Her Client from Hell (2 page)

Something glittered on her cheek, a smudge that sparkled—he
thought for a moment about pointing it out. But it kind of went with the whole
chaotic look.

And curves, yes. Very interesting, framed by a bright
loose-fitting top in dazzling browns and blues and oranges, the kind of thing an
old-fashioned gypsy might wear, secured by a thick dark brown belt. Below that,
a layered frilly white skirt ended just above her knees. On her feet she wore
flat leather laced tan sandals. All Greek goddess meets hippy. A crazy artsy
type with her head in the stars. So not his type. A pretty head, though,
porcelain skin. And that hair...

As wild and crazy as she was.

This whole escapade was already shifting him way too far out of
his comfort zone; he didn’t need a too-hot boho airhead added to the mix.
Regardless of the curves and the hair...and the curves...

He shook his head. ‘Well, I’m sorry. You’ve had your chance;
I’m leaving.’

‘Oh. But we haven’t even—’ Her mouth turned downwards, her hand
on his arm. ‘Please don’t. I did try to call...’

‘I don’t have time to be wasted. Nate said you were reliable.
And keen.’ Frazzled more like, as if she was juggling a zillion things in the
air and they were all dropping around her. But she was still smiling and he was
drawn to that, in some kind of weird masochistic way.

So she was pretty. Didn’t mean a thing. Certainly didn’t mean
the woman could cook.

Nate had also mentioned she’d been babied during a difficult
upbringing, that she’d had little direction in her life apart from partying and
that she was trying to prove herself with this catering venture. She’d already
dabbled at other things like...nannying, was it? Dog-walking? And lost not only
cash but interest far too quickly.

Nate hadn’t mentioned anything about an ex-business partner,
though, or the need for a paring knife. So Jack guessed Cassie kept her family
in the dark about some things.

Which suddenly made her a whole lot more interesting. In a
purely professional way. Teasing dark secrets from people had made him a stack
of money and cemented his reputation as the best gritty documentary maker in the
UK.

‘So Nate told you about me?’ Two pink patches on her cheeks
darkened to red. ‘Nate Munro? I wondered...usually people use a search engine or
a business card rather than a world famous rock star to find a caterer.’

‘Yes, he recommended you. Although why I bothered I don’t
know—’ But his new mate had done him a huge honour by allowing him to film his
more intimate home life for a documentary which could well be award-winning—if
only for the usually very private subject. Which meant Jack owed him precisely
five more minutes to hear Cassie out before he took his leave and found a more
organised, punctual and less disturbingly off-the-scale attractive caterer.

The flush turned from embarrassment to irritation. She wore her
emotions very obviously on her face—as if there was no caution button. No
keeping things in check. How could people live like that? Spilling their
feelings out at any given moment? Did they have no control? It was his endless
fascination and what made his films so damned compelling to watch.

‘Nate’s almost as bad at interfering in my life as his wife.
That’s my sister, Sasha. I keep telling them to butt out and I know they mean
well, but...’ She inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly. ‘But, well, you’ve
already said you don’t want my life story.’

‘I already know Nate’s, and a little of your sister’s...and
therefore some of yours.’

‘Not the best bits.’ She winked, but he refused to laugh. He
did not want to know about the best bits of her life. Or the worst. Or anything
more about her. Five minutes. Her hands moved as she talked. Was there not a
serene molecule in that far too interesting body? ‘So you’re the rock-umentary
producer man—my sister did mention you. And Nate’s right; I am reliable. I’ve
just been having a trying time recently.’

‘Yes.’ He tried to keep up. ‘Something about a paring
knife?’

‘I left it at home. Which is probably a good thing, seeing as
you look like you might want to use it.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Okay. Can we
begin again? I’m Cassie Sweet. Caterer extraordinaire. And just a little bit out
of control right now. But normal service is being resumed. And my cooking is
brilliant.’ She smiled.

‘Jack Brennan.’
Always in control
.
He shook her hand. It was warm and soft. And why the hell he’d even noticed he
didn’t know.

She took a step back and looked around at the crowd, then
raised her voice above the chattering. ‘I’ve booked a room. Hang on a sec.’ She
turned to speak to a passing waitress, who shook her head and shrugged.

‘Shoot.’ Cassie sighed loudly and her fist curled tight around
the satchel strap. Was that a curse under her breath? ‘They gave the room to
someone else because I was late.’

Typical. This escapade was turning into a disorganised farce.
He needed to leave and take his chances on someone more professional. ‘Look.
Forget it. I’ll find someone else. Some time else.’

‘No. Please. Please. Tell me this isn’t happening.’

