A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series) (22 page)

I leaned my elbows on the prep table and watched his back as he removed the beignets and dusted them with cinnamon and brown sugar. He turned, placed them on the table, and drizzled the compote beside them. They smelled so delicious, I wanted to reach over and tear a piece off. “Sounds like a good system,” I said. “What about people with dietary restrictions? Vegetarians or gluten-free?”

He scowled at me and then reached for two large coffee cups. “We make it pretty clear we don’t accommodate that sort of thing.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because every dish on the menu has been carefully constructed and prepared so that it’s the best. People come here to experience my vision, Catherine. If we start taking out ingredients and substituting others, it’s not my vision any more, it’s theirs. That’s not what Morrison Hotel is about.” He handed me a cup of coffee, which smelled better than any coffee had a right to. “Don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian.”

“No,” I said.

“Thank God. I heard you were from California.” He gestured toward the restaurant, and I led the way. Behind me he balanced his cup of coffee and the plate of beignets. “I never considered you might be one of the granola eaters. Not after I saw those cock kebabs.”

I felt my face heat. I didn’t know why. There was no reason his verbiage should embarrass me. Beckett called them cock kebabs too, and I didn’t blush with him.

We sat at the booth where he’d been before, Hutch on one side and me on the other. The beignets were between us. “So tell me about the project you want me to work on,” I said.

“Oh, no, sweetheart. Pleasure before business. These beignets aren’t going to taste as good if they’re cold. Eat up.” He lifted one and raised it to my lips, so I had little choice but to open my mouth and bite. As soon as I tasted the brown sugar and cinnamon on the flaky warm dough, I closed my eyes.

“This is delicious.” I licked my lips to catch the sugar on them with my tongue.

“I do like watching you eat. Now try it with the compote.”

I opened my eyes and watched as he swirled the beignet lightly in sauce. With William I would have obediently opened my mouth again, but this time I took the beignet from Hutch and tasted it on my own. “Mmm. Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought of pairing blueberries and beignets.”

“It works, doesn’t it? My grandma used to make something like this and it reminds me of summer, of foods of my youth. Sometimes simple
is
perfection.”

“It’s amazing.”

He sat back and sipped his coffee, looking satisfied. I sipped my own coffee and then had to have another sip.

“You like?” he asked, brow raised.

“It’s perfect. Just the right amount of sweet and strong.”

“You definitely have to come back and dine with us, Catherine. If you agree to work with me on the book, you’ll dine here often.”

I smiled and sipped the coffee again. It was really good. Way better than the instant stuff I made or the lattes I consumed at Starbucks.

“That was your cue, darlin’. We can talk about the book now.”

“Oh! Sorry.” I sat straight and leaned forward. “So tell me about it.”

“I’m going to do an e-book with a narrative about the restaurant, and I want fabulous pictures to accompany it. I told you our next theme is ‘Sticky Fingers.’ I want you to photograph it all: the restaurant, my team, the process of creating and assembling the dishes, and the food. That’s the important thing. I want the food to look fucking awesome. That’s why I need you.”

I was intrigued and a little intimidated. “It sounds fabulous, but it’s also a really big job.”

“I don’t do anything halfway. It’s a huge undertaking and it’s going to get a lot of attention, but I think you’ve got the right eye for it. I didn’t pull your name out of a hat. I asked around. I did my research.”

“Then you know I haven’t done anything like this before.”

He sat forward, arms on the table between us. “I know you’re the person I want. I’ve seen good things. I’ve heard good things. I’m impressed, Miss Catherine Kelly, and I don’t impress easily. I know Ben Lee. He’s the one who first suggested you.”

“Ben was really sweet to take me on at the last minute. I owe him.”

Hutch shook his head. “Take a look at your photos in
Chicago Now
. Those figs were damn sexy, Catherine, almost pornographic. Then take a look at the waitlist to get into Willowgrass. Your debt is paid.”

I felt my face heat again. I had the feeling Ben’s cooking, more than my photographs of his raw figs with blue cheese and drizzled with warm, spiced honey, was the reason Willowgrass was so successful. But Morrison Hotel was on a whole other level. It would be huge to have my name associated with it and with a chef like Hutch. He was internationally revered and what I’d seen from him in the kitchen reminded me of what I’d seen in so many of the best surfers. Determination, razor focus, absolute dedication. Hutch would not be an easy man to work with. “I’m definitely interested,” I said.

