The Billionaire's Holiday Obsession Read online

  “Ah, yes. And then there’s your modesty.”

  “Especially that.” He kissed her. “When do you have to go back to the office?”

  “Not for another hour. Gavin’s taking three hours off to spend with Amandine.” Gavin was Mark’s best friend and Hilary’s boss.

  “Perfect,” he murmured, leaning in. He put his lips next to her ear. “Then maybe tonight, we can—”

  “Hey, get a room you two.”

  Mark pulled back and scowled at his brother. “You have the most rotten timing.”

  “Me? You’re the one who suggested we have lunch after I came back from D.C.” Iain shifted slightly and a young woman appeared from behind him.

  Mark took a quick look at her. Medium height, and attractive in that fresh youthful way common to young women who’d just arrived in Hollywood. Her skin was stretched tightly over fine bones, and she had the hungry look many young graduates from fancy culinary schools often had. No, not like that, Mark decided as he looked into her eyes. She was a lot more desperate to prove herself than those guys. She was wearing cheap clothes, the kind that you bought on sale at big box stores, didn’t have any makeup on, and her fingernails were neatly trimmed. Mark could just imagine what his maître d’ must’ve thought at the sight of her, but family was always welcome at Éternité, even if they brought unacceptably dressed guests.

  Iain made a quick introduction, and everyone shook hands and said hello.

  But even as Mark smiled and said all the right things, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell his brother was doing.

  Chapter Six

  Jane sat quietly in her seat, while a waiter in a crisp white shirt and black slacks came by for their order. She couldn’t pronounce anything on the menu, much less figure out what they were supposed to be.

  “Do you know what you want?” Iain asked.

  She felt Mark and Hilary’s eyes on her over the menu and flushed. “Um. I’m not sure. What do you recommend?”

  “Do you like seafood?”

  “Yes. Anything from the ocean would be fine,” she said, desperately hoping he’d order for her so she wouldn’t butcher the menu items and ruin whatever chance she had at a job.

  Of all the restaurants she’d applied to, this was one place that completely intimidated her. The interior was airy with a strangely breezy quality that made her think of the coastline she’d just seen. Each hanging that depended from the high ceiling had a unique, elaborate design, and the air pulsed with an amazing aroma of fresh herbs, spices and butter. Diners were impeccably dressed. Even though she didn’t recognize any of the high fashion items, she knew they were pricey.

  She wasn’t even sure she was good enough to scrub toilets at Éternité, and the thought gnawed at her. She should be more confident in her ability than this. She could do it. Not everyone was born with a spatula and tongs clutched in their hands.

  While Iain and the waiter conferred, Hilary leaned closer. “So Jane, where are you from?”

  “I’m from Paris,” she said. Hilary had a subtle sophisticated scent—probably some high-priced perfume. Unlike many of the fashionably underfed women sitting around the restaurant, Hilary was full-figured. She looked like a red-headed goddess sitting next to Mark, who was a slightly younger version of Iain with blue eyes, and whose sharp features were tempered by an easy smile. “West Virginia,” she added.

  “Is this your first time in L.A.?”

  Was it that obvious? “Yes.”

  “Welcome. I hope you like it. It can get a little overwhelming, but the place has its share of charm.”

  The service was quick with a basket of fresh, warm bread appearing instantly on the table with a block of soft butter. Mark turned to Jane. “I understand you want to work in a kitchen.”

  Here it comes. “Yes, I do.”

  “Have you ever worked in one before?”

  She debated. She could lie and he wouldn’t know. Paris was three time zones away. But still, she didn’t feel right about that. “Not a professional one.”

  “Did you study at a culinary school? CIA, maybe?”

  Huh, there was it again. “No.”

  Mark’s gaze flicked toward Iain then back at her. Hope turned into a rock and started sinking. He wasn’t going to hire her, not even as a favor to Iain. “No chef’s going to let you cook the way you think,” Mark said slowly. “You’re going to have to start from the bottom and work your way up.”