‘It is. In full glorious Technicolor.’
Your problem, my nightmare.

‘I’ll have a word with Frankie, the manager. He’s just over
there.’ Shoving her bag at Jack, she disappeared into the crowd. ‘Frankie! Hey,
Frankie!’

Did she have another speed? Like just plain old fast instead of
whirlwind? And now he couldn’t leave unless he took the bag with him or left it
here. Unattended, in a crowded bar. It could end up in anyone’s hands. And not
that she didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t need that on his conscience. It was
full enough already.

In a few moments she was back, breathless but grinning. ‘Good
old Frankie. There are a couple of free tables outside. Saves those for his best
clients. Talking about food always makes me hungry so I’ve ordered some nibbles.
They do the best soft shell tacos here with pork belly crackling. You must not
leave without trying those. And he gave us a bottle of red on the house for the
mix-up. Result!’

She brushed past him and Jack caught a scent of vanilla sugar
and something distinctly soft and pretty, which he dutifully followed, trying
not to watch the sway of her hips as she walked. Her backside looked just about
the perfect size for his hands—jeez, he swallowed. Hard. What the hell was wrong
with him?

With her? No caution or stop button. She was at warp speed. And
now he was caught up in her chaos too.

So much for the five-minute plan. He blinked as he entered a
small courtyard. Ivy, intertwined with scarlet flowers, curled over the walls,
white gravel covered the ground. Small iron tables dressed with lit tea light
candles dotted the space. It was like a secret garden from a movie he’d seen as
a kid. Back when he’d believed in fairy tales like family and happy ever after.
‘This is impressive.’

‘Glad you like it. I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was
too...
out there
.’ She raised her fingers and did
quotation marks with them to emphasise her words, and he caught a teasing
twinkle in her smile.

Then her eyes met his—darkest blue and wide and honest—and she
seemed, for a moment, a little startled, but she didn’t turn away. His heart
thumped in his chest as he was drawn into that gaze, sucked deep and then
deeper, and deeper still, as if he was tumbling somehow, like Alice down the
rabbit hole.

A blush hit her cheeks again and she shook her head, breaking a
tentative connection that left him feeling a little unnerved.

Opening her satchel, she pulled out a thick creamy notepad and
folder of papers. ‘Okay. Right. Let’s get started. We have a lot to get
through.’ As she opened the folder a gust of wind caught the top sheets and sent
them spiralling into the air. ‘Oh, wait... Sorry. Oh, no, I can’t believe this
is happening. I’m sorry.’

Next, she was on her feet chasing the papers, stamping on a few
to stop them floating away like confetti on the gentle breeze, more tendrils of
her hair falling from the chopsticks.

He watched for a moment until it became clear he either helped
or he’d be sitting here all night waiting for her to switch to simmer.

‘Here you go.’ He handed her the papers and she placed them
back on the table and weighted them down with a large bowl of delicious-looking
silky stuffed olives.

Popping one in her mouth, she bit down and smiled. ‘Not just
delicious, but useful too. Thanks. So not my day.’ Finally she sat, took a long
deep breath and slowed to a mode Jack could follow. She smiled again. She had a
lot of them—endless smiles. Polite smiles. Embarrassed but intriguing smiles.
Smiles that didn’t quite hit her eyes. He got the impression she was trying very
hard to be professional and thought that smiling would be the way to go.

But endless cheerfulness wouldn’t convince him she’d be any
good at helping him—and he needed help right now. Reliable. Organised.
Straightforward help. ‘Er...the wedding? Are we going to cover that
tonight?’

‘The wedding. Okay. Yes.’ She leaned forward and there was the
scent of vanilla sugar again. Sweet and soft. ‘So, talk me through the day,
Jack. Can I call you Jack? What’s planned? What do you need?’

Hell if he knew. Now she’d actually focused, he suddenly felt
way out of his depth. This was a stupid idea. He should have asked first instead
of
interfering...
as Cassie had so succinctly
described honest and well-meaning sibling interest.

He spoke slowly to give himself time to think and to engage her
full attention. ‘As I said, it’s in three weeks’ time. I’m not a hundred per
cent sure of exact timings so I’ll get back to you on that. The wedding ceremony
is going to be in a community art space off Portobello Road. It’s a small
gathering of friends; there’s an Irish band booked in the evening. The details
are being finalised.’

She tucked one of the errant curls behind her ear. ‘It’s very
short notice but, luckily, I do have space in my calendar. Tell me, though,
you’ve waited until now to sort out the food because...?’

