“I don’t want his anything. And even if I did...” Her fingers fluttered up to her hair. “Oh, God. Stop talking. He saw us. He’s coming over.” She tucked a stray lock behind her ear though she didn’t know why she cared. So what if her hair was a bit messy because she’d only pulled it out of her bun and done a quick finger comb? That was life. Not shellacking her coif into a helmet that could break someone’s nose like the ice queen over there.
At least her clothing was nothing to sniff at. She straightened the hem of her nutty-colored tweed blazer, an investment piece she’d splurged on when she lived in Paris, and reknotted the leopard-print scarf around her neck. Paired with an army-green tee and black skinny pants, she looked chic and casual.
Keeping a spare change of clothes in her office was a necessity of being friends with Sasha. Sasha liked to go out after work and Julia liked to go with her. She loved cooking, but the industry could be hard on a person’s social life. She worked while others were out and having fun. When she was off work, most people were in bed. Now Julia wished she’d begged off after work and gone home to bed, too.
She could feel Donovan’s eyes on her, homed in, noting everything about her. A shiver passed through her. She hid it under a small smile and picked up her wineglass, raising it toward him as if in toast. A statement that she saw and acknowledged him but no further contact was necessary.
He didn’t take the hint.
“Sasha.” Donovan strode up to their table looking very dashing and debonair and just the slightest bit mussed. His bow tie was angled as though he’d stuck his fingers beneath it to loosen the knot and his cuffs weren’t perfectly even. A man who knew who he was and didn’t have to put on a show for the little people.
He bent to kiss Sasha on the cheek, and Julia inhaled his scent. Basil. Fresh and just a little spicy, like the scent of summer. Another shiver rocked through her, rocked harder when he turned toward her.
“Julia.” He bent to kiss her cheek. Cool air radiated off his skin, highlighted the warmth of his lips.
The shiver didn’t come back, but that was because Julia was swamped with a wave of them. She swallowed and tried to act like his kiss, his nearness, didn’t affect her in the least.
“Who’s your date?” Sasha wanted to know.
Julia kicked her. Asking Donovan about his love life was not appropriate. Even if she wanted to know, as well.
Sasha pinched her under the table but didn’t redact her question.
To his credit, Donovan didn’t look flustered or flushed at being interrogated by a pair of women he barely knew. “Tatiana Ivanova.”
Julia eyed the blonde. Her name suited her, cool and exotic and glamorous. Tatiana had stopped at a table of well-dressed people near the middle of the room, clearly friends, judging by the way she helped herself to a sip of wine from one of the goblets.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
This time, Julia didn’t kick Sasha but she did listen keenly for Donovan’s answer. Not that she cared what he said. Girlfriend, fiancée, wife, it didn’t matter to her and didn’t affect her life in any way. And yet, there were her ears, so finely tuned to any nuance that they were practically swiveling.
His eyes strayed to Julia and locked there. “I wouldn’t say that.”
She sipped her wine, feeling his gaze like a touch. It warmed her to the core. She sensed rather than saw Sasha sit back, knew she was going to have to answer a ton of questions later, but suddenly she didn’t care. She met Donovan’s dark gaze. “Oh? Then what would you say?”
Heat flared in his look, reached out to curl around her. Even with the limited lighting, Julia saw his eyes darken, the small curve of his mouth and the opening of his body as he angled himself more fully toward her. Signs of attraction. Her breath caught and held. She forgot Sasha was sitting right there, watching and listening to everything.
Donovan ran a hand through his hair, leaving lines through the dark waves. “She’s an old friend that I should get back to.” But he didn’t turn to look at the woman in question.
“Of course.” Julia tried to swallow the spark of attraction as easily as the wine. It was nothing she would act on anyway. “Enjoy your evening.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched her for a few seconds longer and then excused himself with a polite nod.
Julia watched him walk back, the easy way his hand slid around his date’s waist and the familiar look she gave him, leaning back just slightly so their bodies were touching from chest to thigh. A different kind of pulse coursed through her. Hot and envious. Which was ridiculous.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” Sasha asked.
“What what was about?” Julia feigned ignorance, swirling her wine in her glass without sipping.
“About the fact that I’m sitting over here with my eyebrows practically singed off.” Sasha fanned herself.
“You exaggerate.” Julia swirled again, watching the legs of the wine run down the inside of the glass, and willed her eyes to stay there and not where they wanted to go, which was to see what Donovan was doing with his blonde date.
“Really? Then why can’t he stop staring at you?”
“He’s not.” But she looked because she couldn’t help herself. It was instinctual. Anyone would look. And found Donovan’s dark eyes on her. Heat flamed in her cheeks. He shouldn’t be looking at her like that when he had his hand on another woman. Except he didn’t anymore. He’d taken a step away from the lovely Tatiana, his hand resting by his side.
Julia reminded herself that he was her de facto boss. That he’d bought the restaurant out from under her. That she needed to focus on her career if she wanted to reach her goals.
And wondered what that hand would feel like on her waist.
JULIA SLID HER arms into the sleeves of her charcoal suit jacket and eyed herself in her bedroom mirror. It had been a week since Donovan Ford had barged into her restaurant and her life. And although she’d realized almost immediately that her options were limited, she’d felt obligated to take the full seven days just to ensure he knew he wasn’t calling all the shots. He might sign the checks and be the one with his name on the deed, but the kitchen and everyone in it were hers.
She ran a lint brush over her jacket, making sure there were no extraneous pieces of fluff on the dark wool, before fixing the collar of her crisp white dress shirt. Paired with a matching pencil skirt, her mother’s pearls and a pair of simple black heels, she knew she looked stylish and in control. Exactly the look she was going for in her meeting with Donovan Ford about the contract she still hadn’t signed. She grabbed her purse, did one last check in the mirror and headed out the door.
The day was cool, one that brought color to her cheeks and made her glad she kept a pair of leather gloves in the pocket of her winter coat. She slipped them on, covering up her short nails, nicked hands—the badges of honor every chef had—and caught a cab from her downtown West End apartment to Yaletown, where the Ford Group had their administrative offices.
She’d done her research and knew they owned the entire building. She peeked through the windows of Elephants, cheeks flushing as she recalled the flash of jealousy that had accosted her there when she’d seen Donovan walk in with his date. But that was a week ago, and in the interim, Julia had come to realize that she was over it. Over him.
She was surprised to see how full the wine bar was for a Monday at lunchtime. Tables of business professionals with bottles of sparkling water instead of wine. It was as full as La Petite Bouchée had been on Saturday night, a sobering realization, but not one she needed to analyze now.
Julia