Her Client from Hell. Louisa GeorgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
his more intimate home life for a documentary which could well be award-winning—if only for the usually very private subject. Which meant Jack owed him precisely five more minutes to hear Cassie out before he took his leave and found a more organised, punctual and less disturbingly off-the-scale attractive caterer.
The flush turned from embarrassment to irritation. She wore her emotions very obviously on her face—as if there was no caution button. No keeping things in check. How could people live like that? Spilling their feelings out at any given moment? Did they have no control? It was his endless fascination and what made his films so damned compelling to watch.
‘Nate’s almost as bad at interfering in my life as his wife. That’s my sister, Sasha. I keep telling them to butt out and I know they mean well, but...’ She inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly. ‘But, well, you’ve already said you don’t want my life story.’
‘I already know Nate’s, and a little of your sister’s...and therefore some of yours.’
‘Not the best bits.’ She winked, but he refused to laugh. He did not want to know about the best bits of her life. Or the worst. Or anything more about her. Five minutes. Her hands moved as she talked. Was there not a serene molecule in that far too interesting body? ‘So you’re the rock-umentary producer man—my sister did mention you. And Nate’s right; I am reliable. I’ve just been having a trying time recently.’
‘Yes.’ He tried to keep up. ‘Something about a paring knife?’
‘I left it at home. Which is probably a good thing, seeing as you look like you might want to use it.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Okay. Can we begin again? I’m Cassie Sweet. Caterer extraordinaire. And just a little bit out of control right now. But normal service is being resumed. And my cooking is brilliant.’ She smiled.
‘Jack Brennan.’ Always in control. He shook her hand. It was warm and soft. And why the hell he’d even noticed he didn’t know.
She took a step back and looked around at the crowd, then raised her voice above the chattering. ‘I’ve booked a room. Hang on a sec.’ She turned to speak to a passing waitress, who shook her head and shrugged.
‘Shoot.’ Cassie sighed loudly and her fist curled tight around the satchel strap. Was that a curse under her breath? ‘They gave the room to someone else because I was late.’
Typical. This escapade was turning into a disorganised farce. He needed to leave and take his chances on someone more professional. ‘Look. Forget it. I’ll find someone else. Some time else.’
‘No. Please. Please. Tell me this isn’t happening.’
‘It is. In full glorious Technicolor.’ Your problem, my nightmare.
‘I’ll have a word with Frankie, the manager. He’s just over there.’ Shoving her bag at Jack, she disappeared into the crowd. ‘Frankie! Hey, Frankie!’
Did she have another speed? Like just plain old fast instead of whirlwind? And now he couldn’t leave unless he took the bag with him or left it here. Unattended, in a crowded bar. It could end up in anyone’s hands. And not that she didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t need that on his conscience. It was full enough already.
In a few moments she was back, breathless but grinning. ‘Good old Frankie. There are a couple of free tables outside. Saves those for his best clients. Talking about food always makes me hungry so I’ve ordered some nibbles. They do the best soft shell tacos here with pork belly crackling. You must not leave without trying those. And he gave us a bottle of red on the house for the mix-up. Result!’
She brushed past him and Jack caught a scent of vanilla sugar and something distinctly soft and pretty, which he dutifully followed, trying not to watch the sway of her hips as she walked. Her backside looked just about the perfect size for his hands—jeez, he swallowed. Hard. What the hell was wrong with him?
With her? No caution or stop button. She was at warp speed. And now he was caught up in her chaos too.
So much for the five-minute plan. He blinked as he entered a small courtyard. Ivy, intertwined with scarlet flowers, curled over the walls, white gravel covered the ground. Small iron tables dressed with lit tea light candles dotted the space. It was like a secret garden from a movie he’d seen as a kid. Back when he’d believed in fairy tales like family and happy ever after. ‘This is impressive.’
‘Glad you like it. I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was too...out there.’ She raised her fingers and did quotation marks with them to emphasise her words, and he caught a teasing twinkle in her smile.
Then her eyes met his—darkest blue and wide and honest—and she seemed, for a moment, a little startled, but she didn’t turn away. His heart thumped in his chest as he was drawn into that gaze, sucked deep and then deeper, and deeper still, as if he was tumbling somehow, like Alice down the rabbit hole.
A blush hit her cheeks again and she shook her head, breaking a tentative connection that left him feeling a little unnerved.
Opening her satchel, she pulled out a thick creamy notepad and folder of papers. ‘Okay. Right. Let’s get started. We have a lot to get through.’ As she opened the folder a gust of wind caught the top sheets and sent them spiralling into the air. ‘Oh, wait... Sorry. Oh, no, I can’t believe this is happening. I’m sorry.’
Next, she was on her feet chasing the papers, stamping on a few to stop them floating away like confetti on the gentle breeze, more tendrils of her hair falling from the chopsticks.
He watched for a moment until it became clear he either helped or he’d be sitting here all night waiting for her to switch to simmer.
‘Here you go.’ He handed her the papers and she placed them back on the table and weighted them down with a large bowl of delicious-looking silky stuffed olives.
Popping one in her mouth, she bit down and smiled. ‘Not just delicious, but useful too. Thanks. So not my day.’ Finally she sat, took a long deep breath and slowed to a mode Jack could follow. She smiled again. She had a lot of them—endless smiles. Polite smiles. Embarrassed but intriguing smiles. Smiles that didn’t quite hit her eyes. He got the impression she was trying very hard to be professional and thought that smiling would be the way to go.
But endless cheerfulness wouldn’t convince him she’d be any good at helping him—and he needed help right now. Reliable. Organised. Straightforward help. ‘Er...the wedding? Are we going to cover that tonight?’
‘The wedding. Okay. Yes.’ She leaned forward and there was the scent of vanilla sugar again. Sweet and soft. ‘So, talk me through the day, Jack. Can I call you Jack? What’s planned? What do you need?’
Hell if he knew. Now she’d actually focused, he suddenly felt way out of his depth. This was a stupid idea. He should have asked first instead of interfering...as Cassie had so succinctly described honest and well-meaning sibling interest.
He spoke slowly to give himself time to think and to engage her full attention. ‘As I said, it’s in three weeks’ time. I’m not a hundred per cent sure of exact timings so I’ll get back to you on that. The wedding ceremony is going to be in a community art space off Portobello Road. It’s a small gathering of friends; there’s an Irish band booked in the evening. The details are being finalised.’
She tucked one of the errant curls behind her ear. ‘It’s very short notice but, luckily, I do have space in my calendar. Tell me, though, you’ve waited until now to sort out the food because...?’
‘I’ve just got back from filming; my schedule got changed a little.’ And he’d been too damned busy to pay much attention to Lizzie’s emails. Plus the word help had never been in her vocabulary. Even when she’d needed it the most. And he was, apparently, the world’s worst at working out what women wanted. Why they didn’t just straight out tell him, he didn’t know. But he wanted to make this work, wanted to make her happy. After everything they’d been through, Lizzie deserved a slice of that.
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