Month of Sundays (25 page)

“Sexy, but not something I want to add to my bucket list.”

Rachel pulled Griffin away from the window and slowly circled her. Griffin tracked her movements with her eyes.

“You’re going to punish me for what I did to you in the restaurant, aren’t you?”

Rachel continued to circle her. “Yes, I am.”

“I can’t wait.”

Rachel stopped behind her. She trailed a finger across Griffin’s strong shoulders. She wanted to slide her tongue along the nape of Griffin’s neck, down her back. She wanted to turn her around, pull her shorts and underwear down to her ankles, kneel in front of her, and take her into her mouth.

All in due time
, she reminded herself. She had waited three weeks. She could wait ten more minutes.

She brushed Griffin’s hair aside. Her hair smelled like mangoes, her skin like vanilla. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Griffin shuddered when Rachel’s lips found the sensitive place behind her ear. “I like being in control, but I love when the woman I’m with takes the upper hand.”

“Like this?”

Rachel wrapped her arms around Griffin’s waist and unbuttoned her khaki shorts. She pulled the zipper down and tugged the shorts over Griffin’s hips. She grazed her fingertips over the tops of Griffin’s thighs. Arching her back, Griffin leaned against her. Her hips pressed against Rachel’s front. Her hands snaked into Rachel’s hair. Rachel gripped her sides, holding her in place.

“I want you,” Griffin said.

Rachel slipped her hand inside Griffin’s silk panties. Her fingers came away wet. “I can tell.”

Griffin rubbed her back against Rachel’s breasts. Rachel’s nipples formed into hard points. She turned Griffin to face her. Griffin’s eyes were clouded with desire.

“Tell me something I never would have suspected about you.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. We’ve turned my life into an open book, but a great deal of yours is like a teenage girl’s diary. The lock’s still on it and you have the only key.” She slowly slid her hands over Griffin’s rippled stomach. “I opened myself to you. Open yourself to me. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Griffin’s full lips parted. “Being a chef wasn’t my initial choice of profession.”

Rachel lightly ran her fingertips down Griffin’s arms. The fine blond hairs immediately stood on end. “What was your first choice?”

“When I was a kid, I always thought I’d go to medical school and become a doctor like my dad.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Cooking’s sexier.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Rachel teased Griffin’s nipples with her thumbs, eliciting a low moan. She pushed Griffin’s underwear over her hips and cupped Griffin’s ass in her hands. “Ready?” She flicked her eyes toward the bedroom.

Griffin grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She took a step toward the CD player, but Rachel pulled her back. “Not tonight. Tonight, the only song I want to hear is yours. Come sing for me.”

In the bedroom, Griffin ran through the scales. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in volume. Rachel had never seen a better performance.

Rachel slid her hand across the bed, searching for the warmth of Griffin’s body. She opened her eyes when her search uncovered only rumpled sheets.

“Griffin?”

No answer.

She sat up in bed. Her apartment was ominously quiet. Griffin was gone. Again.

This is becoming par for the course.

Their reunion had been agonizingly brief. After they made love, Griffin had seemed distracted at best and, to be honest, disinterested. She had spent the rest of the night returning e-mails and texts rather than telling Rachel where she’d been or, more importantly, where she thought their relationship might be headed.

The answer was obvious. They were headed nowhere fast. Griffin’s promises that they would soon have more time together seemed to be just that. Promises. Rachel didn’t want promises. She wanted guarantees. She needed a commitment. Something Griffin was apparently unwilling—or unable—to give.

Life with her was like an endless game of hide-and-seek. She disappeared for weeks on end, showed up for a few hours, then took off again. Rachel didn’t have time for games.

Maybe it was time to change the rules.

She rolled out of bed with a weary sigh. She was exhausted and she hadn’t gone to work yet.

While the coffee maker brewed a pot of decaf, she opened her apartment door to retrieve the newspaper that lay in the hallway. She greeted a sleepy neighbor performing the same chore, then returned to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.

While she waited for the steaming brew to cool to a manageable temperature, she read the headlines on the front page. More of the same old, same old. She skipped to the entertainment section. Her jaw dropped when she saw Griffin on the front page of the section. She took a long swallow of coffee to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. When she turned back to the article, the content hadn’t changed. The cast list for
Cream of the Crop
had been released and Griffin’s name was on it.

Rachel opened the full-page spread. The group photo above the fold showed the entire cast—Griffin, one other woman, and six men. Each contestant’s individual photo and a short bio were printed below the fold. Rachel scanned the list of names and read the profiles attached to each.

Griffin Sutton. Veronica Warner. James Cavanaugh. Salvatore Iocovozzi. Jorge Gonzalez. Trevor Wright. Brady Rosen. Damian Myers.

Damian Myers? The same Damian Myers who used to play center field for the Mets? According to his bio, he had made the leap from hitting home runs to flipping gourmet burgers.

“Wow.”

Rachel took another hit of coffee. Her father had been a Mets fan since he was a kid. She didn’t know which she had been forced to watch more often, her mother’s home movies or her father’s replay of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series when the Mets had bounced back from being down to their last out to force a decisive seventh game. If Griffin knew Damian Myers, her father would be begging her for his autograph.

Rachel read the accompanying article. According to the story, the preliminary episodes of
Cream of the Crop
had recently finished filming. The finalists had already been determined, but their identities would remain top secret until the penultimate episode aired on August 5.

Rachel shook her head. This was where Griffin had been for the past three weeks. This was the reason she hadn’t been able to say what she had been up to. Not because she didn’t want to. Because she wasn’t allowed to.

