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“No, I didn’t file a report with the police. I didn’t know where to find a police station. I just wanted to get here and register.”
“But we can’t do that without you having documentation,” the manager in charge of the front desk explained. “Don’t you have a copy of your passport page to show us?”
“As I’ve already told your staff, the decision to visit Pretoria was a last-minute thing and I left all my backup documentation behind. My assistant is going to overnight it to me, but I need to have a place she can send it.”
“She can’t send it here unless you’re registered.”
Harper closed her eyes and sucked in a huge breath. “Giles.” She’d forgotten about him. “I was supposed to ask for Giles...” His last name eluded her. “I believe he’s the executive chef here?”
The manager regarded her solemnly. “He is our executive chef.”
“Would he be around? I was told to come here and to say that Ashton Croft sent me.”
“We’ll call the kitchen. Perhaps you should take a seat over there and we’ll see if he has time to speak to you.”
It wasn’t the most promising offer, but at this point Harper was ready to take what she could get. “I’m quite hungry. Tell him I’ll be in the restaurant.”
She followed the hostess toward a table on the patio and sank into the plastic chair with a grateful sigh. A smiling waitress came almost immediately to take her order. The dinner menu had so many delicious items on it she had trouble choosing. In the end she settled on game picatta because the description made her mouth water. Tender slices of game pan fried with button mushrooms, mixed peppercorns, doused with sweet Marsala and bound with cream, served on fettuccine dusted with Parmesan cheese.
It arrived at her table, delivered by a tall, handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair and a dashing goatee. She glanced from his face to his chef whites without comprehension as he set the plate before her.
“You’re Harper Fontaine?”
At his recognition tears began streaming down her face. She nodded, too overcome by relief to speak.
“My name is Giles Dumas. I understand you ran into a little trouble getting here.” He smiled gently as she nodded a second time. “Our mutual friend will be very glad to hear you’ve arrived. Now, what can I do to help?”
Nine
Gut tight with foreboding, Ashton stood with his back to the conference table and stared out over the Manhattan skyline. Behind him two of the network guys were speaking with Vince. The taping hadn’t gone as well as he would have liked. Since dropping Harper off at the airport he’d been edgy and distracted. Nor could he be certain that she’d taken his advice and booked a room at the Pretoria Capital Hotel until he heard from his buddy Giles.
He told himself just because he enjoyed venturing off the beaten track didn’t mean she would be foolish enough to go somewhere she could get into trouble. But until he knew she was safe, Ashton wouldn’t be able to shake the sensation that he’d made a mistake letting her go by herself halfway around the world to find a father she’d never met. Even after she shoved his offer of help back at him he couldn’t get her out of his head. He was worried about her emotional state and the fact that she was a woman unused to traveling alone.
Vince came to stand beside him. His manager’s lack of chatter felt as ominous as the clouds above the city.
Ashton broke the silence. “They weren’t wowed by my audition tape.”
“It wasn’t quite what they were expecting,” Vince agreed. “Some aspects of it went over great, others they’d like to work on with you.”
“And?” Ashton prompted, hearing the low note in Vince’s voice and guessing there was more bad news.
“It’s just this little thing about your image. You’ve been the bad boy of travel adventures, eating exotic cuisine, meeting the natives.”
The description was a little off-putting, but Ashton figured Vince was offering his own spin on what the producers had said.
“How do they want my image to change?”
“They’re thinking lose the jeans and leather jacket and put you into chef whites. But mostly...” Vince hesitated. “They want you to cut your hair so that you’ll look more...polished.”
It wasn’t an outrageous demand, but Ashton wasn’t sure he wanted to look like something he wasn’t. And yet, wasn’t the whole point of doing this cooking show so he could change things up in his career? “Anything else?”
Vince looked relieved that Ashton’s temper hadn’t blown up. “They’re wondering if you can stay in New York a few more days.”
He needed to get back to Las Vegas and Batouri. Even though Dae was sending him frequent updates that things were running smoothly, it was a week and a half before the restaurant opened. And as Harper had repeatedly pointed out, Batouri was his responsibility.
“Ash?” Vince prompted. “What should I tell them?”
Harper had accused him of putting his television career before Batouri, but hadn’t he also put it before her? So what if they barely knew each other? Ashton couldn’t shake the notion that she needed him and he’d let her down.
