Page 75 of Inarticulate

“I’ll fix it,” he repeated.

She suffocated under the sincerity in his eyes and wished she could believe him. It would be easy. All she had to do was relax. Let go. Sink further into his arms and let him spin her a tale that made the stress wash away.

He inched closer, the approach of his lips making her lick her own.

“Don’t.” She shook her head, but her feet wouldn’t move. There was no strength. Not of will or of body.

His mouth brushed hers, a soft, gentle stroke that only endeavored to tear her apart. She mewled, and squeezed her eyes shut to fight the devastation. She didn’t want this. Not soft. Not gentle.

On cue, his fingers found her shoulders, her neck, her hair. He tugged the strands, tight, painfully hard, and deepened the kiss to a level of punishment. Harsh strokes of tongue infused her, awakened her. He held her in a vise, tempting her to flee as he encased her tighter in the trap of his arms.

Darkness retreated. Clarity approached. She wanted to depend on him. For everything. For anything. Yet he was unreliable. Even for honesty.

She pushed against his chest and broke their connection, pressing cold fingers to her scorched lips. “Don’t ever do that again.”

He stiffened, straightened, and the harshness returned to those glorious features. He stepped back, creating a chasm between them, and pulled his cell from his pants pocket. Confident fingers typed, and she watched in a trance as he wielded his weapon, preparing to strike her down.

I promise I will fix this for you.

She took the assault, let it sink under her skin. “Stay out of my life.” Her heart thundered in her throat as she slid to the door and gripped the handle. “I don’t want to see you again until settlement.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sleep was elusive. She’d only scored a few hours nap between waking nightmares. There’d been no shower, no change of clothes. Hell, she hadn’t even seen the inside of her suite, and had called the conference room her home since she returned from Grandiosity.

Determination kept her company, the last minute fight for survival keeping her adrenaline flowing and her brain cells churning on their lonely battle. Staff enthusiasm had hit rock bottom. Optimism had been slaughtered, even though the whispers she’d heard about the welcome meeting had all been positive. There was no motivation. They were all numb with concern for Thomas and angry as hell at Layla and Tammy, who hadn’t been contactable since they both called in sick. It was still unclear if they would show up to lead the glorified team of housekeeping staff through the reception table service, or if they’d sink another nail into the wedding coffin.

But they were far from her biggest problem.

The disaster was the three-course wedding dinner that wouldn’t cook itself. Thomas’ comment about his chefs not working well unsupervised hadn’t sank in until she was standing in front of them, glancing from one dumbstruck expression to the next after she’d broached the topic of them sharing the head chef role. Evidently, the kitchen fell into a heap without leadership. And there wasn’t a soul on the face of the planet available to take on the responsibility the day before Thanksgiving.

Even Spencer lacked the words to comfort her when she’d called him in a blubbering mess at three in the morning. The only thing she knew with certainty was that he was on his way, soon to be here to make everything just a little bit worse.

“Savannah?” Kelly’s voice was filled with concern. “Amanda just called. She’s on her way in and wanted to know if you had any answers yet.”

Savannah kept staring straight ahead, her elbows resting on the spectacularly adorned bridal table as she took in the reception area destined to host a myriad of unfed people. Each table was covered with a white tablecloth, the crockery and cutlery placed perfectly at each setting. Soon the florist would be here to place the centerpieces, and the band would set up in the corner.

“Not yet,” she murmured.

“What can I do to help? Can I get you a coffee? Maybe a wine.” Kelly shuffled into view and tilted her head to make eye contact. “Crack?”

Savannah released a breath of laughter. “I’m okay.” She swallowed over the placation. “What time is it?”

“Nine.”

Shit.She’d been sitting here for hours, without a resolution to show for it. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course. Name it.”

It was a last ditch effort. “Can you call all the recruitment agencies in the directory? Beg them. Plead with them. Tell them how dire our situation is and let them know we’ll double the standard rate of pay if they can find a capable head chef to lead our kitchen today.”

“Sure.” Kelly’s smile was weak. “Have you heard any more on Thomas?”

“Grant spoke to his wife sometime during the night.” The news was her only solace. “She said he’s recovering well from a minor cardiac incident. Not a heart attack.”

“Thank God.” Kelly’s relief was palpable, her smile genuine. “I’ll go make some phone calls.”

Savannah remained in place to battle her demons in solitude. Therewereoptions, but they weren’t pretty. The menu could be changed to finger food. Or the three courses could remain, if easier, more production line selections were chosen.

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