His fingers stilled on the keyboard. “You haven’t completed it?”
“No.” She blinked once, twice.
He shrugged. “We’ll start with what you’ve done and fill in the rest as we go. I’ll record your answers and have them transcribed later.”
She lifted her chin and cleared her throat. “I’ve done none of it.”
“What?” He lifted his eyes and caught the determined resistance on her face. A challenging look that caused his pulse to spike.
A wisp of hair had slipped across her face and she flicked her head so it shifted. It was either a move of sexy self-assurance or barely disguised defiance. “I don’t see why you need to know all these things about me.” Counting off on her fingers, she drummed on the table. “Who my parents are, where I went to school, whether I vote Republican or Democrat.” She held him still with her wild honey eyes. “What does that have to do with winning my public back?” She took another bite of the pastry thing and chewed slowly.
He leaned back in the chair, determined to focus on the question and not the sexily hypnotic way her mouth moved. “It has everything to do with it. I need to know who you are, what your values are. I also need to be told of any skeletons in your closet. If I don’t know this stuff…” He paused until her gaze met his so she’d know how serious this was. “If I put my neck on the line for you and something comes and bites us in the ass, then we’ll be screwed. I don’t like being screwed.”
She said nothing, just drew a pattern in the condensation forming on the delicate glass.
“I’ll assume if you won’t answer my questions, then there are things in your past you don’t want revealed. If that’s the case we’re finished before we even get started.”
She licked another pastry fleck from her top lip, and he shifted in his seat. “I don’t know you. I’ve no reason to trust that you won’t use my answers in a way that I hadn’t intended.” Her eyes were glossy. “What happened to me yesterday is an example of what some people will do with information about me. How do I know you’re not one of them? Can’t you just ask me those things in a normal conversation without being so clinical?”
He sighed and rubbed a hand across his jaw. He should’ve known she wouldn’t give this stuff up easily. Especially after the TV debacle yesterday. Perhaps he’d given her the impression he’d be reasonable on this. Easy fix. “We have two weeks to get this done, and I need to know everything about you right now. Enough stalling.”
“So, why don’t you ask me?” She lifted the glass to her lips and drank. Her throat moved in small swallows, and the skin at the back of his neck heated. She drew her lips away and wiped her moist mouth with the back of her hand, all the while holding his stare. “And when I’ve answered something about me, you can tell me about you.”
He frowned. “Why would you want to know anything about me?”
“Because I need to trust you. I’ve been hurt by a lot of people in the last few months, Blake, and I need to protect myself.” She rolled her lips together. “If I’m going to put my whole life, my whole future in your hands, I deserve to know who I’m giving that privilege to.”
He grinned and reached for his own glass. This power play was so damn sexy he might get put off his game if he wasn’t such a professional. “You mean you didn’t Google me as soon as I left your kitchen that first day?”
The skin at the corner of her mouth crinkled as her lips lifted and eyes sparkled. “Of course I did, but all I found were pictures of you in ads for European watches and fast cars.” The curve of her mouth grew. “Oh, and a couple for designer underwear. Apart from a few references to a PR business in New York, there was very little. Nothing about a family. Or where you came from.”
Blake focused back on the laptop and hit the record button. She didn’t need to know anything about him. He changed the subject. “Tell me how you met Joe Hart.” He turned back to face her. “Were you happy in your early days?”
She paused for a moment and blinked as she stared past him. “No, I wasn’t happy. My mother, my little brother Flynn, and I lived in a rented trailer. Momma was a waitress at the local truck stop and she’d often work double shifts to make enough money. Life wasn’t easy, and I felt responsible.”
“How did you get into cooking?”
She held the glass in both hands and stared at it. “We were struggling financially, so when Flynn was old enough to look after himself, I went to work at the diner where Momma was.” Her chest rose, then fell. “It took me about two seconds to get fed up with the silent, and not so silent, abuse the waitresses suffered, so I asked to be moved to the kitchen.”
He nodded. “And you fell in love with food and nourishing people and the rest is history.”
She shook her head and looked up at him. “Far from it. I fell in love with Joe. He was the owner’s nephew and had been on the grill since he was twelve. I was seventeen when I met him and he was twenty-five. I fell for him. Hard and fast.”
Blake raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her tone rather than the story. He’d read about her past and had assumed the picture she’d give him would be gold-plated nostalgia. The weary edge to her voice and the tired look in her eyes suggested time hadn’t gilded reality at all. “Was Joe a good chef?”
She shrugged. “Joe didn’t love food the way I did, but he knew what people liked and could see we made a good team. Later on he was all about the presentation, the package, and he believed that with our down-home dishes, our work ethic, and our husband and wife brand, we could sell a whole lifestyle to people. And we did. Until it turned out he’d been living a double life and. . . you know the rest.”
“And you believed those things too, initially?” He took a sip of the warm whiskey.
Lifting her chin, her eyes tracked out toward the garden. “I just wanted to get away from the diner and the feeling that that was all there was in life. Joe offered me the world back then, and I believed he’d give it to me.”
“Must’ve been tough when he died.”
