Rumor Has It (28 page)

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For loving me, for accepting me flaws and all. Jackson, you've made me happier than I thought I deserved to be.”

“Baby, this is just the beginning. You haven't seen anything yet.”

Smiling, she hugged him tightly, knowing that the best was yet to come and she'd spend the rest of her life wrapped in the warmth of Jackson's love.

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Marie Charles is still Charlotte's number-one party girl. But when she adds a DWI arrest and a totaled Jaguar to her list of tabloid news–making escapades, her daddy is done bailing her out. Sentenced to five hundred hours of community service at My Sister's Keeper, a homeless shelter for women, Marie won't have much time left for partying....

 

Renowned chef and TV star Devon Harris volunteers at My Sister's Keeper. And he's not happy Marie is joining him. He may be single—and she may be gorgeous—but the last thing he's interested in is a superficial southern belle. But as Marie outgrows the selfish girl she was, Devon is turned on by the woman she's becoming....

Marie kicked off her shoes when she walked into her Uptown condo and promised herself to never take a cab again. The driver seemed to be driving with his eyes closed, barely following traffic guidelines. And then he had the gall to ask her if he could pick up another fare while she was in the car! Shivering, she grabbed her BlackBerry, which her father had insisted that she leave at home, to check her messages. Of course there was a message from her personal buyer at Neiman Marcus, asking where she was. But the next message caught her off guard. Maybe it was the bass in the caller's voice or what she'd taken as a seductive timbre that made her knees quiver and her heart jump and skip a beat. Who was this man? And, boy, did she like the sound of her name coming out of his mouth. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Marie listened to the message again—this time hearing every word he said.

“Good evening, Marie Charles, I'm sorry to call you so late. But I just got your file from My Sister's Keeper and I understand we're going to be working together. My name is Devon Harris and I'll be supervising your community service. We should get together so that I can tell you what I need and expect from you. Please give me a call at seven-oh-four, five-five-five, two-three-four-four.”

Marie pressed the End button on her BlackBerry. This was about her damned community service? Ugh! “But Devon Harris, that name sounded so familiar,” she said as she lifted her iPad from the edge of her coffee table. She typed his name in her Google search menu and waited for the links to populate.

When the Web site for Devon's cooking show came up, Marie remembered where she knew him from: the Food Network and Hometown Delights. That restaurant was almost as notorious as she was, with it being the scene of a murder involving mogul Solomon Crawford, and where director Emerson Bradford lost his mind and tried to kill his ex. She clicked on a picture of Devon, drinking in his chocolate brown skin, short wavy hair, and big hands. Of course he had big hands; he was a chef and probably knew how to knead a body just like bread dough. Still, it wasn't as if they were meeting for a social engagement or to have a nice dinner. He was going to be her community service supervisor. He probably had all kinds of negative thoughts about her.
Why do I care?
she thought as she tore her eyes from his picture. It was five minutes after eight, so Marie figured it wasn't too late to return Devon's call. But did she really want to? The last thing she needed was to be judged by this man. Again, she wondered why she cared what Devon Harris thought about her. She'd never met the man. Marie dialed his number and waited for him to answer.

 

 

Devon looked down at his cell phone, trying to see if he knew who the number belonged to since a name didn't pop up with it. Shrugging his chef's jacket off, he answered the call.

“Devon Harris.”

“Mr. Harris, this is Marie Charles, returning your call,” the woman cooed.

Marie Charles,
he thought.
Right, the chick on probation.
“Miss Charles, yes. Thank you for calling me back.”

“Just call me Marie. So, you said we should get together and talk about the community service project,” she said. As Devon listened to her, he had to admit, she had a hell of a sexy voice.

“We do need to go over your schedule, because I want to get you started with us at My Sister's Keeper as soon as possible. We're in the middle of a fund-raiser and I know you have a background in public relations, so . . .”

“You expect me to work for free?” Marie shot back. “I will peel potatoes in the soup kitchen, but there is no way in hell . . .”

“Hold up,” Devon said. “You have to calm down. From what I understand, you have five hundred hours of community service to fill, and there is a lot of work that needs to be done, and you really don't have a choice as to what you're asked to do.”

“So, you're going to take advantage of me because I have to perform community service? You do know who I am, don't you?”

Devon fought back his caustic comment. “Look, Miss Charles,” he said. “You have to fulfill your community service hours, I don't care who you are. But if you think you're going to dictate how this works, then you're wrong.”

He heard her suck her teeth and imagined her head wagging back and forth as she talked. “This is getting off on the wrong foot,” Marie said. “I'm a little tired; it's been a long day.”

“OK, then we can talk about your schedule now. I want you to get started tomorrow morning,” Devon said.

She sighed into the phone. “Can we meet somewhere Uptown. Maybe the bar at the Westin?”

“Are you sure you want to go to a bar?” Devon asked snidely.

Marie mumbled under her breath before saying, “What would you suggest, Mr. Harris?”

“The Westin is fine. I can meet you there in fifteen minutes,” he said. Before Devon could say another word, he heard Marie's phone click off. He glanced at his phone, shaking his head. “This is going to be a long night,” he mumbled.

“Talking to yourself?” Alicia asked as she passed him in the hall. “Not a good sign.”

Devon looked at her and grinned. “Where are you off to?”

“Why?” she asked when she stopped and looked at him. “You need a ride somewhere?”

“I drove today,” he said. “You're dressed up, though. Hot date?”

