Love in the Morning, page 16
She’d definitely felt that way once. Maybe it was time to feel that way again. Past time really.
Desi wore his white apron and a grin so wide it almost split his face. He picked up the pan of muffins he’d pulled out of the oven earlier. “Where do these go?”
“Let’s arrange them on a plate. We’ll put them next to the omelet and the hash.” Clark had suggested they include a selection of their breakfast food in the picture. Maybe people would be more interested in the food than in her.
She plated the omelet carefully, letting the mushroom filling spill out around the edge in a savory circle. She could hear male voices in the dining room, Clark and somebody else, presumably the guy who’d take the picture. She took a deep breath. I am a pro. Do not mess with me.
Goddamn right!
*****
Clark watched the photographer get everything set up. He hadn’t originally planned on being in the picture himself, but without him it was just Lizzy and Desi, which looked a little sparse for an award-winning breakfast buffet. He really needed to see about hiring another kitchen assistant for her along with Desi and Marco.
They’d placed a high table in front of the buffet line with the dishes they’d chosen for the picture lined up at the front. The three of them would stand behind the table, maybe each holding up a dish for display.
Clark had really wanted to put Lizzy front and center, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t go for that. At least she was wearing her chef’s outfit. She looked…sexy as hell, if he were honest. Of course he was beginning to think she’d look sexy as hell no matter what she had on.
He’d given up on considering the question of what Lizzy was hiding. The explanation she’d given him had holes big enough to drive a truck through. Still, he assumed she’d fill in the blanks eventually, and he was willing to wait until she was ready. Because what they had at the moment was good. Very good, in fact.
He liked her. He liked talking to her. He liked eating whatever she cooked. All in all, Lizzy Apodaca made him happy. The rest of her story could wait.
The door to the dining room opened behind him and he turned, ready to tell whoever it was that the dining room was closed until breakfast tomorrow. But it was Lauren who threaded her way through the tables toward him wearing her usual dress-for-success gray suit that still showed a sizeable portion of thigh.
He managed not to grimace. He had a feeling Lizzy wouldn’t feel great about having Lauren watch her being photographed. On the other hand, since Lauren represented the resort, he couldn’t exactly boot her from the dining room. He gave Lauren a smile, although he couldn’t vouch for its authenticity. “What’s up?”
She shrugged. “Thought I’d drop by and make sure the pictures were going okay. We’re almost done—just two more after you. They want to go to press by the end of the week.”
“Okay.” He turned back to where Lizzy and Desi were taking their places at the table. The photographer had already sprayed the omelet and hash with vegetable oil to make them glisten. The muffins had been placed on a bright blue platter that complemented their golden brown tops.
Now the photographer moved Lizzy behind the omelet and Desi on the other side behind the hash. He beckoned to Clark. “We’re ready for you.”
“Right.” He strode up to the table and let himself be placed in the middle.
The photographer moved the lights again, getting a better angle on the food. Clark glanced out at the dining room and frowned.
Lauren was watching Lizzy, her forehead puckered in concentration, her eyes narrowed. Clark frowned harder. Had she heard about the two of them? Surely Lauren wouldn’t be jealous. They hadn’t had that much going on between them when they’d been together, and there was nothing between them now.
“We need a smile, Mr. Denham.” The photographer sounded slightly annoyed.
Clark managed to smile, but he was afraid it looked as phony as it felt. Still, with any luck readers would be concentrating on the food rather than him. Or possibly on Lizzy—she was a lot more photogenic than he was.
The camera flashed several times, and he managed to keep his smile in place.
“Okay.” The photographer squinted at the screen on his camera. “Looks like we’ve got a couple we can use. I’ll send you a copy when we make the final decision.”
Clark nodded, only half-listening to him. Lauren’s forehead wasn’t puckered anymore, but her smile wasn’t much better. She looked like she’d just stolen a particularly nice chocolate truffle from some baby’s fingers.
He narrowed his eyes, glaring in her direction. “Anything else?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s probably enough. I’ll let you know when the page proofs come back.” She glanced once more toward Lizzy, her unpleasant grin widening. “Pleasure meeting you.”
Lizzy looked a little confused herself. “Oh. Sure.”
Clark longed to ask her what the hell was going on, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in front of Desi and the photographer, let alone Lizzy.
Lizzy turned toward him as the photographer broke down his equipment. “Is that all you need from me right now?”
Clark’s pulse took a quick jump. He could think of several things he needed from her. But once again, he wasn’t about to talk about them in front of Desi. “No, I think that’s it. For now.” He felt himself smiling almost against his will.
“Okay. We’ll get back to doing the breakfast prep for tomorrow.”
He watched her walk toward the kitchen, followed by Desi. He should probably have tried to set something up with her for tonight. On the other hand, they’d been together for three nights running. It might be a good idea to have a night off, if only because she managed to crawl out of his bed at four thirty in the morning every day. He figured by now she might be ready for a break.
