All For You (2 page)

“It’s been over three years since we broke up.”

“But you didn’t break up badly. I thought it was with mutual consent.”

“It was, but it doesn’t change the fact that I let him go.” She shook her head, switching her feet out when her nail technician pushed one back into the lukewarm water.

“You loved him,” Freya pointed out. “True love doesn’t just go away.”

“How do you know it was true love?”

“Are you saying it wasn’t?”

“I don’t know!” She threw her arms in the air, startling the woman doing her pedicure. “It was perfect when we started dating, but then I didn’t have the bandwidth for it and law school at the same time.”

“You should give yourself a break. You were only twenty-one at the time.”

“But, looking back, I realize he was so great. He cooked for me, and listened to me, and kissed me like I was a delectable treat. I didn’t properly appreciate it at the time.” She smacked her forehead. “What was I thinking, letting him get away?”

“Maybe you owe it to yourself to find out if there’s something still there. At least do it for closure. Do you know where he works?”

“No.” He’d left the restaurant in Laurel Heights and gone to a trendy one in the Mission, all the way across town. But she could find out. She took out her phone and opened the Google app. It took only a moment to get the information. “He’s the head chef at Spark.”

“Really?” Freya’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s the
it
restaurant this season. Maybe you need to go check it out.”

“Or I can just wallow in misery.”

“There’s that.” Her sister smiled slyly. “But when you go there, try the burrata and prosciutto. Luckily for you, it’s not served with white bread.”

Spark was the hottest restaurant in town. Even late on a Tuesday night, the place was packed.

The moment Anna stepped inside, the rich aromas enveloped her. Heavenly. They reminded her of when Max used to cook for her.

Sighing, she reopened her eyes and, from across the room, met Max’s gaze.

He stood at the back of the long bar area. He wore dark pants and a pristine white chef’s coat, the sleeves rolled up. The clothing should have made him look dorky, but he just looked capable and in charge.

Hot.

His hair was shorter than it used to be, cropped close to emphasize the angular planes of his face. He didn’t look older, just more confident.

His eyes were still intense. From across the dim room, she couldn’t really see them, but she knew they’d be the same shade of green. She remembered how they looked when he crawled on top of her, cupped her face, and kissed her. Wild. Passionate.

Hers.

She shivered and took a step toward him.

Then he turned back to the statuesque brunette next to him. She put her hand on his bare forearm and leaned closer to say something in his ear. Hand on her waist, Max kissed the woman’s cheek.

He was seeing someone.

Anna’s steps faltered and she stopped. She hadn’t counted on that. The shock made her mind go blank. Did she leave? Did she go up to him and tell him he was a fool if he didn’t give them another chance, now that she was more settled? What did she want?

She wanted Max to leave the opportunistic hussy he was with, storm over to her, sweep her up in his arms, and declare that he missed her so much his Latin heart had withered to dust these past few years.

Anna winced. It was unfair to call the woman an
opportunistic hussy
just because she had the good sense to want Max.

Smart hussy, then.

Max left the woman’s side and headed straight for her. Lifting her head, Anna pasted a smile on her face and met him in the middle of the dining room.

“Anna,” he said in his spicy chocolate voice, “this is unexpected.”

She was afraid to ask whether that was good or not. Instead she stretched up to kiss his cheek.

He smelled the same. She closed her eyes and inhaled, her hand on his chest, just for a moment. Then she straightened and smiled brightly. “Bet you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” He crossed his arms and looked at her with that gaze that used to see into her soul. “You look…”

She waited for him to finish his statement, but when he didn’t, she prompted, “What?”

“Different,” he said finally.

She looked down at her outfit. She’d come directly from the office, so she was still dressed up, but today she’d worn a dress her sister had bought her that she’d never worn because she thought it looked too girlie for work: a floral pattern with a flirty skirt. She’d topped it with a little cream-colored sweater. A definite step up from her suits. Or so she’d thought. “Is that a good thing?”

