When I See You (42 page)

I glance up and discover Seth watching me. An accomplished sous chef. Louis has hired well. Seth can do wonders with a knife. He's incredibly gifted and creative when it comes to the culinary arts. He's cute, too, in a boyish kind of way. All of twenty-two. I am six years older and a hundred years beyond him at this point. His attractive golden-boy looks and lean build turn me on from this faraway place in the center core of my body that is not quite dead yet. He's handsome enough. He's six inches taller than me, but not as tall as the others I've known that I try not to remember.

"You should come," I say with a shrug. "Six o'clock out of Camarillo."

"Six a.m.?" Seth asks, incredulous.

A typical L.A. guy. I shake my head. Seth sounds as if he's never gotten up at six in the morning his entire life.

"Yes," I say somewhat bemused by him. "If you want to go. That's what time you need to be there. The flight's at six-thirty."

"I'm working awfully hard here," Seth says, running his hands through his shiny dark blond hair.

He has this crooked, charming smile and brazenly stares at me, now. My heart lurches, as I study him for a few seconds, and allow my mind to travel backward. I'm assailed with vague images of Ethan and even clearer ones of Brock. Seth looks nothing like either one of them.
That's good.
I make a point of concentrating on the charming man standing so close to me and actually smile.

"Don't worry," I say thoughtfully. "You'll be rewarded. The jump doesn't take that long. We'll have plenty of time for other things. You could come back to my place. I think we can work something out."

For the first time in a long while, I actually find myself smiling as he reaches out and trails his hand along my neck with pretense of adjusting my red chef scarf.

Louis chooses that moment to pop his head in the kitchen doorway. He studies us for a moment as Seth and I self-consciously step back from each other.
Caught.

"Can I talk to you, Jordan?" Louis asks.

I blush and step further back from Seth and smile over at Louis. "What are you still doing here? I thought you left an hour ago?" I ask.

"Just finishing up some paperwork. Swing by my office?" He scrutinizes Seth, for a moment, giving him the once-over. "Are you about finished Mr. Talisman? Jordan and I have some things to discuss. Go ahead and take off when you're through."

I almost roll my eyes, recognizing the upcoming conversation we're going to have about the non-fraternization with the staff policy.
Damn.
I just want to go home. Take a hot bath. Pretend I have a life, besides Le Reve. I've only been back for a week, and already, Louis is effectively playing the role of protector, even though I've begged him not to.

Seth gets this crestfallen look as Louis leaves. "I really need this job," he says.

"Well, I guess you won't be skydiving with me tomorrow, then."

"I guess not."

I stomp off in the direction of the office.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I ask Louis, as soon as the door closes.

I lean up against the door with my arms crossed and glare at him.

"It's not right. He's not right for you. Not good enough. Not old enough."

I scowl at him for the last comment.

"Sorry," Louis says with a sheepish grin. "Right now, it is perfectly clear that you're pissed off at the world, too pissed off to think clearly about the ramifications of getting involved with the likes of the young and oh-so-talented Seth Talisman. He's a great sous chef, but he will never
be right for you
, never as talented, as dedicated, or as exquisite." Louis flings both his hands in the general direction of the kitchen with a dismissive air.

"He's a
guy
. He's nice. He likes me. How could you possibly
know
what I need?"

"Because I
know
you." Louis shrugs his shoulders and gets this introspective look. "Perhaps, better than anyone else. How long did you expect me to keep it a secret that you've returned?"

"Liz called," I say in defeat.

"Liz. Ashleigh. Adrian. A woman named Janie Wainwright. It's been a regular parade of well-wishers, since the word got out that you're back in L.A."

"Please tell me that you didn't let them know I'm staying at the house."

"I was unaware of what was secret and what was not." He shrugs in that helpless French way of his that just infuriates me sometimes.

"Louis! God damn it! I just want some peace, to be left alone. And now? Now, they'll be dogging me
everywhere
." I moan and sink to the floor and cover my face with my hands. "Why did you tell them?"

"Because they love you. We all do, ma chérie. And, there's no skydiving in your future. I already canceled the jump. You're not going."

"You're killing me," I mutter.

"No. No. I'm not. And, you're not killing yourself, either."

I gasp and look up at him in surprise. "What?" I ask.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

I hang my head again and refuse to answer.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"It's not like that," I finally say. "It wasn't going to be like that."

I pause for a few seconds. "I just wanted to try another thing I've never done before. Skydiving was something I've always been afraid of doing. It was on my fear list. And now, you've ruined it." I sound like a child. Like Max. I quietly fight off the gut-wrenching feeling that begins to work its way through me before Louis sees it, but just barely.

I slowly get up and stare him down with my fists clenched at my sides ready to do battle. "Louis, I can't believe you did all of this. Why did you tell them? Why did you cancel my jump? How did you know about that anyway?"

He shakes his head at me, refusing to answer. "Go home, Jordan. Go. I'll finish up with Seth. Get some rest. Enjoy your day off. In fact, I don't want to see you before Monday." Louis wags his finger at me and gets this secretive smile.

"It's only
Tuesday.
"

"You've been putting in too many hours already. We talked about this. I'll see you next Monday. Go home. Consider it a long weekend. Enjoy yourself. That's an order."

