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“Why not? I’ve heard your name mentioned by some of the finest chefs in the world. You clearly know your way around fine dining.”
Now Alex lowered the fork. The crisp beans on the tines landed into the glaze with a plop. Alex was rarely at a loss for words, but Gordon Rogers had his tongue tied at the prospect of his dream restaurant. But there was still the matter of the crown’s funds and the people’s perspective of their philandering, freeloading prince.
“I would invest in it,” Rogers was saying. “Not that you need my funds.”
Alex scrambled to swallow the lump in his throat and seize this opportunity. “Contrary to popular opinion, I believe in partnerships. A blend of ideas.”
“Do you have a chef in mind?”
“I do.” His world was still spinning. The fireworks that had been missing from his mouth were going off in his mind. Was this really happening?
“I’d love to meet him.”
“Her.”
“Even better. Female chefs are the wave of the future.”
“She is very special.”
Rogers tilted his head and regarded Alex. “She must be very special indeed for you to want to partner with her in business. Business partnerships are harder to get out of than divorce. I have time tomorrow before I head back to the states.”
“She’s actually in the states.”
“Perhaps we could set up a meeting sometime in the future?”
“I’m sure I can arrange something in the next few days.”
Alex had proposed to Jan, likely the only time in his life he’d ever proposed to a woman. But she hadn’t taken him seriously. He had a widely publicized reputation for non-commitment and impermanence. Hardly anyone in the world took him seriously.
But he was tired of roaming the world searching for the perfect bite. He’d had a perfect plate of food with her. And then she’d surprised him by spicing up the leftovers into something entirely new the next day. If this were truly going to happen, there was no one he wanted by his side but Jan.
He just needed to pack a bag, hop on his private jet, and convince a certain, precise, no-nonsense pie maker to take a leap of faith. Easy.
Chapter Four
Jan pulled the last of the apple pies from the back of her car. She wobbled in her red pumps as though the heels were the stem of the fruit. She spent most of her time in a kitchen full of hot pans and sharp knives. So heels were not a typical accessory to her wardrobe.
Except today.
Today she was out of the kitchen. Even if only for a brief few moments. Dear God, please let it only be for a brief few moments.
Her hair was done up in an artfully messy top knot that she hoped looked like it had taken her one thoughtless minute and not the hour it had actually taken her to arrange it. She prayed it looked as though her skin was naturally blemish free and glowing. She had on a pound of concealer on her cheeks to cover the blotches from being in a kitchen all day.
She took in a deep breath, but the body shaper she wore beneath her dress didn’t allow her to get far. Jan was fairly flat chested with few curves. The shaper
tried to push up what she didn’t have and push in where her lines were straight. It was a great effect. The problem was that it came at the cost of her breath.
Jan looked good. She knew the food she’d made tasted good. She was determined to keep a good attitude through this ordeal. So, of course, when she exhaled, the heel of her shoe struck the curb wrong, and she went down on one knee.
“Whoa, I’ve got you.”
The pie was liberated from her hands a second after her knee struck the pavement. Mud caked her shins and dirt filled her hands.
“Don’t worry,” said the man looking down at her, “the pie is fine.”
“Oh. Great.” Jan looked up at Chris, her ex. Of course, he’d saved the pie and not her. Typical.
She wished she could say that her ex was short and balding with a beer belly. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Chris was tall, tanned, and had a full head of hair. He was more of a cognac drinker than a beer drinker. The brandy was much kinder to the waist line. To be sure, Chris had to take into account that consideration.