“Of course it was tough.” Her breath caught. “I’d been with Joe since I was seventeen and he died when I was thirty-two. For so long I’d looked to him to tell me who I was.” She clasped her hands together on the table. “We’d grown apart years before he died and he’d had a string of other relationships. We were nothing more than business partners for much of our time together—but funnily enough, he was still the one I wanted to impress, the one I depended on. The whole persona of ‘Cooking with Hart’ was down to Joe and his vision for our brand and it was very successful.”
Blake leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “And where do you see that brand now? Do you believe you can save it?”
Her voice hardened, and her eyes sparked. “I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because I owe a lot of people a lot of money now. The only way I know how to pay them back is to do what I’ve always done. Cook.” She trapped her lip between her teeth. “If enough people could understand the real me, then they’d realize I am a good person, that I do have integrity.”
He didn’t reply until she looked at him again, her soft brown eyes glittering. “And who is the real you, Kirin? Is it the female part of ‘Cooking with Hart’, or is it someone different?”
“What do you mean?”
He undid a button on his cuff and rolled up one sleeve, and then the other. “You said that although you loved food, you followed along with Joe’s plan for a celebrity cooking team. Are you sure you’re that persona still?”
She didn’t answer, so he reached into his laptop case and pulled out a pile of papers. “These are the latest ads, cookbook covers, and product frontages for the ‘Cooking with Hart’ brand. What do you see?”
She reached for the pile and slowly flicked through. “Just me.”
He pointed to the one closest to him. It was an ad for cooking stock, with Kirin holding a bowl of soup. “White t-shirt and blue jeans.” And the next. “Beige shirt dress and sensible shoes
.” And another. “Hair in a bun.”
“Your point?” She hooked him with sparking eyes. God, he loved it when she did that.
“This isn’t the real you at all. You’re trying to fight to preserve an image that doesn’t exist. The way you look in these pictures is the same way you looked fifteen years ago when you started ‘Cooking with Hart’. And it’s such a contrast to the person you really are, that I don’t buy this.” He tossed one of the pictures aside. “And since the sexual harassment allegations surfaced, your public doesn’t either.”
One fine eyebrow rose. “How do you know this isn’t the real me?”
“The clothes you wear, the way you fix your hair, none of it matches the look in your eye, the way you hold yourself, the confidence that shines from you.”
She grinned. “A look in my eye? Must’ve squirted some lemon juice in it.”
He ignored her attempt at being dismissive again. “When I found you that first day, I saw someone who cooked and spoke with fiery passion, not someone who wanted to live life through reserved, buttoned-down order like this.” He swept the pictures aside.
“I’m not an image, Blake. I’m just Kirin. I wear what I’ve always worn, fix my hair the way that feels best.”
He leaned in. “We’re all an image and you can choose whatever you want it to be. In my old life I could be a sheik in an advertisement for hotels one minute, a soldier in a TV campaign for military recruitment the next. An image doesn’t need to be real, but it needs to be believable, and from what I can see in front of me right now…” He flicked a hand toward the pile of ads. “I don’t believe this image of you anymore.”
Her hand moved to her throat. “So what image should I be portraying?”
“We need to drag you into the twenty-first century.” He steepled his fingers under his chin. “Update you in every area. Your image should reflect who you are now—a modern, sexy, single woman who’s not scared to be herself.”
Kirin tapped a fist against her lips. “Won’t that just play into people’s ideas of me as some sort of cradle-snatching cougar?”
He put his hands flat on the table, energized by this assignment, and by the possibility of working so closely with the intriguing woman in front of him. “If we give them an image of you that fits more closely with what they already believe, then your brand becomes more authentic.”
“Even if it’s not?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Am I wrong in thinking the real Kirin Hart is far more sensual than these photos would suggest?”
She sat back and eyed him with a similar look to the one Dudley had given him when he arrived. “I’m guessing my opinion’s not going to cut much with you.”
“You’re right. Your opinion doesn’t matter to me right now, what does matter is saving you and your business before it’s too late. To do that we’re going to expose your sensuality to the world.”
A heated flush swept across Kirin’s chest and fanned up her neck. This confident, sexy man, who she’d only known a few days, was talking about how sensual she was, and it was unnerving.
Her throat tightened. Of course it was. It was the same flattering talk Trent had started out with, and he’d wanted something from her, too. A promotion. And when she passed him over for it because he wasn’t up to the job, he’d claimed sexual harassment. In the last weeks and months she’d faced some harsh lessons about men who said what they needed to get what they wanted from her.
“I think you’re forgetting something.” She strengthened her tone. “I’m thirty-four years old. A different decade to you, I’m guessing. I’m not comfortable showing a sensual side to my public. Maybe in the privacy of my own home, where I couldn’t be judged, but even then it’s not―”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said bluntly, and leaned back in his chair. “And by the way, there’s only five years’ difference between you and me. Hardly figures. Your audience is mostly middle-aged people—men who want to marry you and women who want to be you. Cooking and sex go together whether you like it or not and sexing you up will fit perfectly with the new image of you as a single, powerful woman.”
