Talk of the Town (13 page)
When Rebecca got back to the table, George had a cappuccino in front of him and a hot tea waiting for her. Over their steaming cups, he smiled. “Should we go back to my place for a nightcap?”
She remembered the last time they’d gone back to his place and enjoyed a particularly energetic sexual romp. She suddenly realized it had happened weeks ago and was the last time she’d had sex.
Too long.
She glanced over at David smiling and felt a little catch in her lower abdomen.
Is sexual starvation why I have this unnatural attraction to David? If so, surely I wouldn’t be turning down George.
George’s sexual expertise, and all his brawny good looks and little boy charm, just didn’t turn her on any longer. But she liked him, so she wanted to be kind. “No, George. I think we should call it a night.”
He leaned closer. “Tonight I’ll take no for an answer. If you promise to say yes to another dinner soon.”
Trying to concentrate on him instead of David, Rebecca demurred. “Maybe in a few weeks. I’ll be busy until then with the celebrity cook-off.”
“I know. My firm bought a table for Saturday night. Then it’s a date for us to celebrate.”
The next morning when Rebecca walked into the
Daily Mail
lobby, Pauline jumped up from the switchboard and clapped her hands. “Do we have something to celebrate!”
“They’ve called off the celebrity cook-off?” Rebecca asked with real hope in her voice.
“Oh, Rebecca. You’re so funny! You’ll be great. This is something so amazing I’m coming upstairs with you so I can see your face. And don’t ask me to tell you, because I promised I wouldn’t.” Pauline pretended to button her lips. Her face rosy with excitement, she nearly pulled Rebecca up the stairs.
Everyone in the newsroom stood clustered around the entrance to Home and Food. Except Joe, who was snoring under his Cubs cap.
They parted for Rebecca.
She laughed. “If this was a movie the music would be building to a crescendo. What’s going on? . . . My God!” Rebecca breathed, staring at the former Home and Food section. Overnight it had been transformed into a mini version of the executive hallway. Where Kate’s cubicle had been there was now an actual office, complete with a real glass door. A smaller version had replaced Rebecca’s lonely desk.
She walked through the open door and found a large blue ribbon on the ergonomically correct chair behind a new desk. “My
old
chair!” Rebecca shrieked, throwing herself into it and swiveling around madly.
“It is?” Pauline asked. “How can you tell?”
Laughing, Rebecca pointed to the small chocolate-brown stain on the arm. “This is from a two-chocolates-in-each-hand deadline day. Besides, it fits me in all the right places.” She wiggled deeper into the seat. “How did David get this done overnight?”
“I asked him the same question not five minutes ago.” Kate walked in, looking slightly calmer this morning, although her hair was spiky on top. “David had a large construction crew in here all night. I’ve already thanked him profusely. Your turn.”
Kate’s crisp, direct order was so out of character, Rebecca blinked up at her, trying to understand.
“Rebecca, last night I may have been grossly self-absorbed, but I’m not blind to what is going on between you. David is using the large office across from Tim as a command post to organize both the paper and the television station. He’s there now. Go thank him yourself.”
Warmth seeped through every pore.
I thought I was so good at hiding my attraction to David.
“You warned me about being reckless, Kate.”
“The only person who can determine your course of action is you, Rebecca. I’m merely suggesting you thank David yourself.”
“Should I leave so the two of you can stop talking in code?” Pauline piped up, a hurt look in her usually twinkling eyes.
“Of course not, sweetheart! Come along. I’m going to follow Kate’s advice and thank the boss.”
On the landing, they met Shannon coming up the stairs. “There you are, Pauline. Why aren’t you on the switchboard?” she snapped. “My phone is going crazy.”
Pauline glared back. “I’m on break.”
“At nine a.m.? I must ask David if the rest of us can have your schedule.” Tossing her flat black hair over her shoulder, Shannon pushed past to the executive hall.
“I’ll see you later,” Pauline mouthed to Rebecca and flew down the stairs.
Chalking up yet another reason she didn’t like Shannon, Rebecca strolled past her, lounging at Maybella’s desk. Before Maybella could stop her, Rebecca rapped on David’s open door and walked into his office.
With the shock of wavy hair falling across his forehead, very Hugh Grant meets James Bond, his harassed look was
too
appealing.
