Page 21 of Brooke
“Seriously?” Her wooden spoon clattered. “That Nordic giantlikesher? God, why can’t men work with women likeprofessionals without turning into unwanted Casanovas? Did she say anything?”
“About their dinner last night? No. She rushed upstairs, saying it had been a long day and she still had things on her day planner to do.”
Journaling, she’d muttered, without meeting Kyle’s eyes. He’d seen her briefly this morning before she left for yoga, again, looking at anything but him. Kyle hadn’t been able to ignore it. Brooke wasn’t the kind of person who didn’t look you in the eye. When she didn’t, something was going on.
Now there were the flowers from their new interior decorator.
“Brooke wouldn’t say anything.” Madison’s curse punctuated the clatter of another kitchen tool. “She’d deal. She wants to learn from this guy way too badly and have her photo taken with him for that fancy magazine so she can do what he does. God, I hate it when you have to suck it up to some lech to get what you want. If you knew how many times I had to carry around a knife in the kitchen or smile when someone tried to get handsy…”
Smile? Madison? Jesus. Then again, she was as driven as Brooke. “Men should be exterminated for treating women like that.”
“Agreed! Dammit. Pierre, are these cherries bad?”
“Si, ce sont bons.”
More cursing filled the kitchen as he picked up the café crème he’d made himself, missing Thea’s usual skill in that area as she and Jean Luc had left for the Loire Valley last night. He supposed he could go out for croissants, but he’d prefer to keep hunkering down at the end of the kitchen island while Madison did her thing.
He eyed the bouquet again. Had Axel Erikson made a move on Brooke? The guy didn’t have a depraved reputation. Kyle had checked. He wouldn’t let his female roommatesnear anyone like that. But the decorator had been in relationships with previous clients.
Kyle hadn’t thought it would be an issue. Thea was engaged. Madison was eerily scary when she wanted to be. And Brooke was all business. Still, guys really could be dogs sometimes. He hadn’t thought Axel was one, but he could have gotten it wrong.
Had Brooke handled it last night like Madison thought? Was that why she’d rushed upstairs? Because she’d known he’d try to step in to protect her? Did she want this professional feather in her cap that badly? Yeah, she did. Madison was right. She’d put up with the devil himself if she needed to—because Brooke always tried to handle things herself.
Madison’s force rolled over him as she stormed across the kitchen to where he was sitting, Pierre’s wings flapping so he could stay perched on her shoulder. “Try this,” she practically ordered, setting a fragrant plate of grilled duck with cherries in front of him along with a gleaming fork and knife. “I keep thinking I’m getting closer to the ultimate recipe, and then it’s like the finish line shifts.”
He could see her fists clenched by her sides. If he raised his head, he’d be at sea because of the glimmer of fear in her beautiful golden eyes. Brooke might have her reasons for not meeting his gaze, but self-preservation was his reason for not looking into Madison’s. After theirwe can only be friendstalk, he always made sure to keep his gaze at the hollow of her throat.
Too bad he thought the hollow of her throat was sexy, which made him think he shouldn’t have watchedBridgertonwith his roommates. What was next? Sweating at the temples when he caught a glimpse of her ankles?
“It’s barely nine thirty,” he commented, tugging at his wrinkled morning T-shirt. “I’m not sure my taste buds are awake enough to adequately critique duck.”
Her knuckles turned white. Shit. Then she was reaching for the plate.
He stopped her with his hand. “Hang on. Let me grab a piece of bread or something to wake them up. By the way, you’re up way too early.”
She’d charged in after Brooke had left, her black hair curly and wild, muttering to herself as she pulled out pans, greeted him perfunctorily, and called Pierre to her. He’d left her alone and tried to read the paper.
“Couldn’t sleep.” She pushed him back onto his barstool and walked over to one of Thea’s day-old bread loaves, slicing off a piece and buttering it like he preferred. “When I fall into bed, all I can think about is everything we have to do before the opening. The biggest item is me finalizing this recipe so we can print the menus.”
She was running herself ragged, and he didn’t know what to do about that. “I told you we can print the menus the week before we open.”
“But I need to have this dish ready for D-Day!” She set the bread down on a plate as Pierre echoed “D-Day!” with a squawk.
Madison’s version of a “soft” opening a week before Nanine’s official opening was rather like landing at Normandy. “I know you want it ready?—”
“Kyle, my old boss, Marcel Fournier, is coming! He’s actually coming! To Paris! Leaving his restaurant in Miami to help critique the menu. In two weeks! Do you have any idea what a big deal that is?”
Her voice was close to breaking. He already knew who was coming for D-Day. She’d run the guest list by him. Three Michelin-starred chefs, two of whom she’d worked with. But that wasn’t the reason she was so strung out. She finally had a team of people who supported and believed in her, and that was dredging up a whole bunch of disquieting emotions for the girl who’d fought for everything alone for most of her life.
He could no longer keep from meeting her gaze. She needed assurance. Standing, he put his hands gently on her shoulders and braced himself.
Didn’t help.
Her golden eyes slayed him with their paradox of stubbornness and uncertainty. He felt a tremble go through her rangy frame and knew she was equally affected. The fact that she didn’t make a joke and back away to give them space only drove home what a bad place she was in.
“You are going to get this recipe, Madison.” He would will it into being within her. Brooke wasn’t the only one who used self-improvement tools.
A knot moved in her slender throat. “Thank you for not telling me that I should just drop it and put on my happy face.”
