Her Client from Hell Page 9

  She glanced back in the mirror; now the red blotches were developing red blotches and the traffic warden had whirred his machine into action for the car three behind her. ‘Well, what do you expect? It’s a very nice dress—thanks for the loan.’

  Sasha laughed. ‘He wasn’t looking at your dress—well, not so much. He was looking at you. And very intently, I might say. I think there could be a thing potential.’

  ‘No way. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you are so not my little sister any more. It’s not like you, Cass, to be so closed off with men. You’re usually more than happy for a thing. Thing is what you do. You, my darling, are the thing queen.’

  ‘I don’t want a thing. Not with him or anyone else. I’m taking a break for a while.’ For ever? That sounded kind of perfect. No complications, no one stealing her stuff, no one making wonderful gestures and treating her nicely in a gruff way and being a perfect gentleman. With a time fetish. Not to mention she was so over roasting-hot kisses up against her hallway wall.

  ‘What exactly did happen with Patrick? You never said. One minute he was on the scene, the next gone. I know you tend to have a short attention span with men, but you went seriously quiet over him.’

  ‘Oh, you know; the usual stuff. It wasn’t me; it was him. Can we not talk about this now? I have a traffic warden breathing down my neck and a culinary emergency.’

  She smiled reluctantly at the phrase Jack had used. The way he’d looked at her—Sasha was right—he’d hardly taken his eyes off her from the second she sat down. And the rest of the happenings of the evening had gone by in a relative blur for her too. Except she remembered very clearly how his eyes had been so dark and warm, and his smile had made her stomach dance, how he had looked so… Oh, please. She was a sensible twenty-six years of age, not a swooning teenager, and had already decided that this could not go any further.

  If only she could get him out of her head, but he was hell-bent on staying there, grouching around, frowning at the messiness of her brain. Laughing at the whirls and kinks he caused in there.

  ‘Cassie? So you’re okay? I mean, not in any trouble?’

  ‘No. No.’ But her voice wobbled as she thought of the contract disappearing, of Jack and his kisses and her sorry mind that couldn’t compute anything any more. She was in heaps of trouble. This was definitely not the time for a sibling confessional, but Cassie felt that if she didn’t tell someone she’d explode. Perhaps her sister could talk sense into her. Then she remembered her sister had married the most unsuitable, unreliable commitment-phobe rock star ever. Sense was something Sasha had eschewed for the sake of love. But the words were already spilling from her lips. ‘He kissed me. And I kissed him back.’

  It was very unlike her sister to squeal. But when she did it was loud and messy. ‘You did what? When?’

  ‘Last-week-and-last-night.’ If she said it quickly perhaps her sister wouldn’t hear the sordid details.

  ‘He kissed you twice? Why in hell didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because it took me by surprise. I was going to tell you as soon as I knew what was happening. Honestly. It all happened so fast. Then there was nothing. And then it happened again.’ She didn’t want to say the words out loud and admit that something was happening inside her too. That she’d found a man who intrigued her enough to want to impress him. And no, it wasn’t just about the money. Because she was confused, dammit. ‘There’s a traffic warden breathing down my neck. I have a muddled head and a flat tyre and I’m running late.’

  ‘You kissed him. And then you kissed him again. I want details.’

  ‘No. No, I can’t, not here.’ Not ever. Seemed that the older she got, the less she wanted to share about her private life. Or was that because she was wiser now? And didn’t even want a private life.

  ‘You want to impress him. And that’s why you don’t want to talk to him and admit to being something less than perfect.’

  It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about trust—of her heart, of her decisions, and of him. And if she told her sister this she’d have to explain about Patrick and the stolen money and admit to keeping even more things from the one person who knew her better than anyone. She’d have to tell her about the agreement that neither she nor Jack wanted more. Now her heart snagged a little because the stark truth was that maybe, just maybe, she did. Against her better judgement. That was why she needed to avoid him and why kissing had to be totally off the menu.

  That would necessitate a long sisterly conversation, which was not appropriate for the middle of a busy London street with a clock ticking and a mean-looking man with a machine whirring into action in front of her. ‘No, I’m supposed to be cooking for his sister’s wedding and meeting with her two minutes ago. I’m trying to make a go of this catering business and that’s what I need to focus on. Not things with beautiful but grumpy men.’

