Never Ever Satisfied (The Perfect Date Book 4)

by Donna McDonald

  “Rules are nice, but that won’t stop the really determined people. Trust me, I know. Thank you for letting me record this warning. It will make the harassment lawsuit stronger,” Trudy teased.

  “There’s no need to worry about anyone overstepping, Trudy. Mariah is adamant with her clients,” Dell replied, answering the concern with an assurance she knew to be true. “So now we get to the more interesting stuff. Tell us about your perfect date.”

  Trudy reached up and rubbed her nose. If she’d ever dated in the normal, everyday sense, she might have an answer to that question that people would believe. As it was, she had nothing. “I’m not sure how to answer. Can we just go on to the next question?”

  Della laughed softly at the dodge. “Why? Have you been disappointed in love too many times?”

  “No,” Trudy said carefully. “It’s just that I don’t really date. Over the years I’ve hooked up with plenty of men for the short term, but I’ve never had time for more than that. It’s sort of been the penalty of being too busy.”

  Della shook her head. “So there’s been no candlelight dinners for you? No movies? No long walks through the park holding hands?”

  Surprised by Della’s specificity, Trudy wrinkled her face in thought. Had she ever gone to a movie with a guy outside of her brother? She couldn’t recall doing so. Maybe in a group of friends, but then most of her friends were women.

  “I’m sure I’ve done those things at some time or the other, but they weren’t a normal part of my typical relationship. Most of the men in my life have been a lot like me—busy business owners with agendas to keep. I’m not sure what I’d do with a guy who wanted all that romantic stuff you just mentioned.”

  Della had to work hard not to wince at the sincerity in Trudy’s voice. “Okay. Let’s visit fantasy land for a moment. When you think of your perfect date, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

  “Fantasy land?” Trudy squirmed in her chair and made a face as she tried to conjure up a dating fantasy. An image of sexy Jack Dozen instantly popped into her head. He was cooking dinner for the two of them in her gourmet kitchen at home. He was also telling her stories and making her laugh. And he was doing all that just before kissing her again like she’d ten thousand times fantasied about after he’d kissed her that one time all those years ago.

  The epiphany that she was fantasizing about her now fifteen year old lust for Jack hit her hard. “Holy shit.”

  Her immediate swearing and face palm startled the others in the room with her. She heard Ann and Georgia whispering. She heard Della clearing her throat. And the whole time her own heart thundered nervously in her ears. Where had that crazy stuff even come from?

  Outside of watching Jack on his show, she’d not seen the man in fifteen damn years. She’d seen other men—lots of other men. Some of them had kissed well too. She’d let her lust lead her into the beds of several men, but for some bizarre reason, not a single kiss except Jack’s featured in the fantasy Della ordered her to conceive.

  Wow, she really needed to get laid.

  She’d been blaming her lack of interest in a lover on menopause, which had ended that phase of her life a couple years ago. However, sexual abstinence was all that could reasonably explain why she was still sexually interested in such an inappropriate man after all these damn years.

  “Sorry, Della. The fantasy thing is beyond me,” Trudy said, genuine regret in her voice, but about way more than just her swearing. She was over fifty. Didn’t infatuation have a freaking time limit? “I hope you can erase my panicked tongue slip from the recording.”

  Della nodded. “No worries. I can do some fairly amazing things.”

  “Good,” Trudy said, sighing. “Now let me try and genuinely answer your perfect date question.”

  Trudy lifted her chin, looked at the camera, and conjured a fearless smile any beauty pageant participant would have envied. Poise in front of the camera was starting to come back to her.

  “My perfect date is going to be a total surprise to me because I’ve never taken the time to actually date the way most people do. But if we’re talking about fantasies… the man who provides me with a perfect date will be incredibly handsome, boyishly charming, and yet mature enough to be totally at ease with himself… and with me.”

  “That sounds very good. I’ll take one of those dates as well, please,” Della said with a laugh.

