by Gina Gordon
The ladies smiled coyly as they walked by. The hostess even gave him a little wave of her fingers.
“This place is going to be crawling with women once word gets out Jack is working here,” Christine murmured out of the side of her mouth.
They might have the come-hither look down to a science but their skills in the whispering department needed work.
“Which means we better get in there fast before he has too many choices,” the hostess said.
They both looked over, subtlety not their intention, and giggled.
He didn’t acknowledge them. He didn’t want to lead anyone on. His best mode of defense was going to be silence.
Besides, he didn’t have room in his brain for another woman. Sterling had taken up residence and occupied every inch, firing his synapses on all cylinders. His brain was on overload at the thought of her, clothed, undressed. Happy. Shy. Needy. The last four days had been torture. He wished he could drop everything and see her. But she had a life outside of her job packing up his home and he would respect that.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. And he knew exactly what he was going to do when he saw her.
“Everything ready, little brother?” Cole stood at the end of the bar, his expression a mixture of appreciation, sympathy…caution. He knew better than to acknowledge the situation.
With the restaurant set to open any minute, Jack gave the bar surface one last wipe. “Good. Ready to go.”
“If you have any questions just ask Devon. He pretty much runs the waitstaff out here so he can help you with anything you need.”
Jack nodded. “Devon. Got it.”
Jack deflated. As though he’d never used a cash register before. Or dealt with customer complaints. But he knew Cole was only trying to be helpful and supportive, and was more than thankful.
As Jack swiped the cloth over the wood surface, Neil stormed into the building.
“I need signatures. And I need them fast.” Neil loped to the bar and took a stool on the opposite side. “I have the contracts for the purchase of the land. There have been no changes since we discussed them last, so all I need is your signature.”
Neil spread out seven copies of the contract. One for each of them, the seller, and the appropriate lawyers. This purchase was a big deal for the family. The biggest endeavor the Madewood name had ever been attached to. Neil had plans to turn an old farm into the biggest, most eclectic culinary experience in the country. Once complete, the Madewood Farm would house indoor and outdoor dining facilities complete with event space, a gourmet food store, apple and berry picking when in season, and a family picnic area. It figured that Neil would be the one to dream up the idea, make the move, finalize the plan, and run with it. Just as his stature was big and overbearing, so were his ideas.
“Me first.” Cole grabbed a pen from his pants pocket, armed and ready to sign in all the right places. “I have to get back to the kitchen.”
“Jack?” Neil held out the contracts Cole had finished with.
He nodded and set to work.
“I finally have a meeting scheduled with Carson Kelly to discuss the design and construction,” Neil said. Carson Kelly was the most prominent architect in the city. “Damn old man was impossible to get an appointment with.”
“Didn’t he do that complex?” Cole asked. “The one with the—”
“Lake in the middle?” Neil nodded. “Yes, he did.”
Neil would only go for the best. Jack wasn’t the least bit surprised he’d pick someone just as over-the-top in terms of vision.
“If everything goes as planned we should be set to break ground as soon as it thaws next spring.”
“Jack!”
All three brothers turned their attention to Devon, who walked across the dining area toward the front door with a bevy of female employees.
“We usually hit up some bars after our shifts are over.” Devon’s voice carried across the room. “You should join us.”
“No thanks, man.” Jack held up his hands. “Maybe another time.”
He had a beautiful woman who’d be waiting for him tomorrow evening.
When Jack returned his attention to his brothers they were eyeing each other curiously. “What?”
They mumbled, “Nothing,” in unison.
Neil handed over the rest of the documents that Cole had finished with.
“Listen, Jack…” Here it came. Neil’s famous lecture lead-in.
Jack crossed his arms over his chest in defense, ready to take whatever insults Neil hurled at him.
“I know you’re going to take off.”
He nodded. “I have a few things to take care of first…” Like having sex with a beautiful woman. “…but I have to get back to Chicago and relieve J.R. I’ll help you out as much as I can until I leave.”
“What things do you have to take care of, Club Rat?” Neil had given him that nickname when he turned twenty-one. It wasn’t a coincidence that Jack opened his first restaurant-bar hybrid shortly after.
“That’s my cue to leave.” Cole shoved his pen back in his pocket and pointed to Jack just before he turned and walked away, successfully avoiding the confrontation.
“I own restaurants. Not clubs,” Jack corrected. If he had a nickel for every time he had to correct one of them he’d be able to foster every child in the system. “And I have things. Like packing up Mom’s house.” He puffed out his chest. “I hired Sterling to help me.”
“Hey, Cole? Did you hear this?” Neil yelled, just in time to stop Cole from disappearing into the kitchen. “Jack’s packing up Mom’s things.”
Cole laughed and walked back to the bar. “Like picking out the stuff you want to take with you when you leave?”
“No, asshole.”
“Like throwing everything into garbage bags and storing it in the garage?” Neil asked.
Jack feigned laughter. “The house is a shrine. It’s time we moved on.” They all needed to move on. It was the best thing for all of them. “And Sterling will be the one to suggest how things should be stored. I’m just sitting back and cutting the check.” And fucking her into oblivion. How could he forget the best part? But it would also be nice to not come home to an empty house.