‘I’ve just got back from filming; my schedule got changed a
little.’ And he’d been too damned busy to pay much attention to Lizzie’s emails.
Plus the word
help
had never been in her vocabulary.
Even when she’d needed it the most. And he was, apparently, the world’s worst at
working out what women wanted. Why they didn’t just straight out tell him, he
didn’t know. But he wanted to make this work, wanted to make her happy. After
everything they’d been through, Lizzie deserved a slice of that.

Another smile. ‘Okay, well, I guess we can work out some of the
finer points later, but it would be useful if we could make a start on menu
choices, just a jumping off point. I like to get a feel for the couple, their
likes and tastes and dreams. Do you have a memorable meal you’d like to
recreate? A theme?’

‘Why all the deep and meaningful stuff? It’s just food, right?’
Clearly, there was a whole lot more to weddings than he’d ever given thought to.
Actually, he’d never given thought to weddings at all—only that he’d never be
having one. ‘I...er...’

‘Okay, no worries. Let’s try a different angle.’ Her eyes
twinkled through a confused frown. ‘Tell me more about the iguana—was it love at
first sight?’

It was the first time in a long time a woman had left him
speechless.

TWO

‘It’s my sister’s
wedding. I’m organising the food, the car and the photographer.’ Jack Brennan had an edge to him, a rippling intensity, brooding, which made Cassie immediately want to make him laugh.

Or at least smile. But somehow she didn’t think he’d take kindly to a tickle in the ribs. He didn’t look the type of guy who’d take kindly to much that wasn’t serious and Very Important.

So what if he was? As she looked at him, all the breath sucked out of her lungs. Tall, and underneath that open-necked grey shirt he looked sculpted out of lean muscle with broad shoulders wide enough to tuck herself into. Dark tousled hair that made her fingers itch to ruffle some more. Deep brown eyes softened the defined features of his sharp cheekbones and square jaw. So what if he was cover-model gorgeous? Looks didn’t make a man. That, she knew first-hand. This one was grumpy and grouchy and in need of a damn good belly laugh.

She put this over-the-top attention to his detail down to the dating drought she’d enforced until she wrestled her finances into some sort of order. Not even an extraordinarily hot man would distract her.

If only something today could actually go according to her well-constructed plan. Flighty and chaotic was not the impression she’d intended to give him. ‘Well, that’s very nice of you. What does your sister want as regards food? Brunch? Sit-down dinner? Buffet? Food stations? How many courses?’

‘Whoa. Too many choices. Food stations? What the hell? I just want food. Good food. On a table, in a room. It’s not rocket science.’

‘No, it’s not.’ She tried to make the sigh escaping her lips sound a little less irritated. This was going to take a lot longer than she’d anticipated. Beauty he might have been, but empathetic he definitely was not. ‘It is her
wedding
day.’

‘Yes, I am fully aware of that, believe me.’ He shook his head, his palms held up, and he had the decency to look a little embarrassed. ‘Okay. Look, I’m coming clean. I am way out of my depth here. I didn’t ask her what she wants to eat. She doesn’t know I’m arranging this.’

‘What? She doesn’t know? How can someone organise food for a wedding without consulting the bride?’ Answer: the man who spoke in brackets. Figured. But she bit back what she was truly thinking. Honesty didn’t always go down well and she didn’t want to jeopardise his wedding party of fifty and its very welcome boost to her finances.

He gave a nonchalant shrug of those magnificent shoulders. Which she noted purely for their potential ability to carry things. Heavy pans. Trays. She might need assistance on the day. Briefly. ‘She said she was going to do it herself, she has a plan—and it’s terrible. I can’t let it happen.’ At her frown he elaborated, ‘Paying for the food is going to be my gift to her, a surprise.’

‘Oh, it’ll be a surprise all right. But not necessarily a good one. Fair play to you for wanting to help, but this isn’t the right way to do it.’ If there was one thing Cassie knew well it was that siblings often had great intentions but execution of intent wasn’t always brilliant. Killing with kindness sprang to mind. Suffocation. Never being taken seriously. Plain old interfering. ‘This may be news to you, but women tend to have a pretty definite opinion about what will happen on their wedding day. That usually includes the food too. And what about the husband? Did you ask him?’

‘Callum? Why? He’s a man. So long as there’s plenty to eat he won’t care what it is.’

‘Gosh, you’re all hearts and flowers, Mr Brennan, aren’t you? And they say romance isn’t dead.’

Was he for real? Thank God this was purely business because he was everything she kept away from. Overbearing. Too smart. Unfeeling. She usually went for the more laid-back type. And okay, well, the type you couldn’t trust. But if she was ever thinking of dating again—which she wasn’t—Jack’s type would be at the bottom of her list.