I shouldn’t have come.
David looked up at Rebecca and the same rush of desire he’d felt the first night and then again last night fueled his blood. He wished she hadn’t come.
He looked away, shifting papers on his desk. “If you’re here to thank me, you don’t need to. Kate was appreciative enough for both of you.”
“Even if you don’t want to hear it, good manners force me to. Giving me back my old chair was a nice touch. The ribbon was especially festive.”
Relaxing back in his chair, David shoved the stubborn wave of hair neatly back into place. He couldn’t resist the feisty look on her face. “I thought so. Hopefully, you won’t be visiting your chiropractor on a daily basis. Unless . . . your doctor is the young guy you were with last night at dinner?”
She laughed, perching on the arm of the couch. He watched the way she smoothed the skirt over her thighs.
“George is in mergers and acquisitions. His firm bought a table for Saturday’s celebrity cook-off.”
His competitive bent got the best of him. “The paper bought two. The TV station a third. We’ll all be there to support you. Not nervous, are you, Rebecca?”
“Of course not.” She lifted her chin, defying him. But he didn’t believe her.
“Then you’ve got everything under control for the big night?” He hadn’t wanted to see her, didn’t want to feel the desire to go down this particular forbidden path, but now he wanted to prolong it. To keep watching the play of emotions crossing Rebecca’s face while they verbally sparred with each other.
“Of course I’m in control.” She stared him straight in the eyes. “Harry and I have practiced making orgasm pie so many times I could do it in my sleep.”
This he believed. He leaned across the desk, wanting more from her.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were busy, David,” Shannon called to him.
He hadn’t heard Shannon come into the room; his attention was focused solely on Rebecca.
Rebecca glanced up, looking as startled as he felt by Shannon’s intrusion.
“Should I come back later?” Shannon asked, even though she kept on moving into the room. “I need to discuss our plans for Saturday night.”
David sucked in his breath to tell her to come back later. He wasn’t ready yet to have the spell or whatever it was that drew him to Rebecca broken.
A smile played around Rebecca’s softly curving mouth. “Your timing is impeccable as always, Shannon. I’m just leaving.”
He knew he couldn’t stop Rebecca from leaving the room, but he wasn’t happy to let her go.
Rebecca was happy Shannon had barged into the room, breaking whatever spell David had cast. She should have been working him, trying to figure out the best route to convince him to retract his plans for her and the paper, but all she did was wallow in a pool of sexual pleasure just talking to him.
Slowly rising from her perch on the couch, Rebecca threw Shannon a scorchingly disdainful look to disguise the odd jealousy burning in her chest. “Since I’m a celebrity chef on Saturday, I have important plans to make myself.” Just to annoy Shannon, Rebecca flicked David a come-hither look. “I
guarantee
Saturday night will be a treat.”
His responsive smile made her tingle with pleasure as she swept out the door.
Rebecca refused to admit to herself that David had
anything
to do with her decision to rush off to LuLu’s to purchase a divine black crepe vintage Pauline Trigère evening gown for the culinary event. She repeatedly told herself she bought it in the hope that her exposed cleavage above the strapless gown would divert everyone’s attention from her rusty cooking skills.
A
s the Culinary Institute had requested, Rebecca faxed them her recipe three days before the event. For the price of their ticket, the four hundred guests would dine on recipes from each celebrity cook prepared by the Four Seasons Hotel kitchen staff that day.
On Saturday, fortified by Harry’s air of confidence and the few weeks of practice, Rebecca dutifully arrived an hour early at the Four Seasons as demanded by the chairwoman of the event, Milly Peabody.
Milly, looking rather like a stalk of celery in a light green gown that hung straight on her tall thin frame, met them at the top of the grand staircase to the eighth-floor lobby.
“Welcome, Rebecca. You look marvelous.” Milly flashed Harry a huge smile. “Yes. The dashing Dr. Grant.”
On any other man, Rebecca would have hated the black tux shirt open at the throat, but on Harry it looked debonair instead of sloppy. “He’ll break hearts tonight.” Rebecca gripped his arm in affection and an edge of panic.
“Hope springs eternal,” Harry drawled, patting Rebecca’s hand, which was wrinkling his jacket. “Shall we go in?”