Griffin had been so secretive since their trip to Newport Beach, Rachel had started to think she was seeing someone else. She felt silly for doubting her—and relieved her fears had proven to be baseless. But something still nagged at her.

She was happy about the opportunity Griffin had been given by being chosen to take part in the competition, but she was worried about the effect it would have on their relationship, which had been showing signs of strain before their vacation and had been in a holding pattern ever since.

If Griffin performed well on the show or ended up winning, the result would be life-changing. Everyone would know her name. Everyone would want a piece of her. The demands on her already limited time would increase even more. Would she have any time left for her? She barely had any as it was, and she was only a local celebrity not a national one, a distinction that was most assuredly about to change.

She and Griffin needed to talk. Sooner rather than later.

When her phone rang, her heart wanted it to be Griffin on the other end of the line, but her head said it wasn’t. As was often the case, her heart came out on the losing end.

“Have you read this morning’s paper?” her mother asked, bubbling with excitement.

“I’m looking at it right now.”

“Griffin seems so down-to-earth in person I keep forgetting she’s famous. I can’t believe I get to rub elbows with an actual TV star.”

“I’m happy for you, Mom.”

As usual, her mother failed to detect the sarcasm in her voice.

“No, honey. I’m happy for
you
. Your father was right, you know. She’s quite a catch.”

Rachel smiled, accepting defeat. “She certainly is. Too bad she won’t allow herself to be caught.”

She scanned the sea of smiling faces in the group photo and read the caption underneath. Her breath caught when she finally realized why one of the other cast members’ names seemed almost as familiar to her as Damian Myers’s.

She stared at the individual portrait of the other woman in the cast. A gorgeous, inked-up brunette who looked more like a motorcycle mama than a seasoned chef. Veronica Warner.

Rachel pressed her suddenly sweaty palms on the countertop. Griffin’s former lover was in the cast. Had Griffin known that prior to her audition? Was Veronica the reason she had auditioned in the first place? If so, had Griffin hoped to get back at her or to get back together?

Dozens of questions swirled around Rachel’s brain. The way Griffin described it, the end of her relationship with Veronica had been acrimonious at best. In the group photo, they didn’t look like bitter enemies. They didn’t look like former lovers. They looked like current ones.

Veronica stood with her arms wrapped around Griffin’s shoulders as if she were staking a claim to her. Griffin wasn’t exactly shying away. Her fingers were curled around Veronica’s wrist as if to prolong the embrace.

“I’ve got to go, Mom. I need to call the TV star.”

“Tell her Gene and I will be rooting for her.”

“Don’t worry. I plan on giving her an earful.”

*

Griffin picked up the newspaper. The official cast photo the producers had chosen was the one she had liked the least. Veronica had grabbed her just before the photographer snapped the picture.

“Come on, Sutton,” Veronica had said. “At least act like you like me.”

As soon as the photo was taken, Griffin had broken Veronica’s hold and changed her position in the lineup. She had moved closer to Sal and Damian, two men who reminded her of her brothers. The photos she had taken clowning around with them were the ones she would have preferred to be used, but she didn’t have a say.

She stared at her frozen smile.

“I look like a deer in headlights.”

“I beg to differ.” Tucker put the three phones in his hands on hold. “You look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. You need to call Rachel and do some damage control before she sees that.”

“I would if I had the time. She’s probably getting ready for work, and I have a meeting with Kathleen and Ava in an hour. I can’t keep them waiting.”

“Is it time for the annual State of the Union address already?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Once a year, Griffin and Match’s owners met to discuss the restaurant. Kathleen and Ava shared the numbers their accountant had crunched, and she gave a detailed presentation that touched on everything from requests for equipment upgrades to process improvements to suggested menu changes to the kitchen staff’s strengths and weaknesses. She had sneaked out of Rachel’s apartment at five thirty so she could come home and rehearse what she wanted to say during her scheduled sit-down with her bosses.

She tossed the paper aside. She wished the
Cream of the Crop
feature had appeared in Sunday’s edition, which would have given her more time to prepare for the media onslaught. Her land line had been ringing off the hook all morning, and her cell was blowing up so much she was sick of hearing the ringtone.

Tucker was managing to stay on top of the many requests for bookings, but she had never seen him look so harried.

“I’ve got
E! News
on my phone,
Live with Kelly
on the house phone, and
Good Day New York
on your cell,” he said. “Which ones do you want me to turn down and which ones would you like me to accept?”

“You decide. But make it fast, okay? We need to be out the door in ten minutes, tops.”

“
Live with Kelly
it is. That will provide you with local and national exposure and reach the widest audience. Appearing on the rest would be overkill. You have to promote the show, but you don’t want to risk overexposing yourself and make potential viewers sick of you before you’re seen cracking your first egg.”

She picked up the outfit he had laid out for her and headed to the bathroom to finish getting dressed. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be on the hook for another pair of shoes?”

“Because you are.”

He made one booking and turned down the other two. Before they could finally enjoy some peace and quiet, the phones started ringing again.

“Incoming!” Tucker said. As she tucked her shirt into her pants, she saw him check the caller IDs on the land line and her cell phone. “I’ve got Logan on your cell and Rachel on the land line. Which do you want?”

She glanced at her watch as her pulse began to race. “It’s five a.m. on the West Coast. If Logan’s calling me at the crack of dawn, something must have happened to someone in our family. Give him to me.” She reached for her cell phone, leaving Tucker with the land line. “Tell Rachel I’ll call her later. And hurry up.”