by Claire Adams
"I don't really eat here that often," I said, hoping I didn't have to explain I was there to beg for a decent job.
Roger took my hand and brushed a kiss across my knuckles. "I'm not saying it was a good plan, but it worked. Here you are."
The man on every New York woman's most-eligible bachelor list looked up at me with a warm curve to his lips. He straightened up but did not release my hand until his phone started ringing.
"I'm so sorry. I'll just turn it off," he said, then his frown broke into an amused grin. "Speak of the devil. It's Teddy."
"No, don't-" I tried to swipe the phone out of his hands without making a scene, but it was too late.
Roger answered the call. "Funny that you should call right now. Kiara and I were just saying hello."
I heard the volume of Teddy's voice rise and then the line went dead. Seconds later, my phone started to ring and I had to dig it out of my purse to silence it.
"It's Teddy," Roger chuckled. "Just answer it or he'll keep calling back."
I pursed my lips. "He's only calling me out of some kind of weird competition with you."
Roger shook his head with a speculative look. The phone started ringing again. The maître d' returned to his podium and gave me a slight frown. It didn't matter who I was with, I was no one he recognized and I certainly wasn't allowed to make a scene in his lobby. On the third call back, I had to answer or appear rude.
"Hello, Teddy," I said. "Do you mind if I call you back some other time?"
"Of course I mind," he said.
"Do you want me to put Roger on the line?" I asked, teasing him.
"Kiara, I've been trying to reach you," Teddy said. "Don't go handing the phone off to that man. Doesn't he have some gogling women to go greet?"
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Roger had stepped back when I answered the phone and was now miming that he was going to go greet a tableful of women. Plus, Teddy was right, I had already avoided a least two dozen of his missed calls.
"What do you want, Teddy?" I asked.
"I'm sending a car for you right now. Where are you?"
I turned to the door, worried. "No. Why? What is your problem?" I hissed into the phone.
"The contractor needs to talk to you about the rebuild and your stepsisters left him fake numbers."
"You don't want to take care of it all yourself?" I asked. "Tie up our property in a nice little bow before you buy it for yourself?"
"Is that what you think?" he asked. "Kiara, please. I really am trying to help. Is this about what happened at the party?"
Just being on the phone with Teddy was too much. I could picture him, the little crinkle in between his eyes, and it was too tempting. I wanted to believe him, but worse than that, I wanted to see him again. Hearing the timber of his voice was striking some chord inside that I didn't want to admit I liked. He sounded worried, apologetic, and sincere. I couldn't listen to him for much longer without giving in to his charm.
"Nothing happened," I said. "I hope you and your fiancée enjoyed the rest of your weekend."
"Kiara, let me explain. Wait. Did you just run into Roger or are you two on a date?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" I snapped.
"It matters to me," Teddy said.
"Oh, it matters to the man who is engaged to someone else?" I popped my mouth shut and walked out of the restaurant before I could continue. "You are a spoiled brat, Teddy Brickman. Not only do you want what you can't have, but you want to make sure no one else gets it, either. You need to stay out of my business."
I hung up the phone and willed the butterflies in my stomach to stop. There was no way in the world that Teddy Brickman was jealous over me. I had to stop being silly and start being practical, so I blocked his number and went back inside the restaurant to try to get a job.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Teddy
I stirred the deep, red drink and admired the flecks of horseradish floating in the mix. Darren knew the best places to find a Bloody Mary, even if he always ordered them extra spicy. I took a sip and felt more awake than I had in days. The fiery sip helped burn off the daze I had been in since Kiara disappeared from my estate.
"So your father's yanked the leash, huh? Made you come into Manhattan?" Darren asked.
The traffic outside the trendy, hidden bar crescendoed into a cacophony of honking horns. I liked the distraction; it made me stop thinking in circles. It made me concentrate on where I was, instead of wondering where Kiara had gone.
"At least it's a lunch date," I said.
