by Jill Sanders
Now, however, she wasn’t working, and she let herself remember the last date she’d been on. It wasn’t Steven’s fault for breaking off the relationship, not really.
When her sister, Caterina, had shown up on her doorstep one night begging for help with little Tommy fast asleep in her arms, how could she have turned her away?
Of course, Steven hadn’t taken the news well that she would be playing full-time mom for a while. But his breaking it off had made it easier for her to move and step out of the limelight, which had been harder to do than she’d thought.
She leaned her head back and thought about how her life had changed in such a short time and wondered if she would ever feel free to date again, if there was someone out there that could understand her circumstances and look beyond them.
Trent was thinking about killing someone, and he knew just who he was going to start with: M. Jensen. That man was getting on his nerves. Not only had he been getting the runaround from the paper, but now he’d found out that the man had actually made a second pass at his place a few days ago. But this review hadn’t gone in the papers. No, it had come directly to him in form of a letter explaining what was wrong with his restaurant and staff.
By the time he was finished reading it, he wondered if the man had been in the right restaurant. He took a few seconds to calm down before stepping out of his home office and walking across the street to Manhattan Nights. He’d printed the email and unknowingly crinkled it in his hands as he walked.
Dear Mr. Walker,
I understand that my last review was a hard pill to swallow, however I pride myself on my opinions. Since you requested I come in for a second pass at your restaurant, Manhattan Nights, I thought it best to contact you directly instead of publishing this review.
I revisited your restaurant and am sorry to say my original opinion still stands. Although your building is lovely and your waitstaff very courteous, your food is still lacking.
I’ve included a brief list of items I found unsatisfactory below.
The Seared Scallops were rubbery and lacked any true flavor. Your Whole Roasted Organic Chicken, a meal I was assured was one of your specialties, was not only served burnt, but had what seemed to be a full jar of pepper on top. The dessert, the Plum and Almond Sweet Tart was hard and chewy, like it was weeks old.
When I revisit a restaurant, I usually see some improvements from my initial visit; however, I would have to say that Manhattan Nights has not only not improved but has gotten worse. My suggestion is for you to get out into your own dining rooms and try the food your staff is serving customers. If you find it satisfactory, get out even further and visit some of the best restaurants this great city has to offer. Compare what they have versus what you are serving. Maybe then you will see how Manhattan Nights is lacking.
I hope you understand when I decline any further requests to visit your establishment in the near future, at least until I’m assured that you’ve made the necessary changes to make my dining experience what it should be and not just a waste of my time.
Sincerely,
M. Jensen
Trent crinkled the paper even more as he walked quickly through the dining room back towards the kitchen. His new chef, Trey, stood behind the chop block, a large knife in his hands, quickly chopping some carrots. The man was a few years older than Trent was but had only been a chef for three years. The man was a genius with spices. Since hiring him, they had added several new dishes to the menu and the dining rooms were filling up again.
Angie was busy at her station but stopped and looked up when he walked by her. “What’s up, boss?” She walked over to him, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Gather the troops, would you?” He walked past her into the small office and waited until there was a knock on the door. Then he walked out to once again try and get to the bottom of what had happened, why it appeared that someone was sabotaging him by making sure M. Jensen was served some of the worst food to go out of his kitchen.
As he talked, he watched everyone’s faces. Some looked ashamed, others looked scared. He couldn’t see guilt on anyone’s face.
The only possibility was that there was a leak somewhere. Someone standing before him knew M. Jensen. Knew what the man looked like in order to serve him bad food. In the last few weeks, Trent had taken to personally spot-checking the food that left his kitchen. He’d even gotten in the habit of walking around talking to his customers and asking how their meals were. Everyone had been completely satisfied. Their plates had been empty and they assured him they would return.
He just couldn’t explain how M. Jensen had gotten two bad meals, unless it was sabotage.
After informing his staff that Trey or Angie would now check every dish that left the kitchen and be personally accountable for its quality, he walked back across the street. When he sat down at his computer, he decided it was high time he started playing detective.
Punching a few keys on his laptop, he started his search into M. Jensen. There had to be something out there on the man.
Two hours later, he wanted to pull his hair out. Short of a few fuzzy pictures from restaurant security cameras, no one had a clue who the man was. Some had even speculated that he was a she, which was starting to make sense, especially since the fuzzy pictures all appeared to be of the same woman. There were five photographs in all. He couldn’t really tell if it was the same woman, only that she had medium-length dark hair with short bangs, pale skin, and long sexy legs. At least from what he could see in the photos.
He clicked on the paper’s website and started reading through some of her back articles. After wasting another hour there, he picked up the phone and called an old buddy.
Carter Edwards was an old college friend, but it wasn’t Carter he was after. Carter knew Ethan Knight, ex-special forces agent and owner of Knight Enterprises, a search-and-protect type of business. The man made millions from either protecting high-powered clients or tracking down hard to find people.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Eve, Trent here. Is Carter around?” He’d also gone to school with Eve, who was now happily married to Carter and expecting their first child in the next few weeks.