  Trudy held up a hand. “Wait—I’m not done. My fantasies tend to run long and get very detailed,” she joked, grinning as she leaned a bit forward. “My perfect date must also be confident enough in his own self-worth not to mind dealing with what remains of my celebrity life. I still get stopped in public by fans of my old show. Plus, they are frequently guests in my restaurants.”

  “Sounds perfectly reasonable. Anything else on that list of details?” Della asked.

  Trudy thought and nodded. “Yes. There are a couple more things. While it’s probably not fair of me to ask for this at all, I would really like the perfect guy to be a passable cook in the kitchen. Even the most talented chef gets tired of eating her own cooking, which is a problem because I hate to eat out. Lastly, having a sense of humor is high on my list of good character traits in a person. I love to laugh. In fact, laughing and having a good time is as equally important to me as good food.”

  “Great stuff,” Della encouraged, glancing up. “Now tell us something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone else. It can be a small confidence. It doesn’t have to be a big one. Take your time answering. The camera is digital. I can even pause the recording if you want to think out loud for a while first.”

  Trudy shrugged and laughed. “No need for all that, but are you really ready for me to share my biggest secret? This one will be a shocker to those with a romantic soul.”

  Della laughed. “Go ahead. Shock me,” she ordered.

  Trudy shrugged. “I’ve never been in love.”

  “Never?” Della squeaked, lifting her head from the camera.

  Trudy chuckled softly. “No—never, as in not once in my fifty years of living. I’ve been infatuated many times, and I’ve experienced my fair share of lust, but I’ve never met a man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I like living alone. I like not answering to anyone. So any man interested in dating me should know beforehand that it’s best not to weave too many happily ever after dreams. If I’m being honest here, I simply don’t think I’m that kind of woman.”

  The minute the words left her mouth it occurred to Trudy that her answer might stop all the determined rich men in Mariah’s precious database from picking her out for any dates at all. Trudy smiled at the pleasant thought of being totally ignored, now very pleased with her smart-aleck revelation. She didn’t even have to feel the least bit guilty about it because it was absolutely the truth. She wasn’t shopping for a man to complete her or anything else that sappy.

  “Okay. I think that’s it, Trudy. Do you want to see your video before I upload it to the database?”

  Trudy belly laughed. “God, no. I’m just glad the torture is over. Let me know if you need to re-record any of it.”

  “I can tell you already that I won’t need to,” Della said confidently.

  “Great.” Trudy looked at the back wall. “Come on, you giggling idiots. Let’s get a drink somewhere. I need a stiff one after all that fantasizing crap.”

  Georgia snorted. “If you truly needed a stiff one, you should have worn a boob shirt instead of that Catholic schoolgirl blouse you have on. You’re going to need all the help you can get after telling your Hitler story.”

  “Oh, screw you, Georgia. That’s my family history. I’m not ashamed of it.”

  They said goodbye and left the room with Della resetting the camera.

  Ann sighed heavily at their bickering. “Don’t worry, Trudy. I’m sure there are plenty of guys in Mariah’s database who’ll think your Nazi-supporting granny story is funny.”

  Trudy laughed as she stared at Ann. �
�God, I must have sounded really bad if my video has you making wishes for me.”

  “Oh, it was bad alright,” Georgia said with a head nod. “Good thing Della’s a miracle worker. If I know her, she’ll cut the Hitler reference out and manage to save your proud German ass.”

  Trudy rolled her eyes. “Georgia, if you can get a date, I’m pretty sure anyone can, no matter what they said on their video. You practically told all men to eff off in yours.”

  “There’s no practically about it. I did tell them that,” Georgia agreed as she opened the door of the office so they could leave. “Why I actually have a man in my bed again after all this time is still a complete mystery to me. Hollywood likes me for reasons I can’t fathom. I haven’t been this sexually content since my twenties. Mariah would be so proud if she knew.”

  Georgia turned and waved a finger. “But I will kill you if you tell on me. My daughter does not need more reasons to gloat.”

