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“I’m sorry, Lili. Honest to God.” Her voice broke on “honest” which Lili reluctantly admitted was a nice touch.
“Me, too. Just get your stuff and go home.”
Gina pumped out another glossy-eyed stare, blinked a couple of times, and trudged off. Lili returned to the bar and filled Tad in on the scoop. Thankfully, he took her side, though she wouldn’t have blamed him for trying to throw a good word in for his sister.
“You know what you have to do, right?” he asked, his expression troubled.
Her head felt too heavy for her neck. How she wished the night was long over and she was safely wrapped in Jack’s arms but after what had transpired, she couldn’t stay silent. The taping might grind to a standstill, her family’s reputation might be shot to hell, but if she kept this from Jack and her father, it would be so much worse.
“Well, it was nice while it lasted,” she said miserably, her limbs limp as noodles. The firing squad awaited.
Then she spotted a woman barreling toward her on her way to the restroom. Model tall with long, blonde, I’ve-just-been-ravished hair, she wore the kind of casually put together outfit that took hours of effort and cost hundreds of dollars. However, it wasn’t her stunning looks or fashionable threads that immediately struck Lili, but her ground-eating stride once she hit a clear path. Even with giant sunglasses obscuring half her face, she radiated self-possession.
The woman bumped against a chair at the bar and the huge caramel-hued hobo slung over her shoulder plopped to the floor, spilling its contents.
“Let me help you with that.” Lili squatted to pick up the detritus—a phone, make-up, tissues, an airline baggage receipt—and took note of Blonde Sunnies’ shaking hands. Not so cool then.
“Are you okay?” Lili asked, taken off guard by the woman’s familiarity. Those cheek bones, that chin…
Ignoring Lili’s question, she grasped her leather goods possessively and lurched off. “Be still my beating dick. Who’s that?” Tad asked, his keen gaze following his next ex-girlfriend.
They watched as those long stems took her past the restrooms on a collision course with the kitchen. Lili locked eyes with her cousin. They both took off in hot pursuit.
Twenty-Seven
The night was turning into a complete and utter cluster fuck. Dishes that had left the kitchen perfect returned destroyed. Jack had bungled two servings of risotto and the salsa verde for the lamb chops tasted like vinegar. He preferred to blame the minute space for the less-than-stellar performance instead of the fact that Laurent was just helping the show as a one-off and the usually-in-total-sync chefs hadn’t actually cooked together in over a year. They had no communication. No rhythm. Nothing.
But none of it mattered because tonight, dessert would take the form of hot, curvaceous woman. Just the thought made him jittery with need and carved out a big, foolish smile on his face. Next stop, Half-wit City.
“Hullo, Jack.”
His meat tongs slipped from his grip and clanged to the floor, vibrating like a tuning fork through his bones. He blinked a couple of times, as though that might work to sharpen his muddled hearing. On any other day, Jack might have thought he was dreaming but this was just the glacé cherry on top of the turd that was tonight’s dinner service.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted at his sister.
Juliet propped her sunglasses up on her head and dumped her purse on the counter like she was planning to stay a while. An entourage of sorts materialized behind her. Concern sketched on Lili’s face, amused interest on Tad’s.
Everyone had frozen upon hearing Jack’s roar, but started up again like a wonky carousel when Tony commanded them to get back to work. Even Laurent obeyed. Jack threw down a towel and marched over to Jules. The same aquiline nose, the same cheek bones, the same green eyes. The only difference was she was as blond as he was dark. Her likeness to their mother struck him like a baseball bat to the gut.
Taking her arm, he steered her away from the alley and out of the servers’ path. “Jules, I told you I’d be in London tomorrow.”
“This couldn’t wait.” Her voice was graveled like she had just woken up.
His grip slackened as concern replaced his surprise. “Are you all right? How did you even know where I was?”
“It’s not hard to find out. Your fans report your whereabouts constantly.” She combed through her hair, knocking her glasses to the ground. “Oh, God,” she muttered, her eyes glowing with incipient tears.
Alarm rocked him with the realization that something was seriously not right. “Jules, love, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“I’ve messed up,” she said on a strangled sob.
A preternatural awareness told him the next words out of her mouth would be the last ones he wanted to hear. Don’t say it, don’t fucking say it.
“I’m pregnant.” Jesus H. Macy. Her words escaped in a gush, stilling the air around them. He had known something was amiss when he spoke with her on the phone yesterday, and now he felt like that baseball bat had stopped by for another round of shit-kicking. More roughly than he intended, he walked her back to the office and deposited her in one of the swivel chairs.
“How did this happen?”
“Well, insert Tab A into Slot B—”
