Her Client from Hell (8 page)

‘No. I can’t let you do this. Please don’t. I don’t need you to help me any more. I’ll get it done.’ But there was a rawness to her voice that tugged at his gut. Despite her previous willingness to let him help, she didn’t want anyone working with her unless she could control it. He got that. He didn’t do
anything
unless he could control it. Usually. Kissing pretty chefs excepted.

‘Cassie, I’m not going to do anything that will sabotage your buffet lunch. Believe me, I know my limits. But I am going to make a cup of tea and tidy up. When you’ve got yourself steady again you can come back in and finish off.’

Her eyes glazed a little and he guessed she was getting dizzy again. ‘Okay. Just for a minute.’

Having settled her in, he went through to the bombsite of a kitchen and his stomach bumped into his boots. She was right—she had used just about every pan and utensil she owned and it would take the best part of an hour to clean up. So he flicked on the kettle and let calm settle over him. Then he found the comprehensive to-do list.

On top of a bank statement. That told him what he’d hankered to know but hadn’t been his business. It was hers, and the huge debt too. No wonder things were getting hard to juggle. Why was she in such financial straits? It wasn’t just silly budgeting. And it had something to do with her ex.

Not his problem. He had enough work to do running his own career.

Which was all well and good, but she was working herself too hard trying to do it on her own.

Still not his problem.

‘Okay, bossy britches. Here’s the tea.’ He wandered back into the lounge with a tray to find her slumped across the sofa. Utterly beautiful and utterly asleep. A picture of stillness—surely the first time ever. Her hair was a puddle of red across a strikingly bright plaid couch. Her chest rose and fell slowly, one arm hanging limply on to the floor. Tiny noises escaped her throat as she exhaled. The room was a stark contrast to his own post-modern mews house, with its sharp corners and one colour throughout. With little furniture, it wasn’t a home; it was a place he stayed when he was in town. But here, this was a home; it felt loved. She inhabited it in full glorious Technicolor. It was right for her—a crazy, chaotic cocoon.

Watching her in here, he felt a strange pull in his heart. Warm. A strong desire to help this wild woman. As if part of him could do that, as if part of him could fit. Comfortable.

And suddenly the urge to run swelled inside him. Because he knew that getting comfortable was always the most dangerous place to be.

* * *

‘Not again. Not again. Not again.’ Cassie looked at the soggy puddle of rubber that used to be a tyre pancaked against the pavement, and her heart dropped to her sensible work shoes. Stupid London roads. Stupid, stupid van. Stupid person, whoever had thoughtlessly left that broken bottle there. The one she’d missed when she’d scooted quickly into the corporate offices carrying heavy crates she could hardly see over. She glanced at her watch and her heart just about puddled alongside the tyre. ‘Not again. Not again. Not again. Please, no.’

Stupid Jack Brennan and his stupid obsession with timekeeping. Sure, he’d been some kind of knight in chef’s clothing—to mix a metaphor or two. He’d finished the food prep, washed up and cleared everything away and made a good shot at roasting tomatoes, then disappeared into the night. Now she owed him. A lot.

But turning up late again, especially to meet his sister and discuss the most important day of her life, was not the clued-up, business-savvy impression she wanted to give either of them.

Plus, she’d had a long talk with herself in the shower this morning and firmly decided that anything other than a formal relationship was crossing a line she wasn’t prepared to cross.

Cassie had her game face on and it was staying there. Or at least it had until now, when all it wanted to do was crease into a crumpled fuzz and cry like a baby.

She climbed into the driver’s seat and hit her head on the steering wheel. Twice. Then found her mobile and phoned the cavalry. ‘Sash? Hey, how are things? Er...fine. Thanks. Except, I’m stuck on Long Acre with a flat tyre.’

Her sister’s usually unruffled voice ruffled. ‘Again? Cass, you really should get better tyres for that heap of junk you call a van. Seriously, let me buy you a new one.’

