All the Way

Chapter Seven

Miranda pushed open the door to the popular French restaurant and dragged Gavin in. The sophisticated atmosphere bespoke the usual bistro flavor—sparkling lights, small round tables, rich mahogany wood, and a reserved air of snobbery. She’d learned from experience that the more obnoxious her appearance, the less people looked beneath the surface to spot her food critic celebrity. LaSaveur was the new dig in town, known for its gourmet food and exquisite use of truffle oil. Unfortunately, the owner sniffed out a food critic in record time, and plied them with the very best. Gaining an unbiased review of the restaurant as a whole was her goal. Even if she got through the first course without being spotted, she’d consider it a win.

She pulled her fake fur around her shoulders and gave her name to the hostess.

The trendily dressed woman cringed. “We’re booked up for reservations months in advance,” she informed them in crisp tones.

Miranda pursed her lips. “I’m a distant cousin of JJ Abrams. He’s going to cast me in his new Star Trek movie. I’d advise you to check again.”

The woman disappeared to get the maitre’d.

Gavin lowered his head to speak against her ear. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Shush. Don’t ruin my cover. I warned you I was working tonight.”

“If anyone catches this on YouTube, I’m ruined.” His piercing blue eyes held a mixture of shock and pure lust. She bit her lip and tried not to get distracted by the sexy black Calvin Klein suit that hugged lean thighs and broad shoulders. He hadn’t shaved, and scruff hugged his jaw and chin, giving him a dangerous look. A fedora lay low on his brow. The Rolex watch and fake diamond earring gleamed. Yum.

Her own outfit consisted of hardly any material. Posing as the trashy trophy of a rich man, she’d poured herself into a fire engine red dress that barely covered her ass and accented her boobs. The blonde wig and heavy make-up disguised her red hair and pale skin. As the new celebrity food critic, gaining entrance without preference was key.

She loved the food industry. It was really screwed up.

The woman was replaced by a distinguished older man with salted hair, skinny hands, and a crinkled nose. He led them to the table, wrapped in a cloud of judgment for his new seedy customers that had forced their way into his establishment. Gavin fell into his part with ease and growled as the man took a quick peek down her dress. The menus were thrust into their hands and he hurried away.

“What if someone recognizes me? Pop will have a heart attack.” His worry regarding his father softened her heart, and she squeezed his hand across the table.

“Don’t worry, Sonny.” A giggle escaped at the name he detested from The Godfather. “What are we eating?”

“Anything you want, doll. Money is no object.”

“Good evening, sir. Madame.” The waiter appeared and recited the specials. Miranda made notes of the menu, calculating the specials, prices, and studying the decor. The dining area was tight and people’s conversations were easy to overhear. The crystal was top notch, the linen sharply pressed, and the chandelier fake. She noted the waiter never asked if they wanted tap water, just plunked down the sparkling at $4.99 per bottle. Interesting. The waiter spoke to Gavin and ignored her. “Would you like to begin with an appetizer?”

She jumped in. “Escargot, please.”

Not meeting her eyes, his pencil scratched the pad. “And you, sir?”

“The goat cheese special.”

“Excellent. Are you ready to order?”

“I had a question on the menu,” she chirped. Yep, there was the frown. Judgmental. His gaze took in her cheap dress, clown make-up, and platinum hair. “Which is better? The lamb shank or duck?”

“Both are excellent.” His lips pressed together in a thin line. “Would you like more time to decide?”

Hmm. LaSaveur was famed for its enthusiastic knowledge of the menu and the ability of the waiter to recommend a dish. Guess not if one wasn’t dressed in designer clothes. “I guess I’ll have the lamb. Would you suggest any special sides to go with it?”

“The shallot potatoes. They are a la carte, of course.”

“What’s that mean?”

His mouth turned as if he’d bit into something sour. “Separately priced,” he snapped out. Again, he shifted his attention to Gavin. “Sir? May I assist you with any of your choices?”

