The Perfect Dish (6 page)

Oh my. Four hundred seventeen emails. “Yes, well...in my defense, I did have a few drinks last night.” Meredith cleared her throat. It had sounded so logical at 11:55 PM.

“What were you drinking? Grain alcohol?”

“I’ll rewrite it, tone it down a bit.” That should do the trick. Most of those emails were probably spam.

“Tone it down?” Jillian sounded as though she was hyperventilating.

“I’ll delete it.” Meredith rolled her eyes. So much for the truth setting you free.

“Too late. After the call from
Bacall’s
and reading your post, I googled you. By nine AM, you’d been quoted by at least eight different bloggers, linked to by a dozen others and don’t get me started on the women’s forums and online communities. This needs serious damage control or
The Merry Widow’s
sales are going fall apart in a million little pieces, if you get my drift.”

A beep on the line saved her from replying. “Just a moment, I have another call coming through.”

She switched over. “Hello?”

“Tell me someone hijacked your blog. Tell me you got hacked. That’s what happened, right? You got hacked?” She could hear Phillip, her agent, taking a hard drag off a cigarette. He only smoked when he was stressed.

“No, I didn’t get hacked. Look can I call you back? I have Jillian on the other line and—”

“We have a problem, Meredith.”

“I’m aware.” She couldn’t recall a time she’d been interrupted more. “I’m working on a plan. With Jillian.”

“Good. I’ll expect a call when you know what it is.” He hung up.

She switched back to Jillian. “That was Phillip. He and I are going to work on a plan. I’ll call you back when we figure it out.”

An exasperated sigh answered her. “Fine, but it better be good, it better be big and it better be public. I’ll staunch the bleeding as best I can until you get back to me. If your editor calls, don’t answer. And don’t respond to any emails. Or discuss this with anybody else.”

“Will do. Anything else?” Like move to Siberia?

“Just lay low.”

Meredith hung up, made a beeline for her blog dashboard and hit the delete key. Her intercom buzzed. Now what?

“Yes?”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Black. I have a delivery for you. Should I bring it up?”

“Is it ticking?”

“What?”

“Never mind, Lou. Yes, bring it up. Thank you.” Probably just the trousers she’d ordered from Talbot’s arriving a little early. Or maybe the ink cartridges for her printer.

She opened the door on the first knock. The huge bouquet of yellow roses greeted her like a personal sunrise.

“Lou?” She tipped her head to see around the blooms. “Are you behind there somewhere?”

The doorman peeked around the edge of the bush. “Back here, Dr. Black. Where should I set them?”

“On the coffee table, I guess.” She went ahead of him and cleared the magazines. He set them down gently.

“You wouldn’t think flowers could weigh so much but that’s a lotta flowers. You could cover a float with those.” He went back to the door, pausing before he shut it behind him. “Oh, yeah, there’s no card. They didn’t come with one. Guess you have a secret admirer.”

She shook her head at the flowers. “One can only hope.”

“Have a good day.” Lou laughed as he shut the door.

It took her a minute to count them all. Sixty beautiful butter-colored roses. She had a good idea which Texas native had sent them but she didn’t know quite what to do about it. Did this mean he’d read her blog? No, why would he? Was he saying he was sorry? Trying to smooth things over?

Her phone rang, and she jumped. She checked the display. Her editor.

A dull ache pulsated in her left temple. She turned the ringer off, sank down onto the ivory chenille couch and stared at the massive yellow cloud hovering above her coffee table. No card. So he had nothing to say? Or was he waiting for a response? He couldn’t honestly think she wouldn’t know who’d sent them, could he?

She told him not to call. Did he think this didn’t count?

Her fingers strayed to her lips before she knew what she was doing. She yanked her hand down but the memory of his kiss already replayed in her head. And what a kiss it had been.

She had to keep the bouquet. Flowers weren’t returnable like some tacky sweater or hideous piece of jewelry. Well, maybe they were but the hassle didn’t seem worth it.

They
were
beautiful. It had been a long time since a man had sent her roses. But if she let Kelly chase her, he would take that as validation. Maybe she should ignore them. She shook her head. Sixty roses demanded some sort of response.