He shrugged. “It’s just different.”

She told herself Max was used to seeing her in jeans. He knew the idealistic college kid who’d come onto him so strongly. He hadn’t met the woman she’d become—the one who’d succeeded in all areas.

Except one.

But if she found the woman she’d become boring, what was
he
going to think?

Not sure what to say, she amped up the wattage on her smile. “You look the same. Great. Happy.”

“I am happy.” Max looked around, satisfaction written all over his face. “Things have been going well.”

“I can see.” A waitress bustled by her, jostling her. “Your restaurant looks awesome.”

“Not mine, really. I’m just the executive chef.” He took her arm to move her out of the way of another waiter. “Are you here for dinner?”

“No, I’m here to hire you to cater.” The words tumbled from her mouth out of nowhere, probably a result of the touch of his hand on her arm. Even through her sweater it made her want to sigh with pleasure.

He looked as confused as she felt. “Catering?”

“You do catering, right?” she asked, warming up to the idea. It was perfect. It meant they’d have to work closely to figure out a menu, hash out details, taste food… The more time she spent with him, the more opportunities she’d have to remind him of what they used to have. Maybe he regretted that they gave up so easily, too.

She was brilliant.

She smiled, growing into the role of hostess as she dodged an aggressive looking waitress with a tray of drinks. “I’m having a party and I want the best food in town. Tell me you cater.”

“I do.” He crossed his arms. “When is your party?”

Whenever he wanted. “In two weeks,” she improvised.

“That’s soon. I need to check my calendar.”

“My party is on a Wednesday night,” she amended quickly, figuring he’d be less likely to be booked for a Wednesday. The lawyer in her knew better than to act like she really wanted this, so she smiled casually and pulled out a business card and pen from her purse. “Want to check and let me know?”

“Sure.”

She wrote her cell number on the back of the card and handed it to him. “In case you don’t remember it.”

“I remember, Anna,” he said as he accepted the card.

His voice was low and heavy with memories. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she remembered the nights sitting on his living room floor, talking about the future. About them.

She swallowed the longing, glancing at the brunette, who waited for him by the bar. Anna bolstered her smile as she turned to Max. “Well, you’re busy here. I should go. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

She reached out and squeezed his arm, trying not to grope him conspicuously. She flashed him a grin and turned to leave, striding confidently, knowing he’d watch her walk away.

He’d
always
watched her walk away, his gaze following her as if memorizing her until the next time they saw each other. This time, as he watched her walk away he’d see she was in control of her universe, a woman on top of the world, mature and capable.

As she opened the door to let herself out, she turned around to give him a last smile. Only his back was to her and he was walking back to the woman waiting for him at the bar.

Anna wilted, blinking, stunned. Maybe it was too late. Maybe she’d already lost him forever.

Anna tipped back in her office chair, her feet propped on the desk, and stared out the window. Mackenzie Wright was located downtown, in the financial district. They had a corner of the top floor of the old Bank of America building. It was only eleven stories, so from her office she could look down and see all the people walking with purpose on Montgomery Street.

Sometimes she wished she could blow bubbles out the window.

Sometimes she was tempted to throw water balloons down on them.

Today she wanted to do nothing but pout, and it was Max’s fault, because he didn’t fall all over her and declare his undying love.

Who was she kidding? It was her own fault. She’d missed the boat.

However, he’d sent her a text saying he could cater her non-existent party. Not that
he
knew it was non-existent. He wanted to meet her this afternoon.

It was a sign, wasn’t it? One last chance to make him see what he was missing. She was going to make it count.

“Seriously, Anna? White bread?”

She put her feet back on the floor and whirled her chair to face Megan. “Did Kevin figure it out?”

“No, but I did, because I know your devious mind.” Megan pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat down. Looking at her, you wouldn’t think she was responsible for funding some of the most socially relevant websites around. She appeared much younger than forty-five, and dressed to match, if expensively. A few months ago, Forbes had named her one of the most influential women in technology.

