Beautifully Forgotten (15 page)

“Yes?”

“I was reading through your resume—very impressive.”

Pride rushed through her at his words since he was the only one whose opinion had ever mattered to her. Her voice wasn’t quite steady in reply. “Thanks.”

He studied her a minute before he asked, “Can I ask why you left Sookie’s Catering?”

“Sookie retired because she was having a baby and handed the reins to her partner. We didn’t see eye to eye, so I resigned.”

“I’ve used them a few times—delicious food and outstanding service. The fact that it was you behind the scenes keeping it running so smoothly speaks volumes about your managerial skills.”

She didn’t want to smile at the compliment, but how could she not? “I enjoyed the work.”

“This job doesn’t have to just be typing, filing”—he grinned—“and making coffee. I have vendors for my various restaurants that need to be managed. If you’re interested, the information is all in those files out there.”

And just like that she was that fourteen-year-old girl again who believed that he hung the moon. “I’d really like that. Thank you for the opportunity.” Before she slipped from the room, she added, “Enjoy the coffee.”

Later that afternoon an e-mail pinged in her inbox, and seeing that it was from Lucien made her heart hammer in her chest.

Effective immediately, all vendor-related issues should be brought to the attention of Darcy MacBride, my new manager of vendor relations.

Lucien

“Get ready for the phone calls.”

Darcy was embarrassed to have been caught staring at his e-mail, but how like him to just leap in with both feet. It was like he knew what she was thinking when he said, “You’re perfect for the job and overqualified as an assistant.”

When she looked up at him, she knew what she was feeling was easy enough to read on her face. “Thank you.”

“Besides, you make terrible coffee.”

Her laugh was unexpected and as genuine as the smile he offered in return.

It was a good thing that Lucien had warned her to expect some calls. She soon found herself getting her ass reamed for an hour and a half by a vendor pissed that he’d been canned by the temperamental chef of Tapas.

Tapas was one of Lucien’s properties in the Financial District. It catered mostly to those coming in after work for drinks and snacks.

Darcy could understand the chef’s need for perfection, especially when it was his name associated with the food, but there were protocols to follow. By neglecting to bring his complaint to Darcy, she now had an earache from the outraged vendor ripping her a new one.

She did her best to smooth things over, and when she hung up, she started to dial Kenneth, the chef, but realized he didn’t know her from Adam. This needed to be handled face-to-face. She would introduce herself and then smack him upside the head.

Lucien wasn’t in his office so she left a Post-it on his monitor, grabbed her purse, and went in search of a cab—that she was damn well charging back to the office.

Kenneth’s back was to her when she entered his domain.

“Excuse me?”

He ignored her and continued to talk to whoever was with him, most likely a member of the wait staff.

“Mr. Drake, my name is Darcy MacBride. I was recently hired by Mr. Black to handle vendor relations.”

Nothing, not even a shrug of his head. Darcy gave up on being both professional and civil and just bellowed, “You can’t just fire a vendor. We have contracts with all of them. Terminating them without following protocol could lead to lawsuits.”

Kenneth turned, his huge form concealing the person he’d been speaking with as he returned her bellow with one of his own. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Darcy MacBride. I’m responsible for dealing with the vendors.”

“Better you than me.”

“Yes, well, you can’t fire them without talking with me first.”

“The hell I can’t. Substandard produce is unacceptable.”

“It’s my job to get you what you need and it’s your job to make the dishes that keep people coming back. Would you like it if I came in here and told you how to run your kitchen?”

Some of the bite left Kenneth before he said, “No.”

“Then let me do what I’m being paid to do.”

“I will not receive produce from that supplier again,” Kenneth said, but it was really just for show and they both knew it.

“I agree. I have a list of other vendors that I have asked to bring a selection of fruits and vegetables for your inspection this afternoon.”

“Fair enough.” He studied her a minute before he asked, “How much work did I cause you?”

“A few phone calls, an earache, and a lot of ass-kissing, but it’s handled.”

“Sorry.” Seeing contrition coming from such a large man was rather funny. And then the person with whom Kenneth had been speaking stood. Lucien. Ah hell. For just a fraction of a second, she thought about diving behind the prep counter, but that would be stupid because he had seen her.

“Darcy, I see you’ve met Kenneth. He has the worst temperament of my chefs, hotheaded to a fault, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem for you.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize. He needs his head smacked every once in a while.”

“I do, it’s true,” Kenneth agreed.

Lucien added, “But he makes a hell of a spicy orange beef wrap.”

And as if on cue Kenneth moved to the stove and started spooning stuff onto a plate.

“You must try this. It just came to me in a dream.”

Lucien pulled the stool out that he had been using.

It did smell heavenly, so though she tried to sound put out, she failed when she said, “Well, if you insist.”

