Talk of the Town (15 page)

He’s doing this so I won’t cook dinner for George.

“Twenty thousand dollars once.” Milly’s voice quivered with excitement. “Twenty thousand dollars twice. Miss Covington is won by Mr. David Sumner for twenty thousand dollars!”

Amid wild applause, most of the
Daily Mail
staff came up to their table to heap on congratulations. Rebecca felt her simple plan to convince David to change his mind about her job and the paper’s direction shatter around her.

How can I convince you to give me back my job, when all I can think about is having sex with you?

“Rebecca.” She heard Kate’s voice behind her. Felt Kate’s hand on her shoulder. “Shall we go powder our noses?”

Dazed and emotionally bruised by confusion, Rebecca was eager to escape by following Kate. Before Rebecca reached the safety of the bathroom, Milly scooted up to stop her.

“Rebecca, may I speak privately to you for a moment?”

Resigned to doing her duty, after all, she’d agreed to the stupid auction, Rebecca motioned Kate to go ahead.

Clasping her hands, Milly looked ready to cry with happiness. “Yes. I must tell you how grateful we are to you. To think, I had doubts about your willingness to participate in the auction. And to think you were the last-minute celebrity chef added to our roster.”

Rebecca’s antenna went up. “Why was I last minute, Milly?” she asked slowly.

“I thought you knew. Yes. I was sure you did.”

Rebecca shook her head and Milly looked startled, her eyes stretching wide. “Since you work with Shannon, I was sure she told you about the wonderful eleventh-hour e-mail she sent our board member Charlene Jones. It so elegantly described your marvelous cooking skills.”

Rebecca clearly remembered Shannon hanging around the water cooler several months ago when people had been discussing leftovers and what to do with them. Rebecca had admitted she gave up on cooking when she gave up on her marriage, so now the only items in her refrigerator were Diet Coke and champagne. Shannon had laughed along with everyone else.

“Is Charlene Jones the same board member who suggested the live auction?” Rebecca asked quietly.

Milly perked up with pride. “Yes, she is.”

“Did she also suggest that Shannon should draw the name?”

“Yes. The two of them are great friends.”

Absolving this poor woman of any blame, Rebecca smiled gently. “I see. Thank you, Milly.”

“Yes. Thank you again.” Milly scurried off, none the wiser that she had sent Rebecca’s thoughts careening in a new direction.

Rebecca stared back over the room at Shannon, who was gazing intently at someone at another table, who was hidden from view.

There is something more than blind ambition fueling your need to constantly hurt and humiliate me, and you have a willing helper. But why?

Rebecca’s gaze instantly found David in the crowded room. He was relaxed and smiling as he stood talking to Harry. A ribbon of desire wrapped around her.

More importantly, what am I going to do about you?

CHICAGO DAILY MAIL WEDNESDAY FOOD

NOT LOW-CAL TRIPLE ORGASMIC FUDGE PIE

1 unbaked 9-inch pie shell

½ cup butter (1 stick)

3 squares (3 ounces) unsweetened chocolate

1½ cups sugar

4 eggs

3 tablespoons light corn syrup

1¼ teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 quart vanilla ice cream (optional) or whipped cream

Melt butter and chocolate together in a saucepan over very low heat. Beat in sugar, eggs, syrup, salt, and vanilla with a rotary beater just until blended.

Pour into unbaked pie shell. Bake in a 350-degree oven for 40 to 45 minutes or until a knife inserted between center and edge comes out clean.

Do not overbake. Pie should shake a little. It will firm up in 15 minutes after being taken out of oven. Cool and serve with whipping cream (or ice cream) on top. Serves 8.

A Note from Rebecca Covington

Darlings, yes, it’s true! I am the dessert queen and I have the copper-bottom frying pan to prove it.

Like all of you, I’m mad about chocolate and whipped cream. Such perfect foods on most anything are yummy.

Although I do have my limits, unlike a certain kinky businessman I know.

His favorite recipe for his favorite ladies is whipped cream, cherries, and chocolate sauce, and that’s just for their toes!

In his banquet of love, the more serious body parts are smeared with pâté de foie gras, liver sausage, and caviar.

For this gourmand Don Juan, love is truly a bacchanalian orgy of rich foods. Unfortunately, if rumor be true, he’s gained forty pounds in the last two months!

