Love at First Slice, page 13
George suddenly felt sick. There could only be one reason Taylor Ferraro was on the phone. She knew. She knew about her and Quinn. She was probably going to arrange to meet and then murder her. She had seen the length of her nails; she did not want her eyes scratched at by them. This was a conversation that was going to end things with Quinn and probably earn her a reputation as a slut.
‘George! It’s Taylor Ferraro!’ Marisa said, holding out the phone dramatically.
George wiped her hands on a cloth and took the phone from Marisa. She had to be calm; she didn’t want Marisa and Helen knowing what was going on.
‘Hello, George Fraser,’ she greeted.
‘Hello Ms Fraser, it’s Taylor Ferraro. We met at the party last night.’
Today, her voice was more Joe Pasquale than Minnie Mouse.
‘Yes, we did. Hello,’ George replied with a swallow.
It didn’t sound like Taylor had spent all morning sizing up concrete boots. George only hoped she didn’t sound like she’d been performing fellatio on her fiancé.
‘Michael Lambert hasn’t stopped pressing your business card into my hand since last night, suggesting I employ you to cater my wedding,’ Taylor told her.
‘I see,’ George said not knowing what else to say.
‘I’m here at the Highgate Hotel until early evening. Would it be possible for you to make up, say, three menus, and bring some samples? I’d like some buffet options and a three-course suggestion,’ Taylor spoke.
‘Today?’ George said stupidly.
‘Yes, I’m here until six then I’m getting a flight to Manchester. Could you make that work?’ Taylor asked again.
‘Um, yes – I guess,’ George answered unenthusiastically.
‘Good. So shall we meet in the restaurant at four-thirty?’ Taylor suggested.
‘Forty-thirty,’ George repeated.
‘See you then,’ Taylor said, ending the call.
George replaced the handset and was greeted by curious looks from both her staff.
‘Well?! What did she want?’ Marisa demanded to know.
‘She wants Finger Food to tender for her wedding,’ George said almost choking on the words.
‘Oh. My. God! Quinn Blake’s wedding! Oh. My. God!’ Marisa said, looking like she was about to faint.
‘Oh George, that’s a massive contract. Her wedding is going to be the celebrity event of the year; all the magazines say so,’ Helen said.
‘I know, but she wants to meet me at four-thirty with sample menus and some food to taste. It’s a tall order. I don’t know if we can do it,’ George said.
She didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to look into the eyes of the woman. She had slept with her soon-to-be husband over and over again. She didn’t know if she could sit across a table from her.
‘How about those menus you did for Lord Barrington’s wedding?’ Helen suggested.
‘Yeah, I guess,’ George answered.
‘What’s the matter with you? Don’t you want the job? This is the sort of job most caterers would like kill for. Like seriously…’ Marisa began.
‘Sick,’ Helen added with a proud smile.
Yes, Marisa was right; it was the sort of job most caterers would kill for. She should be lapping up this celebrity attention and thinking of the prestige and great fat fee at the end of it.
‘Yeah, I know. You’re absolutely right,’ George said a hundred different thoughts going through her head.
It was Quinn’s wedding; she was going to pitch to cater for Quinn’s wedding. It was the biggest opportunity of her career so far. She would be a fool to turn it down. This was the sort of break she had been looking for. This event could make Finger Food into an internationally renowned company. This could rocket the firm into the catering orbit she wanted to be part of.
‘Well let’s get those menus out and get preparing, shall we?’ Helen said, momentarily taking charge.
‘Yeah, let’s do that,’ George agreed, clapping her hands together.
She needed to try and get this contract. She had to do it, for so many reasons.
16
Only that morning, she had woken up naked in the back of her van, having spent the night sleeping with Quinn Blake. Now, she was entering the hotel she had been in only a few nights before, with the aforementioned Quinn Blake, destined to meet and discuss wedding catering with his fiancée. It was a mixed-up state of affairs and she wasn’t relishing sitting with Taylor Ferraro, three sample menus and some food to taste.
George entered the restaurant, carrying the bag full of delights she, Marisa and Helen had made earlier that afternoon, including a brand new main course she had created. It was chicken breast with a cream and garlic sauce and it was gorgeous. If that didn’t impress Taylor then nothing would. It was the tastiest thing she had come up with in a long time.
She saw Taylor immediately. The American was sat at a table near the window, overlooking a fishing lake in the hotel grounds. George had seen the view before, from Quinn’s room. His suite had overlooked it and they had had sex up against the full-length windows, too desperate to get with each other to worry about any paparazzi that might be camped out in the bushes. She hadn’t thought about it at the time, but if there were photographers in the shrubbery, it was likely they would have snapped a perfect picture of her not so perfect arse.
Taylor was wearing a navy-blue dress which skimmed her mid-thigh. She had huge sunglasses on her face that were far too large for her tiny features but again her hair and make-up were flawless. She was like a perfect little Barbie doll, complete with accessories.
George approached the table and put her bag down on the floor. This made Taylor turn away from the view of the lake and greet her.
‘Hello Ms Ferraro, sorry if I’m a bit late; the traffic was terrible,’ George greeted.
