Page 71 of Feel the Heat

What a fiasco. Her father’s admonishments about her managerial inadequacy were tough to take, but she couldn’t blame him for being upset. She had been playing hooky with Jack when she should have been keeping her finger on the pulse and ensuring the girls toed the line. Tony would eventually come round, with the turning radius of the Titanic, maybe, but they’d get through it.

Jack, on the other hand… oh Jack. The hurt on his face had sliced her through and made her heartsick, and then his incredibly honorable and unselfish act to let the vote stand had smashed her to the ground. He had held her family’s future in his palm and come down on their side, even when they had betrayed the man and made him angrier than a bull battling a bee swarm. Angry enough to leave without saying goodbye.

Her one comfort, for she had to grasp onto something, was that she had stopped him from punching Marco because she had no doubt that Jack had been about to clean her ex’s clock. Not that the toe rag deserved a reprieve but any more negative publicity would endanger Jack’s huge network deal. A few more seconds and there would have been a whole new video stealing focus from that infamous kiss.

Left alone, she made her usual pre-close walk-through and noted the long, weathered bar, the undressed tables that looked more modern without linens, and the leather banquettes fraying at the edges. A scrap of silver duct tape scarred the floor, the only evidence the show had been there. That and the dull ache in her heart.

Until a crash from the kitchen broke the stillness, she had assumed she was flying solo with her misery. Cautiously, she stole a glance through the kitchen door’s window expecting Emilio or one of the line cooks making a final round of checks.

She didn’t expect Jack.

Her heart rate sped up to danger levels, not unlike three nights ago when she crept down that alley. He should have been gone, but he was here, and she luxuriated in a moment’s hope. She used that moment to watch him secretly. No longer in his chef’s togs, he wore faded jeans and an even more faded Pink Floyd t-shirt that molded the flexing contours of his broad back. It went without saying that he looked hotter than hell, but she told herself the news all the same.

“You’re here,” she said stupidly.

“Just finishing up,” he said without looking at her. He returned to his task of scrubbing something the kitchen crew could handle tomorrow.

“Can we talk?”

“I’m all talked out.” He looked up and met her gaze. His mossy eyes had turned to hunter green, dark buttons in his tired face. There was none of the heat and intensity she had come to love, only cold reproach and a hardness that shocked her. She wanted him to warm her with his gaze, soothe her with his touch.

She wanted her Jack.

“Jack, I can’t thank you enough for what you did tonight. You have no idea how much it meant to me.”

No response, just the scratch-scrape of the steel wool against the pan. She took a wonky step, hoping that inching closer to him might help dissipate the animosity crackling through the air. Might help to ease him as it had done after Jules’ bombshell. He scrubbed harder.

“I can only imagine what you must think of us.”

He set the pan on the dish rack to be run through the next dishwasher cycle, then fixed her with a stare of such flat rage that she recoiled.

“I don’t think anything.”

She doubted that very much. “You have every right—”

“Because I’m not supposed to think, am I? I’m just supposed to shut up and play my part. At least, now I know why you didn’t want to date me. It was easier to string me along until I leave. Keep me sweet while you played me like a fiddle.”

“Jack, I haven’t been playing you. I wanted to date you. I want to date you.” Her words sounded too small for the moment, not urgent enough to repel his accusation.

“Oh, really? Have you finally worked out that being associated with me is good for your business? I’ve had people trying to work me for a profit, but I never would have expected this from you.”

He said it like he knew her. She had felt as though he did. Hurt rolled off him in waves, lapping at her heart.

“I told you things, Lili. Things about my father, about Jules. Stuff I’ve never told another living soul.” He threw a dishtowel at the sink. It missed and sailed sadly to the floor. “Have you gathered enough information for when the gutter press come knocking? Should be quite the exclusive. You’ve got all the up-close-and-personal shots on your camera and now some juicy human interest gossip to round it out. His father’s not interested and his sister will only talk to him when she’s hit rock bottom. Shit writes itself. Jack Kilroy, good in the kitchen, good in the sack, not so good in real life.”

Realization warmed the glacial air and pricked her skin. This went so much deeper than the show. She wanted to curl her body around him and tell him he was mistaken. Tell him he could trust her just like she knew she could trust him.

“Jack, I haven’t been playing you. You’ve got to believe that. I know we got off on the wrong foot, that it looked like I wanted you for one thing, but it’s different now. I swear.”

But hours of simmering had stewed his anger into something sour. Fury sharpened his features to granite and when he spoke, it was rougher and less cultured than usual.

“I felt sorry for you. I thought you were actually upset about that video. About all those mean things being said about you. You offered up your sob story and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. But no, you had a completely different agenda and it doesn’t matter who gets hurt. I’m just a guy with hot hands and a hard on, a narcissistic fame whore primed to lose his ever-loving mind when a sexy girl comes onto him in a bar. A bar filled with your friends and relatives and co-workers all ready to get the money shot.”

The cold dread chilling her veins hardened to ice. Back to that ridiculous accusation?

“You’ve got this all wrong, Jack. I already told you my family wasn’t responsible for the video.” But even as the words slipped her lips, doubt assailed her. She just didn’t know anymore.

“Tell me, was the video a spur of the moment thing or were you and Marco in cahoots all along? And when that wasn’t enough to guarantee full houses, you thought having your father beat the famous chef might be better all round.”

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