Falling for Her Rival

THIRTEEN


Let stand

“You’re quiet,” Finn said as they drove back to the city later that night.

“Just tired,” Lara murmured. Her head was back against the rest. Despite the car’s dim interior, she looked exhausted. She turned toward him and smiled. “I haven’t talked that much in one evening since...ever.”

“Westbrook women are an insanely chatty bunch,” he agreed.

But Finn knew it was more than that. Lara was overwhelmed. He was pretty sure he knew the reason.

“Your mother really liked your gift,” she said.

That was an understatement. Upon opening the card, Mary had laughed and then dabbed her eyes before starting to cry in earnest. Just when Finn had begun having second thoughts about giving her tap lessons, she’d stood up and executed a brief toe-heel, toe-heel slide combination on the living room’s scuffed oak planking. She hadn’t liked the gift. She’d loved it.

He let go of the steering wheel with his right hand so he could run his knuckles lightly over Lara’s cheek. “Thanks again for your insights.”

“Glad I could help.”

Finn wanted to help her, too. A germ of an idea began to form, a plan to be executed at a later date. It needed more time to gel. He tucked it away.

“Are you coming up?” she asked as they drew closer to her apartment building. “I have a bottle of that red wine you sold me on just waiting to be opened.”

His answer was to pull into the first available parking spot along the curb.

* * *

It was well after midnight when Finn crumpled into a heap beside her on the mattress. He felt totally sapped of his strength but, in an odd way, energized, too.

He tilted his head to the side and studied her profile in the low light. For the past couple of years, his goal had been to rebuild his reputation so that he could once again run his own restaurant. He’d come up with new recipes and a new name for the place. He’d mulled over potential marketing strategies. He’d even fiddled with ideas for front-of-the-house decor, color schemes and flow. He’d been single-minded, driven.


Now, in a remarkably short period of time, his focus had expanded to include something, or rather, someone else.

“You’re staring,” she said. Her mouth curved, though, telling him that his breach in manners hadn’t offended her.

“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

It was more than her looks, though. Finn knew that. In fact, he’d reached that conclusion long before they’d left the network studio on the first day.

Destiny’s timing might suck, but it couldn’t be denied. God help him, he was falling in love.

She rolled to her side, levered up on one elbow. In the room’s dim light, her fair skin glowed almost translucently.

“It’s been a long time since I felt beautiful,” she admitted quietly. “It’s been a long time since I felt...anything, Finn.”

“I know exactly what you mean. The same here.”

Her smile turned circumspect. “If I’m beautiful now, it’s because you make me happy. So, thank you for that.”

It wasn’t gratitude he was after, but he understood what she meant. He was happy, too. Hell, he hadn’t realized how lonely and miserable he’d been until she’d come into his life.

He cupped his hand to the side of her head and rubbed his thumb across her cheek before pulling her to him for a kiss. When it ended, she was sprawled over his chest and his body had already begun to ache with need.

“Does this mean you’re ready for round two?” she asked on a throaty chuckle that he felt as much as heard.

Turned on? He was past that point. As quickly as he could, Finn rolled and changed their positions so that she was now pinned beneath him.

“You know,” he told her, as his rigid body melded to her softness, “technically, this is round three.”

* * *

He stayed the night. She hadn’t asked him to...exactly. Although the one time he’d gotten up to go to the bathroom, she’d sighed heavily in her sleep. When he’d returned to the bed afterward, she’d snuggled against his side, her body warm and welcoming and far too inviting to even consider leaving.

When he woke in the morning, he was alone in the bed. He pulled on the boxers he found on the floor and followed the familiar sound of a sharp knife meeting a cutting board’s surface. Lara was in the kitchen, standing with her back to him at the room’s small prep space. She was wearing his shirt...and nothing else, as far as his imagination was concerned.

His gaze took in the shapely line of her legs, including the delicate curve of her ankle. He’d never considered himself an ankle man, but she had a nice pair. In fact, everything about her ticked the boxes on his fantasy wish list.

“Hungry?” she asked without turning around.

Finn merely laughed at that.

“I meant for food.” She did face him now, holding a wickedly sharp knife in one hand. Some men might have found that off-putting. Not Finn, of course.

“What are you making?”

“I’m not sure, yet. I was thinking about Greek omelets. But I can go with something else if you’re not a fan of feta cheese.”

“I love feta,” he said, drawing closer to give her a proper good-morning kiss.

