Chapter Three
1253 Words
Chapter Three
“I’m relieved you made it, Ms. Montclair,” Michelle Van Heerden said, teetering beside Adalia in five-inch high heels and a form-fitting black cocktail dress.
She was white, blonde and skinny as all hell. Bit of a hooked nose, though it didn’t take away from her beauty. What did take away from it, however, was that constant glare of disdain.
“Me?” Adalia placed a hand on the crisp chef’s whites she’d purchased specifically for this job. “I wouldn’t have missed your event for the world, Ms. Van Heerden.” She clicked her fingers and her assistant bustled in – also in brand s******g new chef’s whites – carting tray upon tray of ingredients.
All they’d have to do is melt the chocolate and assemble the éclairs and they’d be ready to send plates out. Underneath her calm exterior, Adalia was exhausted to the bone. She’d gotten a maximum two hours sleep a night, and that was usually in the kitchen of the bakery.
“The client, my boss, has very specific instructions for this meal,” Van Heerden droned on, checking the red lacquer on her claw-like nails. “He wants the entire meal done by eight this evening and not a second later. You may begin serving the éclairs at quarter to eight. After the final dish has been served, you may enter the hall to receive thanks along with the other chefs.”
“That’s unusual.” It slipped out before Adalia could catch it. Usually the chefs or caterers were behind-the-scenes personnel, certainly not granted an appearance at the end of a charity event.
“Yes, Mr. Dawson was clear on this point,” Van Heerden said and rolled her eyes, then blinked a few times. It was clear she didn’t hold with such sentimentality. “He’s sponsored this entire event, a charity for inner city kids, and he wants people inspired to give back and be grateful. Time for work?” The woman pointed in the opposite direction.
Adalia wriggled her nose and strolled to her place beside one of the gas-burning stoves.
“She’s nice,” Jenny said, standing closer and pointing a thumb in Van Heerden’s direction and smirking. “In the way that pubic lice is nice, if you know what I mean.” The pastry chef had been with her for a while, but she was too talented, and Adalia was pretty nervous she’d disappear soon.
“Yeah, well money is money.” She unclipped the lid of the plastic container they’d brought for the chocolate. “We’ll do our job, get our pay and get the hell out of here.”
“Maybe you’ll pick up some more clients out there, who knows?” Jenny patted her on the arm and helped her take out slab upon slab of the chocolate. She was positive about the future of the bakery, but then she didn’t know just how much financial trouble it was in.
“Yeah, maybe,” Adalia said with a noncommittal shrug.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a voice said behind them and they both flinched and turned.
Adalia’s insides turned to mulch.
It was Trent.
Jenny gave a tiny gasp then colored bright red from the top of her forehead to the bit of skin poking out at the neck. She coughed, then mumbled something about chocolate and swept up a few slabs. The pastry chef hightailed it out of there without a second glance.
Adalia didn’t allow herself to be intimidated. Trent was in Prada this time – she had a keen sense for fashion, it was another calling – and he had that sweltering gaze in place.
“I don’t know who allowed you back here, but now is not the time for messing around.” Adalia leaned one palm on the counter and gave a long-suffering sigh.
“I never mess around, Adalia. You should know that by now.” He stayed where he was, leaving the tension between them rather than closing the distance. She longed to be closer, but she couldn’t allow that thought to consume her.
He was hot, that was all. It wasn’t as if they had any real connection, other than his love of teasing her.
She gathered up ingredients and went to join Jenny by the stove. “We’re going to need a bigger pot for this group. If we split it into three to five batches, we should be able to –”
“I’m not done talking to you.” Trent appeared beside them, and Jenny flinched again, then pushed her glasses up her nose.
“Yeah, but I am done talking to you and I have work to do.” Adalia studied him with a tiny frown of disapproval. “Something you clearly don’t know much about,” she muttered and it was as if she’d injected iron into his spine.
Every inch of his body turned stiff, and he stared at her with the strangest expression, a mix of anger and something deeper. Was it need?
No, it couldn’t be.
“You’d better run along before the guy in charge kicks you out. What are you doing here anyway?” She was too curious to let the question go unanswered.
Ms. Van Heerden burst into the kitchen, swaying that perfectly groomed head from side-to-side, searching.
Adalia steeled herself for a scolding – under any other circumstance, she wouldn’t take it, but this woman was a client.
“Mr. Dawson!”
Trent kept Adalia’s gaze, ignoring Michelle in the background. Van Heerden fixed her gaze on his back and bustled over to them.
“Mr. Dawson, they’re waiting for you out there.” She tapped him on the shoulder, but he didn’t turn to her.
“You’re Mr. Dawson,” Adalia said, her tone peppered with disbelief.
“I’m afraid so,” he answered, tucking his hands into his pockets and flexing beneath his suit. His muscles strained at the arms, but it wasn’t obscene. The suit accentuated him, resting lightly, tightening in the right places.
Michelle, for her part, was equally well-outfitted, especially with a slender waist to match the open back of that black dress.
And Adalia... she brushed off her chef’s whites and restrained a groan of mortification. Her mystery employer was none other than the man she’d been crushing on for a month.
“I see you’ve met our caterer. One of them, anyway,” Van Heerden said, then glanced over toward Adalia, searching for the others she’d hired. “The meal will be ready to start soon, and they’re calling for a speech out there, Mr. Dawson.”
“Do you have eyes, Michelle?” Trent finally broke his connection with Adalia and turned to his assistant. She pushed her chest outward and pouted slightly. Jealousy crept through Adalia’s mind, poking at her sense of calm.
“Sir?”
“Do you have eyes?”
Michelle fluttered her eyelids. “Why, of course, sir.”
“So you can see I’m in the middle of a conversation. That’s obvious to you?” Trent took his hands out of his pockets and checked his cufflinks.
Michelle’s face fell. “Yes, I can see that, sir.”
“Then kindly explain to me why you interrupted.”
Embarrassment followed close on the heels of the jealousy. Didn’t he realize that this was more uncomfortable for her than for them?
“I have to get back to work,” Adalia inserted, then made to walk off, but he caught her by the arm and immobilized her with those sparks of desire.
“Not so fast. I believe my assistant owes you an apology, first.” Trent gestured toward Michelle and Adalia met her gaze, hating every minute of the entire encounter.
Van Heerden focused on her, but there was no remorse in her, only a bone deep sense of hatred. “Sorry.”
Adalia gave a curt nod and broke the contact with both of them. She strode back to the stove – careful not to hurry – and took her place beside Jenny.
“What on earth was that about?” asked Jenny.
Adalia glanced back at Trent, but he’d already left for the main hall.
“I have no idea,” she said, stirring the melting chocolate.
- Writer