Darren snorted. "I've never seen your father sit down, much less eat. Is this the end of the world?"
I shook my head. "The old man probably just wants to talk about my finances. Somewhere along the line, he got the idea that offering to pay for a meal means I can't complain about how he allocates my inheritance."
"Maybe he just wants to congratulate you on your engagement," Darren said.
He shifted farther along the bar before I could punch his shoulder. Instead, I curled my hand around my glass and took another burning sip.
"Don't be stupid. I'm not engaged, no matter what Whitney Barnes wants people to think."
"I don't get it," he sighed. "Whitney is gorgeous, rich beyond belief, and, as a couple, you would basically own most of Manhattan."
"And, the majority of Long Island," I muttered.
"Oh, so that's it." He sidled back down the bar and elbowed me. "Your mind is still on Long Island. I thought your girl wasn't there anymore."
"What girl?" I growled.
Darren laughed. "Can't stop thinking about Kiara. Not very virtuous for a newly engaged man."
This time I punched his shoulder before he could move. "Stop spewing bullshit."
"What's bullshit? That everyone thinks you are engaged to Whitney, or that you can't stop thinking about Kiara?" He rubbed his shoulder. "Either way, I'm sure your father has heard about it. So, do you think you're going to get congratulated on your engagement or reamed out for messing around with the Davies girl?"
"I wasn't messing around with her," I snarled.
He held up both hands. "All I'm saying is that there are two major rumors going around about you right now, and they both have to do with women. You lucky boy."
I scratched my chin, realizing the stubble there would get me a disapproving look from my father, and then finished my Bloody Mary in a few gulps. "I better get going."
"Oh, come on, Teddy. If I don't make fun of you, who will? And, on the flip side, if you don't tell me what's going on in that head of yours, it’s probably going to explode."
"Nice try, Darren. I know you're just looking for gossip."
My friend slapped a hand to his chest and gasped for air. "You slay me, sir! Though I suppose that just means you haven't made up your mind. Want to make a pros and cons list?"
"For what?"
"Whitney versus Kiara." Darren narrowed his eyes and studied my face. "Or is there no contest?"
"There's no conversation," I said and stood up. I flipped some bills onto the bar and headed for the door.
Darren called to my back, "Fine, you don't have to admit anything to me. I know, anyway."
I scowled for at least two blocks as I thought about what Darren said. It didn't matter if there was no contest between Kiara and Whitney. Other people were taking sides and making decisions for me. If I didn't find Kiara soon, I would have no chance to clear up what was really going on between us.
Just the two of us, I thought as I walked into the restaurant. I just needed a chance to be with Kiara alone, to see what there really was between us, without other people messing it up.
Then I saw Whitney. She waved and gave me a dazzling smile. She was so bright and perfect, beautiful and aware of it that she drew the gazes from half the restaurant. My father was nowhere to be seen.
"We've been set up," I said as I joined her at the coveted window table.
Whitney paused, expecting me to embrace her
and then push in her chair. I went through the motions without a kiss and her smile lost some of its brightness. "Your father picked a very romantic restaurant," she murmured.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. Whitney was picturesque in a powder-blue dress. Her favorite flowers dominated the table's centerpiece. The music floating over the admiring crowd might have been handpicked from her own collection. All eyes were on us, and Whitney had arranged the scene to her liking.
I sat down and ground my teeth. "You did all of this. My father had nothing to do with it."
"Isn't this a wonderful place?" she asked, ignoring me. "Bright, beautiful - just like us and our lives."
"Are you trying to set up your own proposal?"
Whitney pursed her lips for a second before her smooth smile reappeared. "I may be a modern woman, Teddy, but I still want you to propose to me."
And, she wanted me to do it right that instant. I glanced around and realized there was even a photographer lounging near the brunch buffet. He thought my look was a signal and he hurried to put down his plate and take the lens cap off his camera.
