Hot Flash (7 page)

“Bien,”
replied my son, who seemed somewhat dazzled by the two attractive young women—closer, I might add, to his age than to Davin’s.

Davin then introduced the blonde as Jessica and her cohort as another teacher at his school. Jessica kept slanting seductive glances at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. I caught Tanya taking a quick peek at his posterior and, based on the grin she shot me, she didn’t seem the least ashamed about being caught. At least I had done it from a discreet distance.

Then Davin caught my eye and I realized, based on the barest hint of a blush on his tanned face, that he was aware of Tanya’s peek, too. With a sweep of his long eyelashes, he somehow conveyed an apology for our conversation being interrupted. How the hell did he do that?

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Stephen,” said Jessica. “I’m a huge fan of your artwork.”

“You’ve seen it?” Stephen’s tone was as excited as the look on his face.

“Sure.” The blonde glanced at Davin through upturned lashes, and he seemed to signal a warning to her as she continued, “In the classroom. All those paint—”

She stopped midword at Davin’s embarrassed expression. He broke in, “You’re one of my star pupils, Stephen. I still have the still life you did of the fruit bowl on the playground slide.”

Stephen grinned, but my mind was working overtime. Davin hadn’t wanted Jessica to finish her sentence about Stephen’s paintings.

Oh, shit. It had to mean that Davin was the customer who bought four of Stephen’s six paintings on exhibit at the art festival. Davin didn’t want Stephen to know he’d been the one.

Buying them had been an extremely nice gesture. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t find an ulterior motive for Davin, other than he wanted to provide moral support to his ex-student. Maybe he simply wanted to brag?

The three of them started chatting about Stephen’s upcoming visit, and about teaching, and about school, and blah blah blah, while my mind wandered.

Normally I love spending time at Target. Discount stores make life for single and working parents possible because they can shop for a myriad of items at once for everyday low prices. The nation and the economy should be grateful. And while normally I could spend a good half hour waxing eloquent over discount stores, and
Tar-je’
in particular, right then all I wanted was to pay for our items and leave rather than listen to Davin Wesley droning on.

It’s not like he’s my type, or that I resented being interrupted midflirt. Although he’s a decent teacher, he belongs to the class of teachers who think the children belong to them and they merely lend their budding geniuses to the care of the parents. When Stephen was in Mr. Wesley’s class, he was such a control freak that I half-expected a parental report card. He sent reams of paperwork home and not only did his students have plenty of homework, the parents did, as well.

I didn’t want to waste my time standing there witnessing Jessica and Tanya’s attempts to snag Davin’s attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid we need to run now,” I said, politely, because he was being kind to my son.

“You didn’t interrupt.” Davin looked a little disappointed. “I need to head out soon, too.” He smiled at the young women. “It was nice running into you.”

Then he turned away from them and focused his attention back on Stephen—and shot me one of those warm smiles again.

Wanting to direct my gaze at anything other than his come-hither lips, I watched the young teachers depart. Maybe my opinion about him had been a little harsh?

He did seem to be a good influence on Stephen, who needs strong men in his life.

Davin is strong, if you consider being opinionated a strength. He’s a few years younger than me and, as I’ve mentioned, very attractive in a sexy just-got-out-of-bed way, making him a great role model for me—and the young teachers—if not for Stephen.

I hoped Davin didn’t think he was a man trapped in a woman’s body. He didn’t seem the type, although Daniel hadn’t either and look what happened.

However, Davin Wesley was practically a poster child for the opposite of what I was looking for in a man. Not only was he bossy, he was a total homebody. This was a guy whose sense of adventure was teaching third grade for the past decade, and on a teacher’s salary he couldn’t afford college tuition, either. If that wasn’t enough, he was way too young for me—even if he was too old for Jessica and Tanya.

Davin pulled a business card from his wallet, and handed it to Stephen. “Call me to schedule a visit.”

“Okay.”

“It was very nice seeing you again, Jill.” Davin’s smile seemed genuine.

“You, too.” I knew he was hoping I’d ask him over to taste my cooking, but finding him sexy wasn’t enough. Even though I was on the make, I had a definite target of my own. What point was there in flirting with Davin when I wasn’t interested?

Stephen nudged his ex-teacher, as if he was encouraging him.

Davin patted Stephen on the shoulder but addressed me. “You never answered my question, you know.”

“What question?” I knew exactly what he meant and I hoped the heat rising from my neck to my face wasn’t noticeable.

“About the three of us getting together for a meal?”

“Oh. Yeah. We’ll have to do that sometime.” Vague. Deliberately vague. “Well, gotta run. See you around.”

As we turned, Davin made a parting shot. “Yes. You’ll be seeing me around.”

Why did that sound more like a threat than a pleasantry?

Stephen and I headed toward the checkout and the grin on Stephen’s face could not have been bigger. Maybe Davin Wesley wasn’t too awful since he genuinely cared about his students.

And perhaps, after all these years, I could admit that he had been right about me back then. The last time I saw him, shortly before school let out for the year, Mr. Wesley called me a deadbeat mother—well, not in those words. But his intent had been clear during our parent/teacher conference when he mentioned I wasn’t giving Stephen enough attention.

The problems between Daniel and I had first surfaced when Stephen entered third grade. Daniel’s admission that he wasn’t happy in our marriage had devastated me. That he wanted to live his life as Stormy Daniels rather than Daniel Storm nearly did me in.

As a result, I couldn’t spend enough time with Stephen—not with going back to school and money worries. I tried to make it up to him, but making up never seems to be as good as having been there in the first place. I could spend the rest of my life making up and it would never be good enough. Even now, Stephen spent more time chatting with his ex-teacher, had strung more words together at once, than he’d said to me all together in weeks.

