Happy Hour (2 page)

Her mother’s face paled.

“I’ve been a closet smoker since I was fifteen.”

“What?”

Kat took a sip from her tea feeling decidedly good about herself. She
smiled and nodded. “Yes. I smoke three to four cigarettes a day. When the boys
leave for school I have a smoke. After lunch I have a smoke, and
then
after dinner, when I take a walk, I have a smoke. And guess what,
Venus?
Sometimes I have a smoke before bed if I’m really stressed out. Been doing it
for years.”

Shortly after Mom got back home, Kat started receiving self-help CDs in
the mail along with yoga DVDs. She figured she had the entire Rodney Yee and
Baron Baptiste library.

One day she would do one of those DVDs. She had felt so bad about that
conversation that she’d gone ahead and started listening to the CDs. The result:
she’d pretty much stopped smoking. Pretty much. But right now, a cigarette
would surely take the edge off.

Getting the pack out of her purse, Kat glanced down for a second. When
she looked back up there was another red light, and thankfully she caught it in
time or she would have slammed into the back of a semi. Her purse flew to the
floor, its contents going every which way. “Shit!” That had to be a sign,
right? Stop smoking or die. Duh, as Jeremy would say. It would either be
through lung cancer, according to Mom, or on the highway while in such
desperate need of a smoke she was willing to risk having the back end of a
doublewide shoved up her nose.

She crossed the Oakland Bridge and for the rest of her drive into the
city she listened to her mother’s latest gift, Wayne Dyer’s
Being in Balance
.
By the time she made it into San Fran, she understood the third chapter fairly
well: Your Addictions Tell You, “You’ll Never Get Enough of What You Want.” Now
there was one she’d have to listen to again on the drive home. About the time
that the lull of Dr. Dyer’s voice settled her into a calm state, she realized
she needed to find parking and she was already five minutes late. Great way to
go in for a job interview.

Four blocks away, Kat located a space, parked, and then practically
jogged to the restaurant, praying she wouldn’t look a total disaster when she
made it there. After taking a deep breath and smoothing down her clothes, she
opened the door to Sphinx.

A stylish, brown-eyed, long dark-haired hostess stood at the front. What
was she? Twenty-three, tops? How did anyone at twenty-three look so put
together? She hadn’t even managed it by thirty-seven, conscious of the
wrinkling in her light blue cotton blouse and the small stain from one of the
boys’ juice boxes that had squirted out in the car earlier when Brian had poked
his straw into it. The boys thought it hilarious that the juice had sprayed
everywhere. Kat hadn’t noticed the spot until now, face to face with little
Miss Shine and Sparkle, when she spotted the small red stain on the left thigh
of her khakis.
Boys!

Kat closed her hands around the handle on her purse and smiled. “Hi, I’m
Kat McClintock. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Reilly.” What she lacked in
fashion sense she could at least make up for with maturity.

“One moment. I’ll get him for you.”

Kat took a good long look around.  Modern flair painted in warm shades of
green made the restaurant look as chic as Kat had read about in the foodie
magazines. The floors were done in cherry wood squares, with a lighter wood of
some sort cut out in a diamond pattern filling the center. Gold suede-covered
booths lined the walls. The tables and chairs arranged in the middle spoke of
elegance in dark woods and gold colored linens. Paintings of the Sphinx
arranged around the restaurant added mystique to the elegance.  She could see
herself working here. The décor was nothing compared to the smells coming from
the kitchen.  Sphinx was the new hot restaurant in San Francisco. She breathed
in the decadent smells of garlic, tomato, basil, onion, a bit of curry—totally
intoxicating and intimidating all at once.

Then out walked Christian Reilly, the owner and head chef, and if there
was any truth to the idea that you could actually go weak in the knees at the
sight of splendor, well, Kat experienced it right then and there. An actual
physical reaction made her reach out and grab the hostess stand with one hand.
Christian Reilly wasn’t gorgeous in the Brad Pitt kind of way. In fact, to some
women he might not even be considered all that great-looking. But to Kat he fit
right into her
beautiful
category: hazel eyes, not too tall for her
petite five-foot-three height. Christian had dark hair,—the kind she could run
her fingers through—a barely-there scruff of a beard, and wrinkles that
deepened when he said her name with a slight Irish accent. When he repeated her
name and smiled, the lines around his eyes deepened. A man who had lived a
little. Nice. Butterfly, stomach-swirling nice. For a second, she had to make
sure she wasn’t licking her lips.