‘And it’s raining. It rains a lot here, doesn’t it,’ she replied, indicating the weather outside.
‘Most of the time, actually,’ George said, taking a seat opposite her.
‘OK. So, do you have what I asked for?’ Taylor enquired.
‘Yes, I do. Here are three menus, two buffet style and one for a three-course sit-down meal. As the wedding’s in Spain, I went for a starter of local citrus fruits made into a sorbet with sweet biscuits, followed by chicken breast in a cream and garlic sauce with lemon-infused rice and mixed leaves. For dessert, a chocolate-orange flan with chilli cream. I’ve got a sample of all of those and a selection of the canapés from the other two menus,’ George told her as she began to get both insulated and cool boxes out of her bag.
Taylor let George open the boxes and make a display of the various items for her. The American then picked up a fork and ate the tiniest mouthful of the chicken, sipped at her water and followed it up by taking a small half-teaspoonful of the flan and cream.
George couldn’t tell what she thought from her non-existent expression. Taylor hadn’t spat anything out, but perhaps she would wait until George had gone to do that.
‘Michael’s right,’ she said after she had eaten a bite from two different canapés. ‘It’s very good.’
‘Thank you,’ George replied, struggling to know whether to feel pleased or terrified.
‘Can you do the date? It’s August 28th, in La Manga. I’d need you there a week before. I have a bachelorette party I’ll need catering for and you’ll need to get accustomed to the cooking facilities. I have staff; they can assist you,’ Taylor spoke.
‘Actually, I have my own staff. We come as a package,’ George told her.
‘Fine. So can you do the date?’ Taylor queried for the second time.
‘Yes,’ George answered.
‘Good. I’ll get my wedding planner, Pixie, to liaise with you about flights and ordering the ingredients, etcetera,’ Taylor said, standing up and picking up a handbag that was almost as big as a suitcase.
‘Which menu? You didn’t say,’ George spoke, watching her fasten the clasp on the bag and put it over her arm.
‘The three-course, with a vegetarian option too and vegetarian canapés for the bachelorette party. I have to go; I need to see the beautician before my flight,’ she informed.
‘Don’t you want to know my fee?’ George asked.
‘I just want the best. How much that costs is irrelevant. It was good to meet you,’ Taylor spoke and she moved gracefully out of the restaurant, her handbag looking oversized for her stick-like arm.
George watched her go and then looked at the table of food. She hadn’t eaten since the chips she had shared with Quinn in the early hours. She was starving. It seemed a shame to see it go to waste and perhaps having a full stomach would give her the courage to come to terms with the fact she was going to be catering Quinn’s wedding. But then again, she wasn’t sure anything was going to prepare her for that. No, she was being over the top. It was just a fling. A few days in Manchester, probably another woman or two, he would barely remember her name. She needed to focus on her future, the future of Finger Food, not spend time dwelling on someone who was getting married in a month.
She took a mouthful of chicken and put her mobile phone to her ear.
‘Hiya, Finger Food,’ Marisa greeted.
‘I think your boss said on several occasions that it’s supposed to be “Good afternoon, Finger Food”,’ George told her, spooning more food into her mouth.
‘Oh God, the meeting’s over already! Didn’t it go well? Did she eat anything? If she turned you down without eating anything then she’s a sick bitch,’ Marisa rambled on.
‘Better dig out your sunscreen. We’re going to Spain,’ George informed her.
She held the phone away from her ear and waited for her reaction.
As predicted, Marisa let out an ear-splitting scream of excitement and George smiled to herself. If she tried really hard, she could think of it as a holiday. A holiday with a job that was going to make her year, and hopefully lead to lots more lucrative opportunities, catering for the rich and famous. Quinn would have forgotten all about her by the time the wedding arrived. Whether she would forget about him was another matter entirely.
17
At 1.00 a.m., George was on her fourth lager and three quarters of the way through chicken curry, chips and egg foo yung from the local Chinese takeaway. You could get a bit sick of fine food when you spent all day working with it and everyone needed to indulge in a bit of comfort eating once in a while. Besides, this was a celebration meal. This was a treat for managing to land the function of all functions, a wedding every caterer in the modern world would have poked their own eyes out for a piece of. And it was hers.
She was just deciding what to watch on TV when her mobile beeped as a text message came through.
Wish I was there Q x
George looked at the words and suddenly, the event that was going to turn her business into an international success diminished dramatically in her mind. She wished he was there too. She wished she could put her arms around him, strip him of his clothes and lose herself in him. He seemed to instinctively know what she wanted every time they were together.
She picked up her phone and began to type a message back.
Im catering ur wedding
She put the phone back on the table and ate another mouthful of food. She hadn’t told him yet. She wondered how he would feel. Perhaps he would persuade Taylor that her food wasn’t that great, say he had tasted it for four nights, it sucked and she should consider another catering company.
The phone beeped again and she picked it up.
I know cant wait to show u the infinity pool x
George looked at the text and took a deep breath. Nothing seemed to faze him. He took everything in his stride; he didn’t worry about anything. She was like that once. She missed being like that. But she was responsible now; she had a business and a professional reputation to protect. She had to think twice about what she did. Didn’t she?