She slumped down and tipped her head against the cushions to stare at the ceiling. Why did men have to complicate things? Especially today of all days. She needed a solution, not a confrontation with the man responsible for her problem in the first place. He probably thought the flowers fixed everything. If only it were that easy.

She sat up. Maybe it was. A few scenarios played through her mind. It could work.

She took a quick shower, fixed her hair and make-up with more care than usual. Habit made her reach for gray wool gabardine trousers and a sweater set, but he’d seen her in that red dress. And loved it.

Instead, she donned one of the two pairs of jeans she owned and a pale aqua cashmere sweater Viv had given her for her last birthday. She’d yet to wear it. The V-neck descended past her comfort level.

Standing in front of the mirror, she fluffed her hair. The color of the sweater made her mossy green eyes a little brighter.

This would work, wouldn’t it? She’d have to choreograph it just right. Subtle. Charming but not so charming as to arouse his suspicions. Nerves twisted her stomach. She hadn’t played this game in a long time. Hadn’t wanted to.

Hadn’t needed to.

She grabbed her purse and keys off the entryway table. The indigo box stared up at her.

Two minutes later she sauntered out the door, her mouth full of chocolate and her head full of schemes.

Chapter Six

Daylight washed some of Sedona’s romance away. Still pretty but not quite as magical. She walked through the dining room toward the sounds of conversation in the bar. A pretty blonde with dark smudges under her eyes sat at a table doing paperwork. A young man worked behind the bar restocking beer.

The woman glanced up then back to the figures she was calculating. “I’m sorry, we don’t open for dinner until six.”

“I’m looking for Kelly. Is he around?”

The blonde looked up again and squinted at Meredith as if studying her. “Are you a friend of my brother’s? You look familiar.”

“You must be Shelby.” Meredith stuck out her hand. “Dr. Meredith Black.”

Recognition flickered in Shelby’s eyes as she shook Meredith’s hand. “The grief doctor.”

“That’s me.” Shelby’s grip was limp, lifeless. Meredith understood completely.

“Kelly gave me your book. I haven’t started it yet but thanks.”

“Mind if I sit?” Meredith pointed to the chair beside her.

Shelby gave a listless shrug, pushed some hair behind her ear. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” Meredith sat. “Kelly told me about your husband.”

Shelby stared blankly at the papers on the table.

Meredith softened her voice. “I know how much that hurts. How hard it is to find a reason to get out of bed in the morning. How often you look at yourself in the mirror and think ‘why am I still here?’ I understand all of that. I’ve been there. I’ve been there twice.”

At that Shelby looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. “Twice? You’ve had two husbands...die?”

Meredith nodded.

Shelby’s eyes widened a little. Her voice was shaky. “Did you really love them? Like, deep down in your heart love them?”

“Absolutely. As much as a person can love.” It was the only way she knew how to love. All or nothing.

Shelby shook her head. “How are you still alive? I feel like this is going to kill me.” Her voice broke in a quiet sob. “And some days, that seems all right with me.” She scrubbed at her face. “I shouldn’t have come in. Kelly as wrong. This isn’t helping.”

Meredith moved to the chair beside Shelby, put her arm around the girl and let her cry. After a few minutes, Shelby wiped her eyes. “Does the hurt ever go away?”

“I could lie and tell you it does but the truth is, while it lessens, it never disappears completely.” Meredith handed her a tissue from her purse.

Shelby took it and wiped her face. “How do you get over it then? How do you move on?”

Meredith took a long breath. She’d been trying to answer those questions since Michael had died. “After a while the good memories have a way of taking over and when you think of your husband, those are the first things you’ll remember, not the hurt.”

Shelby folded the tissue into a small square. “I’m sorry for crying. I can’t help it.”

Meredith shook her head. “Don’t ever apologize for your tears. Crying is a part of grieving, there’s nothing wrong with it. Except it makes your eyes puffy and your nose all red.”

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” Shelby sniffled and half-heartedly smiled. “Thanks. Kelly gave me your card but I felt funny calling.”

Meredith pulled out her date book and flipped through it. “I’m free on Wednesday. Let’s have lunch. Talk some more. It can’t hurt, right?”

“Okay, sure. There’s a deli around the corner that makes good chicken salad.” She sniffed again. “If you like chicken salad.”