  “I can do that.” Jane winced inwardly at how eager and squeaky she sounded.

  Mark shifted and put his bread on a small plate in front of him. “You’re probably going to be washing dishes, scrubbing pots and pans…peeling potatoes and onions. Not a very glamorous job.”

  “That’s okay.” The rock stopped sinking and was turning back into hope. Maybe he wouldn’t reject her outright.

  “The hours are terrible,” he continued, “and so is the pay. You probably won’t be able to afford a place of your own. You’re going to need a roommate or two, and given the hours you work, you probably won’t even see your place except to shower and sleep.” Mark frowned. “It’s rough on everyone, and you’ll be on your feet all day long. You’re probably going to work six shifts a week, maybe more if we’re busy, and we often are.”

  “Okay.”

  Mark’s face scrunched like he’d just chewed on a bug.

  Iain put his bread on the plate. “Mark, we need to talk. Privately.”

  “All right. We can do that in my office.”

  When Mark didn’t make a move to get up, Iain said, “Now.”

  Mark frowned, but nodded. Both men rose and left the table, tension thick between them. Jane bit her lower lip, hoping there was nothing wrong.

  * * *

  “Okay, are you trying to scare her into not taking a job here?” Iain said, as soon as the door to Mark’s office closed behind them.

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Mark crossed his arms. “The work is really rough, and the guys in the kitchen aren’t exactly chivalrous. It’s not the kind of stuff I would want any woman to do, especially somebody with no experience and has no idea what she’s getting into. If that makes me a sexist, fine. I wouldn’t put Hilary in my kitchen either. If Jane doesn’t pull her weight, the guys are going to kill her. Actually André might do that himself.”

  “But she needs a job.”

  “A job? Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

  Iain sputtered. “No!”

  “Oh, I should’ve known. After all, her name isn’t Lime.”

  Iain made a face. “Haha, very funny.” But his younger brother had a point—Iain’s previous three girlfriends had been named Cherry, Sherry and Apple. “Jane’s just somebody I’m trying to help out. I just want to see her gainfully employed with enough money to be comfortable.”

  Mark gave him a look. “Do you have any idea how little restaurant dishwashers make? She’ll be living paycheck to paycheck, and even with all the hours and overtime, she won’t make enough to afford a place near here. My guess is her commute’s going to be at least an hour each way.”

  “She can’t live that far. She doesn’t have a car.”

  “There are buses. Or, I don’t know, buy her a car.”

  “Aren’t you known for paying your workers pretty well?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not paying her what I pay a cook just so she can have the lifestyle you want her to have. She’s not a cook.”

  Iain couldn’t believe how obtuse Mark was being. Could he not see the solution? “Then hire her as a cook.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Mark held up a forestalling hand. “And it won’t even be my decision.”

  “Why the hell not? It’s your restaurant!” Mark had to hire her and pay her well enough that Iain wouldn’t have to worry about her. That way he could dump her somewhere and go home to meditate. His chi was starting to get seriously messed up. He hadn’t been able to practice ai
kido in the last two days.

  “Because the kitchen belongs to André, not me. That was the deal when I brought him over. He didn’t want to come unless he could exercise his culinary creativity and have absolute control over the final product. I let him do whatever he wants to do; he cooks great food and makes me money. It’s a nice symbiotic relationship.”

  “You gotta be kidding me!” It was one thing to ask Mark, another to ask André. Iain respected André’s talent, but he was a complete megalomaniac.

  “I’m not, and just so you know, there’s nothing you can do to make me feel different about the situation. I can hire her if you want, but I can’t guarantee that she’ll like the job or that she’ll want to stay. I can’t even guarantee other guys won’t hassle her in the kitchen, although I’ll speak to André to make sure they don’t overdo it.”

  “What the heck kind of business do you run?” Iain had always thought restaurants were on the genteel side of things. They fed the hungry for god’s sake. But right now Mark was describing something that sounded as rough and cutthroat as the MMA training Iain used to do.

