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He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Aren’t you overreacting just a smidge?” Oh, that was classy. Throwing her words back at her.
“My life is ruined,” she grumbled.
“Give it a day, it’ll all have blown over.”
Twelve
Jack should have been on his way DeLuca’s to start testing his dishes, but he felt about as useful as a chocolate teapot, so he took some time out after Lili left to clean up his phone messages. Today’s special was schadenfreude. Evidently, news of the impending contract had made the rounds because most of the calls were dripping with malignant joy. Former cooking colleagues who considered him a sell-out checking in to see if he was okay. Text messages with sad faces. Hushed voices with barely suppressed glee. Even Ashley had called, her breathy, daytime Emmy-nominated gush letting him know she was here for him. He almost threw the phone at the wall.
At least, he hadn’t heard from him, and he offered up a moment of thanks that John Sullivan had heeded Jack’s warning and stayed out of his son’s life. Though once the man Jack preferred to term as his sperm donor heard about the multi-million dollar network deal, Jack expected he’d turn up again with his hand out. It would be far too good an opportunity to miss.
He wished Lili had stayed, but as soon as Cara dropped that Twitter bomb, she had shut down. All her sass and flirt stowed away as she drew a fireguard over her quick mouth. There had been an ease between them while they shared breakfast, like they had leap-frogged the getting-to-know-you phase and were hovering on the edge of comfortable. Flirting with trust. Which, given his experience scrabbling around the hamster wheel of fame, did not come easy.
Oh, and he was balls-deep in lust with her. Can’t forget that.
Last night, those soothing tones and her fingers cooling his forehead made all his blood rush south. Never mind the ache in his head, it was a wonder he could answer anything she asked when all he wanted to do was pull her astride him and relieve the ache in his dick. Instead, he forced himself to watch her lush sway as she padded away from him. In his Black Sabbath t-shirt, no less. She had stood in the doorway, that banging body of hers silhouetted by a corona of light from the outer suite, and he had bit back a moan. During all three visits.
Abstinence was a multi-horned bitch.
The call he expected wasn’t forthcoming so he took the initiative. Two pm in London, but it still took his sister five rings to pick up.
“Why don’t you answer any of my texts?” he asked sharply.
“You know I don’t text. It’s better to ring.” Jules was the only person he knew under the age of thirty who hated texting. When she bothered to answer his messages, it was with meaningless emoticons. When she bothered to answer his calls, it was usually obvious she’d just woken up. Like now. She worried him greatly.
“Saw you made the news again,” she said around a yawn. “You really need to keep it in your pants, Jack.”
“Less of that, you cheeky mare. Tell me about the interview.” Deafening silence broken by a sniff and a cough greeted him. “Jules, tell me you at least called Corin. He promised to keep the job open for you.” And Jack had promised his old friend at Ecogrand, the hot, new organic food eatery in London, that his sister would be perfect for hostess. Jules’ fresh-faced, willowy blondness screamed ‘salad-eater’ and Jack was sure she’d make a great addition to Ecogrand’s front of house.
“Jack, I’ve told you a million times pub work suits me better.”
“But, it’s so—” Beneath you, he wanted to say. Like him, his sister had dropped out of high school at fourteen, but she was smart, astute, and funny. Where her professional talents lay was a mystery to all and she didn’t seem interested in finding out. Bored with everything was her motto.
“Degrading? Low-born? Working class?” she finished archly. She knew exactly what he was thinking.
“I was going to say dangerous. I’ve worked in bars. They’re filled with drunk people.” Sometimes, amorous drunk people, but more often belligerent dickwads.
She ignored this but then she always did. It was a regular game between them with ever-shifting goal posts. Years ago, he had abandoned her to the care of her aunt and uncle on her father’s side after his death. At the time, he hadn’t thought of it as abandonment; he’d been too excited about his big chance to work in Paris with Claude Marchon, who had spotted Jack during a visit to the restaurant of one of Claude’s former students. That apprenticeship had started everything for Jack but sent his relationship with Jules on a downward trajectory with no course correction in sight. Now, his guilt over his sorry lack of involvement in her upbringing turned him into an overbearing busybody.
Knew it. Owned it. Not changing it.
“When are you coming to London?” she asked after a long pause. “Or can you not pull yourself away from your latest floozy?”
Jules knew exactly how to poke him, though he usually found it easier to ignore her jibes about the women he dated. It was good practice for all the tabloid crap. His head had started throbbing again, matching the hastening uptick of his pulse.
“She’s not a floozy,” he snapped, knowing Jules had meant it in jest but feeling an irrational rush to blow it out of proportion. “She happens to be an amazing woman.”
“All right, calm down, Cromag. I’m sure she’s out of this world.”
Slowly, he counted to five. “I’ll be in London the day after tomorrow and I’m taking you somewhere nice for dinner, not some fish n’ chips shop. A real place with tablecloths and stainless steel cutlery. And we’re going to discuss your future.” Young lady, he may as well have added. Talking to his sister aged him ten years each time.
“Right, ‘cause that went so well the last time. I’ve got to go.”
Grimacing at the memory of their last fine-dining experience four months ago, he tried to breathe himself to calm. When she didn’t hang up immediately, he asked, “Is everything all right, Jules? You seem out of sorts.” Or more out of sorts than usual. Another elongated pause followed and familiar worry soaked his chest.
“I just woke up this minute, that’s all. Next time, don’t call so early.” She clicked off.
He barely had time to process that before the call he’d been dreading flashed ominously on his screen. He got as far as “hell—”