Megan frowned at her. “You look different.”

“Different bad or good?”

“Definitely good. Less like a drone and more like a person. Are you wearing knee socks with your plaid skirt?”

Anna stretched out her leg to show it off. “I’m trying to change up my look with what I have in my closet. What do you think?”

“I like it. Very Catholic school bad girl. But I didn’t come here to talk about your socks.”

She groaned. “Do we really need to talk about Kevin?”

“I can’t believe you called Kevin white bread. No man is going to stand for that. But, no, I didn’t come here to discuss him. I need to do some damage control on my reputation.”

“I told you not to date so many men.”

“No, my professional reputation. The Robertson project brought some bad press with it. The media accused us of tearing down a community to put up a mall, and now there’s this one reporter dogging my every step, saying I’m a capitalistic annihilator. I need to do some sort of charity thing to get him off my back, something that builds community.”

“You’ve never cared about your reputation before.”

“I know. This is a first for me.” Megan crossed her skinny jean-clad legs and inspected her manicure. “If you come up with ideas, let me know.”

A knock sounded on the frame of her open office door, and they both turned around to find Scott Wright poking his head in the doorway. Scott was a principal. He was from old San Francisco money (his full name was Prescott Carrington-Wright III), but he’d made his own way. He was a wiz at taking money and turning it into more. He was also really attractive and young for someone who was so successful. He’d been the world’s youngest self-made billionaire until Mark Zuckerberg took that title.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“Of course you’re interrupting,” Megan said. “When has that ever stopped you?”

He grinned. “Have I ever told you your charming warmth is one of the most attractive things about you?”

“Screw you, Carrington-Wright.”

“Sticks and stones, Steiner.” He winked at her and turned to Anna. “Did you look through the contracts for the Knolls project?”

“All done.” She found the file on her desk and held it out. “I had a couple concerns that I noted, but once those are straightened out, I think you’re good to go.”

“Thanks.” He smiled brilliantly and then arched a brow at Megan. “Let me know when you want to get off your ass and make some money, Steiner. I was pitched by a start-up that looks promising, but it’s more your type of deal.”

“Up yours,” Megan said cheerfully.

“Keeping it classy.” Scott winked. “Thanks, Anna.”

As they watched him leave, Megan sighed. “The ass on that man is criminal. If he weren’t so young, I’d totally tap that.”

Anna grinned. “He’s thirty-five.”

“A baby.” Megan sighed regretfully and then turned her laser blue gaze on her. “Scott’s not white bread.”

“I work for Scott. Even if I were attracted to him, which I’m not, he’d be off the table.”

“At least he wouldn’t be boring like Kevin.”

“That’s so typical of you.” Shaking her head, Anna couldn’t help grinning. “I have no idea why you’d set me up with him if you thought that.”

“Because he was what you said you wanted.”

“No, he’s not.” She frowned. “Why would I want to go out with someone boring?”

Megan gave her a flat look. “I have no idea. I asked you that myself.”

“You did?”

“Yes.” The woman rolled her eyes. “You thought you needed stability and commitment, so I set you up with a man who’d offer that. Personally, I think you should opt for a man who’s got some fire to him.”

“I like spice.” Anna thought about Max and pouted.

“You look like spice gives you indigestion.”

“It’s just that the spice I want is seasoning another dish.”

“Honey”—Megan stood up—”nothing is final until the papers are signed, and even then there’s room for negotiation. If there’s a man you want, ask him what the terms are.”

“That’s worked for you?”

Megan winked. “No, but I keep trying. See ya later, kid.”

Anna lifted her phone and looked at the text Max had sent her.
I’m free to cater on your date. Let’s meet and discuss details.

Not the least bit of anything spicy there.

Maybe Megan was right—maybe his relationship with the statuesque older woman wasn’t as serious as it seemed. She had to try, right?

Before she could think too much about it, Anna texted him back.
Meet me this afternoon at Grounds for Thought, on Sacramento.