Perfect Pairing (11 page)

She reached behind Hal, catching hold of the belt loop on her jeans and backing up against her so close she could feel Hal's breasts press against her. She let the contact register only a second, giving them each a taste, but not enough time to get comfortable. Then she turned slowly until she was looking down into Hal's deep brown eyes. She noted her dilating pupils and hoped briefly that the reaction to their sudden proximity prevented Hal from noticing similar tells in her own body language.

“I do dance, but not on command, fryboi.” She tossed the dishrag back to Hal. “I don't know what kind of bankers you've met before, but you're going to have to work a lot harder if you want to see my moves.”

She pushed off as nonchalantly as possible, then quickly crossed the kitchen and wiped a spot of tomato sauce off the knob of the stove. Casual. That's how she needed to come across. Unaffected.
Take that, Hal. Consider your bluff called
. She waited a minute or two to let her challenge sink in until the timer on the stove sounded, then slipping back into the comfort of business mode said, “You're ten minutes are up. I think your dance party is over.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Hal pushed the off button on the iPod and straightened her shoulders. “Let's get back to work.”

Chapter Seven

“So she didn't dance for you?” Sully laughed almost hysterically. “The mighty fryboi charm rebuffed. Is that a first for you?”

This was exactly why she hadn't told Sully a week ago about Quinn's little . . . what? Flirting? Challenge? Brush off? All of the above and at the same time not quite any one of them? She was still torn and confused and unable to shake Quinn's voice, low and sexy in her ears . . .
you're going to have to work a lot harder if you want to see my moves
. Maybe that's why she'd finally caved and told Sully about the encounter.

“I don't know that I got rebuffed.”

“Sounds like you did. You tried cooking with gas, and she blew out the flame.”

“She didn't just blow it out. That's not right.” Not when she could still feel the press of Quinn's linen-clad ass pinned against the zipper of her jeans. “She doused the fire with gasoline and danced in the flames for a few seconds only to hit it with an ice cannon.”

“I still don't really get what sparked all this, though.” Sully rubbed her forehead. “Last I heard you were convinced she was some sort of soulless corporate raider.”

“I never said anything that harsh.” They moved around the quiet truck with ease and familiarity as they waited for the Friday evening college crowd to stream out of Buff State and down Elmwood Avenue. “We had some really nice moments together before I got too comfortable.”

“But when we talked last week, she was the one trying to get cozy, and you turned down her advances in favor of focusing on business. Then you went all bump and grind, which makes you just as crazy as her.”

She didn't want to check the math on that equation. “She confuses me. There are times when she seems like she gets it, like she really sees the value in what I'm doing, and I feel an honest connection with her. Then I let down my guard, take your advice to play around a little, but it always comes back to her wrecking me.”

“On purpose?”

The question struck the heart of what bothered her most about Quinn. “On my more generous days, I'm not sure she knows what she's doing, but other times, I worry she's toying with me like some yo-yo on a string. She gets sweet then sharp, open then calculating. She plays both roles so well I can't tell which one is genuine and which one is for show.”

“What if they're both genuine?” Sully asked.

“What if they're both for show?”

Sully silently folded her red handkerchief into a headband and tied it to hold her hair away from her face. She didn't seem to have a snappy comeback handy, which was rare.

“Maybe I should just end this consulting gig now,” Hal mumbled.

“Cut her off?” Sully's eyes widened. “Not see her at all anymore?”

Did she really not want to see Quinn anymore? No, the little twinge in her chest at the thought of Quinn's body brushing against hers said she didn't want to cut off contact completely, but sometimes what she wanted to do and what she needed to do didn't match up. “Yeah, I guess so.” Sully's newly uncovered brow furrowed, and Hal's resolve wavered. “I mean, she's confusing, right?”

“I guess.”

“And a little inconsistent, ya know? All business one minute, then sexy and ‘you have to work harder to see my moves' the next. It's like she doesn't even know what she wants.”

“What about what you want?”

“I want to keep things simple,” Hal said quickly, but then hesitated. “Right?”

“Maybe she's not the kind of woman who does simple.”

