by Jill Shalvis
Standing there was a man holding a radio and a clipboard.
Jacob recognized him as one of the two people who’d accompanied Em to dinner at Amuse Bouche two nights ago. “Eric,” he said, remembering.
Eric looked up from the clipboard and raised a brow. “You want an audition?”
“No.”
“So then why are you here?”
Hell if he knew. “Is Em inside?”
“Yep.” But Eric stepped in front of him. “Sorry, man. Only people who are auditioning can get in there.”
“I want to talk to Em.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because whatever you’ve said or done to her already has left her feeling shaky. Now she’s in there trying to save her career and I’m not going to have you screw with her head.”
“You do realize she’s the one who lied to me, right?”
“Not lied exactly,” Eric corrected. “Just a slight omission is all.”
Jacob raised a brow.
“Look, just leave her alone to do this, okay?”
“Are you her husband?” Jacob asked.
“What? No, of course not.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Boss, then.”
“No,” Eric said, looking annoyed. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Then I’m going in.”
“I already told you why you’re not.”
“Only if I was auditioning, right? Then you’d let me in.”
Eric slapped the clipboard against his thigh as he studied Jacob. “If you wanted to audition, none of this would have been necessary.”
“I don’t do performance cooking.”
“Someone here in line today is going to be extremely thankful for that.”
“I just want to talk to her.”
Eric sighed. “You know what? Fine. Talk to her. But mess her up, and I’ll mess you up.”
They sized each other up for a moment, then Jacob sighed. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt her.”
“Sure it’s not too late for that?”
What the hell did that mean? Jacob had no idea, and with a muttered “thanks,” he stepped inside the conference room. There was a long table set up, and behind it sat Em and a blonde, both watching the man standing in front of them.
The man was short, fat, bald and toting a whip. Instead of a white chef’s hat and coat, he wore all black. “First, you must determine if the lettuce is dirty,” he said in a deep, strict voice. He snapped the whip through the air for emphasis. “Is it dirty? Is the lettuce dirty? If so, naughty, naughty.”
Jacob, who’d seen it all, just shook his head.
The blonde’s mouth fell open.
Em looked equally flabbergasted.
“Are the tomatoes bad?” the auditioning chef asked sternly. “Are they very, very bad? If so, you slice them up real nice, or no food for you!” Another swoosh of the whip.
Em jerked to her feet. “Thank you,” she said quickly. “That’s enough.”
The man pointed the whip at her. “You, quiet. I am not finished.”
“Oh, yes, you are.” Liza jumped up next to Em. “Get out.”
The man “hmphed,” then stormed past Jacob, his squat figure barely coming up to his shoulder.
The blonde reached for her drink. “Well, that was interesting.”
“Yes,” Em said, and looked at Jacob. Relief filled her gaze.
She thought he’d changed his mind, that he wanted to be her chef.
Jacob shook his head, and the disappointment in her eyes nearly killed him. It had been a hell of a long time since he’d disappointed someone he cared about.
It had been a long time since he’d cared like this at all.
Liza turned to see what had caught Em’s eye, and put down her drink. “Tell me this is our lucky day,” she said to Jacob.
Again he shook his head.
“You’re killing me,” Liza muttered. “Next!”
The doors opened. A woman entered, dressed in nothing but a string bikini. A string bikini with strings sorely tested by her considerable girth. Her large breasts were pushing precariously at their restraints, and the bottoms of the bathing suit were strained to the point of being frayed. She’d topped this off with pink polka-dot stilettos.
“My turn!” she cried, waving a carrot of all things. “I plan to be the Great Loss Chef! Together, me and America are going to lose twenty-five pounds!”
Jacob thought she could have tripled that and been closer to the right number.
She began gyrating, dancing to some music only she could hear, her body jiggling and shaking, and not in an attractive fashion.
“Uh, thank you,” Em said. “But…”
The woman didn’t stop. In fact, she kept dancing as she began to eat the carrot.
“That’s all,” Em called out politely.
“No, don’t say stop,” Bikini Woman pleaded. “I can do this! I’m your next amazing chef!”
“I’m sorry.” Em shook her head. “I’m going to have to ask you to—”
“Not yet! I’m not finished—”
“Yes,” Liza said firmly. “You are. Next!”
Bikini Chef threw her carrot to the floor. “This is nothing but a bunch of crap! I’m an excellent chef. You’re all making a big mistake. You hear me? I was meant to be a star—my mother told me so!”
Em pressed her fingertips to her eyelids.
“Look,” Em said firmly, dropping her hands. “You haven’t shown me what I wanted to see, which was talent for cooking.”
“That’s because I can’t cook,” she cried.
“Then try one of the other reality shows,” Em told her as patiently as she could.
Bikini Woman sighed, nodded and headed toward the door. Once she was gone, Eric poked his head in. When Em shook her head to another contestant, he shut the door.
“It’s going to be a hell of a long day,” Liza said. She came around the table and eyed Jacob. “Unless you want to…”
Jacob shook his head.