And be forever in someone else’s debt? Not likely. Cassie was collecting debts like other people collected supermarket stamps. Unfortunately, there was no special bonus gift at the end. ‘Yada-yada. Says the woman who drove a bright pink jalopy until she met Mr Rich and Famous. My van is great; it’s just the gutter that’s the problem.’ And she had to admit to buying budget tyres because anything else was just out of her reach. She inhaled. ‘Sasha, I’m in a weeny bit of trouble. Or will be. I’m supposed to be meeting a client over in Portobello in a few minutes. I’m going to try changing the tyre...or get a cab. Or try to beam myself over there. But I don’t want to leave the car here. I’ll get a ticket.’

‘Okay—you’ve tried the AA?’

‘I had to let the membership slide.’ A man carrying what looked suspiciously like a parking ticket machine and important jobsworth headwear appeared in her driver’s mirror four cars behind. She was only a couple of minutes over her expired parking time. He’d be okay with that. Yes, right, because London traffic warden compassion was legendary. Not. She felt as if she was being slowly squeezed underneath a giant ticking grandfather clock. ‘If I don’t move it there’ll be a tow and a fine.’

‘You want me to do a search and text you the numbers of some tow companies?’

‘No, no.’ That sounded expensive. ‘I’m sure I can sort it, somehow. I have a spare tyre and some sort of toolkit thing in the back; I just don’t know how to do it. But, actually...’ She hauled in more air, hating that she was going to ask her sister to do this, but asking anyway. ‘Would you be an absolute darling and call my client? Let him know I’m running a little late. He’s got another meeting later and I don’t want to make him late for that. He’d never forgive me.’

‘What? Me? Why?’

‘Because I’m trying not to look like an amateur.’ Another glance in the mirror showed her face covered in red blotches, hair sticking out at all angles and dark shadows under her eyes. Amateur? She looked like a bag lady in a chef’s dressing-up costume.

The ruffled voice turned into the bossy big sister’s. ‘And getting me to do the dirty work tells him you’re a professional, how? Who is it?’

‘Jack Brennan.’ It came out like a sigh.
Damn.
She steadied her voice, lowered it an octave. ‘Ahem. Jack Brennan.’

‘Ahhh.’ Her sister sighed too. ‘Dreamy Jack with that amazing voice? I could listen to him all day. Sure, I’ll call him; it’ll be an absolute pleasure.’

‘Down, woman. You are married. Second thoughts, I’ll call him myself. He’s a total time freak and I promised I wouldn’t be late.’ This was her last chance, she felt, with him. It had to work or she could kiss goodbye to him and his forty-nine dinner guests.

‘I’m sure he won’t mind. I watched him, you know. Last night. His eyes never left you.’

His hands had done a fine job too. And his mouth. Only it hadn’t been enough. Never enough. And beyond too much.

She glanced back in the mirror; now the red blotches were developing red blotches and the traffic warden had whirred his machine into action for the car three behind her. ‘Well, what do you expect? It’s a very nice dress—thanks for the loan.’

Sasha laughed. ‘He wasn’t looking at your dress—well, not so much. He was looking at you. And very intently, I might say. I think there could be a
thing
potential.’

‘No way. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.’

‘I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you are so not my little sister any more. It’s not like you, Cass, to be so closed off with men. You’re usually more than happy for a
thing. Thing
is what you do. You, my darling, are the
thing
queen.’

‘I don’t want a
thing
. Not with him or anyone else. I’m taking a break for a while.’ For ever? That sounded kind of perfect. No complications, no one stealing her stuff, no one making wonderful gestures and treating her nicely in a gruff way and being a perfect gentleman. With a time fetish. Not to mention she was so over roasting-hot kisses up against her hallway wall.

‘What exactly did happen with Patrick? You never said. One minute he was on the scene, the next gone. I know you tend to have a short attention span with men, but you went seriously quiet over him.’

‘Oh, you know; the usual stuff. It wasn’t me; it was him. Can we not talk about this now? I have a traffic warden breathing down my neck and a culinary emergency.’

She smiled reluctantly at the phrase Jack had used. The way he’d looked at her—Sasha was right—he’d hardly taken his eyes off her from the second she sat down. And the rest of the happenings of the evening had gone by in a relative blur for her too. Except she remembered very clearly how his eyes had been so dark and warm, and his smile had made her stomach dance, how he had looked so... Oh, please. She was a sensible twenty-six years of age, not a swooning teenager, and had already decided that this could not go any further.