  Ann huffed as she looked at a now laughing Trudy

  “Well, I hope you find someone to finally fall in love with and I hope the man loves you madly back. I hope the two of you run off to some secret island in the Caribbean to get married just because you can’t wait to be man and wife.”

  Trudy rolled her eyes. “Wow—just wow. Talk about fantasies. The Caribbean? Is Calvin really that good, Ann?”

  Ann grinned as she nodded. “Yes. And finding the right person makes all the difference when defining the word good. Plus, there’s something great about finding it when you’re mature enough to appreciate the true gift that passion is.”

  “Passion,” Trudy repeated, sighing heavily herself. “I’m so unromantic. Even the word makes me tired. No wonder I haven’t wanted sex in ages.”

  “I know what you mean, but when you find the right guy, he’ll wake all those girly parts of yours back up. You’ll find energy for him,” Georgia promised.

  “Great,” Trudy said, exaggerating a sigh. “Now I’m feeling the pressure to perform. I’m going to need two drinks.”

  “You can have as many as it takes to start dating again,” Georgia declared, patting her hanging wallet. “We’re using Mariah’s credit card to pay for your liquid therapy.”

  The three of them chuckled as they headed to a nice, little bar that wasn’t far from Mariah’s office.

  Chapter Three

  Brandon folded his arms on the counter and stared in awe at the famous man whose eyes were exactly like his—a man he both liked and loved. His family was one of the many blessings he counted each day.

  “Chef Dozen,” Brandon began his advising in earnest by purposely irritating his father with his celebrity moniker. “I’m merely pointing out that maybe you should put whatever cooking competition problem the two of you had in the past aside long enough to make this TV show thing work. Also, if you don’t get over the past, you’re never going to get the woman into bed.”

  “Stop nagging, Brandon. I told you this already… it’s not her.”

  Brandon snorted as his eyes narrowed to slits. “Why are you trying that weak lie with me? Every time you get drunk, you tell me the same sad story. You were my age and she was almost your age. No, you never said the woman’s name to me—not even in one of your Makers Mark stupors—but you said she was a famous chef like you. Add that to the fact you’re mad about Chef Baker coming onto your show, and then factor in the age difference between you two. Dad, this whole situation matches your sob story. The math does not lie. It has to be her.”

  Jack adeptly flipped a dozen pancakes spread across two large commercial grade grills before he spoke. Upgrading the kitchen had been one of the best improvements he’d made here. “You’re bugging me, Brandon. See if they’re slowing down out there yet.”

  Brandon snorted at his father dodging his questions. “I don’t have to see. You’re feeding ten teenagers. I’ve been counting what you’ve cooked so far and you’re going to need at least two more dozen pancakes. I ate five and I could still eat another one.”

  Jack grunted. “Look, just because you have a fancy MBA now…” The kitchen door being slapped open by his spastic sister interrupted his argument.

  She poked her head completely into the room to glare at him. She huffed at the stack of pancakes and then glared at him again. “You’re going to need at least two more dozen, Jack. The heathens are starving this morning. I told you we should have made more eggs. Eggs are healthier for growing boys.”

  “They get enough eggs during the week, Bridget. They’re getting pancakes and bacon this morning.”

  “Bacon. They nearly came to blows over the bacon, Jack. Heathens—young boys are heathens. How many times do I have to remind you?” Bridget informed him nearly hissing.

  Jack laughed at his oldest sister’s haughtiness. It had never bothered him a single bit. Oddly enough, his annoying family had been great training for remaining calm when working with producers, cameramen, and the myriad of equally spastic television people.

  Reaching behind him, Jack pulled a pan from the oven with a silicone glove. He stacked the finished dozen onto the pan. “I was holding some back for seconds. Here, Bridget… everyone gets another pancake right now and three strips of bacon. I’ll make two dozen more pancakes and send them out with Brandon. Then I have to clean the kitchen. I have other things to do today.”

  “Let the heathens scrub the kitchen,” Bridget ordered sharply.

  “I can’t do that. The boys are working outside today. Frank already has the chore list drawn up. They start in an hour.”

