Manolos in Manhattan (25 page)

“What are you doing here?” she asked him now.

“Filming wrapped early today, and I’m headed home.”

“Oh.” She nodded, and felt a tiny thrill as she realized traveling from Rock Center to the St. Regis wouldn’t have brought his car this far downtown.

His mobile phone buzzed. “Excuse me ‒ I just got a text,” he apologized.

“Oh – how funny. I just did, too.” Holly pulled out her own phone and glanced at the message from Jamie. “Late 2-nite, private party, last minute. Sorry. Talk l8tr. Luv u. J xx”

With a flicker of annoyance Holly returned the mobile to her handbag. So, he’d be late again. Which meant, instead of going out for a late dinner like they’d planned, she’d be spending the evening alone –
again
.

She was getting bloody tired of it.

Ciaran frowned down at his own text screen. “Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” Holly asked.

“My dinner date’s just cancelled. Diana’s stuck in a meeting. Are you free?”

Diana?
“So I’m the consolation prize?” Holly retorted. “Since Diana’s not available?”

“Of course not,” he replied as he pocketed his phone. “She’s my producer. We’ve been trying to meet offline to discuss some of my concerns, but she’s a busy lady.” He raised his brow as the raindrops began to fall faster. “So would you like to grab dinner? Shake Shack? My treat.”

Another growl of thunder rolled and clouds were building overhead. Her silk pantsuit would be ruined if she didn’t make up her mind fast. ‘Well...okay,” Holly agreed, pretending reluctance. “Jamie’s working late again tonight, so why not?”

“Good. Hop in before you get drenched.”

She’d barely slid in next to him when the downpour began, sending pedestrians running for awnings, holding briefcases and newspapers over their heads.

“So...is she attractive?” she asked as she leaned back.

He stared at her in bemusement. “What? Who?”

“Diana.”

“Not particularly, no. What if she
was
attractive?” he added. “Would that bother you?”

She bristled. “No! That’s ridiculous. I’m engaged. Why would I care what she looks like, or who you date? You can date Diana...or Pippa...or Kate...” She sniffed. “Or whoever. Makes no difference to me.”

He said nothing, but the smirk on his face plainly said he didn’t believe her for a minute.

Chapter Forty-Two

The lines at the Shake Shack were, for some inexplicable reason on a quiet Tuesday night, long, and slow.

“Sorry,” Ciaran said as his driver finally returned with their food, “it’s not normally this bad so late in the day. And sorry we can’t go in, but...” he shrugged.

“It’s okay, I know the drill. You’ll be mobbed, et cetera.” Holly settled back against the seat with her burger and smiled. “This is much better than sitting inside, anyway.”

They were in the back of the limo, avoiding the crowds of people sitting outside. In the wake of the earlier storm, the sky had cleared.

“I spend far too much time in the back of limos,” he observed as he unwrapped his hot dog with onions and mustard.

Holly raised her brow. “O-ho.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m always to-ing and fro-ing from one gala to the next, to the studio, to another film première. I rarely have the chance to get out amongst normal people.” He smiled. “Like you.”

“I get it. I do. So tell me about Diana,” she said as she bit into her burger.

“I don’t want to talk about her, or work. I want to enjoy my highly caloric, non-diet approved hot dog and soda with
you
, and talk about other things.”

“Other things? Like what?”

“Anything.” He shrugged. “For instance...how’s your job at Dashwood and James going?”

“Fine, I guess. Coco – you remember, she’s Rhys Gordon’s promotions manager ‒ runs me off my feet. And she has a huge, and very obvious, crush on Rhys.”

“But...isn’t he married?”

“As if that minor little detail matters to someone like Coco! That just makes him more attractive.”

“Ah yes, Ms Welch. Mussolini in Manolos.”

Holly giggled. “How did you know? I call her that all the time. Not to her face, of course,” she hastened to add.

“No,” he agreed, “I’m sure it’s always strictly behind her back.”

“Then there’s Chaz,” Holly went on as she bit into a chip. “You remember, you met him at the pre-launch? He’s Rhys’s personal assistant, and he’s started seeing a new guy. He’s being very mysterious. All I can get out of him is that his new heartthrob is English. It isn’t you, is it? Are
you
Chaz’s new mystery man?”