Liza sighed. “Right.” She glanced at Em, who hadn’t taken her eyes off Jacob. “I’ll give you two a minute. I’ll just go get a coffee, maybe torture Eric with my beauty and wit.”
“Liza—”
“Just kidding.” She grinned. “Sort of. In any case, don’t give me another thought.”
When she’d left, Em said to Jacob, “Did you come for a good laugh?”
“I don’t know, that S and M chef was…interesting.”
She just shook her head. “God. I’m in big trouble.”
“Maybe you should make a show of the auditions. A sort of preshow show. That’d be some good entertainment.”
She laughed, only there wasn’t much amusement in the sound, and he walked around the table to stand close to her. “You didn’t really expect to find someone your first day.”
She lifted her gaze to his and he saw the truth there. “You didn’t expect to have to audition at all,” he said.
She slowly shook her head.
“I’m sorry.” He was shocked to find his apology genuine.
“I know.” She smiled. “And it’s okay. But if you’re not here because you’ve changed your mind, I need to get back to it.” She gestured with her head toward the closed door, and the line of people waiting. “Just tell me there are no more whips or bikinis out there.”
“No, but I did see a monkey.”
She closed her eyes.
“And a set of triplets singing a cappella.”
She opened her eyes again. “That’s not funny.”
“Not even a little bit?”
She tried to remain stern and unsmiling, but gave up. “A monkey? Ah, hell.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, yeah, maybe it is just a little bit funny. But it won’t be next month, when I’m in the unemployment line.”
Because he didn’t want to picture that, he kept it light, leaning in t
o kiss her jaw. “I’ve got a plan to keep your mind off your troubles.”
“I just bet.” She eyed him warily but didn’t pull away from his touch. “What is it?”
“Come out with me tonight after my shift.”
“To…”
If he told her what he really wanted to do with her, to her, she’d probably pass out on the spot. “To see New York.”
“I’ve seen the city.”
“Come see it my way.”
She was already shaking her head. “Ooooh, no. Bad idea.”
“Actually, it’s a great idea. It’ll help you relax.”
“Yeah? And how will being with you help me relax?”
He let out a slow grin, and she pointed at it, shaking her head. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn on that charm. Because, damn it, I’d follow you anywhere when you smile at me like that, and that’s bad. Very bad. I have a job to do, I have to—”
“You’d follow me anywhere?” he asked.
She looked at him for a long moment. “Let’s just say, I have few survival skills when it comes to you.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of that, either, and suddenly he was uncomfortably warm. Was it hot in here? He took a step backward, toward the door, startled anew when she grabbed his hand, and at what he had in it.
Her note.
Unwrinkling it, she studied her own words. “I did promise to make it up to you,” she said quietly, then lifted her face to his. “I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
Since he’d apparently lost his tongue, he couldn’t come up with the words to tell her that she was right, this was a bad idea, that being with her wasn’t good for his mental health.
Eric opened the door. “The natives are getting restless.”
“Okay.” Em smiled at Jacob. “See you later.”
He looked into her beautiful face, with her thoughts chasing each other across her features. When he saw one particular thought—that she wanted him—he said softly, “Yeah, see you later.”
HE WENT TO THE ONLY PLACE that ever made him feel better and completely at home.
His kitchen.
Pru was already there, brooding, too. After listening to her slam around in her wine cabinet for five tense, silent minutes, he sighed. “What?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Okay, then never mind.”
She turned to him, her eyes wet, the emotion on her face stabbing directly into his heart. “I told Caya how I felt about her.”
He backed up a step. “Okay.”
“Yeah, that’s what she said.”
“What?”
Pru sighed. “She said okay. She said thank you. She said that it made her feel good. What she didn’t say was ‘I love you back, Pru.’”
“Why the hell would you tell her such a thing?”
“Because you told me to!”
“I told you to tell her you wanted her. I didn’t say anything about love.”
“But I do love her.” Pru shut the cabinet hard enough that the bottles rattled, and crossed her arms, glaring at him as if this was all his fault.
“You scared her,” he said.
“Take a peek into the dining room.”
She tugged him to the kitchen door and cracked it open enough to reveal the front room. The waitstaff was out there having a meeting at one of the large dining tables. Caya was sitting on the lap of Michael, headwaiter. Her head was thrown back and she was laughing her cute ass off.
“Does that look scared to you?” Pru asked.
Uh, no, not exactly. He pulled Pru away from the door and looked into his usually calm friend’s face. No calm there now. Just a panic he’d never seen before, and hurt. Damn it. Worse, looking at her expression, he saw something else. Someone else.
Em.
There had been pain in her eyes, too, and he’d put it there. “I tried to tell you this was a bad idea.”
She let out a disbelieving sound. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? I told you so?”
“What else do you expect?” Honest to God, he didn’t know. But he did know this: he had an ache in his chest that had better be heartburn and not emotion. What was wrong with everyone? Why couldn’t it go back to the simplicity of before?