“Yeah. Wait, what? You were the one who told me to relax and have fun.”

“Yeah, I know, but now I'm not so sure.” Sully lit the burners under Cheesy Does It's main griddle. “She's kind of high maintenance.”

That was the second time Sully had used that term to describe Quinn. Maybe Sully was right, but Hal couldn't shake the feeling that Quinn was more than some executive diva. She certainly had high standards, but so did Hal. Quinn went after what she wanted, and she didn't seem to care who else she dragged along, but she hadn't really asked Hal to do anything she wasn't comfortable with. Well, the whole open-a-restaurant thing got pretty pushy right off, but since she dropped the hard sell, she'd followed Hal's lead with the shopping and the cooking. They had worked well together at times. She seemed eager to help and learn, and she didn't shy away from putting in the extra effort. Except in regards to fun. But could she really call it fun if it required extra effort?

God, this was exactly what she was talking about. Everything with Quinn swung like a pendulum on steroids, and it wasn't just her anymore. Now even Sully had flip-flopped for no apparent reason.

“I've got another meeting with her tomorrow,” Hal said, pulling the butter out of the cooler and laying out a stack of bread slices. “She wants me to look at some defunct restaurant for sale. Maybe if she loves it, she'll take the leap and buy it, then move on to some other poor chef she can actually employ full-time.”

“Hey, actually, we should talk about tomorrow,” Sully said.

“She told me to clear my schedule all afternoon and evening, but I don't think it'll take more than an hour. She'll probably pick the place apart.” Hal laughed. “Maybe you're right about the high maintenance thing. I should probably cut the cord.”

“Dude, really, I—” Sully rubbed her hands over her face. “Tomorrow, there's some bullshit, and if you'd told me sooner about what happened—”

A heavy metallic knock sounded at the back door of the truck.

“We're not open yet!” Sully shouted harsher than warranted, and Hal froze.

“It's me, Ian. I'm ready for work.” His voice was hesitant, nervous. “I could come back later.”

“No, sorry,” Sully said, heading for the door, but Hal caught her by the arm.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I mean”—she nodded to the door—“not in front of the kid.”

“Wait, which is it? Nothing? Or not in front of the kid?”

Sully shifted from one foot to the other and pressed her lips together, then shook her head. “It's nothing. I'm just tired. Everything will be fine.”

Hal didn't believe her. Sully didn't shake easily; if she was holding back there had to be a reason, but they didn't push each other. They'd been friends long enough and seen enough shit, both together and on their own, to respect each other's right to silence. Everything always came out eventually. Maybe that's what she needed to tell herself about all the chaos in her head right now. She didn't have to have the answers all at once.

“I need everything to be perfect,” Quinn said to Sully and Ian. “Sully, you're in charge of everything. Do you still have my credit card on you?”

Sully folded her arms and leaned against the industrial-sized fridge. “I didn't sell it for drug money, if that's what you mean.”

“No, that wasn't at all what I meant,” Quinn said calmly. “I'm just making sure you had it on your person so that if we ran low on anything you could go get more without having to spend any of your own money.”

“This place is already stocked to the fucking stainless steel rafters,” Sully said, the harsh edge in her voice laced with awe. “What are you going to do if she walks out?”

“We'll donate the food to a soup kitchen and write it off on our taxes,” she said without pause.

“Do you always have a plan B?”

“Yes,” Quinn and Ian said in unison.

“But it doesn't matter,” she continued. “Because she's not going to walk.”

“Are you always so sure of yourself?”

“Yes,” she and Ian responded again, but she'd offered that affirmative as much for her benefit as Sully's.

“Ian, will you go check the table settings?”

“Again?”

“Yes, again.”

“You know, if you want to talk to Sully alone, all you have to do is say so. Or you could distract me with a bouncy ball like you used to when I was three.”

“I don't have a bouncy ball, so go check the silverware while I talk to Sully alone.”

He shook his head but didn't argue as he pushed through the swinging door of the commercial-grade kitchen and out into the empty restaurant.

“What's your problem?” Quinn snapped.

