Molly Matthews Meddles in Marriage (21 page)
It happened the night I was catering my first major event for a woman who’d fired some of the biggest names in the business. This was my chance to prove myself.
I believed I could handle anything that came my way as I stood hopeful before the world dressed in my perfect little caterer’s outfit—starched white shirt, black skirt and sensible shoes. I was ready for any challenge.
After all, I’d certainly spent enough years preparing for this moment. I’d attended all the best culinary schools in Paris, New York and Texas, put in endless hours, worked multiple jobs in preparation for the time when my small pride and joy, my baby, Carrie’s Creative Catering, would finally become a success.
For someone on the brink of thirty-five, single and living in Austin—one of the most exciting cities in Texas—success was all around me. So far, it had remained just out of my reach—until tonight.
“Carrie?” The sound of my name coming from the most gorgeous lips around made me weak in the knees. His voice sounded like pure romance. The Cary Grant kind of romance.
Unfortunately, the voice addressing me now came attached to one of those worst possible kinds.
Turn around. Walk away. Before it’s too late,
my mind virtually screamed, while my heart seemed to have a will of its own. It kept me standing there, foolishly smiling back at what was undeniably the sexiest man alive.
“Are you okay?”
“How did you know my name?” Too late, I remembered the nametag pinned to my crisp white shirt. It announced to the world that my name was Carrie Sinclair in bold, black lettering. Everyone at this party knew my name by now, especially since Martina Hilbert, the woman hosting this little get-together for a few hundred of her closest friends, had informed me that I lacked any real talent whatsoever as far as crab puffs were concerned. My skills in every other area were still questionable.
Once Martina had finished my thorough dressing-down in front of most of her guests, not to mention all three of my staff members, she’d proceeded to politely smile and simply walk away, as if she were merely commenting on the weather, not condemning
my
best hors d’oeuvres as garbage. I’d wanted to disappear right there into her spotless Italian marble floor.
This party was supposed to be my big moment. A client like Martina held parties like this all the time, according my best friend, Stephanie Monroe-Jennings. I’m embarrassed to say Steph got me this gig in the first place.
In her opinion, if I got in good with Martina and all of her well-to-do friends, it could really put Carrie’s Creative Catering on the map.
I was now utterly humiliated. If I didn’t escape to some quiet place soon, then everyone here would witness my childish reaction to Martina’s insult. That’s when I all but ran into Tyler Bennedict’s arms.
The second he’d smiled at me with a little lopsided grin, the first warning whistle along the path to my destruction blew. It would be the first of many to come from that fast moving train headed my way, warning me of the disaster waiting ahead if I was foolish enough to listen to my heart.
I was.
“Don’t listen to her. Martina doesn’t know what she’s talking about most of the time. These just happen to be the best crab puffs I ever tasted. And, if I’d known
the
Carrie of Carrie’s Creative Catering was
this
talented, not to mention beautiful, I would have booked your services long ago.”
Damn, he was good! Charming, sweet and unbelievably handsome. All the things that made me push aside my first uneasy feelings about him and ignore those whistles going off inside my head.
What did it hurt to simply talk to the man? He was a guest. I couldn’t go around pissing off the guests, now could I? And besides, he was gorgeous.
I took a moment to assess his…attributes, from the dark brown hair streaked with highlights no salon could perfect—those babies came from spending lots of time outdoors—past laughing blue eyes, down to the perfect male nose. The only hint of imperfection I could find in him was a tiny little bump at the bridge of his nose. After a second glance, I decided it gave him character. The icing on the cake came when he smiled at me again, revealing two charmingly boyish dimples.
I returned his smile, Martina’s nasty little comments all but forgotten. This was one great looking guy. Where exactly had he come from anyway, and why hadn’t I spotted him earlier?
Suddenly it seemed as if it were just the two of us in this crowded room, like some old romance movie. He looked at me as if I were the only woman in the world. Later I would come to understand the reason behind this look.
