His to Taste (18 page)

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for some time now, love,” he began. “I—”

Ding dong.

The unmistakable clang of the doorbell made me jump, and he swore under his breath.

“Oh, my god!” I rubbed at his lips, frantic to erase any trace of my glistening lip gloss.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he said. “Let them wait.” He reached for me again, but I was occupied with dragging my fingers through his sex-touseled hair.

“Are you crazy?” I hissed. “They can’t see us like this!” I shoved the chair back into place, slipped my sandal back on, and then promptly froze when I felt the evidence of our little tryst trickle down my inner thigh. My knees knocked together as I clamped my thighs in horror.

“It’s fine, really,” he sighed. He grabbed one of the linen napkins, quickly wiped his mouth, and dabbed gently underneath my dress. “Go get the door. I’ll tidy up in here.”

“But—”

“Go!”

I scrambled to the front door in record time. Taking a deep breath, I pasted on a bright smile, and swung open the door.

An older couple beamed back at me, their sweet faces gently lined with age. George was balding, with a slight paunch. With his well-worn elbow patches on his dark brown tweed jacket, he looked like the quintessential kindly college professor. Patty was petite like me, but a little frail. Her wavy, silver curls were pulled into a loose bun, while her light yellow tunic and white capris gave her a classically chic look.

“Good evening,” I said. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. I apologize for the delay. Please, come in.”

“And you must be Lynn,” said Mr. Brooks, as he guided his wife through the threshold. “We’ve heard so much about you, haven’t we, honey?”

“Oh, yes,” chimed Mrs. Brooks. “But do call us George and Patty, dear. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” I grinned. I took their coats and ushered them into the living room. “Please, make yourselves at home. May I offer you any refreshments? Some wine, perhaps? We have a soft Malbec and a citrusy Riesling.”

“Red for George and white for me would be just fine,” said Patty. “And we’ll come join you in the kitchen. Can I help with anything?”

Oh, god, please tell me that Jake went over everything with a magnifying glass.

“You’re too kind, Patty,” I said. “Everything is all set. Ja—, I mean, Mr. Cochran should be in there already.”

I followed behind them into the kitchen, dreading each step.

“What’s this ‘Mr. Cochran’ nonsense?” chuckled George. “Does that knucklehead insist on such silly formalities?”

“On the contrary,” drawled Jake, as he dried his hands at the sink. “That’s all her doing.” He caught me sneaking a peek at the place setting and winked. A freshly folded linen napkin rested on the plate, identical to the others; he must have snagged it from the linen closet upstairs.

He gave George a hearty handshake and swept Patty into tight bear hug. I busied myself with pouring their glasses of wine, of which they accepted graciously.

“Listen,” said George. “I know you hate bothering with these flashy Hollywood types, but just give Vince a chance to make his proposal. He’s eager to get his hands on the rights to your new novel and he’s willing to pay a pretty penny.”

Jake’s broad shoulders stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but I noticed the tiny change.

“Pretty penny, or not,” he said. “I’ve been looking into his background. He doesn’t seem to bother much with ethics or respecting artistic integrity.” He frowned, casting his gaze on me. “I’ll bet she’s told him she still has swaying power over me—as if that’s going to land her the female lead.”

“She might be America’s Sweetheart,” grumbled Patty. “But that girl is a nasty piece of work.” She took a few healthy swigs of Riesling, while I was pretty sure I was already in need of my emergency shot of rum.

Quickly grabbing the nearest platter of olives and stuffed peppers, I shoved it towards them. “Gosh, how rude of me,” I said. “You both must be famished. My grandma and I are notorious pre-dinner nibblers.”

“Oh, that’s right,” smiled Patty. “Jake tells us that you live with your grandmother.”

Nodding, I handed them a couple napkins. “Sometimes, we’d pig out on our appetizers and just wrap up dinner for the next night. It used to drive my grandpa crazy,” I laughed. “He was always such a stickler for dinner at exactly six o’clock—not ten ‘til, or heaven forbid, five after. He used to say that it was good for our digestion.”

