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I shake my head. “You’re mistaken. This engagement isn’t – ”
“I know, I know.” Ken chuckles as she straightens up. “I was just teasing you. Jackson told me everything.”
He did?
“I’ve met Betty before, so I understand. That woman even scares the shit out of me sometimes.”
“I was afraid she was going to turn me to stone with her gaze or something.”
“Like Medusa? That’s not a bad comparison. I think of her more like the evil queen from Snow White, though. The one who says ‘Bring me her heart’, that kind of thing.”
Come to think of it, she could easily be cast in that role.
“Do you know why she doesn’t like Jackson?” I ask curiously.
If Jackson tells Ken everything, maybe she knows about that, too.
“Sweet Cathy, no woman likes the man her daughter marries,” Ken answers. “It’s just much, much worse in Betty’s case. She’s got a lot of hate in her.”
“She seems to care a great deal for Maisie, though,” I say.
“Of course she does. The only thing she’s capable of loving is her own blood.”
“So she’s always wanted to get Maisie?”
“Had her eye on her since the dawn of time. Maybe it’s because she lost her daughter so she wants a new one. Or maybe she just wants whatever she can’t have. Some people are like that. Or maybe she just can’t stand to see others happy because she’s damned miserable. But hey, it’s none of my business.”
I look down at my hand. I guess it is my business, though. If not for Betty’s desire to get Maisie, if not for her meddling, I wouldn’t have to pretend to be engaged.
“Hey.” Ken puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let her get to you.”
I sigh. “That’s easier said than done.”
“Don’t try to kiss her ass or anything. She hates that. But don’t try to provoke her either.”
“I think my mere existence provokes her.”
“Just let her know you’re your own person. Stand your ground. Be yourself.”
“That’s a little hard to do when I’m pretending to be someone else.”
“And whatever you do, don’t show her that face,” Ken says.
“What face?”
“The one that looks like she’s already defeated you.”
I sit back. “I don’t even want to fight her.”
“But that’s the deal, isn’t it? Fight her and get a job.”
So Jackson told her about that, too.
“Hey, just because you’re Jackson’s fake fiancee doesn’t mean I’m not going to drive you like a slave.”
I nod. “I know that. I didn’t expect any less.”
“In fact, now that I know you’ll be taking over this place one day, I’m going to be a little harder on you.”
I sit up. “Bring it on.”
Ken smiles and pats my shoulder. “Now, that’s the Cathy I know.”
I smile in turn.
“The Cathy Jackson can’t stay away from,” Ken mutters.
I frown. “You’re still going on about that?”
“What? You think a man will ask a woman to be his fake fiancee if he’s not remotely interested in her?”
I don’t know the answer. I’ve never been a fake fiancee, or known anyone who was. Is Ken suggesting that Jackson has real feelings for me? That’s ridiculous.
“You think…”
“Whoa. Look at the time.” Ken looks at her watch. “Time for us to start working, future Mrs. Holloway.”
I sigh. I guess she’s just teasing me again. Best to let it slide.
I stand up and hold my hand above my eyebrow. “Cathy Jeffries, reporting for duty.”
~
Ken does remind me of a drill sergeant sometimes, I think as I walk to the van to get more of the pots and pans we bought.
She wasn’t kidding when she said she’d be harder on me. My muscles are already sore.
I stretch my arms. Maybe I should start doing yoga.
Just as I’m approaching the van, I stop. There’s a woman standing a few feet away on the sidewalk. Red strands peek out of the blue baseball cap she’s wearing. A black backpack hangs from her shoulders and a DSLR camera sits in her hands. She lifts it and snaps a photo.
My eyebrows arch. Wait. Did she just take a photo of the restaurant?
I walk towards her. “Excuse me.”
She lowers her camera and grows still.
“Are you a reporter?”
“No,” she answers.
“A professional photographer?”
She shrugs. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think you’re supposed to take pictures here. The restaurant isn’t finished yet and – ”
“So this is Jackson Holloway’s new restaurant?” she asks with eyes wide.
Shit.
“He did say something about putting up his tenth restaurant somewhere in the Bay Area. I bet it’s going to look a bit like his restaurant in Cape Town. It looks like it has the same windows. And those pieces of wood. They look like they form the letter M. Must be a tribute to his daughter, Maisie.”
The fact that she knows Maisie sets off an alarm inside my head. What is she? Some kind of paparazzo? At any rate, I get the feeling I should make her leave.
