The One That I Want Read online

  “Girl, every time I come over here I just want to sit down and never get up. This view is to die for.” She crossed the yawning space to the window.

  Cara smiled. It was her gift to herself when she’d closed her first big deal for a commercial space. Each time she walked through the door to her loft she was reminded that this was hers and she would never be at the mercy of anyone or fate ever again. Her home was a physical reminder of where she’d once been, blinded by love, but she would never be again.

  “I can whip us up some sandwiches or a chicken Caesar salad if you want something lighter,” she called out from her state-of-the-art kitchen.

  “Salad is fine with me. Got any wine?”

  “You know where everything is. Pour me a glass, too.” She took out her bowl of grilled chicken and the spinach greens from the crisper and began preparing their lunch. “So, um, what is your plan for this show thing you have up your sleeve.”

  Stella walked into the kitchen and placed Cara’s glass of wine on the counter. “Well, I’m thinking of filming the restaurant, interviewing some of the staff and, of course, Chef Davis.” She stole a quick glance at Cara from beneath her lashes. “I have three new restaurants that will be included in the piece.”

  “And where do I fit into this grand scheme?” She diced the chicken and sprinkled it over the greens.

  “I’ll have you do some voice-overs and then a one-on-one about the changing community and its impact on the residents and the economy. You have up-close and personal experience. You have your finger on the pulse of what’s happening to Downtown Brooklyn.”

  Cara glanced away. The changes to the community were a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the building, renovation, and escalation of property values, along with the influx of new business and the yuppies from Manhattan, made Brooklyn the “in” place to live. On the other hand, she knew the negative impact it had on the residents who could no longer afford to live in the very neighborhoods that they’d grown up in. They had to watch the family mom-and-pop stores be taken over by outdoor cafés and expensive boutiques and renovated apartments that were priced out of their reach. Affordable housing was vanishing. Her stomach twisted with the guilt of her knowledge that she was a part of it. She pushed out a breath, finished off the salad, and placed the bowl on the center of the counter.

  “Sounds good,” Cara murmured.

  “You don’t sound too sure.”

  She slid onto the counter stool. “It’s that I was thinking I’m part of the problem.”

  Stella frowned in confusion.

  Cara waved her hand and shook her head in dismissal. “Never mind, I’m overthinking it.” She forked salad onto her plate. “When are you going to start filming?”

  “As soon as I get the okay from the participants, we can get started. I think the entire shoot should take about four days and then editing. I want to air it during Thanksgiving weekend.”

  Cara’s brows rose. “That’s pretty soon.”

  “Hmm, a few weeks.” She shrugged lightly and added salad to her plate. “But the idea is that it’s about food and the thought is that families will be together and we can get the biggest bang for the buck.”

  Cara nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “You don’t think you’re going to have a problem if I sit you and the chef down together?”

  Cara flashed Stella a look. “Problem? Meaning?” Stella propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her palm. “You’re my best friend. I know you, and as much as you want to downplay things, you have a thing for the chef. And clearly he has a thing for you.”

  Cara reached for her glass of wine and took a small sip before responding. “Okay, I admit he did . . . spark something. But”—she held up her index finger—“he said he would call and I haven’t heard a word.”

  “You didn’t exactly come across as warm and fuzzy.”

  Cara snickered.

  “I’m sure it’s just that he’s busy.”

  “I guess. Anyway, how are things with you and Vincent?”

  “Great when we have time for each other.” She maintained her focus on her food.

  Vincent Howell was an international correspondent and spent months at a time on assignment. He and Stella had been married for three years. She wanted a family. Vincent wanted his career. It had become a wall of contention between them recently.

  Cara touched Stella’s hand. “It will work out. Vincent loves you.”

  Stella offered up a tight-lipped smile. “I know.” Cara studied her friend’s melancholy expression. She knew how deeply love could hurt and it was why she didn’t want to go down that road again. If Mitch Davis did call, it would be strictly business.

  Chapter 3

  Mitch hung up the phone and slapped his palm on the table. The local ABC affiliate was preparing a piece on the renaissance of Brooklyn and wanted to include him and his restaurant. They wanted his response as soon as possible so they could schedule the filming and interview. Of course he’d run it past Brad, but he was definitely going through with it. The televising of his restaurant would be a boon to the business. You can’t buy that kind of free advertising. Playing up to the ladies that night worked out in a completely unexpected way. He’d wanted to impress Cara Holiday, but instead hit a cord with Stella Freeman. Go figure. He shook his head in bemusement and then went in search of Brad to share the news.

  Brad chuckled in wonder. He put his feet up on the desk and leaned back in his seat. “Only you could have had fate fall in your lap like this. Here you are playing Mr. Wonderful to one woman and catch the eye of another. How does that happen?”

  Mitch couldn’t help but laugh. He perched on the edge of the desk. “Hey, who knew. Trust me, it wasn’t my intention to snag a television spot.”

  “Obviously your charms weren’t wasted,” he snorted.

