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“Then I guess we’re destined to disappoint each other, aren’t we?”
“I don’t
believe that’s true.”
Was his faith so much greater than hers? She wished she could do as he asked and start over, but she’d tried that when she’d come here to meet her father and look how poorly that had turned out.
Her phone chimed. A text message from Violet had come in.
Grandfather has had a mild stroke. He’s going to be okay. Wants to see you.
A sound in her ears swelled as if every insect in the entire bush had chosen that moment to sing. Disoriented, she shook her head to clear it. Ashton grabbed her hand and said something that she couldn’t catch, but she guessed he was asking her what was wrong.
With her voice unable to escape her tight throat, she showed him the message.
“You should call and let them know we’re coming.”
“We?” she whispered. “You’re coming with me?”
“Whatever you need from me. I’ll be there.”
* * *
Ashton didn’t expect to be heading to Las Vegas mere hours after completing the transatlantic flight from Johannesburg. While the charter jet he’d hired cruised over the heartland of the U.S., he fidgeted with his phone, restlessly checking for updated emails and new texts, knowing if anything came in he would be notified with a tone.
That he’d left Harper behind wasn’t sitting well, but she’d insisted. An hour before they’d touched down at JFK, she’d sat straighter in her seat and gathered herself. He’d gotten used to taking care of her these past few days. Discovered he liked that she needed him. But with their return to the States, her independent nature had reasserted itself.
And she’d been right when she’d insisted the restaurant was days away from opening. He needed to be at Batouri overseeing the last-minute details. He should have been there these past five days instead of traveling to South Africa. But Dae’s updates had reassured him that the staff was working well together. Chef Cole had proven to be a good choice. He was organized and a good leader. Harper had been right about that.
When his phone chimed, it wasn’t the person he’d been hoping to hear from. Vince had sent him a terse text.
Call me.
The brevity of the message could only mean the network had decided to take the cooking show in a different direction and not use him. Ashton had been expecting this ever since he’d walked out and was surprised how little he cared. In the past few days he’d had a lot of time to think. Conversations with Harper regarding her ambivalence toward her career left him debating what he wanted to do versus what he thought he should do.
“Vince,” he said as soon as his manager picked up. “What’s the word?”
“Lifestyle Network wants you.”
Ashton didn’t feel the rush of satisfaction he’d expected. “That’s not the impression I got from the last meeting.”
“They took another look at the tape and saw what I see. You’re a star. Soon every household in America is going to know it. They sent me a contract. I’ve looked it over and everything we asked for is in there.”
“I need a few days to think about it.”
Silence greeted his response. Ashton imagined his manager was pretty pissed at him right now.
“I’ve put in a lot of time on this deal,” Vince said. “They’re giving us everything we want except for the whole Culinary Wanderer thing, but you’ve already quit, so that’s a nonfactor.”
“Frankly, Vince, when I left the conference room last Monday I was under the impression they wanted to go a different way.”
“But they don’t.”
With nothing standing in the way of signing onto the new show, Ashton had to tackle the doubts raised by his conversation with Harper. “I’m questioning whether staying put in New York is the best thing for me.”
Vince’s disappointment came through the phone seconds before he spoke. “I wish I’d known that three days ago.”
“Why don’t we table this for a while. I need to focus on the restaurant right now. Send me the contract and give me a few days to sort through everything.”
