Page 16 of Back in the Texan's Bed
“Well, the Hudsons can’t stop raving about your food,” Faith praised, strolling into Sheen’s private dining room, from where Candice Hudson, her mother, aunt and several of their friends had just left, taking their excited chatter and laughter with them.
A glow of pleasure and satisfaction bloomed in Charlotte’s chest as the restaurant manager sprawled in one of the chairs that Candice, the happy bride-to-be, and her party had just abandoned. Hearing that her food had been enjoyed never got old. Gathering up the last of the cards where the guests had scored the selection of food, she shot Faith a narrowed glance.
“Why are you so tired? I’m the one who did all the cooking, and the staff did the serving,” she drawled.
The other woman waved a hand, flicking away her tart words. “I had to talk. Do you know how exhausting it is to entertain and beon?” She sighed. “It’s not a job for the weak.”
Charlotte snorted, slipping the cards in the pocket of her chef’s coat. “You poor, fragile thing.”
“I know, right? But one must do what one must.” Snickering, Faith jabbed a finger in Charlotte’s direction. “But enough about me. The Hudsons just laid down a five-thousand-dollar catering deposit, and all because of your food. Not that I had any doubts that they wouldn’t love your menu. Who could possibly resist grilled oysters with sweet basil, pesto and Parmesan? I swear, I just orgasmed saying that...”
“Oh, God, you’re awful.” Charlotte laughed, heading out of the private room and making a beeline for the kitchen. Faith followed, hot on her heels.
“What? They’re aphrodisiacs. You’re doing both the bride and groom a service for their wedding night.”
“Stop it,” Charlotte chided, even though she swallowed another burst of laughter. The first time Faith’s naughty sense of humor had made an appearance, Charlotte had been in the middle of sampling a Parmesan lobster bisque. It hadn’t been pretty. “I’m just glad they enjoyed what I put together.”
The menu included additional food items for those guests who didn’t like oysters or the balsamic and rosemary steak options. Coordinating the menu for the high-society wedding that would include nearly five hundred guests had been a challenge requiring hours of work. But the clients’ obvious pleasure had been well worth the effort.
“Lovedit,” Faith corrected, trailing behind Charlotte into the bustling kitchen. “And the proud mother of the bride mentioned recommending us to all of her wealthy, connected friends for their wedding receptions and events. Now I have to speak with Jeremy about possibly printing out new brochures that focus on weddings and receptions. If the Hudsons are open to it, we could possibly hire a photographer to take some shots of their wedding and reception to spotlight in the pamphlets,” she mumbled to herself, tapping away on her phone.
Switching her formal chef coat out for her work one, she washed her hands and left Faith to her notes and emails. Just as she moved to the stove to begin preparing the creamy wine sauce for her signature dish, the kitchen door opened and Jeremy Randall poked his head inside.
“Charlotte,” he called, a tiny frown etching his brow. “Can I speak to you out here for a moment?”
“Sure.” Inwardly sighing, she tossed a pining look at the stove and her ingredients. Faith hadn’t been wrong. Entertaining people was exhausting, and after presenting each dish to the Hudsons and their guests, and explaining the ingredients in each one, all she longed for was to return to the kitchen and get lost in cooking. It was her happy place. But when the owner of the restaurant requested her presence, she couldn’t refuse.
Seconds later, after instructions to her sous-chef to take over in her absence, she pushed through the kitchen door. It swung closed behind her and she joined Jeremy in the hall between the main dining area, the kitchen and prep area. “What can I do for you, Jeremy?”
The handsome older man ran a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair. With his smooth, unlined brown skin and tall, fit frame, Sheen’s owner could’ve been anywhere between forty and sixty. The gray hair only lent a distinguished, composed air to his appearance. But right now, with his frown and the anxious gesture, he appeared more agitated than composed.
“Ah, Ross Edmond is here to see you.”
Damn.
She should be surprised...but she wasn’t. Ever since she’d left—okay,boltedout of—his office yesterday, she’d been expecting him to call her or turn up at her house as he’d done before. But not here at Sheen. She wasn’t ready to field curious questions as to why the eldest son and heir to the Edmond Organization had an interest in her.
Out of habit, she reached for the necklace beneath her chef coat. She’d sent up so many prayers since her first and last encounter with Ross that he hadn’t noticed its presence. How did she explain to him that she didn’t want anything to do with him, wanted to erase him from her life, but she still wore the one gift from him that she’d allowed herself to keep? She’d thought she’d left it behind along with the other bracelets, earrings and clothes he’d purchased for her during their affair. And when she’d discovered it among her things in California, she’d almost thrown it out. But...she couldn’t. Not when memories were attached to the gold chain and diamond-encrusted heart pendant like ghosts connected to an old house.
“I showed him into my office to give you a little privacy. But uh—” he cocked his head to the side, that dreaded curiosity glinting in his hazel gaze “—is there something I should know? Do you need me to stay with you?”
She shook her head, appreciative of his willingness to be her protective shield. But this battle was between her and Ross. “Not necessary. It’s probably just about the tent for the Soiree on the Bay festival that I was telling you about,” she said. “Nothing to worry about. But I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Although she wanted nothing more than to do just that.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” he said with a note of hesitation. “I’ll be at the bar if you need me.”
She nodded, and moments later, she twisted the knob to Jeremy’s office and pushed it open. Ross’s back faced the door, but as soon as she entered the room, he turned around, his startlingly blue gaze falling on her.
For a second, she froze. Because his crystal eyes, which were usually shuttered and guarded, were awash with anger and pain. God help her, but in that instant, she believed him about not writing the letter. And if she accepted that truth, then she also had to admit that he hadn’t known about Ben, either. Those eyes...they didn’t lie.
Where did that leave her? Well, she’d been trying to figure that out for the past twenty-four hours. Because three years of hurt and betrayal didn’t just disappear overnight. She still didn’t trust him—didn’t trust that he would put Ben first over his family, put aside his lifestyle and make Ben a priority or take care not to trifle with her son’s feelings.
Or her own.
She shut that thought down with a hard, open-handed slap. This wasn’t about her; she had no claim on Ross other than him being Ben’s father. Nor did she want one. Because he had shown her long ago that settling down with one woman wasn’t what he desired. Especially not with her, a woman his father would never approve of. She wasn’t rich enough. Her parents weren’t connected enough. Her pedigree didn’t reach far back enough.
And she’d rebuffed Rusty’s advances.