“Love it. I’ll meet you here around 11:45 and we’ll walk over.” Meredith offered a smile that hid her reluctance. “Now, where’s that brother of yours?”

“Right here.” Kelly’s voice came from behind her.

Meredith twisted around.

Arms crossed, he lounged against the wall at the far end of the bar. His chambray shirt matched his eyes and set off his delectably tanned skin. Her insides felt like a swarm of bees.

“Meredith. Shel.” He nodded at his sister. “I’m glad you came in today. Missed you lately.”

Shelby smiled limply and Meredith cleared her throat. “Can I speak with you for a moment, Chef Spicer?”

He didn’t move. “Go ahead, Dr. Black.”

Brat
. She wanted to roll her eyes but didn’t. “Privately?”

“Sure. I was just fixing to go to my office. You’re welcome to tag along.” With that he peeled off the wall, and turned on his boot heel, his long strides putting quick space between them.

“See you Wednesday, Shelby.” Meredith grabbed her purse and headed after him, very aware of the alpha-male, man-in-control game he was playing. Fine. She’d let him since it suited her purposes.

She caught up at the elevator. “We can talk in the hall.”

He slid his key card through the reader. “Can’t. Too much to do. Gotta get to my office.”

She didn’t want to be in the elevator with him again. Well, part of her did but that part needed to be ignored. “Fine. We’ll talk in the office.”

They stood without speaking, staring straight ahead. The elevator came. They got on, rode to the second floor and stepped out. Kelly turned to the left, and Meredith followed him through a swinging door. Two doors down the hall, he stopped and ran his key card through a second reader. There was a quiet snick as the door unlocked. He pushed the door open and held it. “After you.”

The way he stood made it impossible for her to get past without rubbing against him. “You’re taking up most of the doorway.”

“Can’t help it. I’m a big guy.” His eyes gleamed with mischief.

Juvenile
. She sighed and sidled past, touching as little of him as possible.

He leaned forward as she went by. “You smell good.”

She took a few steps into the office and faced him. “I’m sure I reek of roses.”

“Why’s that?” He sat behind a massive pine desk, then leaned back in the worn leather chair and put his booted feet up. His fingernails suddenly became very interesting. “New perfume?”

“You know why.” She sat in one of the chairs on the other side and watched him lie.

“Can’t say I do.”

She scrunched her face into a curious expression and played along. “So you didn’t send me five dozen yellow roses?”

He continued to study his fingernails. “Nope.”

“Hmm.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and stood. He wanted to play games? Fine. “I wish I could figure out who sent them. It was a nice gesture. Too bad they were dead when they showed up.” She turned to go.

Behind her, Kelly’s boots hit the floor with a thud. “What do you mean they were dead? I paid good money—“

She spun back to face him just as he scowled half-heartedly, realizing he’d been bested. He. “You don’t play fair.”

“You said you didn’t send them.”

“Technically, the
florist
sent them.” His

“Don’t pout.” She tried not to smile. The game wasn’t so hard to get back into after all.

“I’m not pouting.” A petulant scowl grooved lines around his mouth.

“Actually, you are.” She retook her seat.

He gave her a grin as fake as the purses sold on Canal Street. “See? No pouting.” He sighed and strummed his fingers on the desk. “Were they really wilted?”

“No.” Poor boy. He needed so much approval.

“Did I screw up by sending them?”

“I wouldn’t say you screwed up, but you could have saved yourself the money. I didn’t need them.”

“Nobody
needs
flowers. ‘Cept for bees, I guess.” He glanced up. “Did they make you smile?”

One corner of her mouth tipped up. “Yes, they did.”

He propped his feet back up on the desk. “They were worth it then.”

She shook her head at the silliness of youth. “And that’s why you sent them? To make me smile?”

“No. I sent them ‘cause I felt lower than dirt on a snake’s belly for the way I treated you Saturday night. It was disrespectful.”

“Ah. Well, apology accepted.” She twisted her purse strap in her hand. Why did he have to be sweet? Because it was part of his game. He was still a playboy.

He tapped a pen on the desk. “Thanks for coming to see Shelby. I can’t believe you got her to agree to lunch. I only got her to come into work because I threatened to stop paying her.”

A playboy who took care of his sister. “Lunch is no big deal. Everyone has to eat. And I didn’t come to see Shelby, I came to see yo—”