to know what I think?” Taylor said, “Benny is too smart to fall for your little game, but if he does, you’d be lucky to get a guy like him.”
She laughed. “Lucky? Dis man hazz no passion. No love in his heart. The only thing he hazz is his looks and his mooney.”
“You’re disgusting.” Taylor scowled.
“You snobby American. I see you with dat Chip. You are no different than me.”
Taylor shook her head. There was zero point discussing any of this with Brigitte. And it wasn’t her place to warn Bennett. He was a very, very smart man, and if he was with Brigitte, it was because he wanted to be. He trusted no one, and he certainly wasn’t going to start with this trollop. He was making a choice. On his own. Like a big stupid guy who thinks only with his dick.
“Have a nice night, Brigitte. It’s been a pleasure.” Taylor lifted her chin and pulled open the door to leave. The moment she stepped out, someone had her by the hand, yanking her to the side.
It was Bennett. He wasn’t even looking at her as he pulled her toward the stainless steel kitchen doors.
“Bennett,” she hissed, trying not to cause a scene, “what are you doing?”
He kept on marching, dragging her through the doors where a waiter preparing some salads immediately barked at them.
Bennett spouted out a phrase in French that sent the waiter fleeing into the dining room, a look of fear in his eyes.
Of course! He speaks French, too! Didn’t he understand how irritatingly sexy that was? Sexy, French-speaking jerk face!
The three chefs, all sautéing in their big white hats behind the waist-high wall at the back of the kitchen, were too busy to notice or care about the intrusion as were the busboys who rushed in and out through the doors.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen, the sound of pots clanking and pans sizzling all around them, Bennett turned to face her, standing just a little too close—within easy lip reach.
Not that she wanted to kiss him.
Much.
Tay! No you don’t!
She jerked back her hand. “What. Are. You. Doing?” she growled.
“No. What are you doing?”
“I’m in the process of leaving,” she replied.
“That’s a wise choice, though I’m not sure why you’re here with him at all,” he snarled. “Chip? Seriously, Taylor?”
“Really? You’re really going there?” she fumed at him.
He gave her a look, getting the drift that she was “really” referring to Brigitte. “If you think so little of me, then you truly don’t know me at all.”
She stared up at him, his eyes filled with self-righteous indignation.
“You know what?” She threw up her hands. “Maybe you’re right. So why don’t you try telling me what I’m supposed to know, Bennett, instead of acting like this giant brick wall of manly mystery.” Honestly, most of what she’d learned about him had come via his mother or Candy.
“I have my reasons for being cautious, Taylor. And they’re not what you would call pleasant or admirable.”
“Everyone has a past. Why should you be any different?”
“Because the world holds me to an impossibly high standard. Although I’m not sure they’re half as critical as you.”
What was that supposed to mean? “That’s not fair, Bennett. I’ve been way more understanding than anyone else would ever be considering the circumstances. But if you want me to stop judging you or assuming, then we’re right back where we were on the plane today. You need to tell me the truth.”
“About what?” he said sharply.
“About you. Why are you killing yourself for this Bali project? Why did you lie to me and take that idiotic bet?” She looked at him, waiting for the answer.
He stared, but there was no give. His eyes and expression were closed off behind that infamous Mr. Wade brick wall.
“Fine. Whatever is going on with you, whatever’s happened to make you this way, just remember that I had nothing to do with it.” She turned to leave, and he grabbed her hand.
“Taylor.” His tone was earnest.
She looked at him, waiting, but whatever he was about to say didn’t come out. “What? What is there to say, Bennett?”
“I just don’t think you’ll understand,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t think anyone can.”
She now saw that his bricks were holding back pain. A lot of it. But if he couldn’t at least give her a glimpse of what was behind that wall, how were they supposed to move forward?
“How do you know if you don’t try me?”