If only she could get him out of her head, but he was hell-bent on staying there, grouching around, frowning at the messiness of her brain. Laughing at the whirls and kinks he caused in there.

‘Cassie? So you’re okay? I mean, not in any trouble?’

‘No. No.’ But her voice wobbled as she thought of the contract disappearing, of Jack and his kisses and her sorry mind that couldn’t compute anything any more. She was in heaps of trouble. This was definitely not the time for a sibling confessional, but Cassie felt that if she didn’t tell someone she’d explode. Perhaps her sister could talk sense into her. Then she remembered her sister had married the most unsuitable, unreliable commitment-phobe rock star ever. Sense was something Sasha had eschewed for the sake of love. But the words were already spilling from her lips. ‘He kissed me. And I kissed him back.’

It was very unlike her sister to squeal. But when she did it was loud and messy. ‘You did what? When?’

‘Last-week-and-last-night.’ If she said it quickly perhaps her sister wouldn’t hear the sordid details.

‘He kissed you twice? Why in hell didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because it took me by surprise. I was going to tell you as soon as I knew what was happening. Honestly. It all happened so fast. Then there was nothing. And then it happened again.’ She didn’t want to say the words out loud and admit that something was happening inside her too. That she’d found a man who intrigued her enough to want to impress him. And no, it wasn’t just about the money. Because she was confused, dammit. ‘There’s a traffic warden breathing down my neck. I have a muddled head and a flat tyre and I’m running late.’

‘You kissed him. And then you kissed him again. I want details.’

‘No. No, I can’t, not here.’ Not ever. Seemed that the older she got, the less she wanted to share about her private life. Or was that because she was wiser now? And didn’t even want a private life.

‘You want to impress him. And that’s why you don’t want to talk to him and admit to being something less than perfect.’

It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about trust—of her heart, of her decisions, and of him. And if she told her sister this she’d have to explain about Patrick and the stolen money and admit to keeping even more things from the one person who knew her better than anyone. She’d have to tell her about the agreement that neither she nor Jack wanted more. Now her heart snagged a little because the stark truth was that maybe, just maybe, she did. Against her better judgement. That was why she needed to avoid him and why kissing had to be totally off the menu.

That would necessitate a long sisterly conversation, which was not appropriate for the middle of a busy London street with a clock ticking and a mean-looking man with a machine whirring into action in front of her. ‘No, I’m supposed to be cooking for his sister’s wedding and meeting with her two minutes ago. I’m trying to make a go of this catering business and that’s what I need to focus on. Not
things
with beautiful but grumpy men.’

‘He’s a dark horse, I’ll give you that—I never quite felt like I had the full measure of him. Brilliant producer. Very efficient. But a little held back. During the filming he was—’

Cassie snapped. ‘Please. I don’t need to know anything more about him. I have to get to this meeting.’

‘You know you don’t have to work yourself to the bone, honey. We’re more than happy to help you out; Nate could get you a little job—’

‘Stop that right now. Stop trying to solve my problems.’

‘What problems?’

‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’ Okay, so she knew she’d just asked her sister to help her out with a tricky conversation, but there was a difference between occasionally asking for help and always having it foisted on her. ‘Now, stop talking to me. I’ve got to either change into my Wonder Woman outfit or ask a very crabby-looking traffic warden how to change a tyre.’ And, seeing as she’d left the Lycra knickers and tiara at home, she resigned herself to it being the latter.

After she’d spoken to Jack.

SEVEN

The Market Bar,
as always, was filled with a lively mix of stallholders and creatives. A large television screen relayed a local derby football game while people shouted above cheers and friendly jibes. A gem of a pub in the middle of the market with olde-worlde decor leftover from its nineteen-seventies heyday, it served good old-fashioned food and, apparently, decent tap beer. Which Cassie generally avoided.

