The Winemaker's Dinner: Dessert (The Winemaker's Feast) (23 page)

“I know, Geoff. I know.” She patted his chest and turned toward the break room, wondering why he followed her as she unbuttoned her not-so-pristine jacket and went inside. He was still talking, but she wasn’t listening. He was sweet to be so fierce about her, but this had to be done—and for herself, not the network. But delivering that goddamn cake was the final hoop she’d be jumping through for anyone this evening.

She released her hair, brushed it, and re-gathered it into a sleek ponytail. She blotted a tissue over her face and freshened her makeup. She tossed her jacket and packed up her knives so she’d be clear to make a quick exit after she’d done her job. She slipped on a clean, crisp, high-neck white jacket and buttoned up. But she did change back in to her sky-high Louboutins.

You kicked ass,
she told the self she saw in the mirror.
You’re gonna kick ass tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. Irena doesn’t matter. You did exactly what you wanted to do here. You should be proud.
She managed a lopsided smile at her reflection. It fell a little short of the Stuart Smalley-style soliloquy she was going for, but at this point she was way past
I’m smart, I deserve good things, and dammit, people like me
. It didn’t matter anymore if people liked her. She had to like herself. And she knew now she would get there. She brushed her hands down the front of her jacket and took a deep breath.

She’d prolonged the inevitable as long as possible. She had sparklers to light, a cake to present, and one last dragon to slay before she could crawl into bed and give in to the exhaustion and emotion of the day.

“That tuna was exquisite,” remarked a funny little round fellow. He looked almost sad as the waiter cleared his plate away.

Based on the little man’s proximity to the woman who’d been chatting with him about sexual health all night, Ivan assumed he was the man who bankrolled the trophy that sat between them. He had to concur with the gentleman’s assessment. The tuna was superb. Jaden had mastered its simple perfection. Had it really been less than two years ago when he’d first tasted it at Bianca? Lately it seemed like he’d lived but a moment with her and a lifetime without her already.

What if she came out and caught him with Irena? Well, not caught him, but saw him with his ex. Was he a bad person for being here? Was he bad wherever here was? No. Life goes on. He’d told her as much. They weren’t together, so he wasn’t in the wrong, and he shouldn’t feel guilty. It was a coincidence. That’s all.

But he still felt unsettled. Maybe he could slip out to the restroom. Surely now, at the end of dinner, was most likely when she’d come out to say hello.
Or I could fake a very important phone call.
A call from a patient would be a perfect escape from this impossible, uncontrollable situation. He patted his pockets, searching for his phone.

“So how long have you two been together?” the trophy wife’s husband asked, motioning between Ivan and Irena.

“Wha-wha-what?” Ivan could only stutter out a question as he felt Irena’s hand on his thigh again.

“Well, unfortunately we aren’t together anymore,” she said. She squeezed his thigh tighter and smiled sadly, looking down at her plate.

Unfortunately! What?
His mind’s metabolism had kicked up to a sprinter’s pace, and he was growing exhausted. He circled and chased his thoughts between worrying about hurting Jaden’s feelings, trying to sort out whether he was here as Irena’s friend or her date, and hoping to understand what the hell it was that he wanted in life and love. He dug his fingers into his other thigh and forced himself to focus. To be in the moment.

“Yes, those were the days, weren’t they?” He smiled back at her and placed his hand on her thigh. When she met his eyes he squeezed tenderly. Her smile changed imperceptibly, and she stared at him as if he’d just granted some unspoken permission.

“Ah, I see,” the man said, still eyeing them. “So how did you meet?”

“Business actually,” Ivan responded. “I was in town doing some work and was introduced to her through a mutual acquaintance. The rest, as they say, was history.”

“Well, you seem very happy in each other’s company for a couple that’s not together,” his wife blurted, escalating the situation from semi-uncomfortable to full-on awkward.

“Well…” Irena began.

The sound of metal clinking against glass filled the room as a man of clear importance stood to speak.

Damnit!
There was no way Ivan could sneak out now. He was trapped—a prisoner to impending guilt and embarrassment. He felt Irena’s grip on his thigh slide more inner and upper than propriety would tolerate, and almost far enough that lust could appreciate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out tonight to celebrate the kick-off of what’s sure to be a fantastic shoot here in the sexiest city in the world. And we want to thank Bianca for hosting such an amazing event.”

He paused, as did Ivan’s beating heart. He knew what the next words out of the guy’s mouth were going to be.

“And, of course, we want to thank our special chef for the night, Ms. Jaden Thorne, who we were lucky enough to coerce into this kitchen during her hiatus from
One Hot Kitchen
. She cooked us an amazing, sexy dinner tonight, didn’t she?”

As he finished his sentence, applause erupted around the room, and Jaden appeared with the most gracious of smiles. She looked confident and impeccably polished—as it if hadn’t been hot in the kitchen at all. A cold sweat washed over him, just as it had when he read her name on the menu, and he was bathed again in anxiety and uncertainty.

He shifted in his seat, trying to remove Irena’s hand from his leg. Not because he didn’t want it there, he told himself, but because it was inappropriate considering the circumstances. But this time his wiggling didn’t work, and her fingers remained in place.

He was torn between looking at Jaden or waiting for her to find him or just looking away in guilt. No, he had to look.