On the cutting board, he noticed that she’d already sliced up a green pepper and some fresh oregano.

“I’m happy to help,” he offered.

For an answer, she pulled a knife from the magnetic strip on the backsplash and handed it to him. By mutual agreement, they decided to leave out the red onion. While she whisked half a dozen eggs and a dash of milk into the perfect consistency, he diced a ripe tomato and sliced up kalamata olives.

They worked well together, talking as they went.

“What do you like the most about cooking?” she asked, as she poured the egg mixture into an omelet pan.

“Working with knives.” Finn grinned maniacally and held up the lethal-looking blade he’d been using.

“Besides the sharp implements.”

He gave that some serious thought. “I guess I like the science behind it.”

“Science?” Lara glanced over at his answer.

“Yeah. If you do A and B, then you wind up with C.”

She tilted her head to one side. “There are some variables thrown in.”

“True, but not that many. And most of them can be controlled. If you buy a quality cut of meat, add the perfect mix and amount of spices, then grill it at the right temperature for the right amount of time, you’re going to end up with a really good steak.”

She nodded. “I guess I appreciate the control aspect, too.”

“But that’s not why you love to cook,” he guessed.

“I like cooking for the same reason I like styling food. It’s creative.”

“Art on a plate.”

“Exactly.” She grinned.

“Okay, Picasso.” He pointed his knife at the ingredients on the countertop. “Show me what you got.”

* * *

They ate breakfast in her tiny living room, trading war stories from culinary school. It turned out they’d had a couple of the same instructors, albeit a few years apart. Afterward, Finn helped Lara set her kitchen to rights. It was closing in on noon when he decided to spring on her the idea that had begun to germinate the previous night.

She offered the perfect segue when she asked, “Are you getting excited about tomorrow?”

Finally, the competition was set to get under way.

Finn didn’t know how the network planned to deal with Lara’s absence. Were they simply going to move ahead with eleven chefs? Or had they reinstated a previously eliminated contestant? Regardless, the competition was to start back up bright and early Monday.

“Sure. I’m excited.”

“Nervous?”

He shook his head. “Excited,” he said again.

She winked. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

“You know, I was thinking...” He folded the dishcloth he was holding in half and looped it over the handle to the oven.

“About?”

He cleared his throat, met her eye. “About doing a little recon today.”

“Recon?”

“Yeah. Reconnaissance. You know, get the lay of the land at my future place of employment.” He offered up what he hoped was a charmingly cocky grin.

“Are you talking about going to the Chesterfield?”

“You catch on fast,” he teased.

“Why?”

“It’s been a while since I was last in there.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No,” he admitted. “So, what do you say? Want to tag along?”

She took her time drying the chopping board. Just when he was sure that her answer would be no, she glanced up and smiled. “I should warn you. My father threatened to have me forcibly removed from the premises the last time I was in his restaurant. Are you sure you want me to come?” Her laugher was strained when she added, “For that matter, are you sure you want to be seen with me? He might hold it against you. And believe me, if anyone knows how to hold a grudge, it’s my father.”

Her points were valid, but nothing that Finn hadn’t already considered.

“I’ll take my chances,” he told her. “So, will you come?”

“As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m positive.”

Before Finn went home to shower and change, he and Lara made plans to meet outside the Chesterfield at three o’clock. That would put them in the dining room after the Sunday brunch and lunch crowd, but well before the dinner rush.


* * *

Lara paced the sidewalk in front of the Chesterfield as she waited for Finn to arrive. He wasn’t late. She was early. And she was nervous, as evidenced by her agitated pacing and moist palms.

It was silly, really, not to mention pointless to be this keyed up. It wasn’t as if she had anything left to lose. Her father had made his feelings plain where his only child was concerned. Lara was dead to him. It didn’t get much more finite than that. Yet she couldn’t help but hope, foolish as it might be, that someday he would change his mind. She kept thinking about Finn with his big, boisterous family, and all of the love and affection that had been unabashedly on display. If she could have but a morsel of that...it would be enough.

Before they’d left his parents’ home at the end of the evening, his mother and sisters had given Finn hugs and kisses. No surprise there, since that was how they had greeted him, too. Heck, it was how practically everyone at the party had greeted him at one point or another. And they’d hugged Lara, too.

But the real surprise came when his dad wrapped his son in an embrace as they were leaving. Afterward, he’d kissed Finn’s cheek and said, “I love you.”

Three words said without a hint of embarrassment, without the least bit of reservation, without any qualification. And Finn had said them right back.

