Page 72 of Challenged By You
My eyes widen as Julian plops into his own guest chair without a care in the world. Gesturing wildly to the phone, I point to the door. He ignores me and settles back to listen. Flicking him off, I focus on the woman who’s set on taking a strip off my hide. “You don’t have internet,” I say and then immediately regret it.
She grits out, “I hook up to Seduction’s Wi-Fi when I get here so I don’t lose power despite my very limited data plan. And don’t try to derail me by reminding me of the fact I don’t have cable. Not cool.”
“I wasn’t!” I protest. Shit, now I feel like a dick. Julian just wags his finger back and forth, shaming me like our mother would have.
I bare my teeth at him while Trina’s hurt voice continues. “You’re a food critic! Now that I know you better, do I need to reread the one you did of Seduction to see if you dropped any cutesy phrases in there too?”
“Hell, no!” I splutter. “Cutesy phrases? I didn’t do that. I was being witty, for Christ’s sake.’”
“Witty? Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Yes,” I yell. Julian raises a brow, but I ignore him. I’m already in hot water with one person I care about. “Well, maybe that’s not the only reason.”
“I knew it.”
I want to admit this in front of my brother about as much as I want to go back and eat the pressed duck from the Chinese joint two years ago that still had feathers on it. I shudder, both in memory and what I’m about to do, but realize I have no choice. “I did it for Chris,” I finally blurt out.
There’s another silence that descends all through the office. Hazarding a glance at my brother, I see I’ve completely dumbfounded him. Quickly, I continue. “For Chris, T. Because don’t you remember? He tried to make a food pun when the pasta was put on the table. Don’t you remember?”
“He held up the noodle and said…”
“Give penne for story,” I remind her, even while my heart warms at the memory. “He was trying to make a food pun, Trina, and all I wanted to do was give him a little shout-out by dropping an unobtrusive one in my column.”
“The best thingoliveon the menu is the noodles and sauce,” she quotes the line verbatim.
“Exactly.”
“Making it look like a tiny typo.” Her voice is as smooth as brown butter.
“Uh-huh.” My voice drops to the same level as hers, knowing the storm has passed.
What she says isn’t what I expect to hear at all. “I’m going to hang up now and pretend like I didn’t call. And if you can forgive my attitude, perhaps if you’re free tonight, maybe you’d like to drop by?”
Confusion has me frowning down at the calendar blotter on Julian’s desk. “I have two places I’m scheduled to review because you’re supposed to be working.”
“I know. I was thinking after. Pick me up after work.” Without saying goodbye, she hangs up the call.
I press End with a wonky smile. I’m positive I can finish up my reviews and be at the back door of Seduction before her shift ends. Before I can speak, Julian says, “When do I get to meet her?” When I blink at him, having forgot for a moment he was even in the room, he declares, “It’s obvious you’re falling for her.”
Figuring admitting the truth to Julian is essentially admitting it to myself, I say the words aloud for the first time. “I am.” He surges to the edge of his seat. I hold up a hand. “But it’s too new and too complex for me to rush things. I have more respect for her and her children to rush this, Jules.”
Thoughtfully, Julian rubs his fingers over his jaw. “Falling in love can happen in an instant.”
“But creating a love that will last takes more than just the fall,” I counter. “It takes a solid foundation, trust, and respect—all of which I’m prepared to give her as long as she needs.”
“Then why do I feel like you’re worried about something you’re not telling me?” God, there’s that twin bond coming through at the worst possible moment.
I push out of his chair and move to the pre-war window. Gazing unseeing down to the street below, I admit, “I met Trina because she’s the executive dessert chef at Seduction—remember the review that Chelsea screwed up a few weeks ago? I’m crossing all sorts of lines being with her.”
“How?” Julian surges to his feet in my defense. “You’re two unattached adults. What’s so wrong with the two of you finding happiness?”
“I’m supposed to be writing an article on her as recompense for the mistake in conjunction with executing a new review of the restaurant. Professionally, I’m finding it difficult to separate my feelings for the woman from the critic.”
He joins me at the window. “What do you mean?”
“I mean every time I went in to interview her, I spent more time thinking about her, Trina, not about Chef Trina Paxton.” I fling a hand out toward his desk. “My notes are ridiculous.”
“So, don’t do your normal behind the scenes with the chef,” he suggests.