So, darlings, please be discriminating where you put YOUR whipped cream when serving my prize-winning pie!

Enjoy!

Xo Rebecca

Chapter 13

O
n Monday morning, Rebecca stomped into Shannon’s office, ready to confront her about the false lead on the senator, her lie to the Culinary Institute, and the dastardly rigging of the celebrity auction. Any of these diabolically bitchy deeds would have pushed Shannon over Rebecca’s line in the sand.

Sorry, Granny. No more acting like a lady. No more mantras. Little white gloves are off. Shannon must pay.

She found Maybella in the office tidying up the desk. “Where is she?” Rebecca demanded.

Maybella tossed her head, but her mahogany-streaked, shoulder length, flipped-up hair never budged. “You won’t be finding Shannon in the office this week. She’s taking a much-earned vacation.”

On Tuesday Rebecca realized David was missing in action from the office. It wasn’t long before she couldn’t control the nagging jealousy rearing its ugly Medusa head. What if it wasn’t coincidence that Shannon and David were both out of the office? After all, they obviously spent time together after work. Like that first night at Allen’s restaurant.
What if David has hopped on his jet with Shannon and they’re frolicking on some island paradise?

That scene kept playing through her head like a bad movie no matter how hard she fought to shut it off. It should have been obvious to the most naive female that David, handsome, single multimillionaire, could have any woman he fancied in the slightest.

All the sexually charged moments they’d shared, the looks, the intangible
something
between them hadn’t been real. It was what she wanted to believe,
her story.
Like the one she’d told herself about her happy marriage. Not reality. Simple, pure, wishful thinking.

How could I have been so stupid to drop my guard and let David into my heart! Worse, to believe he returned my feelings. So much for the brain-chemical thing scientists swear explains attraction!

Finally, her self-flagellation became too depressing to bear. To help her fully recover from her momentary slip into stupidity and to get back to her normal self, she needed a tad more cheering up. There was no better way to get herself over the last hump than to take Pauline to lunch at her favorite spot, RL’s restaurant.

Indian summer lay in a haze over the city, like a balm before the onset of another windy Chicago winter. The fall sun felt softer but still warm on Rebecca’s bare arms as they sat next to the geranium-festooned half-trellised wall that separated RL’s outdoor dining from the sidewalk.

Pauline swiveled in her chair to scan the dozen or so people seated around them. “Do you remember the time we were having lunch here and Jennifer Aniston was sitting right over there?” She pointed two tables away. “Oh, I just loved her and Vince in
The Breakup.
Maybe she’s in town again?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Sorry, sweetheart. Not that I’ve heard.”

“Oh, well, maybe we’ll see someone else famous.” Pauline sat up straighter. “You always say RL’s is the place in Chicago to see and be seen.”

Half an hour later, even Pauline had to concede they were mostly seeing little girls with their moms or grandmas going into American Girl next door and inevitably coming out carrying multiple big red shopping bags.

“Look at that one coming now.” Pauline pointed toward a happy little girl, clasping a redheaded doll while skipping along beside her mother. “She reminds me of my two girls.” Pauline’s eyes got misty. “They were just that thrilled when you bought them their American Girl dolls last Christmas.”

Rebecca shivered at the memory. “Then it was worth my agony waiting in line outside to even get
into
the store. Did I mention it was snowing that day?”

“Rebecca, you should start shopping now. Christmas is just around the corner,” Pauline said brightly.

Confused, Rebecca stopped dipping her grilled cheese sandwich into her tomato soup to look up at Pauline. “What are you talking about? You know I love last-minute Christmas shopping. It’s only the middle of October.”

“Oh, I know how much you love Christmas. You’re always your happiest then. You should be thinking about Christmas, Rebecca. Remembering how much you love all the lights on Michigan Avenue, and going to all the fancy holiday parties, and shopping for your friends and just making people happy, like you did the girls.”

Pauline did not have a poker face like Kate. Every emotion was written in bold, neon red letters across her pretty freckled features.

She thinks I’m depressed.
Hoping to reassure her, Rebecca laughed. “Stop worrying. I’m fine.”

Pauline’s lips quivered as she pointed to the bowl of soup Rebecca was wiping clean with the crust of her sandwich. “Look what you’re eating.”