“Carrie, do you want me to serve the desserts now?” Allison Richmond, my right hand woman, had apparently been asking this same question for quite some time, if the annoyance in her voice was any indication. The world around me came back into sharp focus the second I got a good look at Allie’s smirk. Belinda and Janet, the two high school girls who worked part time for me, were practically drooling over Tyler.
I forced myself to remember why I was at this party in the first place. I wasn’t one of the rich guests. I was the hired help. Somehow, I untangled my eyes from Handsome Guy and faced the woman who had been with me almost as long as Carrie’s Creative Catering had been in existence.
“Huh? Oh, y-yes, Allie, that’s a good idea and I-I’ll help you.” I turned back for one more look—what did it hurt?—just to make sure the gorgeous man I’d just encountered was actually real and not part of some twisted fantasy cooked up by my deprived body simply because I was currently in the middle of what must be a world-class sexual dry spell. I blushed as I imagined breaking that dry spell with him and stammered to cover up my overactive imagination. “I-I should go. I, uh, d-do have work to do.”
Then he smiled again and I forgot everything I’d been about to say—forgot Allie, the dessert and Martina entirely. This was one dangerous man. He could make me forget just about everything, including the fact that my relationship with David had begun just this innocently.
“I understand, but maybe you’d consider having dinner with me sometime?”
I looked around the room.
Am I the only one hearing those whistles?
“Did you hear that?” I asked. His only answer was another little grin.
At least he’s finding me amusing.
I stalled again, trying to recover some of my composure. “I don’t know. I don’t even know your name. You might be anybody.”
“Tyler Bennedict, and I’m not anybody. I’m just a guy asking you out to dinner. Will you have dinner with me on Saturday night?”
“Carrie, are you coming?” Allie’s less than patient voice reminded me this was a job, not a place to pick up men.
“Right, Allie. Yes, I’m coming.” I turned back to Tyler as levelheaded Carrie tried to convince in-lust Carrie to refuse flat out. Save herself the heartache. But the word “no” just would not come out of my mouth.
“I’ll meet you at Sedona’s at eight on Saturday night.” Tyler promptly dismissed both Carries’ arguments.
“But you don’t know who I am either.”
Tyler Bennedict turned back to me one more time and grinned. I didn’t care who he was at that point. I was in lust and I wanted to kick myself. This was the last place I needed to be right now. Since David, I’d promised myself to focus more on the business and put aside my personal life—aka sex—for the time being.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find out all about you on Saturday.”
The rest of the evening went by in a mindless blur of activity. Nothing penetrated my euphoric state, not even seeing Tyler, my date for Saturday night, chatting with a stunning redhead who was actually a guest and not the hired help. What did it matter? He’d asked
me
out. I mean, she could even be his sister, right? The fact that I was already making up excuses for him should have been my first clue of the trouble I was walking into—if I had actually been looking for clues.
By the time the party had ended, the cleanup finished and all the equipment safely stored away in my little rented shop on Thirty-Eighth Street, it was after three-thirty in the morning. Exhausted, I finally trudged up the steps to my fourth-floor corner apartment. You can probably imagine my surprise as I stood before my bathroom mirror to face my best tangy raspberry sauce plastered across my cheek. I’d added the sauce to the white chocolate cheesecake minutes before my run-in with Tyler.
My heart sank. Now I understood why someone as breathtaking as Tyler Bennedict would ask me out in the first place. It wasn’t as if he were interested in me. He just wanted to know what choice of food I would be wearing next.
About the Author
Jill Steeples lives with her husband, two children and a high maintenance English Pointer called Amber in a lovely house surrounded by Monkey Puzzle trees in a small market town in the UK. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with family and friends, and enjoys reading (of course!), films, musical theatre, walking, baking and eating cakes and drinking wine!
Her short stories have appeared in anthologies and women’s magazines around the world and she is the author of four romantic comedy novels.
Email:
[email protected]
Jill loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
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