by Tarr, Hope
True, her stomach might not be the flattest but her arms were worth showing off, her biceps sculpted not from Pilates but from years of lifting heavy coolers and packed market bags. And then there were her other…assets. She hesitated and then dropped a second button from the front. In for a penny, in for a pound or so her mother had been fond of saying.
Given that her pop was in to Nick for a hell of a lot of pounds—2.5 million of them—flashing him a glimpse of the girls felt justified. She supposed she could always e-mail Gloria Steinham and ask for absolution once Olympia was restored to solvency and safely in family hands. Until then, feminism felt like a luxury she couldn’t afford.
When Nick pulled up in front of her house, Mara occupying the front passenger’s seat, she was just pulling up the zipper on her new low-rise jeans and slipping her feet into white patent-leather strappy sandals.
There was no way that her coolers and myriad thermal food sleeves were going to fit into a Ferrari. Fortunately, for once she’d found street parking close by. Watching him load everything into her Good Enuf to Eat van and then slip behind the wheel decimated any remaining determination to see him as a spoiled international party boy. One-Percenter status notwithstanding, Nick was a really decent guy. The business deal their fathers had forged, and her former fiancé’s scam, had put them both in a seriously stinky situation—a situation that Stefanie was committed to helping her pop turn around if at all possible.
But today was a holiday, America’s birthday, and when Nick made no mention of her father or the flu, Stefanie allowed herself to feel a measure of relief. Nor did she miss how his gaze kept edging over to the front passenger’s seat. Steeling herself not to squirm or slouch, she forced her shoulders back and held her head high, even experimenting by tossing in the little hair-flicking gesture she’d seen Lena and Lettie use to great effect. Certainly Nick was substantially more sophisticated than the recent college grads her stepsisters dated and yet despite the quiet in the car she flattered herself that he wasn’t unaffected.
Now that she knew what an excellent driver he was, Stefanie found that she actually enjoyed being chauffeured. Standing in the hallway outside Macie and Ross’s, she admitted she was actually looking forward to the day. Even though she was, technically speaking, “working” the party, she couldn’t imagine a better group with which to celebrate—or a hotter “date” to bring. Enemy or not, Nick was breath stealing. Until now, she hadn’t realized his arms were so…big, but then this was her first time seeing him in anything other than a long-sleeved dress shirt. The wine-colored Ralph Lauren polo showed off his bulging biceps to perfection. Imagining what it would be like to run her hands along that smooth expanse of tanned, rock-hard flesh, she turned her flushing face away to the car window.
She’d been worried about traffic and blocked-off streets but Nick managed to get them to the Watergate in impressive time. Emptying the van took several trips. Once they did, Nick left Stefanie in the lobby and went to park in the garage. He returned and with the help of the doorman, they loaded up a luggage rack with the coolers and handled bags and headed into the elevator.
Following Nick as he rolled the cart up to Macie and Ross’s apartment door, Stefanie felt a thrill of anticipation. After all the years of showing up dateless and later dragging a grudging Pete along, she was looking forward to her friends’ reaction.
Macie must have been waiting since the doorman first buzzed them in. Standing on the open threshold, she stared from Stefanie to Nick, a smile breaking over her face. “Wow, you must be…wow.”
Ross appeared in the doorway behind his wife. Tall, sandy-haired, and seemingly unflappable, he smiled at Stefanie and shoved a broad-backed hand toward Nick. “Welcome to our home,” he said in a pronounced Texas twang. “I’m Ross, and this here is my wife, Macie.” He looked beyond them to the full cart. “First things first, put us to work.”
They spent the next hour ferrying food and drinks up to the building’s rooftop. The deck would afford a bird’s-eye view of the national fireworks, a civilized alternative to camping out on the crowded Capitol lawn. Fortunately Ross had already brought up several folding tables and chairs. Even Ross’s teenage daughter, Samantha, stepped up to help, keeping Mara entertained with her iPad while the adults set up.
“You two are the most chill clients ever,” Stefanie remarked as they finished up in the condo’s kitchen. “But really, you didn’t have to stockpile disposables. I always bring flatware, serving utensils, and cutlery and take them away at the end of the event. It’s part of the service.”