‘Wine, please. Chardonnay’s fine—anything, really, so long as it’s a big one. I think I need it. I’m so sorry.’ She looked down at her oil-covered hands and wished she’d had time to give them a good wash rather than a scraping with an old handkerchief and a splash of sanitizer that had smeared things around rather than eradicate them at all. ‘Thank you for coming to help me out. I really appreciate it. And for negotiating me out of that parking fine; he just wasn’t listening to me. And I’m so glad you know how to change a tyre.’

Jack shrugged. His face was the mask it had been since he’d arrived in Long Acre, taken one look at the glass and shaken his head, disappointment smudged across his eyes. ‘If I hadn’t, then God knows how long you’d have been. And, just for the record, it does help to have a spare that doesn’t have a hole in it too. If you’re going to continue to drive that wreck of a van you should seriously think about joining a road rescue organisation. I know they cost a bit but you can write them off as a business expense. Also, try picking more suitable places to park.’

Her stomach curled into a tight knot. ‘Like I said. Thank you. And sorry. But I was managing fine until you arrived—uninvited, I might add.’

‘There was nothing
fine
about it.’ The intensity in his eyes was unnerving. ‘You had the jack at a very unsafe angle that could have killed you with one wrong move.’

‘Maybe you should have left it like that then, with me underneath it. Taken a chance.’

His eyes narrowed, his voice even. ‘Believe me, I was sorely tempted.’

‘And I made you late for your meeting, for which I apologise. Again.’

‘Meetings, plural. Yes, you did. I’ve cancelled the later one. This one is more pressing, seeing as we’re running out of time.’ He shook his head, and Cassie felt the deep sting of embarrassment. ‘I sincerely hope you find some way of working to time, Cassie, because it’s going to be a shambles of a wedding otherwise.’ His eyes closed as if he was silently calling on some inner Zen to calm him.

Sasha was right, she realised with a shock—deep down, she did want to impress him. It was about trust but it was about being perfect too. And she was a long way off the mark. ‘Thank you, too, for what you did last night. I couldn’t believe it when I got up this morning and saw you’d put everything away and even started the tomatoes.’

‘I found a recipe online and followed that.’

‘It was so kind, and so above and beyond anything I’d ever expect. Especially from a kitchen slave.’

She couldn’t help but allow a small grin at the relief she’d felt as she’d realised just how much he’d done for her, without being asked. And for which she’d repaid him by being late. Again.

His stance softened a little at that, the hint of a smile playing across those lips. Which left her feeling hot and bothered in too many ways. Because he was right and wrong. She had been late but it wasn’t a crime or directly her fault and, whilst she certainly took all responsibility for what had happened—well, hell, no one had died.

The man needed to lighten up. When he did there were glimpses of a glorious sense of humour and he was a lot more sexy. Her earlier resolve was being sorely tested by the sight of him in faded jeans, a seventies rock band tour T-shirt and battered boots. Watching him tinker under her car, lying down on the cold hard pavement to change her tyre, arm muscles twitching and curving at the strain, had increased his sexual attractiveness three thousand per cent. She did not need him to look any more gorgeous than he had before. But somehow the relaxed clothes accentuated his features, gave them a darker, more edgy appeal. And gave her a sudden low down hot flush.

He was all kinds of frustrating. Hot and beautiful. Dark and stormy. Terse, yet emitting a kind of electrical current she was compelled to connect with.

His eyebrows rose. ‘So how did the buffet go?’

Yes, work. Think about work. ‘It went great, thanks. The fruit kebabs were a real hit. I even got a few
compliments to the chef
comments. So I thought I’d pass them along.’

Something flickered across his eyes—pride? Then it was gone almost as quickly. Strange to think that offhand praise would have any effect on a self-confident man like Jack. ‘No worries. I’d ask for a pay rise, but I don’t know what the going rate for kitchen slaves is these days.’

‘Now, now, don’t get above yourself.’

‘He has a habit of doing that. Don’t let him. Hey, big brother of mine.’ The soft voice belonged to a petite willowy woman, all wide eyes and thin, delicate features. She wore a smock-style pink summer dress, long white-blonde hair loose around her shoulders and an open smile. She was the direct opposite of everything Jack was. Where he was tall, she was short. Where he was dark, she was almost Scandinavian in her colouring. His eyes were darkest brown, whereas hers were palest cornflower.