George chuckled around a bite of pepper. “Knowing Jake’s erratic bouts of inspiration, he must be keeping you up at all hours of the night!”

All hours, indeed. I felt my cheeks flush when Jake silently toasted me with his wine glass, his cheeky grin hidden from their view. “Oh,” I mumbled. “That’s what I’m paid for—I mean, it’s my job to cook around his schedule!”

Ding dong.

“I’ll get that!” Eager to hide my embarrassment, I spun on my heel, trying not to sprint for the door.

In retrospect, I should have realized that I was heading towards a whole new level of mortification.

“Good evening—”

“
Move
,” hissed America’s Sweetheart.

Stunned, I could only lurch out of her way as she and her stunning one-shouldered mini-dress marched through the door without a backward glance. Skin-tight and icy blue, it fit her willowy figure like a dream.

“Don’t mind her,” said her companion. “Honey, I’d sure like to get acquainted with you.” He grabbed my hand, lifting it up towards his lips, but I hastily yanked it back. He grinned as if I was flirting. “You probably already know me. I’m Vince Panelli.”

He was slightly shorter than average height, but he carried himself as if he was even taller than Jake. His light brown hair was streaked with highlights. He had sharp cheekbones, thin lips, and a sleek blade of a nose. Between his angular features and his toothy smile, he looked like a well-groomed rat. Like Helena’s skimpy designer dress, his gunmetal three piece suit looked ridiculously out of place at this small dinner party, and like her ensemble, it probably cost more than my paycheck, too.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Panelli,” I said. “Please, come in.”

I took his coat and ushered him towards the kitchen.

George led all the introductions as I quietly cleared away the platters and small plates.

“Lynn,” said George. “Now that the gang’s all here, is everything all ready for us to start?”

“Of course,” I smiled. “If you all would please take your seats, I’ll bring out the starter.”

The men waited politely for Patty and Helena to select their seats.

“Are we really dining in the kitchen?” she scoffed. “Isn’t this where the help eats?” She flounced into her chair, pouting beseechingly at Jake.

“It’s where Lynn and I share our meals together,” said Jake. There was a hard edge to his deep voice. “You’re welcome to take a doggie bag home with you instead.”

“Excuse me?”

“Given the circumstances, it would be entirely appropriate.”

Before Helena could start sputtering her outrage, I rushed over with their plates of caprese salad. “These heirloom tomatoes were too beautiful for me to resist at the farmers market yesterday.”

“Plump and juicy,” said Vince, leering at my cleavage.

Ignoring him, I noticed Jake’s jaw tighten dangerously. I shook my head slightly, imploring him to leave it alone.

Once everyone had their plates, I grabbed mine and headed towards the last available seat. Jake and I sat at opposite ends of the table. Helena sat on his left while George sat on his right. I was flanked by Patty and Vince. It felt odd sitting so far away from Jake.

“This looks delicious,” said Patty. She flashed me an encouraging smile. “Jake tells me that you recently graduated. What did you study, dear?”

“English,” I said. “I’ve always been a voracious reader. I think it’s from growing up without any siblings.”

“Oh, how terribly interesting,” said Helena. “I had no idea you needed a college degree to cook these days. Are you going to get a masters to wash cars, too?”

“Helena!” Jake barked. “You’ll be civil, or you can get the hell out of my house.” He glowered at her until she wilted.

“God, I was just asking,” she sulked. She stabbed at a mozzarella chunk, sniffing it suspiciously.

“It’s fine,” I said, with a hesitant smile. “Mr. Cochran was so kind to give me this opportunity and I’m grateful to him.”

“And we’re grateful to you for keeping him well-fed and for fueling his writing,” chuckled George. “This is some of his best work yet!”

“With Lynn as my muse, it was an embarrassment of riches in terms of inspiration,” said Jake. Watching me, he deliberately wiped his mouth with his napkin, his gaze burning into mine.