I didn’t know how to fix it, wasn’t sure if I could, but one thing within my power was to make sure Stephen had a good education.

I’d find a way.

I’d find a nice traveling salesman, with oodles of moolah for tuition, and all would be well with my world.

And sexy control freaks like Davin Wesley could kiss my aspic.

CHAPTER THREE

Dear Jill,

What a terrific idea. Please share your survey results with those of us who’ve sent you information.

My personal philosophy is once you find Mr. Right, pull out all stops to snare him. Don’t worry so much about learning the secrets to a successful relationship. Love is the answer!

If you love a man, you do what it takes to make the relationship work. Every woman looks for something different in a man. What works for me might not work for you.

Viva la difference
and happy man hunting,

Yours truly,

Renowned Five Star Master Chef, Albert Radkin, author of two best-selling cookbooks, internationally recognized for his take on Southwestern cuisine, was drunk. Again.

As the chef at La Papillon Casino and Hotel, he’s my boss and also the biggest lush I’ve ever encountered. Considering I work in the food service industry, that’s saying a lot.

He was slumped over his desk, which wasn’t unusual, but it did give me problems. I wanted the list of upcoming banquets clipped to the clipboard under his left arm. His head rested on his right arm, so maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult.

I tiptoed closer to the desk, hoping not to wake him, although I didn’t think it likely. Leaning over the desk, I inched my hand toward the clipboard. I took another step closer and my fingertips came in contact with the banquet list.

I checked Albert’s face. He hadn’t moved at all. Using my forefinger and thumb, I pinched his uniform sleeve, then lifted his left arm. As I yanked the clipboard out, I must have joggled his arm too much, because Albert awoke.

Well, I use the word
awoke
loosely. He momentarily emerged from his stupor. His patriotic eyes opened—blue eyes, extremely bloodshot—and he slurred, “‘Lo, Ms. Morganstern.”

My teeth gritted. I hate being called Morganstern. “The name’s Morgan Storm.”

“S’right.” He pulled himself upright. “You’re looking lovely today. Want to bear my children?”

I sighed. Whenever he was drunk, which was more often than not, for some reason he always wanted me to carry his children. Maybe he thought the mix of his culinary genius with my culinary near-brilliance would result in a culinary supergenius.

Thankfully, he slumped back down and began to snore, so I backed out of the room.

As I scanned the list, I realized it didn’t have the information I needed. There were several sales conferences, but how to choose the best one for finding a possible mate? Which would be most likely to have lots of men to choose from?

I would have to go see the catering manager. However, I couldn’t go without a bribe.

I had to promise Big E that I wouldn’t lock myself in the restroom again before he gave me a basket filled with his incredibly light, tasty, and delicious pastries. He was a truly tough guy, about six feet, four inches tall, and looked exactly like he belonged on a Harley, right down to a missing front tooth and pinkie finger. He swore like a biker, too, but he was an artist. No one made pastries like him. No one.

Despite the tough exterior, I’ll never forget the time his starter kicked the bucket and Big E wept for hours. Yeast can be a tough mistress.

So, now armed with suitable gastronomic persuasion, I left the kitchen and headed for sales.

Glamorous, sophisticated, and intelligent, Mandy Webster, the catering manager, was the type of woman that women loved to hate. She could swap clothes with a fashion model and look even better than they did. Men adored her and women avoided her, including me.

But she had what I needed—intimate knowledge of the sales conferences that would be most likely to a) have plenty of men, b) have plenty of men who were the right age, and c) have plenty of men who were the right age and were single. She’d know which conferences I should crash to find the salesman of my schemes, I mean, dreams.

Mandy had a small office in the administrative area of the hotel. When she saw me, she greeted me warmly and ushered me inside. For some reason, probably related to karma, she was always excited to see me, which made me feel badly about wanting to hate her.

“I brought you some pastries.” I handed her the basket, then took a seat.

Her face lit up with undisguised hunger. “Oh. I love these. Thank you!”

I felt a little guilty since I was appealing to her well-known carbohydrate addiction, but all’s fair in love and payola.

She took a seat behind her desk, grabbed a pastry, and took a bite. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Well, yeah. What did she think I brought the crullers for? I wasn’t sure, however, whether to act like this was pure business or to ‘fess up to my plan. I eyed her as she munched, and she was even gorgeous while engorging.

“I bet you never have men trouble,” I blurted. It didn’t come out exactly the way I wanted, but she smiled ruefully and her eyes oozed concern.

“Sure, I do. Don’t you think most women do?”

“Yeah, but with the way you look …” I waved my palm.

“The kind of guys who interest me most are the sort who are intimidated by my looks.”

My jaw dropped. I know it did. “What kind of guys interest you most?”

“Geeks. Computer geeks.” She sighed. “What can I say? I love smart men.”

I felt as if I’d bitten into a bitter lemon. After all this time being jealous of her, and resenting her, it turned out … she was
nice
.

“I’m hoping you can help me, Mandy. I have this plan …” Maybe my plan was stupid? Maybe she’d think I was stupid?

She leaned forward. “A plan to do with men?”

I nodded. “Okay, you’ll probably think it’s insane, but I sent out surveys to women who’ve been married for twenty-five or more years, and the answer to a successful marriage, at least from what I’ve gleaned so far, is a man who travels for a living.”

“Really?”

“It looks that way.” I shrugged. “So I want to meet traveling salesmen … and we have so many sales conferences.”

“I love this!” Mandy, who was normally perky, now literally vibrated in her chair. “How can I help?”

I showed her the clipboard of upcoming banquets. “Which of these would be the best for me to crash?”