Room Service. Jill ShalvisЧитать онлайн книгу.
out of this world. I want to make an order. All right with you?”
“You know I trust you.”
“Uh-huh,” she said dryly. “Which is why you date only the women I tell you to.”
“Correction. I trust your judgment in wines.”
“I have great taste in women.” Pru waggled her brow. “I’m going to find you the right one yet, you’ll see.”
“We’ve been over this, Pru.”
“I know, I know. The thought of just one woman makes you shudder, yadda, yadda. That’s only because you don’t know, Jacob. You don’t understand how great it can be.”
The kitchen doors slammed open and another woman entered. Tall, willowy, olive-skinned and gorgeous, Caya was part of the waitstaff, and Pru’s platonic roommate. If Pru was the sedate and elegant lady, Caya was the happy-go-lucky party girl. The perfect odd couple.
Caya divided a glance between the two of them. “Having a fiesta without me?”
“Just reminding Chef of all his faults,” Pru told her.
“Hey, now.” Caya slid her arms around Jacob, setting her head on his shoulder. “Silly Pru. Our Chef has no faults.”
Jacob laughed. “That’s right, I don’t. And don’t either of you forget it.”
“We were talking about the elevator scene,” Pru told Caya. “The woman.”
“No, you were talking about it.” Jacob opened the meat refrigerator and pulled out a container of fresh mussels.
“So.” Caya leaned back against the counter and watched him. “You going to tell us?”
“Sure.” Jacob dumped the mussels into a huge pot and carried it to the sink. “I’m creating an island blue mussel with sweet potato chowder.” He began to fill the pot with water. “I’ve had a lot of requests—”
“Not that, you very annoying man.” Pru moved close. “Although an excellent choice,” she murmured, peering into the pot. “You should serve a light to medium-bodied off-dry wine with that, you know. Maybe even a lightly sweet white, like a Chenin Blanc or Vouvray—”
“Oh, my God, Pru,” Caya said with a laugh. “Stop being the workaholic for a minute. Let’s stick to the subject, okay? The cutie in the elevator?”
“Forget it. He can’t tell you anything because he was just kissing some stranger again.”
Jacob rolled his eyes.
“By the way, I met this woman in the spa today,” Pru said to him. “I was getting a Swedish massage—which by the way, was heaven. Anyway, she’d be perfect for you.”
Jacob lifted up the heavy pot of mussels. “You know, I see your lips moving, but all I hear is blah blah blah blah blah.”
“Funny.”
“I thought so.”
“Jacob—”
“Hey, how about this? When you’re not single, we’ll talk.” He carried the pot to the huge stovetop. “Meanwhile, go find ‘the one.’”
He saw Pru’s quick longing glance at Caya—Caya?—but before he could assimilate it, the door opened and Jacob’s two assistants entered.
Timothy and Daniel had been picked by him personally, and after going through at least ten previous assistants, each worthless, he had high hopes for these two. They were clueless, of course, and both far too young, but he’d been young and stupid once, too, and since they had a genuine love of cooking and were eager to learn, he’d given them a shot.
Timothy leaned over Jacob’s shoulder, looked into the pot and let out a slow smile. “Island blue mussels. Sweet.”
“It will be,” Jacob promised. “Get out the whole dried bay laurel leaf and the coriander. Oh, and the fennel seed. Start grinding.” To Daniel he said, “Get what we need for the soup. You know the ingredients?”
Daniel looked excited and terrified at the same time. “Yes.”
“Then go. Oh, and stir frequently.” He leaned in. “That means often, whether your girlfriend calls you every three minutes or not.”
Daniel blushed at the reminder of last week, when he’d inadvertently burned the bottom of the pot and ruined an entire batch. “I won’t screw it up this time.”
“See that you don’t.”
“I was thinking,” Caya piped up to Jacob. “We should all go out tonight.”
By “all,” Caya could mean anyone and everyone. While Pru batted for that all-girl’s team, Caya had never limited her options by choosing a side.
“I’ll bring that woman from the spa for Jacob,” Pru said.
“Don’t bother, I’m busy tonight,” Jacob told her, and before they could object, he put an arm around each of them, steering them toward the door.
Laughing, Pru dug in her heels. “You are not busy.”
“I am extremely busy.”
“Fine. I can easily party without you guys,” Caya said breezily.
At the flash of disappointment on Pru’s face, Jacob sighed. Ah, hell. The Ice Queen had a thing for the carefree, spirited Caya, who went through sexual partners like water. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but Pru was the monogamous sort, always in it for the long haul. She’d been dreaming of her own special “the one” since he’d known her.
And now she was bound for Hurt City. “Maybe we could go out,” Pru said to Caya. “You know, just the two of us.”
Caya stared at her, then laughed. “Right. The sommelier go out with the lowly waitress. That’s sweet, Pru, but you don’t have to do that.” Leaning in, she kissed each of them on the cheek. “See ya later, guys.”
With that, she took her most excellent behind out of the kitchen.
Pru watched her leave the kitchen and Jacob shook his head. “Pru, what the hell is this?”
Pru swiped all expression from her face. “What?”
“You were looking at her.”
“So? I was looking at you, too.”
“Yes, but not like you wanted to lap me up with a spoon.”
Pru reached for her briefcase and, taking a page from his own book, said nothing.
Jacob shook his head. “You should just come right out and tell her.”
“Tell her what? There’s nothing to tell.”
Her face was pure stubbornness, and after a second, Jacob lifted his hands. “Fine.”
“Fine.” Pru left, too, shutting the door just a little too hard behind her.
Jacob shrugged it off and strode back toward his waiting ingredients with the same anticipation he would have had striding toward a woman in his bed.
3
EM, ERIC AND LIZA looked up as Amuse Bouche’s maître d’ came toward them. “We can seat you now,” she said with an easy smile.
Amuse Bouche turned out to be casually elegant and extremely eye pleasing, with slender black urns holding arrangements of a variety of flowers that matched the art deco vibe of the rest of the hotel. The tables were well spaced and gorgeously done, each with its own discreet partition, so that while voices and laughter were audible, there was an illusion of intimacy for each party.
Em could use some privacy to obsess over what she thought of as the E.I.—elevator incident. Not going to happen with