  “A profitable restaurant. It’s not some gentle, nurturing environment for anybody to walk into and have a cushy life. We might put out fabulous food, but the work that goes on behind the scenes isn’t pretty. If you really want to dump this Jane girl into it, okay. I’ll give her a chance. But frankly, I don’t expect her to last more than a day.”

  “She’s tougher than you think. I wager she’s going to last at least a month.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows, then slowly smiled. “Oh really? How much?”

  * * *

  Less than a minute after the men walked away, the server brought cold appetizers out on large white plates. Jane looked at the thinly sliced raw fish drizzled with orange and green sauces. She’d never seen anything like it in her life, and wasn’t sure if she’d like the uncooked salmon and some kind of unfamiliar white fish. On the other hand, not liking them might disqualify her from working at this gorgeous restaurant.

  “The seafood is absolutely perfect here,” Hilary said. “André is a true artist.”

  “He’s the chef?”

  “Yeah. And totally sweet.”

  If she could get a job here, Jane would be okay with putting up with an artistic chef who served uncooked fish and charged… She paused. She couldn’t remember how much anything was. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t recall if there were any prices on the menu. She watched Hilary chew a slice of raw salmon and decided to start with the little bits of tomatoes first. She could work up to the seafood. “Is he from the CIA too?”

  “I doubt it. He didn’t study in the States.”

  “What does it stand for?” Jane asked in a low voice. She was tired of not knowing, and she was certain it wasn’t Central Intelligence Agency.

  “Culinary Institute of America. It’s a school for chefs.” Hilary gave her a warm smile. “So how do you know Iain?”

  Jane cleared her throat. “We met in D.C.”

  “How cool.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She wasn’t sure how much she should say. Hilary seemed like a nice person, but at the same time she was Iain’s family—almost—and was somewhat intimidating. She exuded the kind of confidence that Jane could only dream of. She looked at the diamond ring on Hilary’s finger. The stone was almost the size of a sugar cube. “Have you guys set a date?”

  “Not yet.” Hilary smiled. “Ceinlys—that’s Mark and Iain’s mom—wants to be involved in the planning, and…well, let’s just say there are a few compromises to be made.”

  Having a mother-in-law who cared enough to be part of the wedding and help out sounded lovely. Jane had seen how some of her friends’ mothers-in-law wanted nothing but maid service from them. “She must adore you.”

  Hilary choked on her fish.

  “You okay?” Jane asked.

  “Fine,” Hilary wheezed, then took a sip of mineral water. “Anyway, yes, it’s going to be really nice, I think, as soon as we decide on a date and location.”

  The men came back, Iain looking grim and Mark somewhat resigned

  “Why don’t you came back later, maybe around four thirty?” Mark said, sitting down. He didn’t touch his fish. “The chef—André—won’t be in until later today.”

  “Um. Sure,” Jane said.

  “Great.”

  “Perfect. I’ll bring her back,” Iain said. “By the way I need to redo my place. Do you know anybody good?”

  “What’s wrong with your regular guy?” Hilary said.

  “He doesn’t understand that I don’t want any clutter. It blocks my chi.”

  His what? Jane blinked but didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to come across as ignorant or stupid in front of her potential employer. He’d said she could come back, and that was more of a chance than anybody else had given her.

  “Why don’t you try Brooke de Lorenzo?” Hilary suggested. “She seems to be good. I’ve seen what she did at Gavin’s home and one of the offices at the firm, and it’s amazing, although I have to warn you that she can be a little snippy.”

  “You think?”

  She laughed. “Oh yeah. And pushy”

  “She’s new and ambitious. Probably doesn’t have any of that artsy-fartsy ego,” Mark said.

  “As long as she can do the job. You have her contact info?”

  “Let me ask and get back to you. I don’t have her cell.” Hilary pulled out a sleek gadget and tapped a few keys.

  “So what do you think about the food?” Mark asked, focusing his attention on Jane.

  She looked at her barely touched appetizer and forced a big smile. There was only one right answer. “It’s fabulous.”