“Oh, hi, Trent. Sure, let me get him.” The phone went silent, and then Carter answered.
“How’s it going down there in New York?”
“Good. You guys are sure missing all the excitement by living clear up in the sticks.” He smiled, remembering their large home on the bay in Maine.
“Oh, there’s still plenty of it around here. Just yesterday, Eve had me paint the baby’s room. Pink.”
Trent laughed. “A girl, huh? Congratulations.”
“Thanks. What’s going on in your neck of the woods?”
Trent told him what had been happening and less than fifteen minutes later, he hung up and dialed Ethan Knight’s number.
A woman answered and he remembered that Ethan was married to Ann Rhodes, the journalist who had broken the story about the plot to kill her father, the Texas senator.
“Hi, Ann, this is Trent Walker.”
“Hi, Trent, how are things on the East Coast?”
“Doing great. Is your husband there, by chance?”
“Sure.” He heard her giggle. “But he’ll have to wrestle our twins to make it to the phone. Give him a minute.”
“That’s okay.” He could hear a burst of giggling. “Maybe you can help me answer a question. If someone worked for your paper and wrote under a pseudonym, would there be any way for someone like me to find out their identity?”
“Oh, that’s a tough one. If the paper is committed to keeping their employee’s identity safe, probably not. Not even accounting will provide you with their real name.”
“Hmm, that’s what I thought.”
“Here’s Ethan. Maybe he can help you.”
“Hey, Trent, what’s up?”
An hour later, Trent got back to work on his laptop, knowing that the best man for the job was now on the case
. Ethan would contact him if he could track anything down about the elusive M. Jensen.
The next time he looked up, it was a quarter to six in the morning. He’d done everything Ethan had suggested to find out more about the man, all with the same results as before. It was almost as if the man had been born three years ago. He knew that M. Jensen was most likely not the man’s real name, but so far he had been unable to find out who would have paid off the very notable and seemingly reliable reviewer to trash his place.
From what he could tell, his only potential enemy was the owner of the restaurant across the street from where he was planning to open the second Manhattan Nights. He’d spent almost two hours researching the man and his family. Jake Baird had owned Cario’s Bistro for almost ten years. Prior to that, the man’s father and grandfather had owned the small bistro.
When Trent had picked the location to open his second restaurant, he’d given little to no thought about the small place across the street. Especially since he didn’t believe they would be in direct competition.
The bistro was very small and had a much lower profile than Manhattan Nights. Cario’s served quick breakfasts, easy-on-the-pocketbook lunches, and pizzas and calzones for dinner. Nothing like his place at all.
After spending most of his night confirming his initial thoughts, he was assured that Jake and Cario’s were not behind the attack. Answering that question only filled him with more.
Standing up from his leather desk chair, he stretched and decided a run might help clear his head. He jogged up his stairs and switched into some sweats and his old Princeton T-shirt.
He headed out the front door with questions buzzing around his brain. As he started his run, he thought about everything he’d learned so far. He’d spent the entire night scanning the internet, but he kept coming back to those five pictures of the brunette. Something in his gut told him that the woman knew something. After all, the five restaurants that had published those photos of her had been visited and critiqued by M. Jensen the same day the pictures were taken. He knew it was more than possible that the same woman had visited five restaurants in New York. He had visited hundreds of different places in just the last year, himself.
But what were the chances that the same woman would be photographed on the very day that the reclusive reviewer happened to visit? It was just too coincidental.
He was just hitting the halfway point in his morning jog when he spotted her. He was so shocked that for a moment he forgot the smooth motions of running and almost tripped over his feet. Then he thought he was going mad from the lack of sleep and blinked a few times. When the woman continued to walk towards him, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared right at her.
It had to be her, he told himself. The dark shoulder-length hair, the short spray of spiky bangs. Those legs. He watched as she stopped, looked right at him, and blinked a few times. Then she opened the door to one of his favorite coffee shops and walked in without a second glance in his direction.
Now what? he asked himself as his feet carried him towards the door.
Chapter Three
Marina sat down at her favorite table and when John, one of the waiters, came and took her order, she ordered her usual breakfast roll and coffee. Then she pulled out her laptop and got to work.
When the chime above the door rang, she glanced up and saw Sexy Runner. Or so she had been calling him since she’d first seen him over a year ago. She must have passed the man on the street at least a dozen times a month since first spotting him a block from her new place. Never once had he spared her a glance, until today.
It had caused her heart to skip and then beat so fast she’d fumbled and almost dropped her computer case. Now she watched him walk into the coffee shop and stand at the counter. She’d seen him in here a few times as well and even remembered that he always ordered a large, cold green tea.
Now, he stood up at the counter and looked up at the menu like it was written in a different language.