  ‘He’s a dark horse, I’ll give you that—I never quite felt like I had the full measure of him. Brilliant producer. Very efficient. But a little held back. During the filming he was—’

  Cassie snapped. ‘Please. I don’t need to know anything more about him. I have to get to this meeting.’

  ‘You know you don’t have to work yourself to the bone, honey. We’re more than happy to help you out; Nate could get you a little job—’

  ‘Stop that right now. Stop trying to solve my problems.’

  ‘What problems?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’ Okay, so she knew she’d just asked her sister to help her out with a tricky conversation, but there was a difference between occasionally asking for help and always having it foisted on her. ‘Now, stop talking to me. I’ve got to either change into my Wonder Woman outfit or ask a very crabby-looking traffic warden how to change a tyre.’ And, seeing as she’d left the Lycra knickers and tiara at home, she resigned herself to it being the latter.

  After she’d spoken to Jack.

  SEVEN

  The Market Bar, as always, was filled with a lively mix of stallholders and creatives. A large television screen relayed a local derby football game while people shouted above cheers and friendly jibes. A gem of a pub in the middle of the market with olde-worlde decor leftover from its nineteen-seventies heyday, it served good old-fashioned food and, apparently, decent tap beer. Which Cassie generally avoided.

  ‘Wine, please. Chardonnay’s fine—anything, really, so long as it’s a big one. I think I need it. I’m so sorry.’ She looked down at her oil-covered hands and wished she’d had time to give them a good wash rather than a scraping with an old handkerchief and a splash of sanitizer that had smeared things around rather than eradicate them at all. ‘Thank you for coming to help me out. I really appreciate it. And for negotiating me out of that parking fine; he just wasn’t listening to me. And I’m so glad you know how to change a tyre.’

  Jack shrugged. His face was the mask it had been since he’d arrived in Long Acre, taken one look at the glass and shaken his head, disappointment smudged across his eyes. ‘If I hadn’t, then God knows how long you’d have been. And, just for the record, it does help to have a spare that doesn’t have a hole in it too. If you’re going to continue to drive that wreck of a van you should seriously think about joining a road rescue organisation. I know they cost a bit but you can write them off as a business expense. Also, try picking more suitable places to park.’

  Her stomach curled into a tight knot. ‘Like I said. Thank you. And sorry. But I was managing fine until you arrived—uninvited, I might add.’

  ‘There was nothing fine about it.’ The intensity in his eyes was unnerving. ‘You had the jack at a very unsafe angle that could have killed you with one wrong move.’

  ‘Maybe you should have left it like that then, with me underneath it. Taken a chance.’

  His eyes narrowed, his voice even. ‘Believe me, I was sorely tempted.’

  ‘And I made you late for your meeting, for which
I apologise. Again.’

  ‘Meetings, plural. Yes, you did. I’ve cancelled the later one. This one is more pressing, seeing as we’re running out of time.’ He shook his head, and Cassie felt the deep sting of embarrassment. ‘I sincerely hope you find some way of working to time, Cassie, because it’s going to be a shambles of a wedding otherwise.’ His eyes closed as if he was silently calling on some inner Zen to calm him.

  Sasha was right, she realised with a shock—deep down, she did want to impress him. It was about trust but it was about being perfect too. And she was a long way off the mark. ‘Thank you, too, for what you did last night. I couldn’t believe it when I got up this morning and saw you’d put everything away and even started the tomatoes.’

  ‘I found a recipe online and followed that.’

  ‘It was so kind, and so above and beyond anything I’d ever expect. Especially from a kitchen slave.’

  She couldn’t help but allow a small grin at the relief she’d felt as she’d realised just how much he’d done for her, without being asked. And for which she’d repaid him by being late. Again.

  His stance softened a little at that, the hint of a smile playing across those lips. Which left her feeling hot and bothered in too many ways. Because he was right and wrong. She had been late but it wasn’t a crime or directly her fault and, whilst she certainly took all responsibility for what had happened—well, hell, no one had died.