“Look at you all adult-y,” Cole said, rolling his eyes.
He looked up from the last contract he had to sign. “I’m an adult.” Jack was sick and tired of always being considered less of a Madewood because he took off. “I just didn’t follow the perfectly laid out plan the two of you did.” Different was good. He was more than just tattoos and gossip magazine articles. And he had Sterling to thank for that realization.
“I’m all done.” Jack righted the pages of the contracts and placed them in a pile in front of Neil.
“Thanks.” Neil gathered them up and slid them back into the manila envelope. “I’m off to Carmel to get Finn’s signature.” He turned slightly to stand, but hesitated.
Jack’s stomach tightened. Something bad was about to go down.
Neil rested his palm on the bar. “Jack, it’s good that you’re focused, but I just…” He glanced over to the foyer where Devon and the female staff members were laughing. “We just can’t survive a scandal right now, and with Sterling—”
He looked between both brothers. He was referring to Jack’s indiscretion overshadowing the death of his mother. Instead of paying tribute to a wonderful woman, they focused on Jack missing his mother’s passing because he was too busy getting laid. But that would never happen again. Jack would make sure of it.
“What I do with Sterling is none of your business.”
If looks could kill, Jack would be six feet under. Neil didn’t like to be questioned. He didn’t like to be called out. Usually, Jack would have loved to engage in a verbal spar with his brother but this time, he was going to be the bigger man. “I’m here. I’m helping out.” He turned to Cole.
Neil’s eyebrows quirked up. He obviously expected a fight. But Jack wasn’t going to engage him. A
confrontation with Neil wouldn’t accomplish anything and would only force Cole and Finn to take sides. Keeping his cool right now was for the good of the family.
“All right then.” Neil stood and walked toward the kitchen. “I’ll see you later.”
Yes, he would. And every day that Cole needed him behind this bar. Within the next four weeks, that is.
Chapter Eight
Sterling padded down the grand staircase. Earlier when her stomach had rumbled for the umpteenth time, she’d slipped into the kitchen to put her leftovers from the night before into the microwave. She’d been so busy she hadn’t heard the timer go off—it had been at least thirty minutes since she put her food in, probably nice and cool by now.
When she arrived that morning, she had started on the first floor of Vivian Madewood’s home—Jack’s home—making a first-round sweep of the contents. She’d spent the day marking items with sticky notes: storage, donate, sell. When he returned that night he’d review her decisions and she’d order storage containers.
The week had gone by in a blur. She’d just finished up her latest contract with Dunn and Associates, a multi-partner law firm downtown, and was set to start work with Prism Consulting Group on Monday. Her time at the Madewood home was limited, but she was queen of multitasking. She’d have this house ready in no time. Now that she’d decided to renege on her deal with Jack, she would have more than enough time to finish things in a timely fashion.
And the faster she finished this job, the faster she got paid. Which meant the faster she could pay off the debt and hopefully keep her house. The only pressing concern was how she was going to handle her parents.
She’d been nervous about seeing Jack this morning. Downright terrified. Luckily, he had already left for the day, leaving a spare key for her underneath the doormat. Inside he’d left her a note, a rather detailed note, advising her of his intentions to seduce her when he returned.
The fact that she knew how persuasive he could be terrified her even more, but she’d been prepping her speech all morning. Exercising her willpower for that moment when she’d have to keep her distance.
As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she noticed that a light smoke filled the air. And that smell. She inhaled through her nose and coughed. Something was burning. She raced into the kitchen. Smoke billowed lazily from one end of the room to the next. In the distance, she heard the hum of the microwave.
“No, no, no, no, no,” she cried, running over to the counter. The clock counted down on the microwave at twenty-six minutes.
She had keyed in six minutes. Just six. But judging by the length of time she had disappeared and the amount of smoke in the air, she must have punched in an extra zero.
She pressed the pause button. The appliance stopped, but the smoke that wafted from between the doors did not. She was afraid to open it.
Gathering her courage, she pulled the handle. Smoke rushed out in a thick, gray cloud and rose to the ceiling. Her food sat in its container, black and inedible. She was such a space cadet. On top of thousands of dollars in credit card debt, she now owed Jack a new microwave.
After grabbing some paper towels, she removed the container and placed it in a plastic bag. She tied the ends and left it outside on the back deck. She’d handle it later.
Racing around the house, she opened every window and door she could find. After ten minutes, most of the smoke had dispersed, but the smell lingered. What the hell was she going to tell Jack? He trusted her in his home and she’d almost burned it down.
With the situation under control—and her stomach still growling—she went back to work. It was the only way to redeem herself professionally.
Hours later, she was still working away, saving the best room for last. The infamous closet. The clothing that hung inside was so beautiful. Iconic, really. A fashionista’s dream.
She took inventory of the items in her head and jotted notes on her clipboard, estimating she would need twenty wardrobe boxes and sixteen shoe totes. Each tote held ten pairs. She sighed. What would it be like to be able to fill sixteen shoe totes?