Gavin caught her eye and she gave a nod. Already well-coached in what she needed to sample, he deftly ordered. The chef chatted with him, and continued to ignore her. When he finally left, her temper simmered like the escargot she was served with her expensive bottle of wine.

“What an ass. Did you see him ignore me?”

“I don’t know how. God, Miranda, please don’t lean in. I’m having a problem over here.”

He shifted his weight, and she realized her breasts almost slipped out of her bra. “Oops. Sorry. Make it up to you later.”

“Tease.”

“Pimp.”

He choked and drank some of the expensive water. “We don’t need to spice up our sex life, baby. I already can’t keep my hands off of you, and it’s only been a week since I got you back in my bed. The kink factor is putting me over the edge. I need a shirt that says Do It With A Foodie.”

“Damn, that’s good. I’m getting one printed. Nice wine list. Great flavor. I wish he would’ve let me smell the cork, though.”

“I pocketed it for you. Figured you’d want it.”

She beamed. “You rock.”

“Tell me this isn’t a weekly occurrence and part of your job description.”

Miranda took a sip of the earthy Bordeaux. Not bad. “I only recently began my life of playing an imposter. I used to be able to go anywhere, but since my articles in Foodie magazine became popular, I transformed into a celebrity. Pretty cool, but a bit strange. I always thought critics were just like writers—known only for their work and not their face.”

He grinned. “Not many have a face like you, baby.”

“Nice line.”

“Thanks.” He studied her in the dim light. “You amaze me. It’s difficult to make a name for yourself in the food industry, especially in Manhattan. You must have worked your ass off.”

“Yeah, but it was worth it. My grandmother always encouraged me to dream big and go after what I want. I feel like she’s with me and I made her proud. That’s worth everything. Isn’t that how you feel with your own family?”

A shadow crossed his face. He tipped back his wineglass. “Not like you. I wanted to succeed for purely selfish reasons. Money. Power. When I traveled to India, I started questioning if I even liked the work. Never stopped to think about it. Maybe that’s why lately, success felt so empty.”

His startling revelation was interrupted by their waiter bringing their appetizers. Gavin quickly switched to surface topics and she allowed him the lead. Before the second course, Miranda pushed back her chair. “I’m going to excuse myself for a bit and make a trip to the ladies room. Check out the surroundings. Maybe peek in the kitchen on an oops.”

“Good luck.”

She wobbled on her platform heels, then steadied. The hardwood floors gleamed, and gilded mirrors hung on the wall beside French paintings. She preferred a bistro feel to her French haunts, but this one was stuffy, overdone, and a bit bland. Like biting into a rich juicy peach and finding it tastes like an apple. Yuck.

She used the restroom, wandered down the wrong hallway, and pressed against the wall near the swinging doors. The usual litany of French and English drifted from the kitchen. Standing on tiptoes, she peeked in the small square window. A line of chefs barked orders at the waiters as they shuffled in. Relatively clean. Organized. Not bad. In between curses that rivaled Hell’s Kitchen, a familiar voice drifted to her ears. Miranda frowned and tried to place it. So familiar. So annoying. So…

Allison Wheaton.

She stepped away from the wall at the same time the door flung open. Her heel dug for footing and slipped on the glossy finish. She hit the back wall hard and landed on her ass. The already short dress hiked up to massive heights.

She looked up. The woman stared down at her in astonishment and pure glee. Her perfect glossy hair hung in a neat bob. Golden hoops sparkled at her lobes. The pewter silk suit only added to her polish, right down to her Jimmy Choos.

Miranda scrambled to her feet in a desperate need to at least be at full height without her crotch hanging out. “What are you doing here?”

Allison’s dark eyes brimmed with mirth as she studied her appearance. “Doing a review, of course. I just got done speaking with the chef. An excellent meal, if I do say so myself.”

She spit out her words. “You knew I wanted to review LaSaveur for The Herald. Why don’t you stop stealing my beat and find your own restaurants? You have no originality.”