  The man needed to lighten up. When he did there were glimpses of a glorious sense of humour and he was a lot more sexy. Her earlier resolve was being sorely tested by the sight of him in faded jeans, a seventies rock band tour T-shirt and battered boots. Watching him tinker under her car, lying down on the cold hard pavement to change her tyre, arm muscles twitching and curving at the strain, had increased his sexual attractiveness three thousand per cent. She did not need him to look any more gorgeous than he had before. But somehow the relaxed clothes accentuated his features, gave them a darker, more edgy appeal. And gave her a sudden low down hot flush.

  He was all kinds of frustrating. Hot and beautiful. Dark and stormy. Terse, yet emitting a kind of electrical current she was compelled to connect with.

  His eyebrows rose. ‘So how did the buffet go?’

  Yes, work. Think about work. ‘It went great, thanks. The fruit kebabs were a real hit. I even got a few compliments to the chef comments. So I thought I’d pass them along.’

  Something flickered across his eyes—pride? Then it was gone almost as quickly. Strange to think that offhand praise would have any effect on a self-confident man like Jack. ‘No worries. I’d ask for a pay rise, but I don’t know what the going rate for kitchen slaves is these days.’

  ‘Now, now, don’t get above yourself.’

  ‘He has a habit of doing that. Don’t let him. Hey, big brother of mine.’ The soft voice belonged to a petite willowy woman, all wide eyes and thin, delicate features. She wore a smock-style pink summer dress, long white-blonde hair loose around her shoulders and an open smile. She was the direct opposite of everything Jack was. Where he was tall, she was short. Where he was dark, she was almost Scandinavian in her colouring. His eyes were darkest brown, whereas hers were palest cornflower.

  She was also open and relaxed. And full of smiles. Hard to imagine them coming from the same gene pool. But then Cassie wondered if she was biased, having two sisters with almost identical hair and eye colour.

  The woman stuck out her hand. ‘Hi, I’m Lizzie. And you are? Sorry, I wasn’t expecting Jack to bring someone.’

  So he hadn’t primed his sister about the catering issue. Cassie shot Jack a look that she hoped told him they were even. ‘I’m Cassie. A…friend of Jack’s.’ And now she was torn between telling Jack’s dirty little secret or letting him squirm with righteous embarrassment. Squirming seemed much more enjoyable, given the circumstances.

  He didn’t look remotely flustered as he stood, kissed his sister on the cheek and wrapped her in a warm hug. ‘Lizzie. Thanks for coming later than we’d planned. We got a little held up.’

  We? This was a prime time to get his dig in. But he didn’t.

  Lizzie grinned again and massaged the back of his shoulders. ‘No worries. Relax, my boy. Finally, we have you away from a camera. It’s just good to have you here for a while. And Cassie, of course.’ Now his sister shot him a look. This one was full of questions, which he refused to answer, with a minute shake of his head.

  While he went to the bar for Lizzie’s drink, Cassie tried to make conversation. ‘So, Jack tells me you’re getting married. Exciting.’

  ‘Yes. Not long to go now. I just cannot wait to have that man as mine for good. It’s going to be such a great day. It’s slowly coming together. Who knew there’d be so much to do for something we’d decided would be a low-key affair?’ Lizzie gave a huge grin and it was easy to see how excited she was. There were few similarities between the two siblings; it was impossible to imagine Jack getting excited over anything. Intense, yes. Playfully, joyfully excited, no. ‘It’s nice to see Jack out with a girl. I don’t often get to meet many of his friends; he’s so busy all the time. Have you known him long? Do you mind me asking—are things between you…you know…serious? Just, the way you said friend, it didn’t give a lot away.’

  Cassie nearly choked on her Chardonnay. Barely a week, two kisses and an awful lot of distance. ‘No. We are…er…it’s a…’ What? Business arrangement? That would only raise further questions.

  ‘Cassie is a caterer. She’s doing some work for me.’ Jack arrived back in time and sat down. After he’d played with his beer mat for a moment, he turned to Lizzie. ‘Actually, I asked you to come here because I wanted to talk to you about the food for the wedding.’

  His sister sat up straight. ‘Ah. The food. Yes.’

  ‘Is that a good yes or a bad yes? Only—’ he inhaled sharply ‘—I have hired Cassie to cater for the wedding.’