“Yes.” Milly led them inside. “I must show you the setup. This year it is different than usual.” The pre- assembly room, which was usually set up for cocktails, tonight was filled with white draped round tables and chairs. “This area and the adjoining State Room will be used for dinner. Because . . .” Grinning from diamond-studded ear to diamond-studded ear, Milly flung open a door to the Grand Ballroom. “Ta-dah, this year the kitchens are in here.”
Rebecca walked into a chrome maze of miniature kitchens with two bars set up at either end of the ballroom. “Fabulous.” She forced a smile, even though she wanted to run screaming for cover. “Everyone will be in here enjoying cocktails while we’re cooking?”
“Yes.” Milly clasped her hands. “Which reminds me. Rebecca, you and Dr. Grant are the only two celebrity chefs who haven’t committed to the live auction.”
Harry threw Rebecca a quizzical look. She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything about a live auction.”
“No. One of our board members suggested it a few days ago, and we all thought it was a wonderful way to add money to our scholarship coffer. All the other celebrity chefs have willingly agreed. I’m sure it’s simply a silly mistake that the two of you haven’t signed up.”
Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You plan to auction off every one of us?”
“No, Dr. Grant. Only one celebrity name will be drawn to prepare dinner for a party of no more than six.” Milly’s thin face rounded in a grin as she looked toward Rebecca. “Yes. You will participate?”
Rebecca knew Kate would think a one-in-forty chance a good bet. Besides, Harry would adore being an auction prize.
“Of course we’ll take part.” Rebecca turned around to survey the room. “Now tell us which one of these delightful play kitchens belongs to us.”
“Marvelous,” Milly sighed. “Now let me show you your special kitchen. Our board members wanted you to be front and center.”
Great, we’ll stick out like a sore thumb.
Indeed, Milly led them to a kitchen placed strategically in the middle, where they could observe the entire room and vice versa.
“This kitchen is fully equipped with all appliances and has all the ingredients for your recipe. Have fun.” Milly scurried away, gathering up more celebrity chefs in her wake.
Suddenly petrified with fear, Rebecca looked up into Harry’s solemn face. “We’re doomed.”
“Sweet pea, these board members are either your biggest fans or out to get you.”
Circling inside the half kitchen, Rebecca could see they were the center, with all the other kitchens forming the spokes of a wheel around them. “Out to get me,” she sighed.
“They shall fail.” Harry hugged her tight to his side. “Together we are unbeatable!”
To reassure him and herself, she smiled and stepped away as a waiter approached with a tray of drinks. Stoically, Rebecca resisted the urge to drown her stress with a magnum of chilled champagne. Instead, she yanked up her slipping strapless gown and took out her recipe card. “We might as well get started.”
Expectantly, Harry looked around. “Shouldn’t we wait for an audience?”
“They’ve just arrived.” A little of Rebecca’s anxiety vanished in the joy of seeing Patty and Polly, red curls streaming behind them, race toward her.
“We’re here, Aunt Becky!” they chorused in unison.
She blew them kisses. “Hello, darlings.”
Pauline followed behind, wearing a new emerald green dress that exactly matched her eyes. “Slow down, girls. I told you we’re only staying for the cooking, not dinner. What do you say, girls?”
“Thank you for the special tickets for tonight, Aunt Becky,” Patty recited politely.
“Me, too,” piped up Polly, younger by eleven months at nine. “Mom, can we walk around?” The girls were already heading toward a kitchen manned by Gozo, the beloved clown from WXY-TV.
The doors opened and other guests surged into the room, surrounding them. Amid the chatter and clinking of glasses, Harry deftly prepared the crust for their pie.
“Keep smiling and hand me the things I ask for, just as we practiced,” Harry whispered. Obedient, Rebecca shoved him some flour and salt while keeping an eye on the door.
At last, the group from the
Daily Mail
came in, and her heart started pounding. Where was David? She saw Kate, the little frown line of concern between her eyes, as she scanned the room. When Kate finally saw Rebecca, she smiled and hurried over.
Harry looked up when Kate arrived at their mini kitchen. “Divine Kate. Your hair and that forties-style dress make you look ten years younger and ten pounds thinner. Please don’t tell others your secret, or I’ll lose all my patients.”