Which was long.

So why, when he was clearly every shade of wrong, did her tummy lurch at the merest hint of a smile? It was very disconcerting.

She hid one of her own behind her surprise. Unlucky girl whoever fell for him—there’d be no wooing, or wining and dining. No riding off into the sunset or valentine’s cards.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing his legs. ‘Personally, I don’t believe in wasting time on fairy tales.’ Something simmered behind those dark brown eyes—a depth that she hadn’t been ready for. Hurt, maybe. Pain? Then it was gone in another quick shake of his head. ‘But Lizzie’s happy, I suppose.’

‘Not for much longer once she’s got wind of your plan to sabotage her wedding breakfast.’ He seemed a little shocked by the notion that his sister could be happy, or was it that she was happy to be getting married that seemed so unpalatable? ‘And you’re planning to tell her that you’ve taken away her choice for food...when, exactly?’

His hand ran along his stubbled chin, the dark shadow creating a dangerous edge to his striking features. She got the impression he was used to getting his own way and not being challenged. Well, unlucky. Part of the success of a wedding day was the quality of the food; she wouldn’t allow him to jeopardise that for his sister’s sake or risk Sweet Treats’ reputation by taking part in a fiasco. Her business depended largely on positive word of mouth or all her hard work would have been for nothing.

She sensed his irritation rising as that smooth deep voice took on a harder tone. ‘Let’s reframe this, shall we? I haven’t taken away her choice, I’m going to free up her time, remove some stress and help her enjoy her special day.’ The way he said
special
made Cassie believe he didn’t think there was anything valuable in a lifetime commitment, just a whole host of stupid. ‘I’ll present her with my plan
when
I’ve decided who is going to be my caterer.’

‘You’re interviewing others?’

His perfect lips curled upwards at the edges. He had a kind of reluctant smile that was almost there, almost whole, but somehow stopped short. Cassie wondered what stopped it from fully blossoming. ‘Of course. I have two lined up for tomorrow morning. I always keep my options very open.’

‘I bet you do. Good idea. Excellent plan. But no one’s going to agree to taking on a contract unless they have more concrete details this close to the day. Seriously, she might hate my ideas, or at the very least have some pretty fixed ones of her own.’

‘Sandwiches. Quiche. Something God-awful called
quinoa,
which sounds more like a tropical disease than anything edible.’ He visibly shivered. ‘If I stood back and let her loose on that it’d be the worst wedding ever.’

‘Forgive me for saying this, Mr Brennan, but with a bossy brother interfering behind her back it already is.’ If she didn’t take control he’d be bossing her too. Forthrightness was next to sound business, right? ‘Now, I’ve printed these off thinking you might not have had time to look at them. I’m going to talk you through some ideas, on the proviso you go right back and tell her about the options available.’

Carefully opening the folder in case they blew away again, she gave him copies of her menu suggestions and ignored the black look he threw her. ‘I’ve done a few quirky weddings in the past, themed receptions...anything goes, really. Some really embrace the idea of a breakfast, offering waffles and pancakes, French crepes, homemade pop tarts with hearts baked in them, that kind of thing. At the other end of the spectrum, cocktails are popular at the moment too, and local produce is a big hit.’

‘Like jellied eels, pie and mash—that kind of thing?’ The brown in his eyes glittered with hints of gold, which she imagined would be quite attractive. In another lifetime. On a more smiley man.

‘If it floats your boat—you’d be surprised how many people do ask for it. Oh, but if you decide on food stations I’ll have to hire a few other people—I can’t wok and grill at the same time.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘You do surprise me.’

‘I can hire in waiter service from the local catering college to save cash if you go for that option. Although family-style is pretty on-trend too.’ There she was, trying damned hard to be businesslike and professional, but those eyes....

He dropped the menus on to the table and shook his head. ‘You’re blinding me with science. What’s family-style?’

‘Where the party sits at one large table and passes the food around to each other. You know, like a regular family dinner.’

‘Oh. Of course. A regular family.’ His gaze dipped down; he seemed to be pulling a thought or a memory from a distant place. Not a happy one. And something in her heart melted just a little. When he looked at her again his eyes were clear and bright and any vestige of emotion had fled. ‘Don’t you just have a set thing for the clueless? Wedding 101?’

‘No.’ She found her best smile. ‘We believe in choice at Sweet Treats.’

An eyebrow peaked. ‘We? Please don’t tell me there are more of you?’

‘Sorry.
I
,’ she corrected herself. ‘I’m adjusting to a new regime. It’s just me. And that’s really exciting.’ If she said it enough times it might even come true.