She was also open and relaxed. And full of smiles. Hard to imagine them coming from the same gene pool. But then Cassie wondered if she was biased, having two sisters with almost identical hair and eye colour.

The woman stuck out her hand. ‘Hi, I’m Lizzie. And you are? Sorry, I wasn’t expecting Jack to bring someone.’

So he hadn’t primed his sister about the catering issue. Cassie shot Jack a look that she hoped told him they were even. ‘I’m Cassie. A...friend of Jack’s.’ And now she was torn between telling Jack’s dirty little secret or letting him squirm with righteous embarrassment. Squirming seemed much more enjoyable, given the circumstances.

He didn’t look remotely flustered as he stood, kissed his sister on the cheek and wrapped her in a warm hug. ‘Lizzie. Thanks for coming later than we’d planned. We got a little held up.’

We?
This was a prime time to get his dig in. But he didn’t.

Lizzie grinned again and massaged the back of his shoulders. ‘No worries. Relax, my boy. Finally, we have you away from a camera. It’s just good to have you here for a while. And Cassie, of course.’ Now his sister shot him a look. This one was full of questions, which he refused to answer, with a minute shake of his head.

While he went to the bar for Lizzie’s drink, Cassie tried to make conversation. ‘So, Jack tells me you’re getting married. Exciting.’

‘Yes. Not long to go now. I just cannot wait to have that man as mine for good. It’s going to be such a great day. It’s slowly coming together. Who knew there’d be so much to do for something we’d decided would be a low-key affair?’ Lizzie gave a huge grin and it was easy to see how excited she was. There were few similarities between the two siblings; it was impossible to imagine Jack getting excited over anything. Intense, yes. Playfully, joyfully excited, no. ‘It’s nice to see Jack out with a girl. I don’t often get to meet many of his friends; he’s so busy all the time. Have you known him long? Do you mind me asking—are things between you...you know...serious? Just, the way you said
friend
, it didn’t give a lot away.’

Cassie nearly choked on her Chardonnay. Barely a week, two kisses and an awful lot of distance. ‘No. We are...er...it’s a...’ What? Business arrangement? That would only raise further questions.

‘Cassie is a caterer. She’s doing some work for me.’ Jack arrived back in time and sat down. After he’d played with his beer mat for a moment, he turned to Lizzie. ‘Actually, I asked you to come here because I wanted to talk to you about the food for the wedding.’

His sister sat up straight. ‘Ah. The food. Yes.’

‘Is that a good yes or a bad yes? Only—’ he inhaled sharply ‘—I have hired Cassie to cater for the wedding.’

‘Oh. Wow. That’s...great. Very generous of you.’ Although she looked far from thrilled. Lizzie’s voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Don’t you think I can do it? Is that it?’

‘No. That’s not it at all. I’m sure you could do it really well.’ He glanced briefly to Cassie for support. But she was giving none of it. This was his battle—she wanted him to win, sure, because that was where her money was coming from, but she shared Lizzie’s frustration. She wasn’t going to take sides. Jack turned back to his sister. ‘I wanted you to not have to worry about it. It’s just another thing on your list and I’m sure weddings are hard enough to organise as it is.’

‘Jack, I’m not four or fourteen any more. You don’t have to do everything for me or sort out my problems now. Or direct me, like you do your subjects. It would be nice if you could come out from behind the camera every now and then and see that I can manage.’

Hallelujah, sister
.

‘I know you can, of course. You can and do achieve anything you set out to. I just don’t think you should have to manage when, er, cooking isn’t your forte.’ He stroked his sister’s hand and his thumb ran over the inside of her wrist. It was a tender and intensely private gesture. Cassie noted a small silvered scar on his sister’s inner wrist and knew exactly what it stood for. Clearly, there had been some trauma in Lizzie’s life. Trauma that Jack felt deeply about. Perhaps that was why he was so overly protective.

Lizzie shrugged her hand away. ‘Actually, I’ve had a few practice runs to make sure things work. How about you come round, Jack, and give me a hand instead of just throwing your money around? Let’s see how well you work in a kitchen, considering the best you usually do is dish things up from a takeaway carton.’