“Good. Take your time and think about it. Ask your Mr. Lambourne his opinion. He’s been in here more than once.”

I blinked in surprise before it occurred to me that Ben might have mentioned my relationship with William. Still, I hadn’t expected the conversation to move to him—to William. “He’s not
my
Mr. Lambourne,” I said. William wasn’t anyone’s to claim, least of all mine at the moment. Hutch cocked an eyebrow.

I gestured futilely. “William and I…we’re…” I faltered. What exactly were we now?

“Now this
is
interesting. He’s a lucky man if he has you, Catherine, but I kind of like the odds better if he doesn’t.” He winked at me.

I almost laughed. Hutch had a way of flirting that was more fun than predatory. He was a lot different from William in that way. But if he and William were in business together, I needed to know that up front. “Is William an investor in Morrison Hotel?” I asked.

“Oh, no, darlin’. Lambourne is a good guy, and he definitely has his hand in eateries all over town, but this ain’t one of them. Morrison Hotel is all mine. I don’t want you in order to get to him. I want you because you’re the best.”

“Alright. What do you need from me? A proposal?”

“You read my mind. See, we work well together already. And Catherine, I’ll want that ASAP. I want to move on this.”

Sensing the meeting was over, I rose and Hutch, always the gentleman, followed. “Any questions for me before you go?”

“Not really.” I should have left it at that. I knew I should. But I didn’t. “You mentioned you were cocky about three things. One is cooking and I have to admit, those were the best beignets I’ve ever had. What are the other two?”

We paused at the entrance, and he gave me a lazy grin. “Are you sure you want to know?”

I nodded, not sure at all.

“You aren’t going to find anyone who can cook, play guitar, or fuck better than I can. I’m cocky, but I live up to the hype.”

I didn’t have a response, but was saved when Hutch leaned forward and kissed me on both cheeks. I caught his scent again and a glimpse of the tattoos that began on the side of his neck and snaked downward. Just what artistic wonders lay under his shirt? I blushed and stepped away.

“Call me, beautiful,” he said, seeming to know exactly what I’d been thinking. “I’ll be waiting.”

***

I stepped out of Morrison Hotel and into the bright sunlight, made even brighter by the contrast to the dark interior of the restaurant. I only paused for a moment to get my bearings because I knew exactly where I was headed—to WML Capital Management. I figured it was about a thirty-minute walk up Michigan Avenue, but I didn’t mind. The sky was clear and it was brisk, but not windy, plus I needed the time to get my head on straight.

The project sounded great and Hutch Morrison was hotter than hell. Though he wasn’t really a temptation, I wasn’t completely immune to his playful flirting, and that made me want to be with my boyfriend. The boyfriend I was lucky to have. The boyfriend I was madly in love with. The boyfriend I was ready to tell whatever he wanted to know about me.

I thought about what I was going to say to William. Whenever I was in his presence, he tended to overwhelm me. He wanted me in his bed tonight but today, I needed to have a calm, rational, adult conversation with him. No fighting. No stand-up sex in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking all of downtown Chicago—at least not right away.

I walked quickly, passing men and women in heavy winter coats, enjoying the rare sunny day in early February. For the moment, I was one of the faceless and nameless in the crowd, caught up in my own thoughts as I strode purposely toward my destination.

William and I had shared incredible chemistry from the moment we’d met. He’d pursued me, and though I’d resisted, I really didn’t mind being caught. He was gorgeous and thoughtful and really, really,
really
amazing in bed. I never even had a chance.

The fact that he could give me more orgasms than I could count in the space of a couple of hours didn’t make me fall in love with him. I fell in love with the man who loved to cook, who sang off-key, who made wine, and who still held on to a hope for his family, even though all seemed lost. He was loyal, protective, and tender.

Deep down, I knew I could trust him. I trusted him with my body, and I could trust him with my secrets and my heart. And I wanted to be with him. No matter what. Yes, he drove me crazy when he took off without letting me know. Yes, all of his money got in the way of our relationship sometimes. But I loved him, and that meant I would take the good with the bad. I just hoped he would give me the chance.