  “The salmon’s great. So is the sea bream,” Iain said. “The Japanese say that tai is good even when it’s rotting.”

  “What’s tai?” Jane asked.

  Mark gave Iain a meaningful look, and Iain’s jaw tightened. “Sea bream, in Japanese.”

  “I just wondered if it was something similar to lutefisk.” Jane had heard about it on TV once. She carefully speared a slice and put it in her mouth. It was cold and had the texture of a firm but water-logged sponge. The sauce was great at least…with something that tasted suspiciously like horse-radish and butter and lemon. She chewed and swallowed. At least Éternité hadn’t served raw squid. “Did we order anything fried?” she asked.

  Mark shook his head. “I don’t serve fried food in general. Besides you don’t want to eat fried seafood.”

  “Why not?” Jane loved fried fish and calamari.

  “It’s not fresh.”

  She suppressed a sigh. This was going to be a loooooong lunch.

  Chapter Seven

  Iain’s place wasn’t far from Éternité. As they approached, Jane stared at the gleaming high-rise. It was like a square finger of crystal poking the sky. Iain parked his Maserati, and they took a spacious elevator with golden reflective walls to the top floor. Jane had heard of penthouses, but never been to one. Actually she’d never been inside a building this tall or luxurious. The most expensive-looking thing in Paris was a two-story strip mall with a couple of escalators.

  “So. Here we are,” he said, dumping his keys in a gorgeous purple and blue bowl by the door. “Take off your shoes,” he said, slipping his own off. “I’ll get you a spare key until you find a place.”

  “Thank you.” She removed her shoes and walked in, looking at the enormous living-and-dining room that opened up before her.

  It alone seemed bigger than the entire house where she’d grown up. The carpet was the palest cream, and sage walls held a few abstract paintings in black frames. On the fireplace mantel were several framed photos of what had to be his family. She recognized Mark. The others had a distinct resemblance to the brothers.

  Iain didn’t have a lot of furniture. One dark leather couch squatted before a low glass-top table. A gigantic TV screen was mounted on one wall, and his espresso-colored dining room table
was big enough for eight, but only had one chair.

  There was nothing on the floor, not even a pair of shoes or discarded old laundry. If the place had belonged to one of her brothers, it would have been littered with crap. And dusty.

  The hall led to two sets of double doors. They all looked slightly forbidding, but Iain opened the one to her right. “This is your room.”

  She gasped. It was a little bit smaller than the one in Elizabeth’s home, but it was still huge. Just like the living and dining room, the place was decorated in cream and sage with one piece of black-and-white abstract art. The king-sized bed had numerous fluffy pillows and pristine white sheets. “Thank you, Iain.”

  “You have about an hour before the interview. So freshen up and change if you want.”

  “Do you know when we’re getting our bags?”

  “Should already be in your closet. I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything, I’ll be in my room.” He gestured at the other double doors.

  She nodded, and he disappeared silently, closing the doors behind him.

  She went to the closet and sure enough found her two bags in there. Amazing. She couldn’t remember the last time things had been just done for her. Iain seemed to expect these things, like they were normal. In her life though, if she didn’t do it, it didn’t get done.

  She stepped into the full bath and blinked at the Jacuzzi tub. Oh wow. She wanted to try it, but there was no time. She quickly washed under the multi-head shower and dried her hair. She then dug out a simple white shirt and khakis from her duffel bag. Her other shoes were covered in shit in D.C., so she put on her sneakers again, hoping the French chef wouldn’t mind. She’d never even gotten far enough to see a chef when she’d been interviewing before. She took a deep breath, staring at her bare face in the mirror. “You can do it, girl. This is your chance.”

  She still had some time to kill, so she sent a quick text to Vivian. I’m in L.A. He’s not a psycho killer. I met his brother, and I’m going to a job interview. With a real chef! Wish me luck. Then she turned off her phone to make sure it didn’t ring during the interview. She didn’t want to make Iain look bad.