Brandon caught himself almost running as he made his way to the Michaels headquarters, so he forced himself to slow down. It was crazy—she was too old for him, but he had gone and developed a crush on Ember Montgomery. It was a death wish knowing who her husband was, but the heart wants what the heart wants.

She didn’t realize that he had a crush on her; if she did, she didn’t encourage him.

He stopped just outside and fixed his hair before he pulled the door open. His eyes zeroed in on Ember, but it was the giant next to her who had his total attention. It was her husband and he was looking at her like a hungry man staring at a steak dinner. Brandon straightened his spine. He felt short, which at six foot was ridiculous.

He started toward them, but hesitated when he saw the seriousness of their expressions. Then quite suddenly, Ember smiled and all the breath left his lungs. He noticed that the husband wasn’t immune to her smile as his eyes softened right before his mouth lowered and captured hers. Lucky, lucky bastard.

He felt like a bit of a Peeping Tom, but Ember was clearly wildly in love with her husband and he was just as smitten. Figured. And then her head turned toward him and she smiled, not the same “we share a secret” one that she gave her husband, but still dazzling.

“Brandon. This is my husband, Trace.”

When Trace turned to Brandon, he gulped loudly. It was the hardness in those eyes that surprised him, because he had just seen them soft and tender when Trace was looking at his wife. Brandon’s legs refused to move him forward—fear that Trace would uncover his secret made his stomach knot. And then, as if he had said that out loud, he watched as Trace’s eyebrow rose slightly. A smile spread over Trace’s face and meaning dripped from that arrogant grin: poor bastard.

Ember, oblivious, said to Trace, “We’re working until six and then we’re going to catch a bite at a place not too far from here. I’ll be home around eight.”

Trace’s eyes never left Brandon’s. “You’ll make sure my wife gets home safely.”

His meaning—or threat, however you wanted to look at it—was very clear. “Yes, sir.”

“Call me Trace. Nice to meet you, Brandon.”

“Um, likewise.”

“Ember, can you help with this?” Caitlin called from across the room.

“Sure, one second.” Ember moved from her desk toward Trace. “I’ll see you later.” Brandon watched them as if he was witnessing a perfectly orchestrated dance move. Ember moved into her husband, fitting perfectly against his body, as he lowered his head for her kiss.

“Be safe,” Trace whispered just as Ember pulled from him.

“Always.”

Trace watched Ember a moment longer before he turned back to Brandon. Brandon almost squirmed at the very thorough inspection he was being given, and then Trace moved closer and said, “I can’t fault you for your taste.”

Brandon’s jaw dropped.

“With that being said, she’s my wife. You feel me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Have fun tonight.” And with that he strolled away.

By quitting time, Brandon had found his balance again. It was unnerving to come face-to-face with the competition for the one you loved—not that there was any competition for Ember’s affections outside of his fantasies. They were going to dinner; he had her all to himself for the next two hours. Once she shut down her computer and grabbed her purse, they started for the door. They had reached the street when she asked, “You said your friend works where we’re going?”

“Yeah, but he isn’t working tonight.”

A small brick tavern appeared before them. They had the best damn hamburgers in the city. “Here we are,” Brandon said as he held the door for her. They found a spot in a quiet corner. After their orders were placed, Ember rested her arms on the table and asked, “You mentioned you lived in a group home. Do you mind me asking where?”

“In Hell’s Kitchen—St. Agnes.”

Surprise flashed across her expression before she said, “Really? My husband spent a year there as a child.”

“Really?” Brandon perked up at that. “But isn’t he rich?”

Ember laughed. “Yes, but he needed something money couldn’t buy.”

Brandon’s curiosity had been truly piqued. “What?”

“Love.”

Brandon pondered that answer for a moment before he changed the subject. “The place is really old, but there have been renovations lately that have made it so much cooler. We have Wii and Xboxes, pool tables, and better books. The attic is a bit creepy, but there’s so much old stuff stored up there. The nuns asked if any of us kids wanted to make a few bucks and go through it for items the orphanage might be able to use, otherwise we’re supposed to box it up for donations. I jumped on the opportunity because I like looking at old stuff.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, maybe that’s stupid, but I like understanding where people come from. I suppose because I have no idea where I do. Maybe you’d like to see it sometime.”

“I would really like that, Brandon.”

Dane hated wearing a tuxedo, and hated having to socialize with the pompous asses who made up Manhattan’s high society even more. He tugged on his collar, hoping to relieve the feeling of being strangled, and wished like hell he had gotten high first. He reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and downed the entire contents before taking another.

“It’s wonderful. Don’t you just love it?” Lena cooed.

He eyed her from over his glass and felt his dick twitch to life. Yeah, at least he’d be tapping that later. Dressed in a formfitting green gown with that fiery hair pulled up, she looked edible. Todd was an ass to let her slip through his fingers. He lowered his head and brushed his lips over her ear.