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“I understand your reputation means everything to you, but what’s to say the blackmailer won’t leak the information even though you pay him?”
“He’s promised not to.” Penelope said this as if stunned that her daughter could be that stupid. “I came here thinking you’d help me.”
Harper chewed on a sigh before saying, “How much do you need?”
“Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
The sum rendered Harper speechless for a long moment. “What did you do?”
Treating her mother with such bluntness wasn’t going to win Harper any points, but the amount had caught her off guard.
Penelope gathered outrage around her like a shawl. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Excuse me for interrupting.” Ashton strode into the room, looking far from remorseful that he’d barged in.
Too stunned by the bomb her mother had dropped to react to his intrusion, Harper sat motionless and watched him approach. His gaze shifted from her to Penelope, and Harper wondered if he was comparing mother and daughter.
Was he making the assumption that Harper and her mother were the same? Wealthy women, confident in their identity, knowing exactly how their lives were going to play out and content with the direction. Most days that’s how Harper felt. Not today.
“Harper?” her mother’s low warning tone prodded Harper to her feet.
“Mother, this is Chef Ashton Croft. He is the creative genius behind Batouri. Ashton, this is my mother, Penelope Fontaine.”
She ignored the flash of humor in Ashton’s eyes as she introduced him as a creative genius. It was true. No matter how big a pain in the ass he’d been, there was no denying the man was brilliant in the kitchen.
“Delighted to meet you,” Penelope murmured, extending her hand like a queen to her subject.
Harper mentally rolled her eyes as Ashton clasped her mother’s hand and flashed his charismatic celebrity grin.
“I’ve enjoyed working with your daughter.”
Liar.
He’d tolerated her at best.
Seeing the effect his dazzling persona was having on her mother, Harper momentarily surrendered to amusement. Not normally one to be charmed by a handsome face or flirtation, Penelope appeared as if she’d forgotten all about the blackmail that had driven her more than two thousand miles to seek her daughter’s help.
As much as she hated interrupting their mutual love fest, Harper wanted to return to her mother’s blackmail problem and get the issue solved. “Is there something you needed from me?” she asked Ashton.
His attention swung to her. “Just my laptop. I have a video conference in ten minutes.”
“It’s over there.” She gestured toward the black bag.
He bent to a side pocket in the duffel and took out a thin silver computer. Harper followed the smooth bunch and flex of his muscles, and her breath hissed out in appreciation. Strong and athletic in his cargo pants, denim shirt and hiking boots, sun-streaked shaggy hair falling into his bright blue eyes, he represented everything that Harper was not. Physical, unpredictable, exciting. The yang to her yin, she realized, and felt heat rise in her cheeks.
“Leave the bag,” she commanded, her voice a husky blur. “I’m not done with you yet.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Of course.”
She caught his smug gaze and stared him down in silence, refusing to backpedal or stumble through an explanation of what she’d actually meant. And maybe just a little afraid to ask herself about the subtext he’d picked up on.
“Check with Mary to see which conference room is available.”
“I appreciate the accommodation.”
“Come see me when you’re done. I’m interested to hear how your conversation with Chef Cole went.”
“I look forward to telling you. Will you be here?”