I wasn’t prepared to let everything slide, however. This stalker thing—having me followed on the sly and sending me the photo proofs—that had to stop. If he felt better having his security team look out for me, fine. But I wanted to know about it.

As I crossed over the Michigan Avenue Bridge, I took a deep breath of the cold air. My cheeks were tingling and my fingers, even inside my coat pockets, were numb from the cold. I was so lost in thought, I almost passed William’s building. I caught myself in time and entered through the revolving doors. The elevators were straight ahead, and I waited with several men in business suits until one arrived. I could see myself in the reflection of the elevator doors. My cheeks were pink from the cold and my hair was windblown. I didn’t smooth it or straighten my scarf. This was who I was.

Finally, I stepped in and pressed the button for the top floor. A couple of the men glanced at me curiously, but I moved to the back and didn’t make eye contact. I remembered the first time I’d come here. I’d been with William then, in his private elevator, and he’d pushed me against the wall and kissed me savagely, taking my breath away. The memory of his hard body pressed against mine, his tongue thrusting between my lips, his hands in my hair was enough to make my legs weak and my breath come in short gasps. I curled my hands into fists, eager to see him, to touch him, to kiss him.

After we talked
, I reminded myself. I had the envelope with the proofs in my bag. We needed to talk about those before we touched or we’d never have the conversation.

I was alone in the elevator for the last few floors, and when I stepped off, the floor was hushed and quiet. A handsome older woman sat at a circular desk guarding the doors to the inner office area. She gave me a cautious smile as I approached.

“May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Wil—Mr. Lambourne.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I…Just tell him Catherine Kelly is here.”

The woman’s brows shot up and her eyes quickly perused my hair and clothes. Maybe I should have brushed my hair.

“Just one moment, Miss Kelly.” She lifted her phone and spoke quietly into the receiver. Then she replaced it and smiled at me again. I shifted from one foot to another, feeling awkward until the door behind the receptionist opened and Parker emerged.

“Miss Kelly. I’m so sorry not to meet you. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Hi, Parker. Call me Catherine, please. I’m here to see William. Does he have a minute?”

“Come back with me.” She gestured for me to follow her into the inner offices. She keyed in a code and opened the door. This was the area where William’s private elevator opened. Obviously he had extra security to keep unauthorized individuals out.

I followed Parker to William’s outer office, and she spoke as she walked—or teetered—on black stilettos. I wondered if her feet hurt by the end of the day. “Mr. Lambourne isn’t expecting you. He’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

She gestured to one of the fancy modern chairs near her desk. Dutifully, I sat, unbuttoning my coat and unwrapping my scarf now that I was warming up. Parker lifted the phone and spoke quietly. I heard my name but not much else.

A moment later, she replaced the receiver and said, “May I get you something—a latte or a bottle of water? Whatever you like.”

I wasn’t thirsty, but I sensed Parker wanted something to do. “Water would be great,” I said, looking around the reception area. Like William’s office, the décor was minimalist, but here and there Parker had managed to add a bit of color. A red pillow on one chair, a small colorful abstract print above her desk.

She disappeared around a corner and returned a moment later with a cold bottle of water. She also held a glass filled with ice. I took both but set the glass down and drank from the bottle. My hands shook slightly, and I didn’t want to spill.

I waited. Parker waited. She tried to look busy, but we were both just biding time. Finally, her phone buzzed and she snatched it up. “Yes. Very good.” She replaced it and stood. “Right this way, Catherine.”

I jumped up and had a moment’s hesitation about what to do with the water bottle. I left it on Parker’s desk and gathered my bag. Parker opened the door to William’s office, and I stepped inside.

It was exactly as I remembered—stark and stylish—and I looked toward William’s desk as Parker closed the door behind me. He was seated behind it, and immediately my mind flashed to our video chat from the other night. He’d been behind the desk then too, but he’d been wearing glasses. There was no sign of the glasses now, but I could still envision him behind the desk, watching me as I touched myself on screen. I felt my cheeks flame and took a step inside. I wasn’t feeling as brave as I had on the way over. I felt very much the intruder.