Something Borrowed (8 page)

‘Believe me, I’ve tried. No one even clicked on me. I used to be all right, eh? I’ve let myself go a bit. Since the divorce. Well, before, really, if I’m honest. I think it was the medication I was on. It made me put on weight. Aww, look he’s trying to see who I’m talking to.’ He reached a hand into his bag and made a soothing noise as the rucksack began to move across the floor. Eventually, one furry ear popped out of the top, then another. Then a nose. And it began to whine. Sweat dripped from Drew’s large forehead. ‘He’s getting restless. It’s always the same; he smells food then he wants some, and he won’t shut up until he gets it. I think we should go before we get chucked out. Do you want to come back to mine? I make a mean spaghetti bolognaise and I have some cider? It’s not that far.’

She could just imagine his place, all fur-flecked furniture and interesting smells. And it probably wouldn’t be very hygienic if his clothes were anything to go by. No way would she go. It wouldn’t be fair to give him any false hope. And geez, now she was sounding like Carlhuna.

She hated that she thought that, and that she judged
DrewsAmused
. But wasn’t that what this was all about? Judging suitability? It was just a more prolonged and painful version of swiping. It was horrible, and she just didn’t have the guts for it.

The Love Plan fail, part two.

No doubt there were many happy couplings made from internet dating. Hell, some of her previous clients had been deliriously happy and married after they’d met online. It did work, but then so did regular dating, if you found the right guy. The One. For the lucky ones.

But dammit, luck had never been her friend, and she didn’t have the heart or the nerve to keep doing this. Even if that meant she was single forever. Even if it meant she was humiliated at the wedding on Saturday in front of all her old friends and saw pity in every single eye. She didn’t have the energy to meet someone and break up with them in ten minutes. Over and over. Ad nauseum.

What the hell had she been thinking? She definitely didn't need a man to make her look successful, for God’s sake. She would go to the wedding and hand out a business card to every one there. She would tell them she had some booking slots available and to let anyone thinking of getting hitched know about her services. She would imply things were going well and that she was content with her life and her business. She didn't need a man for that. She didn't need a man at all.

Yeah.
I am woman. Hear me… er, roar… or, miaow at least.

Her phone beeped.
Thank you, Jenna.

‘Sorry, I’ll just get this?’ Chloe read her text and pretended to be horrified—although, a lot of her act was real. Because how had she ended up doing this? Here? With him? She looked up at Drew and smiled weakly. ‘Oh. Look, I’m sorry. There’s been a… thing happening. I need to go.’

But he’d been here before, she knew, as he shook his head. ‘Looks like I’m not the only one being economical with the truth here, then. Who’s that? Your mum? Sister? Best friend? Checking in? Giving you an excuse to make a hasty exit? As if I’m some kind of axe murderer?’

The axe murderer thing again. It was hardly as if she’d ever seen anyone carrying an axe around the streets. Mind you, she’d never seen anyone carrying a dog in a rucksack either.

She nodded, a little shamefaced, flicked the phone onto silent and threw it into her pocket just in case it beeped again and he got even more despondent. ‘My sister, actually. I… just… well, the thing is, I don’t think this is going to work.’ Chloe stood to leave, wondering why she didn’t feel as relieved as she wanted to, then realised that guilt was getting in the way. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have agreed to come. I can’t do this. I have to go. Good luck, Drew.’

He picked up the rucksack and pressed it close to his chest and her heart broke just a little bit. At least he had the dog to love. ‘It’s Andrew, actually. I just thought Drew was more vibrant.’

Right now, in here, squeezing a tatty old rucksack like a comfort blanket, he was the furthest thing from vibrant that she’d ever met, but that was okay, too. Everyone shone in their own way. He was probably a demon in bed, or a prolific plane watcher, or a fabulous dancer or a great cook, but she’d never know.

Some other woman would be lucky to find him. And, as for herself? She didn’t feel exactly bursting with colour and energy either. In truth, dating was proving to be a lot harder than she’d thought it would be. ‘Just be yourself, Andrew. That’s all we ever ask for. Just be honest.’

‘Yeah.’ He gave her a weak smile as he shuffled through the door, his mutt now on a lead at his feet. ‘You too.’

O
ne year ago
…

S
ender
: [email protected]

H
i
, Nick,

Thanks for your emails. You always write so many to me and I feel guilty when I only manage the odd one back, but please know that I’m thinking of you and hoping you’re safe. I saw the news the other day that some more of your platoon were killed. I know this sounds terrible, but I was so glad it was someone else and not you. I couldn’t bear losing anyone else.