Brushing her fingers over the tips of the shoes on the shelves, her thoughts drifted to her imaginary life where she could buy anything and everything she wanted.
She jumped at the sound of Jack’s sexy voice. “How did I know I’d find you in here?”
She whirled around and her breath caught in her throat. How was it possible that he got hotter every time she saw him? This did nothing to help keep her libido in check, and that’s where it had to stay. She needed this job.
It took her a minute but she finally found her words. “I do love it in here.”
His biceps flexed beneath the black fabric of his T-shirt, straining with the weight of carrying two heavy reusable bags.
Her stomach quivered. Suck it, libido. She swallowed hard. “What do you have in those bags?”
“Dinner.”
Hell yes! Her stomach rumbled in appreciation. She was starving.
The thought of an established chef cooking just for her was exciting, but it was also way over the line. Dinner was intimate. Dinner could lead to things that just…it could lead to things.
“I’m sorry you went to all that trouble, but I’m not really hungry.” She turned away and concentrated on the clothes. Her hands ran over the fabrics for no reason other than to make it seem as if she was doing something.
Maybe if she didn’t look at him he wouldn’t be so appealing.
“Is that so?”
Or not. Even his voice made her tongue want to lick every inch of his sexy body. Bad libido. So very bad.
“I thought we had a deal.” The bags rustled. “I thought we agreed to try new things?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I changed my mind. I need…” She paused. There was no reason for her to dump her problems on him. “I shouldn’t have agreed.”
“Sterling, look at me.”
Without a second thought she turned. Giving in way too quickly to his command. She expected a stern glare when her eyes finally met his. But the tone of his voice didn’t match the look in his eye.
“I’d like nothing more than to hold you to our agreement.” He shifted the bags in his hands and a coy smile curved on his lips.
She would have given anything to know what thought had just crossed his mind.
“I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. Just dinner. It’s the least I can do.”
Just dinner. She couldn’t say no to that. He wanted to make her comfortable. Jack Vaughn wasn’t the careless bad boy everyone thought he was.
“How do you know what I like to eat?” She hoped he wasn’t going to make her eat weird, freaky slimy things.
“Just leave the food to me.” He winked. “I have a knack for satisfying a woman’s hunger.”
Oh, she bet he did. She knew firsthand that’s not all he could satisfy. Bad, bad libido.
“Get back to work. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” He turned but stopped and faced her again. “By the way, Sterling, what happened to the microwave?”
She gasped. He had her turned so inside out she had forgotten about the incident.
“Oh, I…had an accident.” She hung her head. “I burned the lunch I brought.”
Surprised at his hearty laugh, she lifted her head. He wasn’t mad?
“It smells pretty rancid down there.”
“You should have smelled it before.” She laughed. “I owe you a new microwave. I’ll pay you back.” She didn’t know how or when, but she would.
“I like the idea of you owing me.” He slung one bag over his shoulder. “And buying me a microwave is not what I had in mind.”
Her stomach tingled. She bet she knew Jack’s idea of an IOU.
He left the closet without stopping and she admired his backside, his perfect shoulders and tight bottom. The way his jeans fit to perfection.
Just dinner?
She only hoped he kept his word. Bec
ause she knew, without a doubt, that if he touched her, just once, she wouldn’t be able to say no.
…
Jack dropped a handful of salt into the pot of boiling water and then emptied the package of linguine. The stuffed chicken and steak rested on a cutting board off to the side. The smell of garlic wafted from the pan below, where it mingled with pancetta, waiting for the pasta to bring them together.
He felt wonderful. Happy. Happier than he had been in a long time. The thought of Sterling somewhere in the house waiting for him to call her down for dinner warmed his body, warmed his heart.
But she was hesitant. And she needed…something. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew what he needed right now—Sterling laid out on this counter for him. His own personal feast.
He’d set their table, two place settings on the far side of the breakfast bar. Large dinner plate, small pasta bowl. Appropriate cutlery, water glass filled with sparkling water, and on the right, two wineglasses—one for red, the other for white. In the middle was a row of candlesticks, three sizes, shortest to tallest from left to right.
“It smells good in here.” She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, one hand resting on her hip, the other on the white frame. Her hair was tied up haphazardly on top of her head. Her sweater was gone and she now wore a form-fitting tank top over her linen pants.
“Thank you. I just need another five minutes.” He was only waiting for the pasta. He patted the far side of the counter where he’d arranged the two place settings.
“How did it go today?” he asked. “I noticed a lot of sticky things everywhere.”
“Yes. I need you to go through the house and review them, change them or whatever.”
She had a specific process—he liked that. It was sort of like cooking: you needed to season the meat before you cooked it.
“Next time I come I can actually start with the removal.”
Removal? It sounded so formal. How would he feel when all of the items that reminded him of his mother were gone?
He grabbed the white serving platter from the counter and placed it in front of her after she’d sat down. The platter was filled with stuffed chicken and peppercorn steak, asparagus, and cinnamon-braised pear.