She watched as the clerk, a very young college student who always got her order wrong, flirted with him while taking his order. He paid and then walked over to wait for his tea.
She was shocked when he glanced towards her and smiled. She blushed and quickly looked back down at her computer screen, which she realized she’d yet to turn on. Feeling like a fool, she quickly powered up her laptop and tried to look busy.
Men like that didn’t notice women like her, she told herself. No, he probably had a string of skinny blondes lined up and waiting their turn to have a date with him. She could just imagine it now—he would laugh and grab two women, pulling them close. He would—
“Is this seat taken?” a deep voice asked above her. She glanced up quickly, only to discover that her computer glasses caused everything to blur farther than two feet. Quickly pulling them off her nose, she tried not to let her chin drop when she realized that Sexy Runner stood next to her table, waiting for her reply.
“Um,” she tried to think of an excuse. Why? her mind screamed at her. Let him sit down. Let him come home with you. Let him…
“Good.” He smiled and sat across from her. “Whew, it’s getting hot out there.” He took a large drink of his cold tea. “I didn’t interrupt your work, did I?” He leaned a little to glance at her computer, which she realized she hadn’t even logged in yet.
“No, I was just…” She flipped down the screen and tucked her hands under the table to hide the shaking. Being this close to him caused her entire body to quake with needs that had lain dormant in her for so long.
“I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?” He looked at her again. His eyes ran over her face, her shoulders, and then crossed down to look at her legs, which were crossed and poking out from under the small table.
She was just thankful she’d worn her new Jil Sander skirt and blouse and her favorite green heels, which matched the outfit perfectly. The fact that they made her legs look longer and thinner hadn’t escaped her attention. And by the heat in his eyes, it hadn’t escaped his either.
“I come in here often,” she said as smoothly as she could. “I think I’ve seen you around here, as well.”
He smiled. “That must be it.” He reached his hand across the table. “Stephan Trenton Walker the third, at your service. But everyone calls me Trent.”
“Marina.” She reached out and felt the warmth as he took her smaller hand in his.
“Marina, what?” he gently asked as he kept hold of her hand, causing the warmth to spread up her arm and shoulder.
“Just Marina. Mari,” she said, not able to blink when she looked into his sky blue eyes. She hadn’t known what color they were before today. He’d always run with sunglasses on or had been too far away for her to tell. Now, she wished he was wearing shades. The pale blueness of them caused her to want to stare into them forever.
“Mari.” He smiled again, showing off white teeth that had the slightest slant to them, which caused him to look sexier and a little dangerous, especially with the stubble on his face, which was dark and longer than she’d seen on him before. She was sure he had always shaved before jogging before, but this time he looked like he’d been up all night and had forgotten.
His dark hair was slicked back and held the slightest curl. She’d seen it when it was shorter and a little longer, but he’d always maintained the same style.
“Well, Mari, I do hope you don’t think me too forward, but I was hoping you would join me for dinner sometime,” he said smoothly, convincing her that he was well practiced at asking strange women out.
Something in her mind screamed at her to decline, but her mouth hadn’t received the memo, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d agreed.
“Wonderful.” He smiled and released her hand finally. Instantly, she missed the warmth. “How about I pick you up this Friday around seven?”
This time her mind won before her mouth could agree and give out all her secrets. “How about I meet you somewhere?”
He looked at
her as if trying to gauge her, and then he smiled. “Sounds great. Name the place.”
She thought about it and quickly blurted out the last restaurant she’d given five stars to. It was only two blocks away and was a perfect place for a first date.
“See you then.” As he stood, he handed her a napkin with his name and number scribbled on it. She must be losing it; she hadn’t even seen him write it down. “Give me a call if you change your mind.” He leaned closer to her and spoke softly, his husky voice going deeper. “I’m sure I can change it back.”
She closed her eyes and an image flashed into her mind so quickly, she blushed. Looking up, she smiled slightly and nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. See you Friday, Marina,” he said, just before he walked out the door.
Mari watched the clerk behind the desk sigh as Trent jogged away from the building, heading back in the direction he’d come.
She must have sat there for a few minutes, looking out the window, before John walked over and set her blackberry scone and vanilla ice coffee in front of her.
Shaking her head, she nibbled on her scone as she wrote her weekly articles and answered a handful of emails from her mailbox.
She always enjoyed working in the corner booth here. People rushed around her and outside the large glass windows. She typed away until all her work was done, then glanced down at her watch and realized it was around lunchtime. She was due to visit a new restaurant today and was excited to try the new Thai place.
She paid and left a good tip for John, then decided to walk the three blocks to the restaurant. She hadn’t made it to the gym in over a week and was feeling a little guilty about the two scones she’d eaten.
As she walked along the busy streets, she was conscious of her surroundings, as she’d learned to be over a year ago, always paying attention to people around her, looking for faces she knew and wanted to avoid. She’d once had to duck into a physic shop to avoid a run-in with one of her old neighbors.