Evie is growing fast. I know I’m biased, but she’s absolutely gorgeous. I’ve attached some photos. As you can see, she has my hair and nose, and her dad’s eyes. She’s starting to show her character a bit more now, and she’s got quite a stubborn streak these days (takes after her mum on that front, too). She’s also prone to having major meltdowns in supermarket aisles. It used to bother me a lot, but I have to admit I just laugh these days. Life’s too short to get stressed by a crying child who just wants an ice cream. (Believe me, it took a lot of crying and working things through in my head to be able to say that!) But I’m starting to feel a little better about things, can you tell? It’s as if there is a little light through the clouds. That light is Evie.

I was sorry to hear about Helen. Are affairs within a regiment quite common? I suppose it must be a result of all that claustrophobic living. I hope you feel better about it all now that she’s left the army, and you won’t, hopefully, need to see her again. Although, it will be tough to get over. It must have been awful thinking you were going to be a dad, then finding it was all a lie and that the baby wasn’t yours. That was pretty cruel of her. I don’t blame you for cutting her off.

I know I don’t send emails as regularly as I should, but please don’t stop writing to me. It’s nice to know that there’s someone out there thinking about me and wishing me good things. I’ll try to be a better correspondent in future. In fact, to be honest, just writing this has made me feel a whole lot better about today. I’m taking it one day at a time.

I hope the sand’s stopped rubbing in places you can’t mention! (That made me smile, so thank you, a smile doesn’t happen often these days). And that you got over your sunstroke. Honestly, you really should take better care of yourself (Was it because you were too distracted thinking about Helen? No, sorry, don’t answer that, that was just me, being too nosy again.).

If you ever venture near Notting Hill when you’re on leave again, please pop by. I’m back living with my mum. I can’t afford to move into a place of my own. Ollie’s money didn’t go far. He hadn’t got around to sorting out life insurance. He was only twenty-six! No one should die that young.

I hope the sun’s shining where you are, Nick, and I hope one day we’ll get to catch up over a coffee. Let’s look forward to that, shall we? I think we both need something to look forward to.

To happier times! Stay safe.

Jenna x

N
ow
, completely gasping for a coffee, Chloe crossed the main road and started to walk back towards the tube station. But she quickly realised that by the time she’d changed tube lines at Shepherd’s Bush, she’d be just as quick walking all the way home. And since she’d given up her evening spin class to meet Drew, she needed the exercise. Maybe she could walk her frustration out of her system, and pick up a bottle of wine to go with dinner along the way.

She meandered for a while, checking out what she could see through the windows of the houses and apartments of the ultra rich of Holland Park and the gorgeous delicatessen and handmade shoe shops, but suddenly she heard raised voices and came to a halt.

Oh, hell.

She was almost outside Vaughn’s restaurant. A closed sign hung on the front door, but Vaughn was having a loud discussion with a woman on the pavement. She was pretty, young and very angry. Unable to walk by without being seen, Chloe hung back, pretending to be window-shopping for expensive knickknacks in the shop next door as she listened.

‘I told you, Vaughn, I won’t tolerate you changing everything at the last minute again. It’s disruptive and makes us all look like idiots. If the staff don’t know what they’re selling, they can’t sell it. You won’t make any money. I won’t get paid.’

He stood completely still and frowned. In his dark suit on her wedding day, he’d seemed impenetrable, aloof and formidable. Same, last week, in his casual work clothes. But today, in chef whites he looked messy—not in a
DrewsAmused
kind of way but in a hot dishevelled TV chef kind of way. Hot and—whoa, that thought had come out of nowhere and took her aback a little.

Hot?
She’d never knowingly aligned Vaughn and hot before. But, well, he was more than hot, actually. He was quite beautiful when she thought about it. With no man bun or wild mess of mad professor hair, no dog hairs and no guitar. And there was so much more she hadn’t really taken in. He was tall. And broad. And toned.

His eyes were expressive—she knew that because she’d seen the gamut of emotions cross his face. Including pity, she reminded herself. That soft pitying smile. And raw hot anger as she’d lain on top of him in her wedding dress and tried to beat him senseless with her flowers.
Raw hot anger.

Whoa. Was that a tingle somewhere low in her belly? No. It couldn’t have been. It was just a little chilly out here in the spring sunshine that promised a lot but never quite delivered the heat she wanted.

His voice was controlled and deep. ‘It’s called market forces, Laura. Availability. Creativity. And finally, it’s called my restaurant. So I can do what the hell I want.’

So, he was pretty to look at, but still bloody annoying with his
I know everything
stance and taut corded muscles. Chloe’s inner warrior woman fist-pumped as Laura stuck her hands on her hips and raised her voice even more.
Go, sister.

‘Yeah, well it’s now your restaurant without a manager, too. You can’t run a business like this, chopping and changing from one day to the next. At least, I can’t. And that’s why you employed me? Right? To run things while you worked your Michelin-star magic in the kitchen? Only, to achieve perfection, you’re working yourself too hard and working us even harder.’