As she made her way around the neighboring tables, shaking hands and meeting people, he wondered what was to come. A fight? A scene? Tears? He trembled at the thought of it and shrank farther into his seat as she came closer and closer.

As one of the producers finally brought her to his table, the feelings inside him threatened to split him in two. He could never have imagined that the two women who’d defined and shaped his beliefs about love—and made him the man he was in the process—would end up in the same room at the same time. With him in the middle.

“And I’m sure Irena needs no introduction,” the producer told Jaden as she turned to greet her and instead crashed into his anxiously awaiting gaze.

He watched as her surprise morphed into anger, which evolved into embarrassment and dissipated into sorrow, only to fade away to nothing but a pair of green eyes looking back through him.

Irena released her grip on his thigh to stand and greet Jaden. He followed her to his feet, never looking away from Jaden, though she’d shifted her attention to Irena as if he didn’t even exist.

“I enjoyed the dinner, Ms. Thorne. It was delicious. Thank you so much.”

Jaden extended her hand and thanked Irena.

“And this is—” Irena continued.

“Hello, Dr. Rusilko. Nice to see you again. I hope you enjoyed the dinner as well?”

As the producer and Irena faded to black, Ivan faced a woman—not a lover or his baby girl—just a self-possessed woman who had her hand outstretched to say hello and thank you for coming to dinner. That was it. No tears, no flying fur, and definitely no blow up. Just hello.

A revelation washed over him as he reached out and shook her hand, nodding as a man solidifying a truce: She was over it. She was over him, and she was gone. Her eyes were silent, foreign, and carrying none of the vibrancy that used to speak to him without saying a word. Now, in the heavy silence that hung between them, they didn’t say anything at all.

“Well, I’m very happy you all enjoyed your meal. Please let us know if there’s anything else you need this evening.”

“Maybe two more pomegranate martinis? You liked those, right, Papi?” Irena bumped him with her shoulder.

Not giving Ivan the chance to formulate a response, Jaden jumped in. “I’ll be sure to get you both drinks right away.” She took one last look at Ivan, smiled, and returned to the kitchen.

“Wow, is she gorgeous,” their table companion noted, staring at her high-heeled legs as they strode away. “I wouldn’t mind waking up to that every morning. She could cook me an omelet!”

“Andrew!” his wife responded.

“What? It was a joke.” He shot Ivan a glance and waggled his eyebrows.

Ivan managed a weak smile as he sat back down. He knew all too well how amazing that was. Relief flooded his body now that the moment of confrontation had passed—and without any sort of confrontation. His months of struggle over Jaden now seemed resolved, but was this what he wanted? For the first time he had no control over the situation. He’d always had the option to pick up the phone and answer one of the hundreds of texts and calls and emails Jaden had sent after the split. And even after their conversation on the beach, he believed deep down that he had set the terms of their moving forward and probably still had the ability to adjust their status with a simple call. But now? Now she was gone. He wondered if he’d have any place in her life at all. He was free of the consequences and guilt of not letting her back into his life, but he was also stripped of any remaining connection to something he had loved so irrevocably.

Before he could do any additional deciphering of the last few minutes, he felt a delicate hand glide across his thigh for a third time—in a way that would have made the freak rejoice at the intention it carried.

Irena tossed back the last bit of her drink and slid even closer to him. “I don’t need another martini. Wanna get out of here? Maybe go back to your place for a nightcap?”

Lust burst through his mind, ready to do battle with any hint of uncertainty he might have about taking her up on her offer. He was powerless now to pick up the phone and make it right with Jaden. He was single and unattached. Did he want to be? He had no fucking clue. But was he going to see if
this
was right? Goddamn right he was. What did he have to lose?

Slamming back the last swig of fruit-flavored liqueur, Ivan looked in her eyes, down at her hand on his, and then back at her. “Sounds good, Mami.”

Chapter 30

“Breathe Me”

A
S
H
E
F
UMBLED
W
ITH
H
IS
K
EYS
, Ivan glanced at Irena, who stood next to him in the hallway, smiling as he struggled. She held her purse just in front of her slender torso with her hands crossed over it. Her hair had begun to escape from the tight bun on top of her head, and strands now fell around the sides of her face. She looked a bit feline, and very sexual. He could feel himself going a little wild at the thought of it.

Finally he swung the door of his apartment open, and the darkness of the unknown greeted them. Stepping aside, he allowed her to walk through the door and become the first woman to enter his apartment since he’d moved in—well, other than the housekeeper and his mother. And as he’d established, his recent interest in a maid service now seemed to have been in foresight of this exact moment. He had to admit that he saw this coming, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t.

She gave him a meaningful look as she slid past him, her eyes exuding excitement and entitlement. He felt himself grow hard as thoughts of naughty nurses and public sexual explorations, along with the rest of their hot history, passed in his mind’s eye. He dropped his head back and blinked up at the ceiling, allowing himself one last chance, one last instant to change the plan before he closed the door behind him and officially let Irena in.

Click.
The sound of the door sliding into place was almost unnerving.

A lamp illuminated the spacious apartment, and Irena headed for the stereo, which pleaded to be used. She took her phone out of her little bag and made quick work of connecting it to the electronic system. She spun around just as the opening riff of Dave Matthews’ “Stay or Leave” began to hum through the speakers.