Feeling my cheeks flush, I quickly excused myself to get started on the shrimp. Tying on my apron, I turned on the stove, and pulled out the shrimp, butter, and fresh lemons. While I waited for the pan to heat, I finished the creamy avocado sauce, thoroughly tossing it into the pasta to ensure that the rich, lemony sauce coated every strand.

I could hear snippets of the table’s conversation. Helena and Vince were getting animated. Jake’s handsome face was impassive, but I could see the tension in his stiff shoulders as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

After a quick saute, I plated the shrimp on the mounds of cool pasta. I heard the scrape of a chair and was startled to see Jake approach me, setting aside the dirty appetizer plates in the sink.

“Everything okay?” he asked, quietly.

“Yup, the pasta is all ready,” I said, avoiding his gaze.

“No,” he said. “I meant with you, love. Are you alright?” He lifted his hand to caress my cheek, but I jerked back.

“Please, Mr. Cochran,” I said, tugging off my apron. “I’m fine. Just let me serve your guests.”

I carefully balanced four plates and walked back to serve everyone else. I knew he wanted to comfort me, but I couldn’t stand the thought of having our private relationship viewed as something sordid. It felt dirty now, as if I was his kept mistress playing house instead of his employee.

When I turned back to the kitchen, he had already set my plate down for me. He stalked back to his seat without a word.

Other than the clink of silverware, the table fell into an awkward silence as we all tucked into our entrees. I could feel Jake’s searing gaze, but I stared at my plate.

Patty broke the tension by complimenting me on the pasta.

“I’m so glad you like it,” I said, smiling gratefully. “I thought it would be a nice, lighter alternative to regular cream-based sauces. If you want, I can send you the recipe.”

“That would be lovely,” she said.

Helena must have become bored of her attempts to persuade Jake. “That’s a pretty dress, Lynn,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet. “It’s Armani, isn’t it? My stylist pulled a yellow one for me a few weeks ago.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thank you. Yes, I suppose it is Armani.”

“How interesting,” she said. “I had no idea that cooks get paid so well that they can afford designer outfit.” Her unnaturally plump lips curved into a sly smirk.

“It was a gift,” said Jake. His tone was mild, but his jaw was clenched.

“A gift?” she asked, with a shrill little laugh “I give my maids gift cards for coffee. What kind of dessert does she give you that earns her an Armani dress?”

I jumped when Jake slammed his fist on the table. “Goddamn it—”

“Fine,” I interjected. “Why don’t you be the judge of that Helena? Now is as good a time as any for dessert, isn’t it? Maybe it’ll sweeten that sour tongue of yours.” Without a backward glance, I strode to the fridge and yanked on my apron.

I viciously attacked the heavy whipping cream with my whisk, wishing it was Helena’s Botoxed face. Once soft peaks formed, I plated the tropical shortcakes. Without hesitating, I poured myself a shot of spiced rum and knocked it back, sighing as the liquid heat warmed my belly. Patty caught my eye. Winking, she toasted me with her wine glass, and I cheerfully reciprocated with my empty shot glass.

I balanced the small dessert plates on a tray. I served Helena last, resisting the urge to smash it into her perfect blonde bob. As I cleared away the dirty plates, I heard the moans of appreciation from Patty and George.

“Oh, this is just marvelous,” said Patty. “It’s like eating ethereal little clouds.”

“Forget the pasta,” said George, around a hearty mouthful. “You have to give us the recipe for these cream biscuits!”

I grinned at them as I returned to my seat. “Of course!”

Helena glared at me, but kept a sullen silence. I gave her a cool little smile when I saw that she had already demolished her dessert. I pointedly dropped my gaze to her empty plate, staring at her until she flushed and looked away.

“Sweetheart, this could definitely earn you a role in one of my movies,” said Vince. “But I still wouldn’t mind seeing your other talents on my casting couch.”

“You rude little shit,” growled Jake. “Talk like that again and I’ll knock out every last one of your veneers. Apologize. Now.”