‘Maybe if you took a little time to crank down a gear or two. Slow to a more manageable speed?’

‘Yes, well...’ That would be lovely. Luxury. At least a pace where she could breathe and take stock, plan past tomorrow. But it wouldn’t happen this side of Christmas. Or even this side of the decade. If she stopped, her business would die and she’d lose her apartment, along with her self-respect.

Sometimes she felt as if everything was teetering on a knife-edge. She tried to hide the flush of panic but it rolled through her, like it did sometimes in the dead of night, wakening her with a thick cold weight in her chest, and especially when she stared at those rows of numbers that made little sense.

So, whatever else happened, she had to keep him on side—or, rather, keep him on the side of twenty-nine pounds a head times fifty. ‘I’m managing just fine.’

‘Really? Which school of customer relations did you attend? Because you might want to ask for your money back.’ He smoothed his hand across his jaw, all the time keeping his dark eyes on hers. ‘Being late is just fine? Losing a booked table is just fine? Keeping a client waiting is just fine?’

So he didn’t speak in brackets, he just repeated things. Over and over to make his point. She got it now.

‘No. Not at all.’ She cleared her throat. She was trying her hardest, dammit. ‘This afternoon I made three dozen red velvet cupcakes, decorated a fairy castle birthday cake and prepared finger food for twenty-two toddlers with every allergy imaginable. Then I drove over to Kilburn and presented them to a very happy and satisfied customer. Who then fell in the backyard and split her head wide open. What would you have liked me to do? Leave her to bleed out? Happy birthday, little Hannah, sorry about the concussion but I have to go because I have an appointment with a man who doesn’t know what he wants for a sister who doesn’t know he’s doing it?’

Jack took a slug of wine and looked at her; something in his stance stiffened. ‘No, of course not.’

She leaned back in her chair. ‘Apology accepted.’

‘I— That wasn’t an apology...’

‘Well, it should have been.’

‘This is getting nowhere.’ He stood up.

Scraping her chair back, she stood and faced him. Or at least faced his buttoned-up, Italian cotton-shirted rock-solid chest that looked just perfect to lean against, and peered up at his taut jaw and narrowed eyes. Then remembered some of the cardinal rules of customer service that Patrick had drummed into her, back when he wasn’t embezzling. Or maybe he already was.

Keep them happy
. Jack didn’t look happy.

Fulfil promises
. She’d been late, and the room had been given away, and the wind had blown everything...

Go above and beyond
. She’d done it for Hannah. But not for Jack Brennan.

And so that was it—not one tick in any of those boxes—and she’d bet anything Jack Brennan was the box-ticking type. He was angry because of her and she’d lost the job. Hurrah. Things just kept getting better.

It was hard. Running her business was hard. Saving her business was harder still. She tried to smile. But none came. Nothing. She didn’t have any left.

In that moment the stress of the day—her life—boiled up inside her, too raw and fresh to hold back. ‘Of course I was concerned about keeping you waiting. My business is my first priority and my clients are everything to me. But really? You have no idea how hard I’m trying and it feels like some days I’m going backwards. The cooking’s fine and a real hit, but I couldn’t help the head injury. And I squeezed you in when I probably should have made an appointment for a different day, but I didn’t want to lose this chance.’

He opened his mouth to speak but she got in first, hearing her voice rising, louder and more high-pitched, but with no way to stop it. ‘I have to do everything now—the ordering, the admin, the delivering. I don’t have time to do the little stuff. But then suddenly I find out that the little stuff is actually quite important. Things like VAT and tax...’

‘Very important, actually. Keeps the world going round. Now, if you’ll excuse me?’ He turned away, his back rigid as he took a step across the gravel.

‘No. Stop. Wait. You probably have no idea how hard it is to prove yourself to people. To have a dream that you want to take a chance on...and you have it there, almost in your grasp. Then someone comes along and snatches it all away. Have you ever had someone steal your dreams, Jack?’

That seemed to have an effect. He stopped abruptly and turned round, taking his time to face her. He studied her for a moment, which made her hot and cold at the same time. Suddenly she felt totally exposed in front of someone who kept his emotions clearly locked away because there was no way she could tell what he was thinking.

Finally, he spoke. ‘Okay. I’m listening.’

‘I just need a chance.’

‘And I just need food.’

Not your life story. I know
. ‘I can do food. I can do damn good food.’ She stopped talking then as she realised her voice was actually shaking, and he didn’t need to know all of this. He just wanted someone to do a job for him. And for all she knew he was in cahoots with Nate and Sasha and would go running back and tell them about yet another failed venture from the girl who couldn’t stick at anything.