The phone beeped again.
Want to c u
George let out another sigh and hastily text a reply.
Ur in Manchester
Within seconds, it beeped again.
Guess again
George looked at the text and was about to reply when her phone made a loud, determined beeping noise and the battery died.
‘Oh shit! Bugger! Where’s the charger? Damn it!’ she exclaimed, vaulting from her seat and hurrying into the kitchen.
She tried to bring the phone to life again, holding down the power button and willing it to be resuscitated. She opened drawers in search of her charger, dropping things on the floor, cutlery and catering implements knocking her knuckles as she searched through the contents.
This was one of the craziest things he’d ever done. Taylor was there, everyone was there and he wasn’t. He had escaped, paid off the people that needed to be paid off, because of her. Because what he felt for her wasn’t diminishing now he hadn’t seen her for twenty-four hours, it was growing. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He couldn’t settle; he felt uncomfortable with the amount of miles between them. He didn’t want to give her up, he couldn’t and he wouldn’t.
Suddenly, there was a loud thumping on the back door that jolted her, making her drop a pair of oven gloves and a cheese grater.
‘Who is it?’ she called, approaching the door with caution.
‘Who d’you think?’ Quinn’s voice called back.
She couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be here! He wasn’t supposed to be here; he was supposed to be at the other end of the country! She fumbled with the lock then hurriedly threw the door open.
‘I don’t believe you’re here! How? Why?’ George questioned all at once, her hands at her mouth in shock.
‘How? Helicopter. Why? Because I couldn’t stay away,’ Quinn informed her.
He stepped onto the threshold of the door and looked at her, as if he was drinking her in with every glance. His breathing was already erratic as he moved inside.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ George spoke, touching his face to check he was real.
‘You’ll have to thank the woman at number one in the morning. You didn’t reply to my last message so I had to knock on a few doors to ask where you live. Remembered Raleigh Crescent, didn’t know the number.’
‘Oh God! You didn’t!’ George exclaimed.
‘I had to see you. So, how pleased are you to see me?’ Quinn enquired, pulling at her t-shirt and ripping it over her head in one quick motion, leaving her in just her bra.
‘On a scale of one to ten?’ George asked as he bent to deliver kisses to her neck.
‘Uh huh.’
‘About 245,’ George responded, taking off his baseball cap and pushing him up against the table.
He turned her around until she was backed up against it, and then he lifted her up and pushed her down on it, scattering the pans and containers on the floor.
He kissed her mouth and brushed her hair off her face as they lay in bed together.
‘I still can’t believe you’re here; you only left this morning,’ George said, running her hand over his shoulder.
‘You knew I wanted you to come with me. If you wouldn’t come to me, I figured I’d just have to come to you,’ Quinn answered.
‘But where do people think you are?’
Quinn shrugged and moved off her, putting his arms around her and holding her close to him. She took hold of his hands and held them in hers.
‘I don’t care where they think I am,’ he responded.
‘But what about Taylor?’
‘I don’t want to talk about her. I want to talk about you,’ Quinn answered.
‘We talked about me last night. Why don’t we talk about you?’ George suggested.
‘There’s nothing to tell. I’m a thirty-something musician, you know that; that’s it,’ Quinn told her.
‘Why don’t you like talking about yourself?’ George asked.
‘Because there’s nothing to talk about,’ Quinn replied.
‘Now that makes me think you’re hiding lots of dark secrets,’ George said with a smile.
‘I wish,’ Quinn responded with a sigh.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Quinn.’
‘Look, I’m messed up George, that’s all,’ Quinn answered, sitting up and running his hand over his hair.
‘I can’t get it if you don’t tell me,’ George said.
‘Sometimes, it’s best not to understand things; trust me,’ Quinn spoke.
She didn’t reply but rested her head on his chest.
She didn’t want to push him. She enjoyed being with him, she knew their time together had a short shelf life and she didn’t want to spend it fighting. Not when they could be doing so many other fantastic things.
‘What’s important is the here and now. The past’s yesterday. It’s gone,’ Quinn told her.
‘If only it were that easy,’ George replied.
‘It is that easy. Come here, let me show you,’ Quinn said, pulling George on top of him.
George smiled down at him, letting him cup her breasts with his hands.
‘Wanna hear something funny? Now this will get you. The other night, I had this dream. You were dressed up in this school uniform, you had long, pink hair and we were together at this God-awful gig,’ Quinn told her.
‘That all sounds a bit kinky to me,’ George replied, kissing his lips.
‘Mmm, that’s what I thought. In fact, I didn’t want to wake up.’
‘I did dye my hair strange colours, a very long time ago now, though,’ George answered with a laugh.
‘It was a good look; maybe you should try it again.’
‘And the school uniform?’
‘You still got it?’
The tap in the bathroom sink leaked and he wanted to get it repaired for her. What the hell! He looked at himself in the mirror above the sink and let out a heavy sigh. What was he going to do? Tonight, she’d whispered his name in his ear, kissed him so tenderly, he thought he was going to lose it there and then. He wanted to share stuff with her. He wanted to open up to her but he was scared. He was scared, if he did, there was no going back.