  ‘Oh. Wow. That’s…great. Very generous of you.’ Although she looked far from thrilled. Lizzie’s voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Don’t you think I can do it? Is that it?’

  ‘No. That’s not it at all. I’m sure you could do it really well.’ He glanced briefly to Cassie for support. But she was giving none of it. This was his battle—she wanted him to win, sure, because that was where her money was coming from, but she shared Lizzie’s frustration. She wasn’t going to take sides. Jack turned back to his sister. ‘I wanted you to not have to worry about it. It’s just another thing on your list and I’m sure weddings are hard enough to organise as it is.’

  ‘Jack, I’m not four or fourteen any more. You don’t have to do everything for me or sort out my problems now. Or direct me, like you do your subjects. It would be nice if you could come out from behind the camera every now and then and see that I can manage.’

  Hallelujah, sister.

  ‘I know you can, of course. You can and do achieve anything you set out to. I just don’t think you should have to manage when, er, cooking isn’t your forte.’ He stroked his sister’s hand and his thumb ran over the inside of her wrist. It was a tender and intensely private gesture. Cassie noted a small silvered scar on his sister’s inner wrist and knew exactly what it stood for. Clearly, there had been some trauma in Lizzie’s life. Trauma that Jack felt deeply about. Perhaps that was why he was so overly protective.

  Lizzie shrugged her hand away. ‘Actually, I’ve had a few practice runs to make sure things work. How about you come round, Jack, and give me a hand instead of just throwing your money around? Let’s see how well you work in a kitchen, considering the best you usually do is dish things up from a takeaway carton.’

  Cassie stood, knowing just how well the man could work a kitchen. Or at least how well the man could look in a kitchen. Perfectly distracting. But it was time to leave the war zone. She’d done what she could; the United Nations could take over. ‘I should go. Maybe you need to talk about this without me being around.’

  Lizzie’s hand was on Cassie’s arm
now. ‘Sorry. Sorry. Do you have siblings? You’ll know what it’s like; we squabble but deep down we love each other. Please stay. If cooking is your forte then maybe we do need to talk. Jack can be blunt at times—he hasn’t exactly learnt the art of diplomacy—but he does have a point. Has he chosen a menu? Does he even know what we like to eat? Callum’s a vegan. Did you know that? His mum’s diabetic. There’s a whole lot more to it than picking eeny-meeny-miny-moe on a menu card.’

  Jack rocked back in his chair and laughed. ‘I told you she wouldn’t take it well.’

  ‘I’m just surprised, that’s all. Taken aback, actually. And it’s a very sweet gesture, I know, but you could have forewarned me. Especially so close to the actual day.’

  Touché.

  Lizzie leaned across the table towards Cassie, the sibling war over, for now. Hard hats could be removed. ‘To be honest, he’s right—everything I’ve ever cooked has been one big disaster, apart from beans on toast—which I can usually make without causing a fire.’ She laughed, turning to Jack. ‘You remember when we lived with the Mendozas? Or was it Mrs Forrester? Yes, Mrs Forrester in Kilburn. I baked a cake for her birthday and she said it was the worst thing she’d ever tasted. It was flat and stodgy and decorated so badly—I was too excited; I couldn’t wait for the cake to cool, so the icing melted off onto the counter. Still, she never offered to help me bake another one. I guess we were shifted on too quickly to someone else. Or something.’

  ‘Yes, well, Cassie doesn’t need to hear about that.’ Jack’s mouth had formed a thin line, shutting down his emotions, his face.

  Whoa. They were shifted on—to where? Living with other people? Why? What did it mean? Cassie’s heart plummeted as she realised she was being privy to something intensely personal. Something Lizzie didn’t appear too concerned about sharing, but something that Jack definitely didn’t want to talk about.

  It was hard not to jump to any conclusions, but there were pieces of the Jack jigsaw that were missing, pieces she wanted to fit together. Shouldn’t, admittedly. But she couldn’t help wanting to understand why he was like he was—on the one hand, severely protective and generous. On the other, dishearteningly annoying and grumpy—which she now realised was a self-protection thing. It was more about something deeply mistrustful or just plain hurt within himself than how he felt about others. He wore his wounds like a barrier. If only she knew what they were.