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Scarlett cocked her head in puzzlement, but nodded. “As soon as I hear from Logan, I’ll call you. In the meantime, can you stall your mother?”
“I can try.”
Leaving Scarlett, Harper made her way back to the Fontaine Ciel’s executive floor. Mary had gone for the day, locking Harper’s office before she left. Harper half expected Ashton to have persuaded the personal assistant to give him his bag, but to her surprise, either Mary had resisted the celebrity chef’s charm or Ashton had stuck to his part of the bargain.
Either way, she grabbed the bag and shot a quick text to let him know the luggage would be waiting for him at Batouri. But when she got there, she was surprised to find Ashton sitting at the corner table where his bag had sat earlier.
* * *
When the door to the restaurant opened, Ashton was nursing a tumbler of ten-year-old Scotch. It was his third. The first two had gone down fast and smooth. He didn’t think he should continue at that pace or his dinner with Cole might not go the way Harper wanted.
That she spotted him so fast made him smile. She felt it, too. This irresistible pull between them. How had he ignored it until now? Oh, she was good at hiding it. And he hadn’t exactly given her any reason to feel more than irritation toward him. He wanted to strip her layers of professionalism away and get to the firecracker below. How hot would the fire burn? And for how long? With fireworks, the thrill was in those seconds of exhilarating danger. The breathtaking waterfall of light. The big boom that lingered in the chest even after the sound faded.
Still, it might be worth sacrificing her goodwill to experience the rush.
“What brings you here?” He sipped the Scotch, felt the burn in his chest.
“I’m returning your go bag.”
He’d been so focused on Harper he hadn’t even noticed that she was towing his bag along.
You’re slipping.
In the places he traveled, being distracted for even a moment could be trouble.
“The deal isn’t done with Cole yet,” he reminded her. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it hostage for a bit longer?” Maybe take it back to her suite. “I could pick it up later.”
She parked the bag beside the booth. “I’ve lost my taste for blackmail in the past few hours.” Her gaze flicked to the glass and then to his mouth.
His heart tapped unsteadily against his ribs. “Anything you’d like to talk about?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Was it the alcohol that was making him light-headed or the way she was staring at him as if she wondered what he’d taste like? She reached for his glass, and he figured she was going to chastise him for drinking up the restaurant’s stock. Instead, she lifted the tumbler to her lips and tossed back the last ounce of Scotch. He expected her to come up coughing as the strong liquor hit her throat. Instead, she licked her lips and smiled, her eyes thoughtful and distant.
“My grandfather loves Scotch.” She set the glass back on the table and turned to go.
“I’m a very good listener.” Ashton claimed few virtues. Giving a speaker his full attention was one. But would she trust him to share what was going on?
Harper hesitated before facing him once more. “My mother came into town unexpectedly.”
Ashton relaxed, unaware until his lungs started working again that he’d been holding his breath. “I noticed the air between you two wasn’t particularly cheerful.”
“Do you have a good relationship with your parents?”
He shook his head, the twinge in his gut barely noticeable. “I left home at fifteen and never looked back.”
“I’ve read everything ever written about you and I’m pretty sure that wasn’t part of your history.”
He knew better than to be flattered. “It’s a story for another day. We’re talking about you.”
Her gaze was steady on his for several seconds. “My mother moved to Florida when I was eleven, leaving me in New York with my father who was rarely home. At the time I hated her for not being around, but as I grew up, I realized that being away from her criticism gave me the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them without being afraid she’d make me feel worse.”
“I’m not sure many people would be as unaffected by their mother’s abandonment as you are.”
Harper gave him a wry smile. “Don’t for a second think I’m unaffected. I’m just realistic. My mother didn’t abandon me. She fled a situation she’d didn’t like. Penelope isn’t someone who stands and fights when she can run away and go shopping.” Harper shrugged, but she was far from sounding nonchalant. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little more bothered than I let on.”