Standing at the sink arranging a bouquet of red, white, and blue carnations for a centerpiece, Macie looked back over her shoulder. “No way am I sending you home on a holiday loaded down with our dirty dishes. You have better things to do with your evening,” she added, cutting a look to Nick, busy emptying another bag of ice into the standing cooler.
Mesmerized by his broad back and tight butt, Stefanie managed a mute nod. At times such as this she had to remind herself that he was the enemy—and she the one in control.
“Don’t worry,” Macie went on. “It’s all 100 percent recyclable.” She glanced over to Nick. “I work for an environmental magazine. If my coworkers caught wind that I was going less than full-throttle green, they’d have my hide.”
Chuckling, he straightened and turned toward them. “Your rubbish secrets are safe with me.”
Momentarily overcome by his hotness, Stefanie quickly averted her gaze. Addressing Macie, she conceded, “Okay, so long as you didn’t cook, too.”
Carrying the centerpiece out into the main room, Macie snorted. “Ha! Other than huevos rancheros and grilled cheese and tuna-fish sandwiches, I don’t know how to make anything.”
“Huevos rancheros?” Nick asked, darting a look between them.
“Don’t ask,” Ross warned him with a grin.
“It’s sort of an inside joke,” Stefanie admitted.
If Nick was offended at being left out, he gave no sign of it. “Perhaps, Stefanie, you will share the story with me…later?”
Was he hinting that their evening might continue beyond the party? Or was she maybe reading too much into his casual remark? Feeling flushed despite the AC running at full blast, she nodded. “S-sure.”
He smiled, the tanned skin bracketing his eyes crinkling. “Good, then I shall—how is it you say?—hold you to it.”
God, but he was good-humored. And hot, so very hot. A beep brought her back to sanity—and her iPhone. Picking it up from the counter, she saw the text message from her assistant, and her heart dove into her stomach. Luckily, though, the text wasn’t to report any calamity. Instead it confirmed the congressman’s event was unfolding exactly as planned. Even better, his wife was so impressed with the food and service that she wanted to hire Good Enuf to Eat for her family dinners as well. Stefanie typed a quick “Awesome!!!” and put the phone away. Thinking of all the holidays and vacations she’d missed since she’d begun the business, she wondered if she really needed to remain 100 percent hands-on. She had two good people working for her and with the addition of the new clients, including the congressman’s family, she could probably afford to hire a third. If she took some time to train one of them as a manager, she could finally take that trip to Greece she’d spent the past eight years postponing.
Immersed in envisioning herself wading in sky blue waters, sighing over stunning sunsets, and eating beautiful food—all alongside Nick—she lost track of time. She’d just pulled the plastic wrap off the last of the platters when the first set of guests arrived. Ross’s ex, British-born fashion photographer Francesca, breezed in with her Silicon Valley CEO boyfriend, Greg. From Macie, Stefanie knew that the two had fallen in love on the set of an LA reality TV show where Greg was the ugly duckling contestant and Francesca his “fairy god mentor.”
Macie’s former magazine managing editor, Starr, and her hunky Florida-born fiancé, Matt, arrived just behind them. Once known for her fiery temper and cu
rmudgeon ways, the pixie-like redhead looked entirely angelic wrapped up in her lover’s brawny arm.
In deference to her international guest, Stefanie had added Greek salad, cheese-and-leek pie, and baklava to the traditional Independence Day menu she’d made. Their party of ten began noshing at noon. Though she’d made more than enough food, Stefanie was hard-pressed to keep the platters filled.
Cornering Stefanie alone in the kitchen, Nick reached for the platters she’d collected. “Stop,” he said, reaching for them. “It is a holiday, is it not?”
Stefanie hesitated and then surrendered the stack. “It is, but I’m the caterer. And you’re a guest.”
Setting the plates on the counter, he shook his head. “No, today you are a generous friend who has made beautiful food to be enjoyed by, it seems, everyone but herself.” A dark brow lifted. “Have you even tasted this baklava?” He gestured to the tray set out on the counter.