Rebecca had to defend her choice to feed her stress just a few more carbs. “My granny always said starve a cold, feed your stress. It’s comfort food.”

“Oh, I knew it!” Pauline leaned across the table, her curls falling around her stricken face. “I know you’re trying to hide it, but I’ve never seen you so down. Not even when you got . . . fired.” She dropped her voice on the last fateful word.

“I’m not
down,
” Rebecca insisted, feeling rotten for lying to one of her dearest friends. No way was she going to burden Pauline’s gentle soul with this mess. “I’m frustrated.” As always, when she had no choice but to fib, Rebecca kept it as close to the truth as possible. “I need to talk to Shannon about a work-related problem, but she’s out of the office all week.”

“Mr. Sumner’s gone this week, too.” Pauline went into deep-whisper mode. “That’s just a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Hoping the pain in her chest was heartburn instead of
heartache,
because she would have no more of
that
foolishness, Rebecca shrugged. “I guess it’s possible they’re together.”

“But he paid twenty thousand dollars for you!” Pauline said, her voice loud with excitement.

The man at the next table looked up, a peculiarly interested gleam in his eyes.

“That was a business deal.” Rebecca lowered her voice, hoping Pauline would do the same next time. “Great publicity for him. It made him look good because I was up for bidding. It was nothing personal.”

Obviously Rebecca hadn’t kept her voice low enough. The man at the next table leered at her and actually scooted toward her in his chair. She stopped him with a scathing don’t-you-dare glare.

He hastily paid his bill and fled.

Pauline had totally missed his crude behavior because she kept staring, like the Sphinx, toward Rush Street. “It should be just a few more minutes, and then I’ll find out the truth about Mr. Sumner and Shannon. This is one of those moments that I need to be here for you,” she declared, perching on the edge of her chair. “Look, Maybella!”

Wearing black cat-eye sunglasses, Maybella was slowly strolling along Chicago Avenue, sipping a venti Starbucks.

Waving, Pauline bounced to her feet. “Oh, Maybella, hi!”

Maybella stopped to stare in their direction.

Even from a distance Rebecca could see she didn’t look happy to obey Pauline’s eager gesture to join them.

Clutching her Starbucks in both hands, essence of caramel frappuccino clinging to her, Maybella hovered on the other side of the flower-festooned barricade. “Hi, y’all. It must be nice to get such a nice long lunch break.”

Pauline nodded. “For you, too. We were just talking about how lonely it must be this week for you. With everyone gone in the executive hallway.”

Visibly preening, Maybella flashed a toothy grin. “Mr. Porter’s in and out so much this week, too. He left me in charge of everything. I’m so exhausted I had to have another frappuccino to make it through the afternoon.”

“Poor you.” Pauline looked wounded on Maybella’s behalf. “When do you expect everyone back to relieve you?”

Rebecca watched Pauline in mounting disbelief, reminded of a special she’d seen on how a spider hypnotizes a fly into its web.

“Mr. Sumner comes back on Friday. Shannon not ’til Monday. Dear thing needs a break with all her new notoriety.” Maybella smirked in Rebecca’s direction.

She schooled her face for fear any sign from her might lead Pauline to inflict further torture on Maybella.

Pauline glanced down at her watch and her eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh, my gosh. It’s almost two. If you’re in charge, shouldn’t you be back by now? What if Mr. Porter calls in? Or worse, Mr. Sumner. You might get fired!”

Maybella’s lips, lined lightly with whipped cream, twisted into a frown. “I have five minutes left on my break. Don’t you worry, I’ll be back at my desk on the dot of two like always.” With a last glare, she swung away.

Watching Maybella flutter frantically back toward the Daily Mail building to make that two o’clock deadline, Rebecca felt a twinge of sympathy for her. She turned to her always kind, sensitive, gentle friend. “Clearly I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

A fiercely protective look came over Pauline’s face. “Oh, stop! Just because I’m not a mean-spirited person doesn’t mean I’m not capable of defending my loved ones from those that
are
mean-spirited. Maybella deserves it for the way she sometimes treats you. I always tell the girls what goes around comes around. Besides, we got the truth. Trust me, if Mr. Sumner and Shannon were together, Maybella would give up a week of double caramel frappuccinos for the right to tell us. So see! You can be happy again!”