Manolos in Manhattan (30 page)

With that he turned away, leaving Holly speechless, and strode out of the bar with his wife clinging on to his arm, and left the hotel.

Holly was silent as the Town Car headed across town to return her to the Dunleigh. Ciaran stared out of the window, his expression closed and his thoughts obviously still on the recent scene in the King Cole bar. She’d attempted to coax him out of his mood, but he was having none of it.

She sighed and took out her mobile. There were six –
six?
– messages from Coco Welch.

Why did Coco call me, and on my day off?
Holly wondered irritably. Then she realized that she’d sent the messages yesterday afternoon, while Holly was getting ready for her date with Ciaran.

Urgh. Best get it over with
, she thought, and held the phone to her ear to listen to the first message.

‘Holly, it’s Coco. The sprinkler system went off this morning and everything on the ground floor is ruined. Rhys wants everyone in on Sunday to relocate merchandise to the first floor. Call me. It’s urgent.’

The other messages were a variation of the first, with each one getting shorter – and less and less friendly.

Holly groaned. It was too late to do anything about it now; it was already after two o’clock and her head still throbbed.

She’d just have to deal with the fallout from Coco when she returned to work tomorrow.

She deleted Coco’s texts – all six of them – and froze as she saw a text from Jamie.

“Don’t 4get, dinner w/Iz & Cat 2night. Still going? Jamie”

She stared at the screen. There was no ‘x’ after his name, no heart or kissy-face emoticons, just the message. And the truth was, she
had
forgotten.

Guiltily, she texted back, “Yes. See u l8tr today. Holly,” and debated whether to add an x after her name or not.

Well, if Jamie had dispensed with the hearts and kisses, Holly decided, she would, too. She pressed “send” and fell back against the seat, and fervently wished that the driver would get her back to the Dunleigh. Natalie would usher her inside and offer her ginger ale, and aspirin, and sympathy.

She was in desperate need of all three.

Chapter Fifty-Two

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you back at the Dunleigh?” Ciaran asked as the Town Car stopped in front of the Midtown Hotel. “I thought you and Jamie were on the outs.”

“We are.” She didn’t mention her dinner date with Jamie and Catherine. She’d changed her mind halfway to the Dunleigh and asked the driver to take her to the Midtown Hotel instead.

“I’m sure Nat and Rhys are tired of having me round, although they’d never say so,” she went on. “And I can’t hide forever. Jamie and I have to work things out...or not.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Ciaran got out and went round to hold the door open for her.

“I am. I’ll go back later and get my stuff,” she added. “And thanks for stopping to get me a ginger ale on the way back. I feel a tiny bit better, now.”

“Good.” His eyes searched hers. “I’m sorry for the way things ended. I hope you don’t believe—”

“I don’t,” she said firmly.

As they stood on the pavement, neither of them quite ready to say goodbye, Holly heard someone call out behind her.

“Look ‒ it’s Holly. Holly ‒ over here!”

Startled, she glanced up to see Izzy racing towards her, and she knelt down to catch the girl as she threw herself into Holly’s arms with a whoop.

“I missed you so much,” Izzy exclaimed. “Jamie says you’re having dinner with us tonight. Are you? I can’t wait.”

Holly looked up and saw Jamie and Catherine coming towards them, and her heart sank. Jamie’s expression was unreadable, but it wasn’t hard to figure out by the tight line of his jaw that he’d seen her getting out of Ciaran’s car.

“Hello, Catherine, Jamie,” she managed to say as she released the girl and straightened. “Yes, Iz, I’m coming to dinner tonight, and I can’t wait, either.”

“Hello, Holly,” Catherine replied. She smiled at Ciaran. “No need to ask who this is.”

Holly introduced him to the sous chef. “We went to Ciaran’s film première last night. For publicity,” she added.

“Ah,” Catherine said. She took his hand and eyed him and Holly in turn, plainly trying to work out their relationship, and plainly aware that it was now late afternoon of the following day.

“The première was last night,” Jamie said, and gave Ciaran’s outstretched hand a cursory –
very
cursory ‒ shake. “Yet you’re just getting back?”

“I had a bit too much champagne, so I got a room at the St. Regis. Have you ever stayed there, Catherine? It’s gorgeous.”

She knew she was babbling; but she couldn’t seem to stop.

“Holly,” Izzy interrupted before her aunt could answer, “Jamie took us to the park, and we had a picnic...and he showed me how to throw a forward pass.”