Stefanie hesitated. It wasn’t as though she needed the extra calories, though she could hardly say so to him. “No I haven’t, but I make it all the time.”
“For others, yes. When was the last time you sat down with a sweet and an espresso and savored?”
Stefanie hesitated. She spent so much time tasting dishes in her kitchen as she was preparing them that she was rarely hungry—and just as rarely full. Sitting down to an actual meal, or even a snack, was a rarity. “I don’t know. A while, I guess.”
Nick reached around her to the counter, his pectoral brushing her breast, whether deliberately or accidentally Stefanie couldn’t say for certain. What she could say for certain was that it felt good—really good. Good enough to want more.
I am the seducer, not the seducee, I am the seducer, not the seducee…
No matter how many times she mentally repeated the mantra, she didn’t feel in complete control at the moment. She didn’t feel in control at all.
Eschewing the spatula, Nick stuck his hand in the pan and pulled off a gooey precut wedge.
“You know what you just did is sacrilege,” Stefanie said, fighting a smile.
Smiling back, he brought the dessert to her lips. “I am making the food gods very angry, I am sure, but I will risk it if you will. Open.”
The last time someone had fed her she’d probably been all of five. Stefanie hesitated and then opened. Gooey, honeyed heaven sweetened the inside of her mouth.
“Chew,” he ordered softly, bringing his face down to hers, and to her surprise once more, she obeyed.
A syrupy thumb slid across her bottom lip, raising a bevy of tingles. “It is good, yes?” His eyes locked on hers and suddenly she wasn’t at all sure he referred to the pastry.
Fighting the urge to suck at his digit, Stefanie swallowed—hard. “It’s delicious.”
Nick stepped back, eyes dark and dancing. “Yes, Stefanie, it is. Now come upstairs and join the party. Your friends are missing you. I am missing you.”
“But I—”
“No buts.” He held out his hand, the same hand he’d used to feed her. “There is a time for staying behind-the-scenes, for hiding out in the kitchen, and this is not it.”
By nine o’ clock, most of the platters were scraped clean. At nine fifteen the fireworks began. Standing beside Nick as the sky exploded into a kaleidoscope of glittering, multicolored constellations, Stefanie reflected that it had been a surprisingly good day. Though she wasn’t sure what the interlude in the kitchen had meant, or not meant, she’d enjoyed it—a lot. As great as Nick was one-on-one, he was also a fun addition to their group. Although she’d been nervous about bringing him into a party of strangers, especially one comprised entirely of couples, he hadn’t seemed to mind. Affable and charming, he’d won over everyone, including…Stefanie.
Emboldened by the semidarkness, she stole a sideways glance at him, his profiled face reflecting rapt attention. Staring skyward, his kiss-worthy lips were ever so slightly parted, his one hand resting idly on Mara’s shoulder. Recalling the sensation of his big thumb stroking across her mouth, she shivered despite the muggy night.
The final salvo faded to smoke. Sighs and claps drifted on the balmy air. Flipping the overhead light back on, Macie rallied the group. “Let’s move the party inside. This humidity is killing me, not to mention frizzing my hair.”
Ross chuckled. “If you think this is hot, try Texas in the summer.” He reached into the cooler. “Who’s up for another beer?”
Matt shook his head. “No thanks. I’m driving us back to the hotel.” Walking up to the rail, he peered over the side to the bumper-to-bumper traffic blocking New Hampshire Avenue. “Will you look at that gridlock?”
“Yeah, it’ll be bad for a few hours yet,” Ross agreed, passing out sodas and beers.
Greg reached for a Heineken. “Since Francesca and I are bunking here for the night, I’ll have one more.”
Popping the cap on a Coors, Ross turned toward Nick. “What about you?”
“Thank you but I am driving as well,” Nick answered. Gaze flickering over to Stefanie, he slanted a slow smile that sent her heart somersaulting.
Aware of Macie watching her, she picked up a platter upon which one lonely deviled egg rested. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Ross took a swig of his beer. “We’ll join you ladies in a few.”