Allison lifted a brow. “And you’re always a step behind. You’ll never make it in this business, Miranda. You’re a cheap fluke, destined to come right back down. The only reason you got attention was from stealing my tagline.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You’re just pissed because mine is more catchy.”

The woman shrugged. “Whatever. Really, darling, did you think no one would recognize you dressed like a cheap tramp? I knew who you were immediately.”

Miranda poked a finger at Allison’s small breasts. “I’d rather dress like a cheap tramp than be one. Or do you know this chef personally, too?”

“He happens to be a friend of my boyfriend’s, so if you’re thinking of trashing this restaurant, think again. I’m running my own in tomorrow’s issue—before you’ll ever have your review to print. Now, run along dear. Find someplace else to play with your food.”

Miranda simmered with frustration. Once again, she was being trumped. Getting to print the original review of a restaurant was key. If she ran a duplicate review with negative vibes, it would look like a thwarted attempt to discredit Allison’s opinion. Not cool in the food industry. As much as she wanted to, she’d never ruin her reputation or sink to the woman’s level. “Good luck selling your readers on this dump. At least I tell the truth and don’t trade favors for favors.”

Allison gasped.

Miranda spun away and marched back to her table. Grasping her wine glass, she chugged down the rest in one long swallow. “Get the bill, Gavin.”

“Why? I thought we were doing a review.”

“I’ve got other plans. Bigger plans.” She sashayed over to him and laid an open mouth, toe-curling, stomach-dropping kiss on that gorgeous mouth.

The waiter appeared and rested their entrees on the table. “Sir, your food.”

Her man surfaced from the kiss with a stupid expression on his face. “Huh?”

Miranda waved her hand in dismissal. “The bill. The food was decent, the service sucks, and this place blows.” She dropped one lid. “And I’m about to blow something else.”

The waiter stumbled back.

Gavin threw his credit card on the table. “Keep it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

She laughed as he dragged her out of the restaurant.

…

Two days later, Gavin watched his lady smile up at her three admirers. Dominick, Brando, and Tony crowded around the table he’d vacated exactly three minutes ago.

Gavin shook his head. The men in his family moved fast when it came to a beautiful woman. He decided to hurry through his rounds and reclaim her. If he wasn’t careful, Brando would dump Tracey and challenge him for Miranda’s hand. Hell, they’d already eaten pizza together once this past week. Before long, they’d be going steady, and he’d have to duel his younger brother.

Soft laughter drifted through the air. He paused before table nine and looked over. Fiery red hair burned across the room and framed a face that had haunted his dreams for three years. His gut twisted in emotion. She belonged to him again. The knowledge brought humility. Satisfaction. And a deep, wrenching fear.

He was in love with her. Always had been. Always would be.

“Gavin?”

He blinked and looked down at his customer. “Yes, Mrs. Deniston?”

The older couple shared a look of common understanding. “You got it bad, son.”

Gavin groaned. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve been staring at her for the past five minutes. You also look like you’ve been run over by a freight train. All the signs are there.” Mr. Deniston scooped up the bill and poked his finger in the air. “You’d better do something about it.”

Gavin watched as his brother placed his hand over Miranda’s. “Hmm, maybe you’re right.”

“Don’t screw up. The right one comes along but once in a lifetime.”

“Maybe it’s time I take that advice. Thanks, Mr. Deniston. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll try some damage control.”

Funny, the revelation he loved her came naturally, almost as if the knowledge was always there in his heart. He just needed the guts to finally admit it. He needed to tell her. More importantly, he had to find a way to make her come with him.

Or he could stay.

The constant battle warred and left a trail of unease. Yes, he realized he wasn’t as happy in his job, but maybe he’d be able to tweak his career to make it more user-friendly. Was he really ready to chuck years of sacrifice and work to run a restaurant he never wanted? Save it, yes. Be more involved with Mia Casa and his family, yes. Visit more, yes.

But drop his entire life to work day and night in the food industry?

