but to walk towards them.

  The other Cavelli twin wasn’t wearing a T-shirt either, she noticed, but it wasn’t possible to look at him for more than two seconds, not when Rob was in the room. Her eyes were devouring every inch of the bronzed muscle on show; wondering if it would be over-stepping the ‘just friends’ role to lean forward and lick it? All of the feelings she’d been trying to restrain, all of the memories of their naked time together, burst free in a glorious rush of lust. Jesus. How could she ever expect to forget him?

  Marco nodded his hellos as he stood up, dusting himself down after his tumble. He looked on, pondering the fact that he hadn’t even registered on her radar. That, he thought, ain’t the reaction I usually get when semi-naked in the company of women.

  Marco realised that he was now invisible to both Leah and Rob. Their body language was giving off so much heat the aircon was going to kick up a notch, and he could almost see the sparks leaping between them. Rob was staring down at her, trying really hard to keep his eyes on her face and away from her cleavage, and Leah was gazing at him with…Hell. Complete and utter adoration. It was the only word that came close to describing what he saw in those pretty eyes of hers.

  “How are you, Rob?” Leah asked tentatively. She suddenly felt way too hot and tarty in her uniform. Way too everything.

  Rob was covered in a light sheen of freshly-earned sweat, and looked tastier than the entire buffet waiting next door. But his eyes were guarded, closed off, and that familiar frown was back in place. Minutes ago, as she’d looked on from the doorway, he’d been laughing, carefree. Now, with one word from her, poof - happy Rob went bye-bye. Replaced with Robo Rob, the sternest man in town.

  At least that’s how it felt to her, as she watched his face carefully re-arrange itself. Okay, yes, he’d noticed the boobs – passing Russian space satellites had probably noticed them in this top – but that was just a flash, a quick look before the shut down. Now he was tense, withdrawn. No entry, yet again.

  “I’m good,” he answered curtly, moving away from her, bouncing the basketball as though he couldn’t wait to get back to his game. He turned his back on her, aimed at the hoop and fired. The ball ran lightly around the rim before dropping through the net, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The only sound in the room.

  “Did you want anything, Leah? I’m kind of busy right now,” he said, still looking in the opposite direction.

  “Right. You’re busy,” she said, to his bare back. “I see that. Busy. Me too. Sorry to bother you. Must go. I have cream to coddle and waiters to whip.”

  Leah turned, staggering slightly on her heels, and tottered towards the swing doors. She kept her head held high, didn’t fall, and best of all, managed to hold back the sound of sobbing as tears streamed over her cheeks. Panda eyes ahoy.

  Okay, she thought. If that’s the way he’s going to play it, so be it. She recognised a super-sized snub when she saw one, and she could deal with it. She’d dealt with worse. I don’t need him, she thought. I don’t want him. Right now, I don’t even like him.

  And if that’s really the case, then why does my heart feel like it breaks a tiny bit more every time I see him? And how long before it shatters completely?

  ***

  Marco turned back to Rob as Leah beat her unsteady retreat, threatening to tumble right off her sky-high heels. His twin had given up feigning interest in their game, and was rubbing his forehead as though he felt a migraine coming on, which in Marco’s opinion served him well and truly right. Rob may have been too busy playing macho basketball hero to notice, but Marco recognised a crying woman when he saw one. What the hell was going on here?

  “Well, brother,” he said, stabbing Rob on the shoulder with a sharp finger prod, “I hope you’re proud of yourself, you bullying piece of crap. That was downright nasty. Since when did your own misery give you the right to be so cruel to someone else? Where do you get off being so freaking rude, and what the hell has she done to deserve that?”

  “She was fine! She knows I’m busy! We’re…it’s…over. It’s not like that anymore. We don’t owe each other anything.”

  “She was not fine, and you know it! You can say it’s over as much as you god-damn please – but it’s not, not for her at least. Can’t you see the poor girl’s falling in love with you?”

  “No!” snapped Rob, throwing the ball so hard at his twin’s chest that the blow staggered him backwards, knocking the wind from his lungs. For the second time in minutes, Marco ended up falling flat on his perfectly sculpted backside.

  “She can’t be in love with me, Marco - I won’t let her be! I’m damaged goods, you know that! Me, turning my back on her. That’s not rude – that’s me trying to get the hell out of her life. Because she deserves better than me staying in it, messing her whole future up! So screw you and screw your dumb-ass theories!”

  He stalked away, kicking at the floor as he left, leaving scuff marks on the polished wood and knocking the swing doors back so hard they almost flew off their hinges.