I yank off my chef's jacket and apron and rapidly fold them into a tight ball. I grab my jacket and jam the knit cap on my head and haphazardly tuck my hair inside. I grab the chef clothes and my purse and clear out with one final glance at my over-solicitous boss.

"See ya," I say, trying to be flippant.

"See you soon," Louis calls out. "Glad you're back. So glad."

I start to smile, despite my best efforts not to. Louis grins at me.

All is forgiven.

I half-wave at Seth and sail through the back door of the restaurant. Louis normally escorts me to the car this late at night, but tonight, he just lets me go. I slowly traverse the parking lot.
Why was he so willing to let me go, considering the overall nature of our conversation?
I stop and note the full moon. The white light of the moon bathes the parking lot. I'm reminded of another time, over three hundred nights ago, when Ethan and Brock stood on the beach below Point Dume. It's the same kind of white trick light on this night.

I retrieve my keys from my purse, shake them out. I'm prepared for an outright assault of any kind, as I hold the sharp jagged metal side of the car key firmly in one hand, and point it in the general direction of my dad's Porsche.

And, there he is. His arms are folded across his chest and he leans up against the Porsche and appears to be just waiting for me.

I swallow hard. A variety of emotions from outright joy to pure panic cascade through me in the thirty seconds it takes to reach the car.

Oh God. It's good to see him.

"I should have known," I say when I'm about five feet away.

"Known what?"

"That you were here. Louis doesn't let me go anywhere late at night without an escort of some kind."

"Is that what I am to you? An
escort
?"

He says
escort
like it's a swear word. It almost makes me laugh, but I sober quickly and move past him to avoid any kind of physical contact. One press of the key fob button unlocks the car, and I yank open the driver's door and slide in.

He bends down through the open door and studies my face for a few seconds. I hold my breath, hoping he doesn't detect my erratic pulse.

"Is that what I am? An escort?" he asks again.

"Right now? You just look like somebody who needs a ride."

He staggers back as if I've slapped him. I shrug, start the car, and attempt to breathe, while he goes around to the other side and gets in.

"Where to?" I ask softly.

"I think we're going home."

I shake my head. "You're a long way from home, soldier."

He gets this wan smile. My heart pounds faster when I see it, but I keep the rest of me as still as possible.
Breathe. Relax. Take control.

"So," I say casually as the dome light goes out. "Where to?"

"It's late. Your place."

I put the car into first and start out toward the main entrance of the parking lot, but then spy Seth racing toward us. I stop the car and roll down the driver's window.

"About tomorrow morning? The jump?" Seth asks, gasping for breath. He peers into the car and immediately starts sizing up Brock. "I'll go."

"Okay. We're on. I'll pick you up at a five thirty. It'll take a half hour or so to get there." I reward him with my most benevolent smile.

With newfound courage, he leans further up against the car window and gets this big grin. "Okay," Seth says, nodding. "I'll see you tomorrow. It'll be fun. Louis will be okay with it, right?"

"Louis is fine. Let me handle Louis," I say with a laugh.

I sense this daggered look coming from Brock. It gives me a moment's pause, but only for a few seconds.
He's pissed. Good. So am I.
There's a lot to say, but I don't plan on saying any of it to him.

Seth becomes even braver, encouraged by my seductive look in his direction. He leans even farther into the car and kisses the side of my face.

"See you tomorrow," he says.

"Tomorrow. Today really, if one were getting technical," I say with a little laugh.

"Soon," he says, stepping back. He gives a slight wave as I put the Porsche into gear. And, for both illustrative as well as childish purposes, I gun the engine and race out of the parking lot, while Brock sighs heavily beside me.

"Nice," Brock says with recognizable disdain. "That's the closest to kissing you he's ever going to get."

"I'm not married. I can do whatever I want."

"You can make this as difficult as you want, Jordan," he says with a heavy sigh. "Believe me, you already have. We both have. But this? This is how it's going to be."

"How
what's
going to be?" I ask.

Brock just shakes his head side-to-side at me in disapproval. I shrug and attempt to concentrate on the road that leads back home. He gazes out the passenger window at the dark night and doesn't say anything more.

What else is new?

≈ ≈

I look around the Malibu house and note the counters are wiped clean from six days of Chinese takeout. Without too much fanfare, I open the refrigerator and discover it's fully stocked.

"You've been busy," I say.

"Just taking care of the things that need to be done around here," Brock says from the other side of the kitchen. "The cleaning lady let me in."

He takes a drink from the glass of brandy he's poured himself without taking his eyes off of me. Then, he walks over and hands me a cold bottle of Evian mineral water. "Here. I thought you might like this. I've got a bath running for you."

I try to not show my surprise. I try to remain calm and not linger too long on what he might know.

Instead, I walk down the hall to the linen closet, grab a pillow, a set of sheets and blankets and head toward the guest room. He follows.

"I can do this," he says from the doorway. "Your bath's ready."

"Okay. Thanks?"

I look at him suspiciously and manage to get by without touching him again and affect a nonchalant saunter down the hall toward the master bathroom, knowing he watches me take every step. I reflect that if I had touched him, I think I might have broken down. And, I definitely can't afford to do that.

I grab my cell phone off the dresser and text my skydiving instructor:

"Rob, regardless of what you might have heard, we're still on for 6:30 a.m. tom."

My phone beeps, minutes later.

His text reads: "Good. See you soon."

"Damn straight," I say to the walls.