A Convenient Scandal. Kimberley TroutteЧитать онлайн книгу.
chefs walked below him, a slow parade of beauty and talent, chatting as they went. They seemed oblivious to him standing above them. He was fine with that. He really didn’t want to make contact until he judged their dishes. Why waste time with small talk if he wasn’t impressed with their culinary skills?
As the last woman passed by, she stopped and looked up as if she’d sensed him. Her eyes met his. She tipped her head to the side slightly, and the light on the chandelier sparkled like diamonds across her long blond hair.
She raised one hand.
He raised his in return.
She smiled and hell if he couldn’t see her dimples from where he stood. It was the purest sight he’d ever seen. If he had to choose one word to describe her in that moment it would be sparkly.
All too quickly she turned and hustled to catch up with Chloe’s tour. She was gone two full beats before he looked away.
Matt thumped him on the head. “Earth to Jeff.”
Jeff turned to face his brother. “Was she limping?”
“Did you not hear a word I said? That’s what I was telling you, yes, she’s limping because she broke her shoe running to catch our jet.”
Jeff was still thinking about her smile. Can’t fake dimples like that, right?
“She ran at least a mile in those high heels. I don’t know about the other women in this competition, but that one has strength. A backbone.” And then Matt butchered a handful of Spanish words.
“What?”
Matt grinned. “Good, huh? My wife is teaching me Spanish. It means ‘she has the heart of a bull.’”
“You like saying that word, don’t you?”
Matt tipped his head. “Which one?”
“Wife.”
Matt had that look on his face—the “sneaking cookies and eating them in bed before Mom caught him” look. “Oh, yeah. You could enjoy saying the word, too, if you allowed yourself to find the right lady. You don’t let anyone get close, Jeff. Start putting yourself out there. Be real and you’ll find love. I swear it.”
Jeff exhaled deeply. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice in one family. And I’m not like you. Never was. You and Julia were meant for one another, you’ve known it since you were, like, ten. Another woman like Julia doesn’t exist.”
“You haven’t found her because you need to open up. Show her who you are without the smoke and mirrors. No stage lighting. No props. Just two real people being...normal.”
Did he want normal? What did it even mean?
“You could start with the lady you were making goo-goo eyes at. Along with her backbone, and pretty face, there’s something sweet about Michele Cox.”
“That was Michele Cox from Alfieri’s? She made me one of the best chicken cacciatore dishes I’ve ever tasted. I still have daydreams about that chicken.”
“Can I pick ’em or what?” Matt grinned and threw his arm over Jeff’s shoulder.
“You’ve got it wrong. I’m not marrying any of these women, but I might hire Cox. I watched her on a cooking show once. Hell, she handled her kitchen with such passion, such flair. Spice and color all mixed together. I’ve never seen anything like it. She was poetry in action.”
Matt cocked his head. “Poetry in action? Seems like you’ve thought about her a bit.”
Had he? Sure. After seeing her on television, he’d made a point to visit her restaurant a few times. One night he’d even asked Alfieri if he could go back to the kitchen to meet the chef, but she’d left before he got a chance. The next time he’d gone in, he was told Michele had left the restaurant altogether. He’d been disappointed.
“I see it on your face. You like her,” Matt said.
“I’ve never met her.”
“So now is your chance. Ask her out. I dare you.”
Jeff shot him a dirty look. “What is this, middle school? Dares don’t work anymore. I’m not interested in searching for love. I just need a chef, and a wife who’ll satisfy Dad’s terms.”
Matt shook his head, his voice sad. “You’ll never feel it that way.”
“Feel what?”
“Lightning.”
Michele scoped out her beautiful bedroom. It had a sitting area, a desk, two televisions, two queen-size beds, Spanish tile and a balcony. The decor was tasteful and lightly Mediterranean. The room was twice as big as her bedroom at home. Heck, maybe it was bigger than her bedroom and living room combined. She opened the French doors and stepped onto the balcony.
“Oh, hello!” The petite chef from The China Lily was sitting on the veranda. “Lovely view from here.”
Michele looked out over the gardens below and let her gaze drift out to sea. “It’s beautiful.”
“And overwhelming. This bedroom is almost as large as my flat in Manhattan.”
“Mine, too.” Michele stretched out her hand. “We weren’t formally introduced. I’m Michele Cox, from—”
“Alfieri’s.” Lily took her hand. “I know. May I say I love your lasagna? It’s the best Italian dish I’ve ever tasted.”
“It’s my own recipe. The secret’s in the sauce.” Michele brought her finger to her lips. “And your dim sum is to die for.”
“Ah, we’re a mutual admiration society.” Lily motioned to the other lounge chair. “Join me?”
Michele sank into the plush cushions and exhaled deeply. She was tired, jet-lagged, and her feet hurt from running in heels. “It feels like I haven’t sat down in years.”
“It has been a long day. I didn’t know there would be a competition. Did you?”
“No. I might not have applied,” Michele said softly, thinking about how the competition complicated her plans. “Do you know any of the other chefs?”
“Not personally, but I recognized Freja Ringwold, the gorgeous tall blonde? She’s very famous in Sweden with her own cooking show. Tonia Sanchez, the curvy brunette with green eyes, owns three high-end Southwestern restaurants in Arizona. Suzette Monteclaire is well-known for—”
“French cuisine. Yes, I know.” Michele felt like a fish out of water. A really small, unqualified fish. “What about the dark-haired chef with amazing skin? Nadia something.”
“I’ve never seen her before. But—” Lily held up her finger and took out her cell phone “—Google will know.” A short time later, she smiled. “Nadia is an award-winning Mediterranean chef in Saudi Arabia, oh, and her father is a sheikh. There’s a picture of him and RW Harper taken about fifteen years ago. So, she might be a shoo-in, with her connections.”
Great. What were Michele’s chances with this group? “That’s all of us, then. An eclectic bunch. What is Jeffrey looking for?”
“A fantastic chef. Any of us would fit the bill,” Lily said.
Except she wasn’t the chef she used to be.
“If you do not mind me asking, why did you leave Alfieri’s? It seemed like you had a good situation there. I read there was some sort of—” Lily ran her slender hand through the air—“shake-up?”
Michele sighed. “You could call it that.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t