“But why should I change?” It was fine for Blake with his perfect movie star face and his sense of cool style that had her rattled from the moment they’d met. He oozed sex appeal from every pore with no effort whatsoever, and she felt like a hot mess in comparison.
Blake’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?”
She squirmed in her chair, uncomfortable with the incredulous look on his face and the fact he’d caught her staring. “I’m content having ordinary looks and an ordinary figure.” He didn’t need to know how much she hated her boobs or how her stomach had more rolls than a dinner basket. “I’ve made myself stand out through my cooking and my business, and I resent having to reinvent the way I look. Someone like you can pull it off because you’re so…” She stopped and swallowed. “I mean you look… And people…”
He leaned back in his chair, a teasing smile at the edges of his mouth. “Go on.”
“You have sex appeal in spades,” she said in a rush. “It almost drips off you without you even trying. I don’t know how to do that. Don’t think I could ever get that right.”
“Kirin.” Blake’s stare burned right through her. “Trust me when I say you have sex appeal just waiting to be unleashed.” Now the burning was working its way down her body. A response wouldn’t come so with a tremble in her fingers, she took a quick sip of the tea in an effort to cool herself.
“Your audience has made you who you are. They’ve stayed loyal, bought your products and cookbooks, they’ve believed everything you’ve told them. But you took that trust for granted. When you did that back room deal with Bray they felt cheated, as though they didn’t know the real you, as though you hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them what really happened.”
“But I had no choice.” Everything bottled inside threatened to overtake her, but she wanted Blake to understand what she’d been through. “If I hadn’t settled with Trent, then who knows what else he might’ve done.”
He shrugged a strong shoulder. “None of that matters. We can’t give your fans who they had before because that conservative, controlling woman can’t be trusted. We need to give them a fresh Kirin, a confident Kirin, a Kirin Hart who says, ‘Yes, I’ve changed since my husband died, yes, I know who I am now, yes, I’m the sexy, single woman you all thought I was, and you can have confidence that this is the real me.’”
He pushed his chair back. “Stand up.” As he moved to her side of the table, the determined look on his face sending a sizzling thrill through her. “We need a decent mirror.”
An image of them standing together in her bedroom seized her insides, and she cleared her throat. Never again would she allow boundaries to be crossed by an employee, especially not a younger male one who was having this effect on her. “The bathroom. There’s a mirror in the bathroom.”
“It’s full-length?”
No way in hell was she going to take him to her bedroom.
“Not quite, but it’ll do.”
“After you.”
She led the way, and when they were in the white-tiled sanctity of her bathroom, he ordered her in front of the wall mirror.
She raised her eyes. In her slip-ons, she was no more than five-four. Of course she’d done her hair this afternoon and, truth be told, she’d even put on some mascara in anticipation of his visit, but in contrast to Blake Matthews’s casual and heart-stopping perfection, she looked like something even the cat wouldn’t drag in.
He was so far from the male models she’d seen showcasing skinny jeans and neck scarves on the cable fashion channel. His was the sort of look you’d see on an ad for fire service recruitment, or selling a European car—all chiseled jaw and perfectly tended muscle.
“I’m going to be brutally honest now, so be prepared.” She steeled herself for his criticisms. “You’ve been part of a husband and wife team for a long time. You met Joe when you w
ere a teenager, and you’ve kept the same conservative, dependable image for years. The reason things have turned so drastically is that you’re still selling yourself as part of a wholesome duo when you’re something totally different now.”
She leveled her gaze at his reflection. “Of course I’m different. I know the business can’t be the same as when Joe was here, but I think I’ve always presented myself honestly.”
He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and warmth radiated through the upper part of her body like midday sun on naked skin. “You don’t have to counter everything I say. Just listen. Your public wants to love you, but they also need to see you as your own person. Not half of a whole. You’re an incredibly smart, hardworking woman in her mid-thirties who has every right to be who you want to be, but your public can also see that you’re a contradiction.”
His sexy-low voice bounced off the bathroom walls and danced sweetly in her ears. “Because you’ve changed since Joe died, you need to show that in a physical sense—in the way you look, the way you speak, the things you do. You need to give your public confidence that they can believe in you again. They need to see you as Kirin Hart, not as part of a relationship, imagined or otherwise.”
She moistened her lips, head spinning with Blake’s proximity and the deeply personal nature of his words. “I’m not sure which is the real me. Joe had some firm ideas about how we should look, and what we should say in public. He even had our charities picked out to reflect the values we were trying to present.”
He smiled, the dimple in his cheek deepening. “And because you’d paid for the marketing campaigns, you had no opportunity to develop into the independent woman you grew to be. Kirin, it’s important the public senses your new confidence. But we have to get rid of the narrow, lewd way you’ve been portrayed in the media since the Bray debacle. Image starts at the shop front, at the way you present yourself physically.” He picked up her braid and ran his thumb slowly over the end. “You like this?”
She smiled ruefully. “I’m guessing that means you don’t.”
Bad Reputations: A steamy, celebrity romance (The Breaking Through Series Book 1) Page 4