Cassie stood, knowing just how well the man could work a kitchen. Or at least how well the man could look in a kitchen. Perfectly distracting. But it was time to leave the war zone. She’d done what she could; the United Nations could take over. ‘I should go. Maybe you need to talk about this without me being around.’

Lizzie’s hand was on Cassie’s arm now. ‘Sorry. Sorry. Do you have siblings? You’ll know what it’s like; we squabble but deep down we love each other. Please stay. If cooking is your forte then maybe we do need to talk. Jack can be blunt at times—he hasn’t exactly learnt the art of diplomacy—but he does have a point. Has he chosen a menu? Does he even know what we like to eat? Callum’s a vegan. Did you know that? His mum’s diabetic. There’s a whole lot more to it than picking eeny-meeny-miny-moe on a menu card.’

Jack rocked back in his chair and laughed. ‘I told you she wouldn’t take it well.’

‘I’m just surprised, that’s all. Taken aback, actually. And it’s a very sweet gesture, I know, but you could have forewarned me. Especially so close to the actual day.’

Touché.

Lizzie leaned across the table towards Cassie, the sibling war over, for now. Hard hats could be removed. ‘To be honest, he’s right—everything I’ve ever cooked has been one big disaster, apart from beans on toast—which I can usually make without causing a fire.’ She laughed, turning to Jack. ‘You remember when we lived with the Mendozas? Or was it Mrs Forrester? Yes, Mrs Forrester in Kilburn. I baked a cake for her birthday and she said it was the worst thing she’d ever tasted. It was flat and stodgy and decorated so badly—I was too excited; I couldn’t wait for the cake to cool, so the icing melted off onto the counter. Still, she never offered to help me bake another one. I guess we were shifted on too quickly to someone else. Or something.’

‘Yes, well, Cassie doesn’t need to hear about that.’ Jack’s mouth had formed a thin line, shutting down his emotions, his face.

Whoa. They were shifted on—to where? Living with other people? Why? What did it mean? Cassie’s heart plummeted as she realised she was being privy to something intensely personal. Something Lizzie didn’t appear too concerned about sharing, but something that Jack definitely didn’t want to talk about.

It was hard not to jump to any conclusions, but there were pieces of the Jack jigsaw that were missing, pieces she wanted to fit together. Shouldn’t, admittedly. But she couldn’t help wanting to understand why he was like he was—on the one hand, severely protective and generous. On the other, dishearteningly annoying and grumpy—which she now realised was a self-protection thing. It was more about something deeply mistrustful or just plain hurt within himself than how he felt about others. He wore his wounds like a barrier. If only she knew what they were.

She scrabbled around to find some sort of less contentious middle ground while a million questions whizzed around her head. ‘Hey, I know, Lizzie, why don’t you tell me what you have already planned for the food? I can help you with some ideas, then, between us, we can work out a full menu. Anything you have already prepared we can definitely use and integrate into the meal; I absolutely wouldn’t want anything to go to waste. I can give you some suggestions as to how to do some of the easy stuff. In fact—’ she realised she was handing some of her potential profit right back but it felt like the better thing to do ‘—if you want, I could come and help you prepare some things. The trickier dishes, I can do on my own and bring them over on the day. We could sort of mix and match your stuff and mine and work out a budget to suit you both. How does that sound?’

Lizzie’s eyes glittered. ‘Oh. Wow. That sounds great. Jack, what do you think?’

‘Seems we’ve reached a compromise.’

Lizzie clapped her hands. ‘Now, that’s a first for my big brother—are you sure you’re feeling okay?’

‘Perfectly.’ He shrugged. ‘I compromise.’

‘Since when? Is it snowing in Hell? And Cassie—’ she gave Cassie a knowing look, as if she was somehow involved in Jack’s momentous bargaining ‘—are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’ Sure she’d still make something from the event, but not as much as she’d planned. Why did she find this family so endearing, to the point of cutting out some profit just to help them? She was as bad as her father.

And now alarm bells rang out. Her father had been too distracted by the people, not the profit; meanwhile, his partner had bamboozled them all out of a lot of money. Patrick was from the same scumbag bloodline.