He actually did have things that needed doing in his office—he usually did. Late in the afternoon he heard the ding that signaled a new email. He opened his mailbox to find a message from Lauren. His stomach tightened. Maybe he’d been waiting for this all afternoon without realizing it.
He clicked on the file.
Hey Clarkie:
Nice photo shoot today! Never saw your chef before—guess she doesn’t get out much. You should take a look at Lovely Ladies of LA, season 2, episode 11. I think you’ll find it very…enlightening. Of course, if your chef has told you about it already, you probably won’t need to see it.
Kisses,
Lauren
His stomach stayed knotted. What the hell was she up to now? And what did it have to do with Lizzy? Probably nothing. He probably wouldn’t bother to watch the damn show. Probably.
He held out until after dinner, growing more annoyed by the moment. His frozen chicken parmesan tasted like cardboard. His beer was swill. Obviously, until he’d cleared this up and watched the damned show, nothing was going to work for him. He opened his laptop and downloaded the episode.
His first reaction, five minutes in, was that the Lovely Ladies title had to be ironic. They were the least lovely women he’d ever seen, and as for being “ladies”, that wasn’t even in the ballpark.
The women yelled constantly, sometimes at each other but sometimes at their spouses and relations and others who might pass for friends. When they weren’t yelling, they were involved in conversations that were so inconsequential that he found his interest drifting. It continued to drift until one of the women started planning some kind of party. She kept claiming that her cousin was a caterer who’d give her a special deal on the food. Her husband, assuming the man she was living with had actually made the mistake of marrying her, told her to go ahead.
Clark’s stomach began to tighten again. He was already pretty sure he knew who the caterer was, but he figured he’d better hang around to see it all. He needed to know just how bad things had been—and considering that Lauren had wanted him to watch it, he figured the situation had been about as bad as it could get.
Lizzy showed up halfway through the show. She was introduced as Annalisa, cousin to the screechy woman whose name was Teresa. She looked heartbreakingly young, although he was guessing the show hadn’t been shot all that long ago. Apparently whatever had happened had aged her overnight.
The party took place in Screechy’s house. There were a lot of guests, most of whom were apparently on the show themselves. They were also screechy, although Teresa’s decibel level seemed to exceed everybody else’s.
Compared to the acres of flesh on display in what he assumed were designer gowns, Lizzy’s dark suit made her look glamorously austere. She stayed in the background, keeping track of the waiters and the hors d’oeuvres. Clark couldn’t take his eyes off her, which meant he missed most of the dialogue between the guests and the hostess.
He didn’t miss the moment when the first guest threw up on the floor, though. The camera seemed to linger much longer than it should have on the woman clutching her stomach. Other guests ran from the room, heading toward what he assumed were the bathrooms or maybe the kitchen. Screechy outdid herself as she ordered the waiters to clean things up while more of her guests fell ill.
When someone finally started screaming about food poisoning, the camera zoomed in on Lizzy’s horrified face. She shook her head, eyes wide. But Screechy wasn’t having it, apparently. She started yelling at Lizzy, backing her against the wall. For a moment, Clark’s hands bunched into fists, waiting for the harpy to slap Lizzy, but the husband finally intervened and pulled her away.
The last shot showed Lizzy running down the hall, away from the living room and the retching guests who’d apparently been poisoned by her food.
Clark clicked the stop button. He wasn’t interested in seeing anything else—his brain was whirling through the possibilities. How much of a hit was Praeger House likely to take? How bad was the possible damage? How many people knew? Had Lauren told anybody else? Had Lizzy? And why hadn’t Lizzy told him the details before he had this video dropped in his lap?
You don’t know everything. She might have good reasons. She might. But even if she did, she should have told him. His gut ached. So did his heart. She should have told him.
He pushed himself to his feet. He might not have been interested in the Lovely Ladies of LA, but he was interested in having a conversation with Lizzy. Or Annalisa. Or whoever she was. Very, very interested.
*****
Lizzy was only slightly disappointed that Clark hadn’t asked her to his apartment that night. They’d been spending a lot of time together. And she needed to get some sleep for once. Still, she would have liked another night with him. Maybe tomorrow.
She was dressed in her yoga pants and T-shirt, headed for a little late-night reading after brushing her teeth, when someone knocked on her door. Her heart sped up slightly. Clark. Had to be. Nobody else would come to her door at this time of night. Heck, nobody else even knew where she lived.
She padded to the door in her bare feet. No point in putting on slippers if she was going to be in bed soon. With any luck.
Clark leaned against the doorframe when she opened the door. Not smiling. Not even close.
Lizzy knew instantly that he’d found out. She felt the chill all the way to her toes. Oh Lord, here it comes. Just when everything had been going so well. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He stared at her for a moment, as if he was trying to figure out what to say next. Not a good sign, Lizzy, not a good sign at all. “You told me you had some problems with a reality show back in California,” he said finally.
Crap. Shit. Goddamn. She’d really hoped she wasn’t right this time. “That’s right.”