“Thanks, Chef,” Pru said sarcastically. “Thanks ever so much.”
“What do you want from me?” he asked helplessly.
“To make this better. Can you do that?”
If he couldn’t help himself, how the hell did she think he could help her? “Pru…”
“Yeah, forget it.” She sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
Jacob hoped so. And he hoped he’d be fine, too.
THE REST OF THE AUDITIONS were predictably horrible, but Eric promised Em they’d have a better selection tomorrow, and she chose to believe him rather than panic.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow her future would figure itself all out.
But first she had to get through tonight, and the evening with Jacob, without losing anything important.
Like her heart.
Nathan had called. Did she have him yet? She’d promised she was working on it and hung up.
Unable to find either Eric or Liza, she got ready alone, trying not to think too much.
Was she working on Jacob? No. She wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. So what was it that she was doing?
She had no idea.
And what did one wear to go out on the town with Jacob Hill? She had no idea what to expect, much less how to prepare for it. Finally she settled for her favorite red cashmere hoodie, and a black skirt and boots. Comfort clothes that just happened to look decent enough for any adventure that came her way. Taking a peek in the mirror, she shrugged. Not bad, she supposed. Hoped.
He’d left her a message to meet him in the lobby at ten o’clock. She took the elevator, half expecting him to be on it already, where he’d start their evening off with a wild kiss.
But no Jacob.
Instead she rode the elevator with another couple who couldn’t keep their eyes, mouths or hands off each other, leaving Em standing in the corner trying to pretend she couldn’t see them, trying not to think about how she’d been kissed just like that woman was being kissed, trying not to remember what it had felt like to have Jacob’s eyes, hands and mouth all over her.
She began to perspire.
God. The man could make her hot when he wasn’t even anywhere near her. When the doors opened, she nearly ran off the elevator. Stepping into the lobby, her eyes locked on the life-size art deco painting of the threesome.
Perfect. Now even artwork was mocking her.
All around her, the place was hopping, people coming and going, some from Erotique, some from other areas of the hotel, others from the street.
Then she saw him standing in the center of the lobby, and everything else seemed to fade away. How cliché, how ridiculous, but the voices, the people, the sights and sounds, all of it vanished except for the sight of Jacob wearing all black, looking big, bad and extremely dangerous to her heart and soul.
And all she could think was…God, I hope he kisses me again tonight. And touches me.
And makes love to me.
The thought alone was enough to douse some of the excitement. No way. She was not going to sleep with him, not when she knew she was going to get on a plane in a matter of days and never see him again. She wasn’t equipped for an affair.
Was she?
From across the lobby, through the people and the chatter of conversation and laughter, he smiled at her, one of his slow, heated smiles that rattled her knees and liquefied her bones.
Then he was walking toward her. With that long-legged stride and sense of purpose. Other women watched him, wanted him, and yet he didn’t even look.
And despite what she’d told herself about her heart, it tipped on its side and began the fall.
“Hey,” he said when he reached her side. He took her hand. “Ready?”
&
nbsp; If he only knew just how ready she was, he’d go running into the night, putting as much distance between them as he possibly could. “Ready,” she said, and put her hand in his. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.”
He was true to his word. They walked through Soho, looking at art displayed on the street. Not pretty, neat museum art, but dark, deep stuff that she’d never experienced before, from artists who looked as if maybe they’d lived by train tracks their whole life, or out of cardboard boxes.
Jacob didn’t say much, just waited for her reaction. She didn’t know for certain but thought maybe this was his way of testing her—could she understand his world?
She studied the art, while Jacob studied her, appearing to be watching her for any signs of revulsion or discomfort, but she felt neither. In fact, with his big, tough body at her side, she’d never felt more comfortable, or safe.
And the art honestly captured her, entranced her. She told him so, and felt more than saw some invisible string of tension break free.
After that, he took her for a very late dinner at a tiny Thai place with only three tables, where no one spoke English, where it was possible that everyone here had just gotten off a boat from Thailand. The place was clean but dark and furtive, as if the entire staff was ready to pick up and run at a moment’s notice of the immigration authorities.
It was some of the best food she’d ever tasted.
It was Jacob, she knew, still trying to scare her off his world, which was so incredibly different from hers, but he didn’t know that while she might look sweet and act sweet, even taste sweet, she could dig in her heels with the best of them. She didn’t care that he’d had a vagabond, wanderlust life, and that hers had been relatively sheltered. She didn’t expect anything more than what they could have in this moment right here, right now.
So the test continued.
They browsed through a magic shop for fun, then went through the back and ended up in a porn shop. Tasteful as the interior was, with lace and silk curtains dividing the DVDs from the whips and chains, Em still blinked in surprise. Dildos and vibrators and cock rings, oh my.
Jacob just watched her in that way he had of never hesitating, never fumbling, never looking flustered or confused.
God, to have half that confidence.
“Need anything?” he asked, deadpan.