He pushed his thoughts aside and joined Brando, who perched on the edge of his seat, and leaned close to Miranda. “I think my brother is seriously crushing on you, baby. He’s been dragging you for pizza a lot lately.”

Brando glared. “You know I’m in love with Tracey.”

A grin tugged at Gavin’s lips. “Sorry.”

Miranda turned to Brando. “Why don’t I come by tomorrow at lunch, and we’ll finish our conversation?”

Brando brightened. “Okay. Come on, Dominick, let’s finish up in the back.”

The three men trooped off, looking star-struck. Gavin shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Why do you have to smile at them like that?”

She laughed. “Hmm, you’re still the same possessive Italian from years ago. They’re your family, darling. Perfectly safe to flirt with.”

He grunted. “Did Helena of Troy say something like that before the Trojan War?”

She linked her fingers through his and leaned in. The sweet scents of fresh berries drifted in the air. Her black crocheted sweater slipped down over one shoulder. He slipped one hand under the strap of her lace camisole and caressed her with a light, teasing touch. A rush of satisfaction hit him at her quick indrawn breath.

“Do you have to go back to work?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He kneaded her neck with firm strokes, then massaged her scalp. She groaned. “Can you be late?”

“This can’t be possible. How can we want each other again so soon? After last night. And this morning. And in the kitchen.”

“We never did get breakfast.”

“You’re turning me into a nympho. I think I’m walking around with a stupid smile on my face 24/7, and Andy’s torturing me.”

He chuckled. “I’m getting the same treatment here.”

She pressed a quick kiss on his lips. “I’ve got to get back to the paper. If I don’t set up another good review, my editor will fire me. I’ve already drafted three columns, and they’re all on take-out Chinese.”

“That’s all we’ve eaten for the last four days.” He glanced down at her plate. “You didn’t touch your lunch.”

Her brow crinkled in frustration. “I know. Probably all that take-out. My stomach’s been queasy lately.”

“Are you getting sick?”

She shrugged. “Probably the beginning of that nasty stomach flu. It’s going around the office.”

“That settles it. I’m putting you to bed early tonight.”

A wicked gleam flashed in jade green eyes. “Do we get to play doctor?”

He grew to full attention at the idea of that scene. “Definitely,” he growled. Gavin grabbed her hand and led her outside the restaurant. “Have some tea to settle your stomach.”

“Darling, I have tea every night.”

“Have some crackers this time, maybe that will help.”

She laughed, but Gavin caught the pale tint to her skin when she passed a tray of steaming garlic pasta. He stepped onto the street. “Maybe you should go home now.”

“I’ll be fine. If I get worse, I’ll just work from home today.”

“Excuse me, I wondered if you can answer a question for us?”

Gavin turned to the two women dressed in expensive business suits by the door. What can I help you with?” he asked.

One woman motioned toward the sign. “Is this place any good? We’re both dying for Italian food, but we heard it got trashed in The Herald.”

Miranda stiffened. Gavin kept his voice calm and even. “We had some problems the night the critic visited. I’m the owner of the restaurant, and I can assure you both the food is outstanding.”

They shared a look. Gavin almost groaned. Obviously, they didn’t believe an owner could be impartial, and they were trying to come up with a dignified excuse that would allow them to leave.

“I never listen to critics,” Miranda cut in. “You can’t trust any of them—all they do is make money to eat for free and spout their own inflated opinions.”

Gavin wondered if she was running a fever.

“Did you eat in there?”

She nodded at the woman’s question. “Yep. Food was awesome, best Italian I’ve had in years.”

Obviously the women didn’t recognize her face, though they read her column. “Umm, may I interrupt and say—”

She waved one hand in the air. “Pasta is all homemade, bread is freshly baked, and the eggplant is perfect.”

Both women looked intrigued. “That sounds good. “

“It is. I eat here all the time.”

Gavin wondered if the sun cast that strange tint to her skin, or if she was really turning green. She continued praising his restaurant while the women inched toward the entrance.