Samantha took Mara by the hand and led her toward the stairwell. “Come on, Mara. We can watch the replay of the fireworks on TV.”
“Cool,” Mara answered, using slang she’d learned that day.
Back in the apartment, Stefanie and Macie commandeered kitchen cleanup while Starr and Francesca plopped down at the breakfast bar to wrap up the remaining leftovers. It was the first time they’d been apart from the men all day, and Stefanie could feel the collective curiosity cresting toward combustion.
Francesca looked up from the barbecued beef ribs she’d been foiling. “Samantha, darling, weren’t you about to show Mara your room?”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Don’t anyone wet their pants. We’re going.” Looking down at Mara, she added, “This is what’s known as making yourself scarce.”
They waited for the confirming click of the bedroom door and then started in. “Oh…my…God,” Macie proclaimed in a high hush. “He really does look like a young John Stamos only…hotter if that’s even possible.” She turned to Stefanie and lifted her hand in a high-five.
“In his Dr. Tony Gates days,” Starr amended. “I couldn’t handle the Uncle Jesse mullet.”
Expression pensive, Francesca added, “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I met him in Milan during Fashion Week a few years ago.”
Stefanie bit back a groan. “Let me guess, he was trolling for models?”
Francesca hesitated, and then admitted, “He had a…friend with him—two friends, actually.” She leaned in and whispered their names, one an international porn star, the other the twentysomething daughter of a former European president. “But I’m sure that’s all water under the bridge. He certainly seems very…attentive to you.”
Stefanie felt herself flush. “I’m his hostess. I’m sure it’s nothing more than good manners on his part.” Thinking back to their earlier food flirting, she hoped that wasn’t true, at least not totally. It seemed that her seduction plan might finally be gathering steam. But she needed to proceed with caution. Neither she nor Olympia could afford a replay of the Pete situation—and she was a lot more attracted to Nick than she’d ever been to her nefarious fiancé.
Francesca turned to Starr. “When I heard you and Matt would be coming down for the Fourth as well, I packed your Saks shoes with the intention of returning them, but it occurs to me that Stefanie might be in a position to put them to use.”
Starr’s aquamarine eyes lit. “You brought the Cinderella slippers with you? Excellent!”
Confused, Stefanie echoed, “Cinderella slippers?”
Starr nodded. “That’s what we call them, but really they’re vintage red-velvet heels from the thirties.”
&
nbsp; “Originally owned by Maddie Mulligan, the silent film star,” Macie added, closing the refrigerator on the last of the leftovers. “They were a gift from Franc before I left New York for DC,” she added. The celebrity stylist turned reality TV host was filming in LA and hadn’t been able to get back for the holiday.
Starr spoke up, “And I got them as a Christmas birthday present from Macie. Best Christmas and birthday of my life,” she added, her twinkling eyes leaving no doubt.
“I got them on loan from Starr at Valentine’s after I broke it off with Evil Freddie,” Francesca explained, referring to the sous chef she’d kicked to the curb the previous winter. “I wore them to the final taping of Project Cinderella but Franc, the sly fox, never let on he’d found them in the first place.”
Stefanie waited for a lull before asking, “What’s so special about these shoes?” Her friends were an exceedingly well-shod bunch. Macie easily owned close to a hundred pairs, including multiple Manolos and Jimmy Choos.
“Legend has it the shoes bring luck in love to whoever wears them,” Macie explained with a straight face. “According to Maddie’s memoir, the shoes prompted her confirmed bachelor beau, Carlos Banks, to propose. Each of us has a similar story related to wearing them.”
Starr grinned. “Yep, you’re looking at three Happily Ever After testimonials.”
Stefanie couldn’t credit how three such smart, logical women could flip out over shoes. “That’s…crazy.”
Macie shrugged. “Any crazier than a feminist New Yorker finding her Happily Ever After with a conservative Texan? Maybe crazy has a time and place.”
Looking around the room, Francesca said, “We’re either dreadful regifters or members of a potent female sisterhood that passes about shoes in lieu of pants. Regardless, it seems to me it’s Stefanie’s turn.”