‘I would never expect my staff to work harder than me.’ Frowning, he raised his hands. ‘Lots of places change their menus every day.’

‘The specials, yes. But not the whole damned menu.’ The woman’s shoulders lifted in a kind of
I’m over it
shrug as she shook some menus at him. ‘But that’s not it, really, Vaughn. I just can’t get a handle on you anymore. If it’s not the menu, it’s the decor or the suppliers… you don’t like this or that, you decide to change something and let us know afterwards. There’s no reasoning with you. You don’t listen; you just plough onwards on your own little journey, and just as we manage to catch up in your slipstream, you change tack. Some call it brilliant; I call it difficult, and I can’t do it anymore. I’m out of here.’

‘No. It’s absolutely out of the question.’ He remained completely in control as if her words and their meaning had little effect on him. ‘Marco Collini is coming tonight. It’s an open secret. I need you here.’

‘No, Vaughn you don’t. You don’t need anyone; you never have and you never will. You just do exactly what you want and don’t listen to anyone else. It’s like you have armour plating or something. Tough luck on Marco Collini. Maybe he’ll get a taste for what you’re really like. A food genius, maybe, but bloody frustrating. Completely impractical, and yet exacting at the same time. I’ve had enough.’

‘You can’t just leave. Laura…’

‘Watch me.’

‘Laura.’ His voice grew louder, but he still didn’t lose his cool. Chloe wondered whether he saved that particular luxury just for her. He watched his manager storm back into the restaurant only to return a minute later with her handbag, then walk away. She was a woman of her word, clearly.

Shaking his head, Vaughn sat down on one of the wrought iron chairs and swore. Quite loudly and for quite a long time. His long fingers tapped against the table top as he contemplated his situation. Then, he stood and paced a little, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Finally, he sat again, chin in his hands as he leant on the table, staring into the distance.

Far from feeling at one with Laura, Chloe’s gut began to twist. Even she’d heard of Marco Collini, London’s most celebrated food reviewer. One word from him could make or break a restaurant. And yes, she imagined Vaughn could be a genuinely giant pain in the backside, but to leave him tonight, of all nights? Harsh.

‘Problem?’ The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

He looked up at her and scratched the stubble on his jaw. It was a refined jaw. Stubborn. Fixed. But it was his eyes that caught her off guard. Dark. So very dark. ‘Chloe? Chloe Cassidy. Of course—perfect. Absolutely perfect. Why wouldn’t you be here to add to my already shitty day?’ A pause and a little sarcastic laugh. ‘Everything is going swimmingly.’

For no discernible reason she could find, Chloe found herself dragging a chair to sit opposite him. ‘Are you saying that because you don’t want to admit you’re in a pickle, or because you truly believe it’s fine, or because you’re worried I might offer to help?’

‘All of the above.’ There was a hint of a smile. ‘I’ve had worse problems, believe me. Today no one has died. A manager quitting is inconvenient, in fact very difficult and annoying, but not insurmountable.’

‘Creative differences?’

‘You could say that.’ He looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he looked away, up at his Vaughn’s restaurant sign as if he had a puzzle to solve. And well, actually, he did.

The tummy-tumbling thing had started to happen again, but Chloe decided it was all to do with the anxiety of watching two adults fight. She’d never seen that happen at home, her dad having died when Jenna was very little. She’d never liked the way anger made her feel inside. And possibly it wasn’t helped by Drew’s lies and condescension. And the fact she was now well and truly date-less for Saturday. Still, there were more pressing matters. ‘Do you really change the whole menu every day?’

‘She was exaggerating. But I do change it a lot. My dishes are reliant on seasonal supply, so I have to create something new and fresh based on what I buy. It’s part of the appeal of the place, of my style of cooking. No one knows what to expect.’ He broke out in a smile. ‘Not even me, sometimes. And she knew that when I hired her; I don’t see the problem. It’s just a bit of extra typing.’

‘And a whole new menu to learn. I’ve worked tables before; it’s embarrassing when a customer asks you for specific details, and you get caught out.’

‘Hey, if I have to cook it, the least they can do is learn what’s in it. It’s not rocket science. Whose side are you on?’

‘Theirs, obviously.’

‘Of course.’

She flashed him a smile. ‘I like to hold grudges; they make me feel better.’

‘Good to know. But why against me?’

‘Where to start? You are clearly demanding of your staff, wanting everyone to be as invested as you are, but they are employees, so why should they care as much as you do?’ She knew what it was like to run a business and the dangers of letting things get out of control. That was just one reason why she did all the administration for
Something Borrowed
. She couldn’t allow anyone else to take that responsibility, not after it had been her fault things had gone haywire in the first place. And also, if no one else saw the bank statements, they wouldn’t know just how bad things were financially, so she could stall them and work smarter, get more clients and her sister and mother would never know how close to closing they’d been.