“I think I know what they were now.” He blew out a breath. “You need to come back to my place. I’ve got something to show you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“A video. It’s on my computer.” He still hadn’t cracked a smile. His expression was grim as he studied her.
Lizzy stiffened her spine. Might as well cut this short. “How about if I just quit now? Wouldn’t that save us both a lot of time and trouble?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to quit?”
Nod, Lizzy. Tell him yes. At least she’d go with some dignity. Unfortunately, she couldn’t even bring herself to do that. “Not really.”
“Then don’t.” He folded his arms. “Look, it would be easier to talk about this in my apartment. I don’t like standing around in the hall discussing it.”
She sighed. In fact, she should just resign and get it over with. The longer she put it off, the more it would hurt when she finally had to do it. But the problem was, she’d told him the truth. She really didn’t want to quit. Not until she’d put up as much of a fight as she could.
Take a stand, Lizzy. Finally take a goddamn stand. “Okay,” she murmured. “Let me put on a pair of shoes.”
It didn’t look like she’d be going to bed any time soon—for any reason.
Chapter Sixteen
Clark really wished he’d given Lizzy time to change clothes before they’d come to his place. Huddled on his couch with her feet tucked under her, she looked way too small and vulnerable in her sleeping clothes.
She should have worn the chef’s outfit she’d had on in the photo session. Then she’d looked like a conquering heroine. Now she looked like a small child waiting to be spanked.
He was still trying to ignore the way his heart had sped up for just a second when she’d offered to quit. He didn’t want her to, but he couldn’t overlook the fact that having her leave would solve a lot of problems.
He turned back to his computer, cueing up the episode from Lovely Ladies of LA.
“You don’t need to do that,” Lizzy said softly.
He turned back again. “Maybe not. You must know that show pretty well by now.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen it. I didn’t have to. I was there.”
Her expression was somewhere between misery and righteous anger. Maybe she had a right to feel that way. On the other hand, it didn’t seem like an attitude that would help much. Right now he didn’t know what would.
“What happened, Lizzy? How did you end up on that show in the first place?” He wasn’t sure how the story would help, but he was looking for something to ease the tightness in his gut.
She shrugged. “My cousin Teresa is one of the original ladies on the show. She wanted me to cater a party for her—said it would give me great exposure. It did give me a lot of exposure, but it didn’t turn out to be all that great.”
Clark sighed. “Did some of the food go bad? Was it some weird kind of reaction?” Was it something we can say was an accident, not likely to happen again?
She shook her head so hard that some of her hair came loose from the elastic. “Nothing went bad. At least nothing from my kitchen. The Board of Health went over everything. I’d just been inspected before the party and I got inspected again afterward. All the leftover food in my kitchen was tested. Nothing was spoiled or contaminated.”
“What about the food at the house?”
She pulled the elastic out of her hair, then ran her fingers through, loosening it on her shoulders. He ignored the slight flare of heat he felt. “Teresa threw it all down the garbage disposal before the Board of Health got there. And she ran all the dishes through her dishwasher several times. She was afraid of germs.”
“Germs?” He frowned. “She thought food poisoning was contagious? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does if you know Teresa.” Lizzy sighed again. “She’s not the brightest bulb on the tree. And she was frightened and angry. Mainly at me.”
He sat across from her, careful not to get too close. “But they cleared you—your kitchen passed, right? So why did you lose your business? I mean, I’m assuming this was why you lost it, not because of anything else.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. Then gave him a smile that wasn’t really a smile. “Oh yeah, that was why I lost my business. People ate my food and then vomited on live television. They got sick because of something I did—that was the conclusion everybody came to. It didn’t matter what the Board of Health said. And the Board of Health wasn’t all that enthusiastic about clearing me either. After all, they didn’t get a chance to look at the actual food people ate. I didn’t have a whole lot of supporters after that. Everybody needed somebody to blame, and that somebody was me.”
He sank back in his chair. He’d been ready to blame her himself if it came to that. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the situation. “So nobody could prove anything either way with the food gone and the dishes washed. What do you think happened?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I run a clean kitchen. I always have. They teach you about that in culinary school—all about food safety, avoiding contamination, avoiding the danger zones with food temperatures. It’s not rocket science. You keep cold food cold and hot food hot, and you store food the way it’s supposed to be stored for the safe length of time. People who screw up are usually assholes trying to save money. I wasn’t trying to save anything. I was just trying to make a big splash on television.”
He shook his head. “Could you have gotten bad food from a supplier, somebody slipping you something spoiled without your realizing it?” Something that wouldn’t be your fault?
She turned toward him, her lips moving into a mocking half-smile, as if she knew just what he was thinking. “It wasn’t a menu where that could happen. I mean, there was no seafood because one of the women on the show had a shellfish allergy. And there wasn’t anything with raw eggs like homemade mayonnaise. Anyway, I always used pasteurized eggs when I made stuff like that.” Her mouth twisted. “I was trying to be conscientious.”
He nodded. “Okay. And I assume you worked through all the possibilities at the time, right?”