“Ah, now that’s something every little girl should know,” Ciaran observed.

Jamie narrowed his eyes at him.

“That’s great, Iz,” Holly said, and glanced at the picnic hamper in Catherine’s hand. The three of them had spent the day together, for the second time. They made quite the cozy family unit. She felt an unexpectedly painful twist of jealousy.

Evidently Jamie hadn’t missed her; he’d barely even noticed her absence. Why should he, when he’d spent the entire day picnicking in Central Park with Catherine and her niece?

“I’m glad Aunt Catherine made me a cheese sandwich instead of those Asian noodles.” Izzy wrinkled her nose. “Why do you and Jamie eat that stuff?” she demanded as she looked over at her aunt.

“It’s a chef thing,” Catherine replied, and glanced at Jamie with a shrug and a smile. “Sorry.”

Holly pressed her lips together. Eating cuisine like sea urchins ‒ and actually enjoying it ‒ was yet another thing Jamie and Catherine shared that she and her fiancé never would.

“The limo’s double-parked,” Ciaran said. He turned to Catherine. “It was very nice to meet you. And you too, Izzy.”

“Bye, Ciaran,” Holly called after him as he turned to go. “Thanks again. For everything.”

He didn’t answer, only lifted his hand in farewell and got back into the car.

Coward
, Holly thought uncharitably.

“Well,” Catherine said into the awkward silence, “it’s time Izzy and I got home. We have to get ready for dinner tonight.”

“Do you need a ride?” Jamie asked. “I can flag a taxi.”

“No. It’s not far, and the weather’s nice. We can walk.”

“Bye, Izzy,” Holly called out after them. “See you tonight!”

Without looking back to see if Jamie followed her, Holly marched into the hotel. Their ride up in the lift was silent.

“So ‒ where’ve you been?” Jamie asked a few minutes later as they returned to their room.

“I told you – I stayed the night at the St. Regis.” Which was, technically, the truth.

“No, I meant, where’ve you been these past few days?”

“I stayed with Nat and Rhys. My stuff’s still there.”

He rested one shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed his arms against his chest. “Are you going back?”

“To get my stuff? Yes. To stay?” She paused with her heels dangling from her hand. “That depends on you.”

“On me?” He regarded her in disbelief. “Look,
you’re
the one who ran out of here. You’re the one who spent the weekend – and the night ‒ with Ciaran Duncan.”

“I didn’t ‘spend the night’ with Ciaran,” she snapped, tossing her shoes back into the closet, “and I left because I honestly didn’t think you cared one way or the other.”

“Meaning what ‒ that it’s once again all my fault, because I don’t spend enough time with you? God, Holly, we’ve been through this a million times before—”

“No! I didn’t think you’d
notice
,” she flung back, “because ever since Catherine came into your orbit, she’s the sun and the moon, and I’m just a – a distant planet somewhere off in the galaxy.”

“Why bother to come back if you feel that way, then?” he demanded. “Why not stay with Nat and Rhys and text me to tell me we’re through?”

“Because I promised Izzy I’d go to dinner tonight. I don’t want to disappoint her. And texting to break up...? That’s just tacky. Jamie,” she asked suddenly, and sat down on the bed, “tell me something ‒ is that what
you
want? Do you have feelings for Catherine? Do you really want to break it off?”

“What I want,” he replied as he turned away and took his shirt off, “is to go out to dinner tonight and have a nice, uncomplicated evening. We can talk about all this later.” His eyes met hers. “Can we do that?”

“Yes, fine. But we really
do
need to talk.”

“I agree. Just not now.”

Holly stood up. “Did...did you have a good time today?”

“Yeah. We did.” He threw his shirt in the corner but didn’t look at her. “Did you and Ciaran have a good time at the première?”

“Aside from downing one too many glasses of champagne at the after-party last night, and aside from my head still pounding, yes. It was fun.” She hesitated. “Jamie, I—”

He paused. “Yes?”

She’d been about to say, “I kissed Ciaran,” but changed her mind. Best to leave that little bombshell for later.

“I’m sorry,” she said instead. “I shouldn’t have run out on you like I did.”

He shrugged. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean that stuff I said. I was pissed off that the dinner I planned was ruined.”

“I know. Sorry. But you
did
say you’d be working late,” she reminded him. “You told me you had a private party. What happened with that, anyway?”