“Kat McClintock?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I, uh, yes.”

He reached his hand out and she shook it. Strong, tough. Again, nice.

“Why don’t we take a seat in the back booth? The lunch crowd is cleared
out, yeah, so we’ll be prepping for dinner shortly, but I think we have about
thirty minutes.”

“Great. I’m so sorry for being late.” Blame it on the parking.

As if reading her mind, he turned and smiled. “You have problems finding
parking, did you?”

“I did.”

They sat down and Christian asked a server to bring them out several bite-size
appetizers and two flights of wine—one white, the other red. Kat tried not to
give him a questioning look, but she knew she’d failed when he said, “Maybe a
bit unorthodox, but you are applying for the sommelier position. I thought I’d
see what you know. Tell me what tastes good with what.”

She cleared her throat and crossed her legs. “Don’t you want to ask me
about my education? Where I went to school?”

He waved a hand. “Nah. I want to know if you can pair wines.”

She shifted in the booth.

“What do you say, shall we get a start on this?” he asked, and held up a
glass of sauvignon blanc. “Tell me about this wine and suggest what to order
with it.”

This was it.
Impress the man with what you know, Kat
. Mhhm, those
eyes were looking at her, their color a cross between jade and tiger-eye.
Brother, she was thinking like Venus. They were hazel! She lifted up a glass of
wine, smiled, and started by holding it up to the light.

Thirty minutes turned into two hours while the sous chef was apparently
covering in the kitchen. After the first hour, she was hired. She’d paired
every wine he had brought out, gave him the notes on the wine, and gave him her
overall impressions.

“You do know your stuff.”

She twirled the glass with a sip of Bordeaux left in it. “Surprised?”

“I looked at your resume.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “First job
at this, huh?”

Why was it that he seemed to look at her like he could see right through
her? She’d heard that in a song before, or maybe read it in a book, and thought
it sounded so ridiculous and trite, but Christian Reilly had this look: a look
that said,
I’m going to get under your skin, turn you inside out
. “It
is. I thought you didn’t care what my resume said,” she replied, trying so hard
to sound cool.

“I don’t. I care that you know your wines. What made you decide to become
a sommelier?”

“I got a divorce.”

Christian raised a brow.  “I’m divorced too. Six months now.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked.

She paused, looking at her wine glass. “Wouldn’t that be weird? You’re my
boss now, right?”

“I could fire you for the night and then re-hire you tomorrow. But if it
goes well tonight, I’d have to fire you again.” He laughed. “Come on. It’s only
dinner.”

She crossed and uncrossed her legs. “No. I want the job and, I, yes, I
would love to have dinner. When?”

“I think I mentioned tonight. Now works for me.” His hand brushed over
the top of hers as he reached across to refill her glass.

“I, well, I…” She’d never been good at this. She had met Perry in high
school and married him fresh out of college. “My boys. I have sons and they’re
at home and they have school. And, I need to get home for them.”

He studied her for a few seconds before replying. “Of course. I have a
daughter. She’s three. I understand. Some other time then. Why don’t you plan
to start training next Monday, right? I’ll have Rachel e-mail you over copies
of our menus, wine lists, and some specials I typically serve.”

Kat nodded. “Can you give me a minute?”

“Sure.”

She got up and headed to the bathroom, not believing what she was about
to do. Before she could think twice, she dug through her purse, found her cell
phone, and dialed Perry’s number, her hands shaking.

“Kat?”

“Hi. I need a favor.”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

She hated that. They were divorced! He’d screwed her former friend and
after he was done with her, he went for pretty much anything wearing stilettos
and short skirts. They didn’t even have to be drinking age. No matter what,
though, Perry had to play all Rico Suave and call her
sweetheart
as
though she was itching to crawl back to him. Ick. “I’m in the city and can’t
get home until late and the boys are home. My sister was supposed to come over
and watch them, but she didn’t make it.” She knew she sounded desperate, but
for God’s sake, when was the last time a man looked at her the way Christian
Reilly had?  When was the last time butterflies did that dance in her stomach?
It was now or never, baby. No more groveling. Perry owed her anyway. Big time.