“My problem?” Sully fired back. “You're the one biting my head off.”

“Because you've got a smart remark for everything.”

Sully snorted. “Have you met me, lady? That's kind of my thing.”

“Don't call me ‘lady,' and being a smart-ass wasn't your thing when we set this up.”

“Oh no.” Sully pushed off the fridge and started to pace around the large open space.
“We
didn't set this up.
You
did.”

“I ran the idea by you first.”

“You told me what you intended to do. You didn't exactly ask my permission.”

That was a legitimate point.

The pop-up restaurant idea occurred to her after Hal admitted her big food truck weakness was oven space. She mentioned the plan to Sully only after she'd already secured the venue, but that had been a week ago, and she hadn't been hard to convince. She'd practically vaulted onto the bandwagon when Quinn mentioned her desire to give something back to Hal for all her help.

Why the sudden attack of conscience now? Did Sully share her misgivings about Hal's reactions to having something so big sprung on her, or had something else changed in the last few days? They'd both known Hal would be hesitant to agree to the plan ahead of time.
That's why they'd decided not to mention it. Of course she had other motives, but they weren't sinister. She didn't want to blow her shot at a once-in-a-lifetime night with the chef, but she'd also wanted it to be a nice surprise. She didn't want Hal to worry or stress, or to make too big a deal of things. She liked the idea of giving her a chance to enjoy a full kitchen for one night. Hal deserved a place to play and experiment without limits, and Quinn had the ability to give her those things. What was so wrong with that? “Nothing.”

“What?” Sully asked, looking up as if she'd forgotten Quinn was there.

“Nothing,” she snapped, then took a deep breath. She had to calm down. She'd been jittery all week. Between executing plans for the pop-up and trying to shake the feeling of Hal pressed against her, she bounced wildly from feeling competent and in charge to acting like a hormone-laced teenager. She'd almost called the whole thing off at least four times, but the one argument she'd always come back to was that Sully had been on board with the whole idea. Every time she thought she may have crossed a line, either professionally by setting up the pop-up, or personally by teasing Hal in the kitchen, she used Sully's support as an emotional divining rod. They had to present a unified front.

She took several deep breaths and straightened her shoulders, then in her most level professional voice she said, “We have to pull it together. We're doing the right thing, or at the very least a good thing.”

Sully stopped pacing and raised her eyebrows. “Are we?”

“Yes. We want Hal to have every opportunity she deserves. We're going to present the options. Let her see what she can really have, what she can really do. Then we'll leave the choice up to her. No pressure.”

Sully raised her hand and gestured around the room. “This feels like a lot of pressure to me.”

Quinn expelled a heavy breath and turned in a slow circle. The kitchen was a lot more than she'd originally envisioned. When she'd rented the vacant restaurant in the up-and-coming Hertel neighborhood of Buffalo, it hadn't looked like much. She'd had her doubts when the owner had assured her all the space needed was a good
scrubbing, but after she spent several hundred dollars on custodians and cleaning supplies, the place sparkled. And with all the extra trash and debris in the dumpster out back, it seemed bigger, too.

But not too big.

Not too flashy.

Who was she kidding, the space was cavernous and glittering and intimidating. Oh God, what had she done? “I just wanted her to have some extra ovens,” she said meekly.

Sully nodded. “I know. Me too.”

“Do you think she's going to believe us?”

Sully shook her head. “She doesn't trust you.”

The jab stung like wasps under her skin, mostly because she knew it was true. “But she trusts you?”

“She did.”

“And you trust me?”

Sully's hesitation told her everything she needed to know. “All right, then. I guess it's good to know where I stand.”

“Quinn . . .” Sully's voice softened.

“No, it's fine.”

“It's just . . . she doesn't trust anybody.”

“She trusts you. She trusts Ian. What is it about me she finds so . . .” Quinn pursed her lips. “You know what, never mind. Doesn't matter. This is business. It's better to keep those lines clear-cut. I'm starting a restaurant. I need a chef to put this place through her paces. I shouldn't have tried to make it anything more personal.”