"Whitney, I can't keep doing this," I said. "You're wonderful and you know it, but I just don't feel that way about you. We're not in love. We're not getting married."
She laughed and fluffed out her hair. "Oh, Teddy, you're such a romantic. Love can come later, or we can make other arrangements. Face it. We're perfect for each other, our families want this, and that's more important than your poetic notions."
"I will not ask you to marry me just to satisfy some business deal between our families. Find someone else."
"Someone with your family connections? Someone with your prospects?" she scoffed. "It's sweet how you downplay yourself, Teddy, but be realistic. There's no one else to match me. And, I'm perfect for you."
My phone rang and I ripped it out of my pocket. "Speaking of my prospects, I really need to take this phone call. You understand?"
Whitney pouted, but nodded her head. "I understand the importance of business. A good trait in a wife, don't you think?"
"Then you'll forgive me for cutting our lunch date short?" I asked. I answered the call and told the contractor to hold for a moment. "I really should go and take care of this," I told Whitney.
Her eyes flashed with anger, but her face was serene. "Oh, Teddy. You can make it up to me later. Good luck, darling."
She made a big show of kissing me on the cheek and sending me away with her blessing. I wasn't even to the door before her friends descended to save her from sitting alone. They had been waiting to celebrate her engagement and shot me dirty looks as I pushed my way out the doors and onto the noisy street.
The conversation with the contractor lasted forty seconds, but I held the phone to my ear all the way to the end of the block. I was still pretending when I turned the corner and ran right into Roger.
"Teddy. Good to see you," he said.
I made a show of hanging up my unused phone and shoved it in my pocket. "Roger," I said with a short nod.
"I've been meaning to call you," he said with a smile. "I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement. Whitney is the catch of the century, they say."
"She says," I muttered.
"Pardon me?"
I gritted my teeth. "I'm not engaged. You shouldn't believe all the gossip you hear."
"Oh, well," he shrugged. "It seems inevitable, so I guess my congratulations are just a little early."
"No," I said slowly as if talking to a stubborn child, "not inevitable. Not happening. I'm not going to marry Whitney Barnes."
Roger grinned and kept pace with me along the sidewalk. "Good luck with that," he said.
"Weren't you going the other direction?" I asked.
"Funny you should ask. I have a few hours, and I was just thinking about where I wanted to go. Want to grab a bite to eat?"
I frowned. Roger was inescapably nice and seemed to understand my status and all the attached predicaments better than I did. Still, I didn't like his handsome smile or the way he had looked at Kiara.
"Nah, I've got to get going," I said.
"To Brooklyn?"
I stopped on the sidewalk. "Why would you ask that?"
He smiled. "You keep looking up at the Brooklyn Bridge. Just seems like something over there is on your mind."
"Can we just cut the bullshit?"
He laughed. "Gladly. So, the rumor had it that you were proposing to Whitney at that fancy restaurant a few blocks back, but here you are heading towards Brooklyn. Still looking for Kiara?"
I hated him. Hated that of all people, Roger Dallas was the one I could talk to about her. I knew it wasn't friendly concern for me, but more his interest in Kiara that kept him walking next to me. Still, he was a far cry from Darren's acceptance of expectations and Whitney's mercenary view of our lives. He was just as trapped by his status as me, yet he was open to making unpopular decisions.
I slowed down. "I have to find her."
Roger nodded, but asked, "Why?"
"She thinks I'm the kind of man that flirts with one woman while being engaged to another. I have to tell her, and the rest of the world, that I'm not getting married anytime soon."
"Why does Kiara have to hear that from you?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "What are you, a therapist?"
"I'm just trying to figure out where the line is."
I stopped again on the busy sidewalk. "Because you want permission to pursue her? You want me to tell you that Kiara's fair game?"
"Seems like you might benefit from knowing where the line is yourself." He started walking again.