  “Guess not.”

  “So when do I need to get ready for my close-up?” Brad asked.

  “I should get a call by tomorrow to confirm a day and time.”

  “While we’re closed or open?”

  “Good question. If they do it when we’re open, I would think they’d need a lot of permissions to film.”

  “Yeah, probably.” He shrugged. “We’ll see.” He shook his head slowly. “Man, this is gonna put us on the map for real.”

  “I know. I know. Couldn’t be better for biz if I’d worked it out myself.”

  They were quiet for a moment, taking in their good fortunes. Brad broke the silence. “So you give that real-estate chick a call and thank her yet?”

  Mitch frowned. “Thank her. For what?”

  “A lot. If it wasn’t for her inspiring you to rise to the occasion, we would have never gotten this television offer.”

  “Hmm, very funny. And, no, I haven’t called her. Been thinking about it, but . . . she didn’t really give me a vibe that she wanted to be bothered beyond finishing her dinner.”

  Brad shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that your radar regarding women is always in need of a tune-up.”

  “Say what?”

  “Yeah, you heard me. Every woman who you date you remain oblivious to how they feel or what they want. And then you seem stunned when they leave.”

  “Damn, man, you make me sound like a Neanderthal.”

  Brad eyed his friend. “If the club fits . . .” He swung his feet to the floor and stood. “Like Billy Dee said in Mahogany . . . ‘success is nothing without someone to share it with.’”

  Mitch wide-eyed his friend, then burst into a fit of doubled-over laughter. It took him several moments to pull himself together. He was shaking his head and pointing at Brad. “You . . . you quoting chick-flick movie lines now . . . what the hell.” He chuckled some more.

  Brad stared him down. “All right, all right. Me and Fay saw the movie over the weekend,” he confessed. “You could use a chick flick in your life. What?”

  Mitch clapped
him on the shoulder. “Nothing, man. Nothing at all.” He started for the door. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he chuckled on his way out.

  Mitch headed for the kitchen still tickled by Brad’s confession, but while he reviewed the menu for the evening and checked the ingredients, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from returning to the famed line. He was doing well. His business was growing. He was financially stable and had plans to continue to expand. The airing of the profile on his restaurant would up the stakes of his success. Someone to share it with. He’d never really thought about it much before, but now . . .

  “Chef Davis?”

  Mitch turned his attention to his sous chef who needed to review the dessert menu. That’s what he needed to do . . . keep his mind on the tasks at hand and not on Cara Holiday . . . someone to share it with.

  Before late afternoon was over he’d heard from Stella’s assistant at the television station. They wanted to come in two days and film during the midday with the hope of being finished before happy hour. They’d need access to much of the restaurant, interview a few employees and, of course, him and the manager. They hoped to be able to complete everything in one day. If not, they would come back.

  Mitch readily agreed and then went up front to hold a brief staff meeting to alert his staff about the filming and to have them understand they might be interviewed . . . but that it wasn’t required.

  “The only requirement is that if asked . . . this is the best place you’ve ever worked and me and Brad are the most awesome bosses an employee could ever want,” Mitch said with a wide grin.

  The hostesses, waiters, bartenders, and cooks all groaned in unison, shook their heads, and walked away.

  “Hey . . . where’s everyone going? What did I say?” he called out, feigning bewilderment.

  Brad draped his arm across Mitch’s shoulder. He held up one hand and slowly passed it across the air as he spoke. “Which is my best side?” He turned his face left, then right.

  Mitch groaned.

  Cara’s pulse raced as if she had run a marathon. She’d barely slept the night before and her nerves jangled. More than once she’d thought about telling Stella to count her out of her production, but her deeper desire to see Mitch again overrode whatever doubts she harbored.

  She pulled her Infiniti into the parking garage around the corner from the restaurant. For several moments she sat completely still to try to reign in her emotions and center herself. The last thing she needed was to unravel or be a babbling idiot on film.

  She pulled her compact out of her purse and checked her makeup. She’d had to work extra hard to look natural and still camouflage the sleeplessness that hung beneath her eyes. She freshened her lipstick, stuck everything back in her bag, and got out, setting the car alarm in the process.

  The weather outside had shifted considerably in the past few days. It had gone from cool to downright cold. Cara pulled her swing coat closer around her as the wind nipped her as she turned a corner. She stopped short and so did her heart for a hot second. Right ahead was the station news van parked at the curb, and two cameramen were carrying in equipment to the restaurant. Cara drew in a breath of resolve and moved forward. She got to the front door and was met by Stella, who was tossing out orders like an army general.

  “Great. You’re here.” She quickly buzzed Cara’s cheek. “We’re getting set up.” She gave her a once-over. “You look perfect as usual.”

  “Thanks.” Cara’s gaze jumped around the space hoping to catch a glimpse of Chef Davis.”

  “He’s in back,” Stella said under her breath.

  “Who?” Cara said, looking disinterested as she shrugged out of her coat.