Ciaran all but choked on his milkshake. “Me? No, but perhaps I should be. Likes us Brit men, does he?”

She leaned forward, still laughing, and took the chip he held out to her, brushing his hand in the process.

A jolt went through her as she touched him.

“This is fun,” she blurted out, her eyes meeting his, and immediately wished she hadn’t said it. “You make me laugh,” she added, too late. It was lame, but the best she could come up with to cover her lapse.

Ciaran’s gaze met hers. “Holly—”

“We’d better get back.” She thrust her half-eaten burger and fries into the empty bag. She was surprised to see that darkness had fallen outside. “It’s getting late, and we both have work tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you pack it in and go home?” Catherine ventured later that evening.

Jamie paused in his knife-sharpening long enough to regard her in surprise. “I can’t do that. Dinner service isn’t over.”

She swept a hand out to indicate the half-empty restaurant. “We’re slow tonight, and we close in an hour. The private party never showed. Go and be with Holly. I’ll cover for you.”

“I’m billing whoever booked us. Inconsiderate twats.” He hated when people made a reservation and didn’t bother to show up – or to cancel, so someone could be else seated at the table.

“I will. Go,” she said again. “Get out of here.”

Doubtful, he hesitated. “That’d be great, but...what if we get busy?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “Go.”

He laid the knife aside and unrolled his knife wrap. “Well, if you’re sure...I’d like that. I did promise Holly we’d go out tonight.”

What he’d really like
, Jamie thought as he put his knives away and wiped down his already-spotless station,
was to stay here and savor this unexpected lull with Catherine.

“I’m sure,” she assured him. “Oh ‒ and don’t forget to ask Holly about having dinner with us on Sunday night.”

“I won’t forget.” He paused in front of her and added, “I won’t forget this, either. Thanks, Cath. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me a thing. I’m the one who owes you, for hiring me.” Her eyes met his. “For...everything.”

Jamie hesitated. “Cath…”

She turned away and added briskly, “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

When Jamie returned to the hotel, their suite was empty. He glanced at his wristwatch. Nine-thirty. Where was Holly?

Probably shopping, he mused, or visiting Natalie. Still – she might at least have texted him.

He reminded himself that she thought he was working late tonight. And he would’ve been late, if that private party hadn’t done a no-show. Bastards.

Dinner
, he decided. Holly would be ravenous when she got back; shopping always made her hungry. He reached for the phone and dialed room service.

“Hello, this is room 307. I’d like dinner for two sent up as soon as you can manage it. What’ve you got?” He listened for a moment. “Okay. Throw in two slices of bitter-chocolate cheesecake with raspberry coulis and we’re good. Yes. Thanks.”

He hung up, wishing he had a few candles he could light to amp up the romance factor a bit.

As he stood and went into the bathroom to shower and change, Jamie’s expression was troubled. He knew the real reason he was doing all of this – arranging the dinner, planning a romantic, candlelit evening for two for his fiancée...

It was guilt, pure and simple.

Because even now, as he showered and dried off and slapped himself liberally with Holly’s favorite aftershave ‒ he still couldn’t stop thinking about Catherine.

And he really didn’t know what to do about it.

Chapter Forty-Three

Her passkey unlocked the hotel room door with a click, and Holly pushed it open and went inside.

She’d said a quick goodbye to Ciaran in the car, cutting off his attempt to talk about what she’d said over burgers at the Shake Shack. Then, like a coward, she’d fled.

What was
wrong
with her? Holly fumed as she threw the passkey on the table and kicked off her shoes. She was engaged to Jamie Gordon, a handsome, talented chef who owned two very successful restaurants, one on both sides of the Atlantic; and she loved him. She
did
.

Why, then, couldn’t she get Ciaran Duncan out of her head?

“You’re back.”

Holly nearly jumped out of her skin. “Jamie? What are you doing here, sitting in the dark like that? My God, you gave me a start! I thought you were working late tonight.”

He was sitting on the sofa. In front of him, she realized with a sinking sensation, was a room service cart set out with a linen tablecloth and dinner for two. A candle – one of her Diptyque travel candles from the duty-free shop – flickered, burned half the way down, on the coffee table.

“The private party never showed.” He studied her, his voice level. “Where’ve you been?”