None of this was relevant right now, of course. She was face-to-face with Vaughn Bloody Brooks and his impending disaster. Which, given the nature of her own, felt like small fry. ‘Besides, why should I make you feel better?’

‘Because you feel guilty about attacking me.’ He grinned and his eyes lost a little darkness.

‘That bouquet and rugby tackle are never ever going to be forgotten, are they?’ They were like a giant, hovering swarm of flies, pestering and flitting around them. Just when she thought she’d wafted them away, they came back, buzzing around their heads.

‘Nope. Not ever.’

‘It was an instinctive reaction to a broken heart. Why should I feel guilty?’

‘Because you scarred me for life and I will never look at pine cones in the same way again.’ He shuddered. ‘So, be honest, you’re taking Laura’s side because you want to get your own back. Because I broke the bad news to you in the church. Because I was quoted out of context. I did ring the journalist, by the way, and tried to get her to retract the piece, especially my bit, but she refused. Said it was good copy. I know it wasn’t. I know it was your life being ruined.’

Vaughn’s gaze caught hers and he was so, so serious. She felt as if someone was tipping her sideways as her heart, no, her whole body jolted. It was uplifting and scary and weird all in one. There was something in his eyes; a heat, a mystery, and she was drawn to look deeper. But she had to turn away, because he was Vaughn Bloody Brooks and he was on her hit list of two, and she could not, would not, think he was anything other than her worst nightmare.

Which meant she couldn’t like his eyes, all grey and dark and mysterious. Or the muscles in his forearms, or the way he held his jaw, so aloof, so… Vaughn. Or be entranced just by the deep timbre of his voice. She would not.

She didn’t know if he’d felt the same physical reaction, but he looked away, swallowed and closed his eyes briefly as if shaking something off—a bad memory, a feeling. Her.

Then he waved a hand. ‘Basically, you hate me, and it’s all because of Jason.’

Jason? Jason who?
‘No…’ The power of speech seemed to be eluding her. Vaughn had nice arms, strong. His voice… ‘It’s… it’s nothing to do with him.’

Vaughn shook his head. ‘Anyway, I need to go. Because as well as prepping, I now have to sort out typing and printing off the menus.’

‘What about your other staff, can’t they do it?’

‘Some are on their break after lunch service. Others are setting up for dinner service, and they all have enough to do. Now is the time Laura usually does the admin and all this’ —he threw the obsolete menus on to the table— ‘stuff.’

‘Get a blackboard and write up the menu?’

‘You really are a regular problem solver, aren’t you? And while it’s a great idea, I don’t have time to go out and buy a blackboard.’ He stood. ‘I’ll see you at the wedding on Saturday, shall I? Still going?’

‘Of course. As I told you, I attend every wedding I organise.’ Regardless of date-status.

‘With your mysterious plus-one?’

She thought about what to say and about the online dating and the disastrous results—about the blue fluff,
TheBigCarlhuna,
the guitar and the dog in the rucksack. And that if she didn’t go to the wedding on Saturday, she’d miss the chance of advertising her skills to potential clients.

If she didn’t go, her mum would have to cancel her long awaited cruise, the unsatisfying job at the Inland Revenue would become a reality and, worse—so much worse—Chloe would have to sit her sad, widowed sister down and explain that yes, a job on a flower stall in the freezing cold and the sometimes driving rain would be on the horizon for her, because there was simply not enough money to support them all.

Because Chloe had failed them.

But in the end, she decided that no explanation was needed, especially not to him. ‘No. No date. I’ll be by myself.’

‘Good.’ Whatever the heck that meant. But he didn’t look like he was going to elucidate any further.

‘Okay. See you then.’

‘Bye, Chloe.’ He turned and started towards the restaurant entrance and she stood, contemplating the walk home and her empty flat. Nothing to do because she’d done all the organising down to the tiniest detail and there really wasn’t anything else left except to look up more frog facts.

And she couldn’t face doing that right now; she’d had her fill of tadpoles and learning the difference between frogs and toads, and the fact that frogs absorb water through their skin and, therefore, have no need to drink. But humans did; she was dying of thirst, and she still hadn’t had a coffee. Perhaps Vaughn could make a real espresso?

So that must have been the reason why she suddenly found herself saying, ‘I can do it for you if you like? In exchange for a decent cup of coffee?’

He stopped, hand on the door handle, frowning. Quite confronting, that frown, in such a confident body. ‘Do what?’

‘The menu. It’s not exactly difficult; it just takes a little time. Of which, I happen to have plenty today.’

Now, he leant against the door and looked decidedly suspicious. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘Because I can. I have a business degree and a wedding planning diploma. I know my way around a spreadsheet and a word processing programme with my eyes closed. Just direct me to your office, scribble down the details and I’ll work my magic in there. It’ll take me two minutes.’