  Stella pursed her lips. “You know good and damned well who.” She raised her arm to catch the attention of one of her assistants, who hurried over to take Stella’s coat.

  Cara rolled her eyes.

  Stella hooked her arm through Cara’s. “We won’t be ready for you for a little bit. You can relax over there. The chef was kind enough to prepare a light lunch for everyone. Wasn’t that nice?” she added with extra syrup.

  Cara cut her a look. “It is a restaurant.” She slid into an available booth and her mouth immediately began to water at the sight of the tempting entrées that were displayed on several linen-covered tables and at the far end of the bar.

  Cara took in the space. Downtown 2 had a different energy during the day. Without the crowd she had an opportunity to really take in the very classy décor, from the gleaming hardwood floor, and cherry redwood bar, sparkling chrome and glass, the gradient levels and private booths. Although it was spacious, there was still an intimate atmosphere. She reached for a crepe, intent on quelling her appetite while she cooled her heels.

  Mitch did a final check of the kitchen before walking to the front of his restaurant with Brad right behind him. He came to a total stop. Cara. What was she doing here? Brad nearly ran into his back.

  “What’s . . .” He saw her, too.

  Mitch felt his entire body come alive with an excitement that had nothing to do with the interview. She was even more stunning in daylight. Sitting in the farthest booth by the window, the afternoon sun streaked highlights through her hair and illuminated the contours of her face.

  “Yo, bro, you just gonna stand here?” Brad murmured. “Or you gonna go and say something to her? Must be fate.”

  Mitch glanced at Brad over his shoulder, then walked fully into the front space. Fate had nothing to do with the tug in his groin or the almost desperate need that he suddenly felt to test those lips that wrapped around the food that he’d prepared.

  Cara felt eyes on her. She put the rest of her food down on the small plate and glanced up and right into the unwavering stare of Mitch Davis. She began to cough and reached for her glass of water. Please don’t let me make a fool of myself, she prayed while swallowing down water in the hopes of stopping the coughing.

  “I hope it isn’t my food.”

  Now she really would choke. She swallowed, dragged in a breath, and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. She looked up at him and everything inside leaped with joy. He was simply delicious from the close crop of his dark hair, the warm chocolate of his complexion, to the hard lines of his body that were barely disguised beneath his white coat. And those eyes.

  She cleared her throat. “No, um, just went down the wrong way.” She tapped the napkin at the corners of her mouth.

  He slid into the seat opposite her. “I had no idea you were involved in television.”

  “I’m not, other than being the friend of a television producer.” She grinned. “She roped me in, wants my perspective on the changing community.”

  “Guess that’s where your real-estate knowledge kicks in.”

  “We hope so.”

  When Mitch smiled at her and she spotted that dimple in his right cheek, she nearly went into cardiac arrest.

  “I have to apologize. I meant to get back to you.”

  “No apology needed. I totally understand. We’re all busy. I know I can barely keep up. Are you still interested . . . ?”

  “Uh, yes, definitely.”

  “Good. Well, whenever you’re ready . . . I’m available . . . to talk with you about . . . your needs.” Was she really doing the whole double-entendre thing?

  His eyes moved back and forth across her face, memorizing each detail from the way her lashes curled, the high sweep of her brows, to the tiny scar on her chin. He could almost see her as a bubbling little girl with wild ponytails racing down the street and tumbling from her bike, causing that scar. She would have cried, but only for a moment. She would have gotten patched up and gone right back on her bike. That’s how he saw her—never allowing mishaps to get her down. One day he’d ask her how she got that scar that gave her face so much character.

  Cara angled her head to the side. “You’re smiling as if you have a secret.”

  Mitch blinked her back into the present. He smiled sheepishly. “Just thinking . . . about to
night’s menu.”

  “Must be special to put that look in your eye.”

  He leaned in and rested his arms on the table. “I take what I do very seriously. It gives me pleasure to bring pleasure to others.”

  Oh, damn. Heat fanned upward from her chest and scorched her cheeks. She reached for her glass of water.

  “I’m sure that philosophy is the key to your success. . . as a restaurateur.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Chef, we need you over here,” one of the assistants called out.

  “Excuse me. I hope we can talk soon.”

  She nodded as he rose and walked away.

  The filming began and Cara watched from the sidelines as the cameras moved around the space and Mitch talked with such enthusiasm about his establishment, his goals, and his vision.

  Cara could watch him all day long and into the night. He was clearly a man in control. There was a self-possessiveness about him and an air of power that radiated from the way his body moved, a look in his eyes, the timbre of his voice. He could easily control her, possess her, hold her captive with a look or the sound of his voice—a touch. She shook her head to scatter her thoughts. No sense in letting her imagination get the best of her. She was here on business and nothing more. He was only a potential client and nothing more. Nothing more.

  After more than two hours the crew took a break from interviewing to get some exterior shots and then it was on to interview some of the employees and midday customers.

  Stella walked over to where Cara sat. She plopped down beside her. “We should be able to wrap up in about a half hour. Then you’re on.”