“I...I was...” she stopped, the words stuck in her throat.

“You were with Ciaran again, weren’t you?”

There was no point in denying it. She took a deep breath. “We had dinner, in his car. Burgers at the Shake Shack.”

“You seem to spend more and more time with him lately.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “We’ve grabbed something to eat a couple of times, that’s all, and only because you were working-”

“Right. My fault. Of all the cities in all of the world,” Jamie added, paraphrasing
Casablanca
with a sardonic expression, “Ciaran had to end up in
this
one. How fucking lucky is that?”

Holly didn’t respond. She’d never seen him so angry.

He indicated the table in front of him. “I ordered a special dinner from room service ‒ trout amandine, haricots verts, chocolate cheesecake with raspberry coulis...your favorites. Bit cold, now. I wanted to surprise you, spend some time with you, for a change.”

“It’s lovely.” She paused and added desperately, “I’m sorry, Jamie, but you texted me and said you’d be late—”

“So, what? You figured that gave you time to screw around with your famous boyfriend in my absence?”

She let in a sharp breath. “No! I told you, we had a quick meal together ‒ that’s all. It was nothing. You’re overreacting.”

And Jamie knew, despite his anger, despite the bitter sting of betrayal he felt at the moment, that Holly was right. He
was
overreacting, because of his own guilty feelings for Catherine.

He reined in his temper. “I’ve invited Catherine and Izzy to dinner with us on Sunday night.”

“Sunday?” Holly echoed, her heart sinking.

“Yes, Sunday. Sorry ‒ does that interfere with your plans with Ciaran?”

“Of course not!” she snapped. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’ve told Cath we’ll meet at that new Italian place on 52
^nd
street on Sunday night. Izzy likes Italian food.”

“‘Cath’?” She bit off the name. “You’re awfully cozy lately, you and your oh-so-talented sous chef, aren’t you? Why didn’t you ask me first, before you made plans?”

“Oh – the way you asked
me
first, before you had dinner with Ciaran in the back of his limo?” He stood up and shoved the room-service table aside, rattling the covered dishes and knocking the single rose in its bud vase over.

Holly flinched.

“Why are we still together?” he demanded. “Can you tell me that?”

“I don’t know,” she flung back. “Why
are
we together? You’ve never here. We never do anything or go anywhere together, and on the rare times we do, you can’t wait to get back to the kitchen, and Catherine. I never would’ve left London to come here with you if I’d known it’d be like this!”

“You knew when we first started seeing each other that I worked long hours. That’ll never change. I’m sorry if the fact that I work my ass off to make something better of myself doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s not fair! I’ve supported you, I always have. That’s why I upped sticks to come here, to help with the launch ‒ but you plainly don’t need – or want – my help!”

“Right.” His gaze raked her with contempt. “You know what I think, Holly? Honestly? I’ve said it before, I think you’re jealous. You’re jealous of my success. Just like you’re jealous of Catherine.”

Holly clenched her hands at her sides. “I’m not!”

“Maybe if you’d put in the time and effort that Cath and I have, you’d have something to show for it, too. But why should you? You have Dashwood and James to fall back on, after all! Why get serious about your career,” Jamie finished, his words scornful, “when you can always run to the Bank of Mum and Dad?”

She blinked. Tears of fury and hurt blurred her vision. “That’s a crap thing to say. Yes, I’ve borrowed money from Dad a couple of times – but I’ve always paid it back! Every penny.”

He said nothing.

Her face crumpled, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see her cry. “This isn’t working, Jamie. It just...isn’t.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit! I’m sorry, Hols, I shouldn’t have said that—”

“Forget it.” She paused to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand, refusing to look at him as she tried to compose herself. “I’m leaving. I think we need some time apart.”

“Leaving?” He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m moving out,” Holly decided, her heartbeat quickening even as she said the words, “so we can figure out what it is we want.” She lifted a tear-stained, defiant face to his. “Or
don’t
want.”

She turned and went into the bedroom and began flinging things haphazardly into her carryall.

“Holly, wait.” Jamie stood in the doorway. “You’re pissed at me, I get that, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I know I work all the time, and I know it’s hard for you. But you’re overreacting. Stay, and we’ll talk about it.”