“Thanks for the advice. By the way, what did you have for lunch?”

Gavin waited and wondered if she’d admit she only had a salad.

“Garlic pasta,” she said heartily. “It’s one of their specials, you’ll love it. In fact, I think—”

She gripped her stomach and bit down on her lower lip.

Gavin decided she’d turned the same shade the broccoli rabe was the night of her review. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

She gulped in a big breath of air. Her brow knit in concentration as she seemed to will away the waves of sickness.

Gavin guessed the action didn’t work.

She bent over and vomited on the sidewalk.

When Gavin looked up, the two women had hurried down the block and disappeared from sight.

…

“I’m so sorry.” A shiver seized her body and she buried deeper into the sea green blanket. The soft threads, crocheted by her grandma, soothed her. “I totally screwed up helping you get customers.”

He laughed and laid a damp washcloth across her brow. “Not your fault. But next time I think you should let me do the cajoling. Those women couldn’t run fast enough, even on high heels.”

Miranda giggled, but the cramps in her belly turned it to a half groan. “I know Tim gave this to me. He can only copyedit hunched over my computer, and he’s been out a few days. Bastard.”

“I’ll send him the garlic pasta today by special delivery. That’ll get him.” Gavin plunked the bucket near the couch and squeezed in beside her. “Lay your head on me while you rest.”

“You’ll get sick.”

He eased her back and tucked the edge of the blanket under her chin. “I already had my tongue in your mouth. I’m doomed, anyway.”

She choked out a laugh and her stomach settled. “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

“I called in the second shift staff to cover for me.”

“Gavin, I’m fine. Go back to work.”

“Who’s going to hold your hair back when you throw up? Isn’t that what good boyfriends do?”

She relaxed into the strength of his arms. When was the last time anyone cared enough to be with her when she was sick? No one. Her dates fled if she wasn’t up for eating or fooling around. This was nice. But he was going to get bored. How long could he just stay on her couch, holding her, while he waited for her to get sick? She roused herself and tried sparkling conversation. “So, what was your favorite place you visited on your travels?”

His chest rumbled. “Baby, I don’t think you care right now. Close your eyes and rest.”

The next wave began and she moaned. “Can’t. Couch is shaking. Go home, Gavin.”

“Not going anywhere.” He grabbed the remote and turned it to an old episode of Seinfeld. “Concentrate on this in the background. I used to do that when I was drunk. Takes away the spins.”

“I’m gonna—”

She flew across the room and made it to the bathroom. When she finally lifted her head, all dignity and pride shriveled and died. She stunk. She looked like crap. She wanted to crawl into a hole and surrender.

He picked her up from the cool white tile, helped wash her face, then pulled her hair back to gather it in a clip. He left for a moment and returned with a T-shirt and sweats, then helped her change. Gavin forced a sip of water down her throat and led her back to the couch.

His solid warmth comforted her in a way she hadn’t experienced since her grandmother held her during the flu. The sickness and emotions whirled together in a rush. “Gavin?”

“What, baby?”

“I’m sorry. About the review.” She tried to gulp a breath. “You were right. I wrote it because I was angry at you and wanted you to hurt. Just like I did when you left me.” She waited a beat, then pushed through the rest. “I wanted to be the one to get the last word for once.”

She waited for his temper. Disappointment. Waited for him to leave.

Instead, he stroked back her hair. “I know. Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Regret choked her throat. “I can’t do another review, either. I—I won’t.”

“Okay.”

His simple acceptance rocked her soul, but another bout of nausea distracted her from analyzing her reaction. She ran back to the bathroom, misery and exhaustion battling for supremacy.

The hours passed. He didn’t leave. Didn’t speak. When the worst of the pain passed, Miranda lay her sweat-drenched head against him and let go. Seinfeld turned into Friends and The Big Bang Theory. Night fell and she slept. When she roused herself to open her eyes and take another sip of water, something deep inside of her shifted and broke open.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He smiled and caressed her cheek. “Welcome.”

She fell back asleep.