I caught up to him and grabbed his arm. "I just want to apologize to her. Kiara is too stubborn, and I want to make sure she's not letting that get in the way of her new career."
"You've got no other stake in trying to find her? No other reason for seeing her again?"
"None that's any of your business," I said.
Roger drew to the side of a gallery window and stopped walking. All I could see was the reflection of the Brooklyn Bridge in the shiny window, but I forced myself to concentrate on not punching the smug smile off his face.
"You just want to make sure Kiara will use you as a reference to get another cooking gig?" Roger asked.
"She thinks she has to go it alone, but she could use my help," I said, balling my fingers into fists.
"Selfless act or still trying to atone for burning down her house?"
I stepped forward, nose to nose with Roger. "What does that matter to you?"
He glanced down at my clenched hands and chuckled. "You know, I ran into her in Brooklyn the other day. She was at a very trendy restaurant. Maybe she's doing all right on her own?"
I gripped his arm. "What restaurant? Where?"
He had that knowing smile on his face again when he told me, but I ignored it and hailed a cab instead.
"You're welcome," Roger called as the cab pulled away from the curb, heading to Brooklyn.
#
I was disappointed as soon as I walked through the front doors of the restaurant. It was silly to think that Kiara would be standing there, waiting for me, but I had imagined her seeing me. The shy smile spreading across her face had buoyed me up on the long cab ride, and it was hard to feel everything sink down again.
"Mr. Brickman! It is so nice to see you again."
I glanced at the maître d' as he hurried around his podium and came to shake my hand. So much for being able to discreetly wait for clues as to where Kiara was hiding.
"We met last year. I was a waiter at Simon's," the ingratiating man said.
"Nice place you've got here," I murmured.
Kiara was not in the fashionable late-lunch crowd, nor was she wearing the black uniform of the servers. I looked over the maître d's head as the kitchen door swung open, but she was not one of the sweating team in white chef's jackets.
"We have a table available right away, sir," the maître d' cleared a path through the waiting cr
owd.
"I didn't make a reservation," I said. "I'm sure someone else has been waiting for that table."
A man waiting with his pinched-lip wife looked relieved. The maître d' had been about to seat them when he recognized me.
"In fact, I'm just looking for a friend of mine. She'll be here any minute," I said.
Ten minutes later, the maître d' was sweating through his fancy suit. The crowd in the lobby had thinned out and he cleared his throat as he approached me. "Sir? We have a table by the window available."
I had watched him discreetly move a young couple from that very table just minutes ago, but I shrugged and let him seat me. The table had a good view of the street and the passing Brooklyn crowd. It was ridiculous to think I could sit back and expect Kiara to walk by, but I had no other plan.
"Champagne?" The maître d' did not wait before he popped the cork and poured me a crystal flute of their best.
Minutes later, the chef himself appeared with a specially prepared cheese plate. He wanted to discuss my tastes and moods so he could prepare something just for me, but I wasn't hungry. Instead, I asked him if he knew anyone fitting Kiara's description.
He shook his head before declaring that steak tartare would be the best thing for me.
I sipped the champagne and tried not to grit my teeth. The whole restaurant was holding its breath, wondering if I was about to mark them the trendiest place for the jet-set. All I could think about was how Kiara would wrinkle her nose at me. I could pay for the champagne thousands of times over, but it was free to me. All the special treatment was just to gain my arbitrary approval and the right to say my name.
I watched the people flowing by outside and wished I was like them. They, like all New Yorkers, knew exactly where they were going and weren't letting anyone get in their way. Inside the restaurant was another world, and as the minutes ticked on, I knew for certain that it was not Kiara's world. I wasn't going to catch her there, and I had no idea where else to look for her.
When the sun set, I noticed the maître d’ sweating again. They had rearranged for the dinner service all around me, but now he was anxious because I was still staring out the window. They needed the table for the jammed-packed reservations. I had heard the phone start to ring off the hook as word spread that I enjoyed the restaurant.
