Once Touched, Never Forgotten - By Natasha Tate Page 0,19
reaction to his nearness. “I just hate wasting time.”
“Because you have so many other things to do now that our kitchens are temporarily closed?” he said dryly.
She remained mutinously silent at that.
“After we meet with Ms. Turner, I’d like you to visit a few of our competitors’ bakeries with me this afternoon.” “What? Why?”
His smile seemed oddly parental. “I need to determine what works and what doesn’t here in New York. Since my frame of reference is European, the feedback of a local like you would prove invaluable.” He pointed several blocks down to a neighboring hotel, and then shifted his gaze to hers. “I’ve heard Antoine’s is particularly good, and I thought we’d start there first.”
She bit her lip, her focus flitting from Antoine’s to his expectant face and then back again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s an excellent idea,” he insisted. “Knowing the strengths and weaknesses of our competition is the best way to build a strategy for success.”
“Yes. But …”
“But?”
She lifted her gaze to find his brow arched in amusement, and felt her cheeks heat anew. “But we agreed to minimize the time we spend together. Remember?”
His mouth crooked in a smile that managed to both scold and tease. “Are you telling me you can’t separate your role as my head pastry chef from your former role in my bed while we conduct a bit of hotel business?”
Chastened, she felt her blush burn even hotter. “No.”
“Then it’s settled. We’ll start with Antoine’s just as soon as we’re finished here.”
A knock against the door kept her from protesting further.
They turned to find Stephen’s secretary at the door, holding it wide while a stunning brunette in a maroon suit and four-inch heels minced her way into the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, her eyes sweeping over Stephen with a hungry gleam. Petite to the point of being delicate, the woman carried a large box filled with fabric swatches, paint wheels, wallpaper samples, and curling carpet squares. “You know how traffic is.”
“Of course.” Stephen strode forward to relieve the gorgeous designer of her unwieldy burden, and offered her a smile that made Colette’s heart twist.
“Thank you,” the woman gushed, moving to squeeze Stephen’s bulging biceps. “You’re always such a gentleman, Mr. Whitfield.”
“Ms. Turner, I’d like you to meet Ms. Huntington, one of Doux Rêves’s managers.”
Jealousy she had no right to feel roared within Colette’s chest, but she donned a welcoming smile and moved to offer her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “And, please, call me Colette.”
“Genevieve,” the woman intoned, flicking her gaze over Colette’s body and then dismissing her without so much as a smile. “I understand you want to update the bakery and pastry shop here?” she said to Stephen. “Have you a vision for what you want?”
“Yes,” he said. Colette turned to find Stephen’s eyes fixed on hers. “And Colette here will be your main contact for the job.”
Genevieve’s gorgeous mouth pursed with a pout. “But I thought—”
“Why don’t you two set up a few times to meet this week while I go fetch my car?” He offered a farewell smile to the disgruntled designer, pulled back his sleeve to reveal a thin platinum watch that undoubtedly cost more than she’d earned in the last six months, and then returned his gaze to Colette. “Will five minutes suffice, or do you need more time?”
I need more time.
Used to be one sultry look from Stephen and Colette would cancel her plans, push any appointments she’d scheduled, and drop everything to be with him. Nothing had mattered more than time with Stephen. He’d trumped it all.
But not now. Not anymore. Now she only agreed to be with him under duress. Under the guise of business. She’d do the job she’d been paid to do, and when she was done she’d go home to Emma and her real life. She’d go home to a world that had no place in it for the one man she couldn’t afford to want.
“Colette?” he said, reminding her that he awaited her response.
“What? Oh. Right,” she blurted. “Five minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs as soon as we’ve compared calendars.” “Excellent. I’ll be at the front.”
Colette turned back to find Genevieve glaring daggers at her. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking you have a chance with him.”
As if she needed the reminder.
CHAPTER FIVE
STEPHEN congratulated himself on his stroke of genius the moment he saw Colette exit the elegant entrance to the Renaissance and stride toward him. The bright sunlight caught in her hair