  Since she wasn’t making her point well enough in English, Bridget started complaining in Mandarin which had Jack snickering. Thank God only the eldest two siblings in his family had been required to learn it. He was grateful to be the youngest, but not so grateful to have been the only boy. He hadn’t exactly been the best Chinese-American son.

  Brandon watched his aunt lift a hand in surrender before using that same hand to slap the kitchen door open while balancing the bacon pan on her arm. His Aunt Bridget came to help feed the boys every Saturday morning like clockwork. She just couldn’t seem to do it without questioning every rule and regulation of the private children’s home.

  “Think Aunt Bridget would teach me Mandarin?” Brandon asked.

  Jack shook his head. “Are you really wanting more torture? I thought that all ended when you finished your MBA.”

  Brandon grinned. “The next position in my company will require I travel to China every few months. Given I have my father’s eyes and hair, I figure they’ll be expecting me to speak at least one dialect with some proficiency.”

  Jack made a face. “Possibly true. Do you wish you inherited your mother’s looks? They probably wouldn’t have expected a freckled redhead to speak Chinese.”

  “No,” Brandon said with all confidence. “If I had taken after her, you’d have never believed so quickly that I was yours. I know that was a really bad year for you. First, the woman you loved broke your heart, and then you discovered a ten year old son you never knew you had.”

  “We’ve covered this ground a thousand times, Brandon. Me finding you saved us both,” Jack said, lifting his gaze to one that mirrored his own. “Because of you, I didn’t give up what I was doing. I stuck with it instead of crawling into a hole.”

  “And now look… you’re a famous celebrity. Way to go, Dad.”

  Jack laughed. “The celebrity ship may be sailing out of port soon. I need you to look at my projections for the third quarter and see if I have enough money to invest in a business of some sort. I need something more reliable than a TV show to help keep this place open.”

  “Chef Baker is going to help you get to the next level. That’s why she’s coming on your show,” Brandon said, watching his father create a precise stack of pancakes any OCD chef would die to be able to do.

  “What are you talking about, Brandon? She was a good teacher, I guess, but I learned most of what I know on my own. Chef Trudy Baker did not make me who I am, unless being
bitter counts,” Jack argued.

  Brandon grinned wider when he got caught smirking. His father was mostly clueless about his contract with the TV station, so Brandon had taken it upon himself to figure out what all the fine print was about. The things he’d learned led to him asking some interesting questions that connected Chef Baker and his father more than just having been cooking show hosts.

  Chef Baker wasn’t married. His father wasn’t married. Neither of them had ever married in the last fifteen years they hadn’t crossed paths except on paper. The inevitable conclusion about why they’d never committed to anyone was not that much of a stretch to figure out when Brandon was confronted with a constantly cranky father.

  “You’ll always be a chef, Dad,” Brandon said proudly. “But being a celebrity version pays much better than being a short order cook somewhere. If you two bury the past, Chef Baker might hire you for one her restaurants, especially if you asked her nicely.”

  “Me? Work in one of her restaurants? That was low, Brandon. Very low,” Jack said firmly, pointing his pancake spatula at his grinning tormentor.

  “Then get over yourself and let Chef Baker help you move up the career ladder. Become her friend, Dad. Who knows? Maybe you two can bake a wedding cake for one of your episodes.”

  “Wedding cake?” Jack snorted in disbelief. The lust thing was still there for him, but even that was now as cold as leftovers stored in the refrigerator too long. When he saw her the other day, all he’d wanted was to smack her with a kitchen implement for interfering in his life again. “She hates me, and most days I hate her right back.”

  “Dude, I wasn’t talking about a wedding cake for you and her, though—Ha!—I’m happy you finally admitted your sob story woman has been Chef Baker all along.”

  “MBA, my ass. You should have become a damned detective,” Jack grumbled, feeling exposed because he rarely kept anything from Brandon.

  “Chill, okay? The wedding cake is for me. I asked Jivika to marry me and she said yes.”