“Someone called in and booked the request at the last minute, then they never showed. Twats.”

“How inconsiderate! Some people...”

“Yeah.” He paused, his expression troubled. “Holly, look – there’s something I need to tell you.”

She looked up expectantly. “Yes?”

Jamie hesitated. “I missed you,” he said, and took her in his arms and kissed her, and his kisses grew more urgent, and soon they were both naked and having slippery, steamy makeup sex in the shower. It was hard, and rough, and fast, and it ended much too soon.

But as she got dressed afterwards, savoring the feel of her deliciously aching muscles, Holly felt a tiny pinprick of guilt.

Because even now, after patching things up with Jamie and sharing the most intimate of physical acts with him, her thoughts kept stubbornly returning to Ciaran.

Chapter Fifty-Three

“I want spaghetti and meatballs,” Izzy pronounced as she laid her menu aside.

Holly smiled across the table at her. “That sounds good. I think I’ll have the exact same thing.”

She and Jamie had arrived at Bella, the Italian restaurant on Lexington Avenue Catherine had chosen, to find the sous chef and her niece already waiting for them.

“Wouldn’t you like to try something different, Iz?” Catherine suggested. “The ravioli stuffed with spinach and feta, perhaps, or the lasagna
classico
?”

“No.” The little girl’s words were firm. “I want spaghetti and meatballs.”

Holly suppressed a smile.
Go, Izzy
, she thought as she looked over the top of her own menu and covertly studied Catherine. She wore a simple navy dress and looked even more gorgeous than normal, if such a thing were possible.

Who was she kidding
? Holly sighed. Catherine Morgan could wear a bathrobe and flip-flops to dinner and still look stunning. And as if that wasn’t enough, she could whip up the perfect soufflé or roast a flawless rack of lamb, too.

“Spaghetti with meatballs it is.” Jamie smiled across the table at Izzy. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.” He glanced at Catherine. “Have you decided what you’re having? You’ve been here before ‒ what do you recommend?”

Catherine took a sip of her Sangiovese and considered. “Well, the wood-grilled chicken with olives and capers is excellent. And the tagliatelle with pomodoro is very good, too. I find that with Italian food, the simplest preparation is usually the best...”

Holly resisted rolling her eyes and reached instead for a breadstick, breaking it in two and offering half to Izzy. There was nothing more boring than two chefs rhapsodizing on and on about food.

Jamie, she noted with a trace of irritation, had taken more pains than usual with his own clothing tonight. He wore a suit – a
suit
! – and a blue-and-gray striped tie and looked, like Catherine, very eye-catching.

She glanced down with misgivings at her own outfit – a mustard yellow short-sleeved sweater and a tweed houndstooth skirt – and wished she’d dressed a bit more flamboyantly. Oh well.

Tweeds must...

The waiter came to take their orders, and Holly requested the
spaghetti all’arrabiata
with meatballs.

“Bring us another bottle of your best chianti,” Catherine told the waiter. “It pairs well with
arrabiata
sauce,” she explained to Holly.

“What’s ‘
arrabiata’
mean?” Izzy asked.

“It means ‘angry,’” Jamie replied.

She frowned. “How can spaghetti sauce be angry?”

“It’s called ‘angry sauce’ because it’s very spicy.” Jamie turned to Holly inquiringly. “You
do
know it’s spicy, right?”

“Yes,” she replied, tamping down a flicker of irritation, “I know that. But thanks for looking out for my taste buds.”

He grinned and leaned over to kiss her. “I’ll always be a champion for your taste buds,” he murmured, and reached under the table to squeeze her hand.

Holly squeezed back. “Thanks.” Aloud she said, “Tell me, Catherine – how do you like working at Gordon Scots? Jamie says you’ve come up with some fabulous new dishes.”

“Only a few,” the chef demurred. “Jamie’s cooking is the star...as it should be. I love working in his kitchen.”

“You’ll be working in your own kitchen before long,” Jamie said, and raised his glass. “A toast to Catherine, the best sous chef in Manhattan.”

“Hear, hear,” Holly said, and touched her glass to everyone else’s – including Izzy, who toasted with her mug of root beer.

The food arrived a short time later, and they unfolded their napkins and tucked in. Jamie declared his wood-grilled chicken to be everything Catherine had promised, and even Izzy approved of her spaghetti and meatballs.