“Of course your sister didn’t make it. She’s not exactly responsible.
She’s an addict.”

“She’s been sober for seven years, Perry. You know that, and your
responsibility
comment? Isn’t the pot calling the kettle black?” Oops, that sorta slipped out.

“Kat, have you been drinking?”

Another thing she hated about him. He always knew if she’d had even one
glass of wine. Perry got off telling people he didn’t drink, as if it set him
above the lushes of the world. Perry’s addiction was sex. 

“You know what, Perry, I
have
had a glass of wine and I really
need you to step up and go over to my place, pick up the boys, make sure their
homework is finished, put them to bed, and take them to school in the morning.
I’ll even drop off their lunches so you don’t have to worry about that.”

He laughed. “Listen to you. I got bad news, Kit-Kat.” She cringed. “I’m
in a meeting. So, no can do. Guess you better end your little party and get
home like a good girl.”

She took a deep breath. She hadn’t been great at setting boundaries or
defending her needs, but this moron had some gall. How had she ever married
him? It was long overdue to call his bluff. “No, you listen here, Paris.” He
hated to be called by his real name. “I can practically hear the
eighteen-year-old platinum blonde gyrating on you. Since when did you start
listening to Britney Spears? God, what is that?
Baby One More Time
? Wow.”
He was so predictable. “That said, get the girl off you, go pick up the boys,
and leave me a check in my mailbox. As of now, you’re officially three weeks
late on your child support.” No more groveling.

“When did you turn into such a bitch?”

“The night I found you in our bed on top of another woman. When will you
be at my house?”

He sighed. “I guess I can be there in about thirty minutes.”

“Thank you.” She clicked the phone shut and then reopened it to call the
boys. Much to her dismay, they were excited about the new plan. Time with Dad.
Yippee-cay fucking-ay. She really did need to get over it. She obviously should
listen to more Wayne Dyer.

When she walked back to the table, Christian looked up at her. “Still up
for dinner?” she asked.

“I am.” He picked up his glass of wine and twirled it between his
fingers, smiling.

She just about turned to butter right there.

It was in that second hour over dinner that Kat knew, looking across the
table at her now boss, that her life was never going to be the same. The man
was
adorable.
And the thoughts running through her mind, seated across
from him? Bad girl! She’d figured out that just because you have sex with a man
didn’t mean you had to walk down the aisle with him. She’d made that mistake
once and, besides the births of her sons, regretted every minute of it. But she
hadn’t wanted to sleep with a man in a very long time, she couldn’t even
believe she was thinking about sex with Christian. God!  Hopefully he was
thinking the same thing. But what if he wasn’t? Then again, what if he was?

Then he took her hand across the table and held it as if he’d always
taken her hands and held them. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and she believed
him.

Totally in deep trouble now. It was as if she were a runaway freight
train and the engines driving the locomotive forward were her emotions on
overdrive. She wasn’t about to listen to the common-sense angel sitting on her
shoulder, the one she often sought advice from since the divorce. She
frequently pictured an ivory skin, blonde haired fairy with lapis-colored eyes
seated on her right shoulder telling her exactly how to behave in any given
circumstance. Kat had named her Logic. She now caressed her shoulder, brushing
Logic clean away.

Kat wanted to get Christian naked—boss or not. In non-Kat fashion, she
took his hand in return, smiled and said, “What do you like to do for fun?”

That night, while Perry had his once in a blue moon share of the boys,
Kat decided she liked Christian’s idea of fun.

Back at his two-story town home overlooking the city lights, Christian
took out a bowl and sliced up some strawberries, drizzled them in Grand Marnier
and topped them with whipped cream. He then walked over to his built-in wine
cabinet and took out a bottle of Chateau Chasse-Spleen 1959. Holding it up, he
said, “Did you ever play spin the bottle when you were a kid?”