Alicia shrugged. “I wish. Just a boring business meeting. Why were you having a conversation with yourself earlier?”

“Marie Charles.”

“Who? Wait. The party girl?”

Devon nodded. “One in the same. It seems as if she's going to have to do her community service at My Sister's Keeper, and I can tell already it's going to be nothing but a headache. She had the nerve to tell me what she wants to do. She's the one under a court order.”

Alicia shook her head. “Wow. Better you than me.”

“We're meeting at the Westin to get her schedule together,” Devon said, then groaned.

“Before you go, I do have some good news about the fund-raiser for My Sister's Keeper,” Alicia said. “Concrete Jazz has agreed to play the dinner for free.”

“Yes!” Devon exclaimed with a fist pump. “Shay is going to be happy about that. She had been talking to their manager about them performing here.”

“She is a hell of a negotiator,” Alicia said. “I spoke with Nathan, their manager, and he wasn't trying to do anything for free.”

Devon nodded, then looked down at his watch. “I have to go. I'd hate to keep the princess waiting. She might leave before we get the business handled.”

“Good luck,” Alicia said as Devon dashed out the back door. He sped to the hotel, since he was about five minutes late for his meeting with Marie Charles. But when he arrived at the bar, it was clear that Marie was even later than he was. Of the three people sitting in the Westin, not one of them looked like the young woman he was supposed to meet.

Marie walked into the bar of the Westin and glanced around the sparse crowd until she locked eyes with a scowling Devon Harris. He looked a lot better in person than he did in his online photo. She sauntered over to him with a smile on her face. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said to him.

“This isn't going to be a habit of yours, is it?” Devon asked as he extended his hand to her. “Devon Harris.”

“I know, I've seen your show once.”

“Only once?” he asked with a smirk.

Marie shrugged. “I'm not interested in cooking,” she said, then waved for a bartender. Devon furrowed his brow.

“Miss Charles, I think the fact that you're twenty minutes late means we don't have time for a drink and small talk,” he said.

“Excuse me?” she questioned. “I had to walk here, so I'm sorry if I didn't make this last-minute meeting in a fashion that satisfies you.”

Devon slammed his hand on the bar and shook his head. “This isn't going to work. You're sitting here acting as if I'm inconveniencing you when you have to work with My Sister's Keeper because a judge told you to do so.”

“And,” she said, “it doesn't mean that I'm going to jump when you say so or be your freaking slave. I need something to drink.”

The bartender stood a few inches away from Marie and Devon, unsure as to what to do next—pour a drink or run. Devon nodded at the bartender. “We're going to need something strong,” he said. “Just keep pouring.”

Marie smiled at the bartender and said, “I'll just take Cîroc red berry cosmopolitan and he's paying.”

Devon rolled his eyes. The sooner he got this schedule worked out with Marie, the sooner he could get away from her. “Listen,” Devon said. “I start teaching over at the shelter around nine
A.M.
Maybe we should go over there now so that I can show you the area where you will be working. This is serious to me and I need you to take this seriously as well.”

“I'm willing to do what's expected of me,” she said. “I don't want to go to jail. But, you don't have stand in judgment over me.”

“Judgment?”

“I hear it in your voice,” she replied. “There's more to me than what you read on the Internet.”

Devon's attitude shifted from wanting to drink to showing Marie just how serious her work would be. “I don't have time to read about you and your exploits on the Internet. Let me show you what's important,” he snapped, then slid off the stool. “Do you have time to take a ride with me?”

Marie sipped her drink and peered at Devon. He wasn't going to just sign her time sheets. He actually wanted her to work those five hundred hours of community service. Setting her glass aside, she rose to her feet. “Fine.”

Shaking his head, Devon paid for their drinks and then led her outside. Marie walked behind him, typing on her cell phone. Devon stopped and glared at her. “Cell phones aren't going to be allowed in the kitchen,” he said.

Marie looked up from her text message and offered him a plastic smile. “Sorry, but if I'm about to get into a car with you, I need to inform someone just in case I don't come back.”

“Paranoid much?” Devon asked.

“You never can tell these days,” she said as they approached the Mustang. “Your work at the shelter must be doing wonders for your ratings, chef with a big heart,” Marie said.

Devon frowned as he opened the passenger-side door. “What I do for the women at My Sister's Keeper has nothing to do with my career.”

Marie smirked and arched her right eyebrow. “Sure it doesn't. You're telling me that you're volunteering because you just have a good heart? I don't think so.”

“I really don't give a damn what you think. I'm going to need you at the shelter by eight thirty,” he said in a surly tone. “You can see the shelter tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” she snapped as she held on to the open door. “You got me out here and now you're dismissing me?”

Devon moved her hand from the door and closed it. “That's right. See you in the morning, and you need to be on time. You're going to help me prep my lessons and get the supplies that the women need to cook lunch to start with. I expect you to put in a full day of work and wear a hairnet,” he said firmly.

Marie started to laugh. Just who did he think he was talking to? “Let's get one thing straight,” she said as she slammed her hand against the door, causing Devon to cringe. “I will not let you talk to me as if I'm some common criminal, I . . .”

“No,” Devon said as he threw his hand up. “You're not straightening out anything; there's a court order that says you have five hundred hours of community service to fulfill. My Sister's Keeper has opened its doors to you so that you can pay your debt to the community for whatever foolishness you've done. Show some damned respect or I will let your probation officer know that you're not in compliance. And don't you ever slam my door like that again!”