  Right, thought Marco, climbing to his feet yet again. No tension there at all.

  ***

  The rest of the night was such a blur that Leah didn’t have time for a post-mortem on her feelings. Although her team was top-notch, and the food superb, keeping on top of it all was a full-time job. It was up to her to make sure the chilled bubbly kept flowing; the canapés kept circulating; the sorbet didn’t melt. That the staff got their breaks, and that the chocolate fountain didn’t spill onto the white damask table linen. Her check list was never-ending, and right at the top was ‘keep calm and carry on’.

  There were people everywhere. Dorothea had been right - everyone did come. The party was packed with New Year’s Eve revellers, small crowds spilling all over the building, dancing, chatting, comparing diamonds, doing business deals. Whatever it was that upper-crust American socialites got up to for fun. They certainly ate a lot, and drank a lot, and that meant constant demands on her crew.

  There was so much to do, in fact, that it was relatively easy to avoid him. Rob. Or Mr Cavelli, as she’d started referring to him in her mind. If it was distant and formal he wanted, he could have it. And stick it where the sun didn’t shine.

  She’d been hoping their new set up would have stretched to ‘friendly’ at least. Even without the sex, she’d liked him enough to want that. She’d thought the same was true in reverse, which just went to show how naive she was. He’d enjoyed the bonking, yes. But anything more? Gee, ma’am, thanks but no thanks. Not the mighty Mr Cavelli. He was way too busy being a Very Important Penis to bother with her any more. Too busy bouncing his bloody balls to even share a civil word.

  Every time she saw him at the party, she adopted her new defence mechanism: going cross-eyed and squinting. Okay, so some of the guests probably thought she had some tragic facial disfigurement, and carrying trays of champagne flutes while cross-eyed and wearing stilettos was a challenge, but it was better than the alternative – being confronted by the vision of a fully-groomed Rob in a tailor-cut tuxedo.

  The one time she got caught unawares, she saw him sitting on a sofa with a rail-thin brunette draped over his lap like a travel blanket. Beautiful, in a starving-model kind of way. Leah quickly crossed her eyes and walked away as carefully as she could. It was none of her business. He could drape whoever he liked over his lap. She’d been his Christmas totty; maybe now he was upgrading to New Year totty and that was the lucky girl. He looked as good as he ever did: no sign at all of any anguish, any lingering regret, any memory of her at all. He’d very efficiently erased it all and was clearly busy getting on with his life.

  Leah felt the sharp prick of tears welling up, and gestured for another member of the wait staff to come over and cover the room. That kind of pain she just didn’t need, especially as the big moment was almost upon them. Five minutes to m
idnight, and the start of the New Year. She absolutely refused to start it crying over a man. That was just too tragic to contemplate.

  She looked around. Everyone seemed to have a glass of something bubbly. The food was mainly eaten, and plates were being discreetly tidied away. There’d be the countdown, the big toast, some more drinking, and then coffee and imported Belgian chocolates all round. It was almost over, and it had gone well. Professionally at least. The Cavellis were obviously big news in this city, and Dorothea spent the night introducing her as their latest ‘discovery’. It was a great start to her working life, to her new adventure, and one day she’d be glad of it. One day, when she wasn’t an emotional cripple.

  Deciding that everything was under control and that she could afford to take a break, Leah edged outside, through the French doors and onto the balcony. The frigid night air attacked her skin until it puckered with goosebumps, and her teeth started to chatter. But it was quiet, and deserted, and she was alone. An over-flowing ashtray showed that it had been the smokers’ haunt for the evening, but right now, even they were inside, waiting to celebrate the start of the New Year.

  Leah leaned against the chill metal of the railing and looked out over the city: an endless vista of twinkling silver and gold, shining from thousands of windows in hundreds of buildings. The skyscrapers were beacons of light, their reflections dancing like spirits over the river; further out, she could see sparkling trails of colour stretching out into the water at Navy Pier. It was beautiful, like some man-made heaven laid out before her. A city of millions, celebrating, partying, hoping.

  Everyone inside Cavelli Tower was excited, hyped with the thrill of starting a new year. Even the staff felt the buzz. And, she realised, everyone at home – or England, at least – was already sleeping it off, six hours ahead. It was early morning there, and Doug was starting a whole new year without her. It would still be dark, with the first grey light of dawn starting to filter through onto the London streets. Trafalgar Square would have its own hangover, and all across the city, people would be crashed out, sleeping, with bits of party popper stuck in their hair.