Lara couldn’t imagine her father being so open with either his feelings or his affection. Even when she was a child, he’d been stingy with both. Today, she was hoping he also would withhold his displeasure.

“Lara!” Finn called her name as he stepped from the cab.

She smiled and relaxed a little, until she saw what he was wearing.

She’d gone with black dress pants and a block-print silk top. The wedge heels weren’t high, but they added a couple of inches to her height and kept the hem of her pant legs from dragging on the ground.

Finn was dressed in khakis and a long-sleeved button-down shirt, whose cuffs had been rolled to the middle of his forearms. He looked gorgeous, but the Chesterfield required formal attire. No jacket, no tie...no service. And no exceptions. Her father had once refused admittance to a Grammy-winning artist who’d shown up in his signature black cowboy hat and embellished Western shirt.

“Forget something?” she asked.

He frowned a moment before the realization dawned. Then he uttered a mild oath.

“We can do this another time,” Lara said, feeling the noose around her neck go slack.

But Finn shook his head. “I need a new sports coat and tie anyway. Come on.”

He grabbed her hand. They cut across Forty-Fourth Street to Fifth Avenue and then headed several blocks to Saks.

“I can’t believe we’re going clothes shopping now.”

He held open the door. “Uh, let me set the record straight. Women go shopping for clothes. Men go and buy them. Totally different process.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I’ll show you.”

He led the way to the men’s department. Within five minutes of reaching his destination, he had picked out a tie and, after finding his size, was pulling on a jacket. Once it was on, he put out his arms to test the give across the back, and then dropped them to his sides so he could take note of where the cuffs hit just below his wrists.

“This works without having to be altered. Let’s go.”

Lara blinked. “You don’t want to look around some more, maybe try on a couple other things just to be sure?”

“No. See, that’s the difference between men and women. Women go to a store to shop and men go to buy.”

He smiled after offering his explanation. Lara wanted to disagree with him, but she couldn’t. He had a point.

Twenty minutes later, they were back at the Chesterfield, being shown to their table by a woman Lara didn’t recognize. She was glad for that, since it meant the woman likely didn’t recognize her either. Soon enough, her father would find out she was here, trespassing. She just hoped that the scene to follow—and she did not doubt there would be a scene—would be less humiliating than the one in the network’s kitchen.

They were seated at a two-top that might have been intimate were it not in the middle of the dining room. Of course, at this time of day, only a smattering of tables was filled anyway. The hostess handed them a pair of leather-bound menus before heading off.

Lara opened her menu, holding it up high enough to obscure her from the view of the kitchen. She had little doubt her father was in there, preparing for the dinner rush.

“The specials sound good, especially the grilled sea bass,” Finn remarked.

She read over the description. “My father is a big fan of grilling, especially when it comes to fish. Something to keep in mind in the competition.”

“Duly noted,” Finn said. Then his gaze was drawn to a point behind Lara.

“My father?” she asked before Finn could say anything.

He nodded. “And he doesn’t look happy.”

The surprise would be if he had. Lara set down her menu and, though she knew it would look as forced as it felt, she smiled. Turning in her seat, she met her fate head-on.

“Hi, Dad.”

“What are you doing here?” Clifton’s voice was unnaturally low, and a vein throbbed at his temple.

“Having an early dinner. I was thinking the sea bass. It sounds excellent. I was just telling Finn that grilling is one of the Chesterfield’s specialties.”

“You’re not welcome here,” he told her between gritted teeth.

“I know that.”

“Then why are you here?” he demanded again. This time his voice rose enough that the patrons seated at a table nearby glanced their way.

“It’s my doing, sir.” Finn rose to his feet. “I asked Lara to come with me.”

“You...look familiar.”

“Finn Westbrook.” He held out a hand, which her father pointedly ignored. “I’m one of the chefs competing for the chance to run your kitchen.”

That received a snort. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve showing up here with her.”

Finn lowered his hand, but he didn’t back down. In fact, he took a slight step forward. Her father outweighed him by a good fifty pounds, but Finn was at least a couple of inches taller.

“Why?” he asked baldly, although the friendly smile that accompanied his words kept them from being too menacing. “I admire your restaurant and I respect you enough as a chef to want to run the Chesterfield’s kitchen. So, naturally, I want to eat here and see how my cooking style will meld.”

“She is not welcome here, and neither are you if you’re with her.”

“She is your daughter.”

“I don’t have a daughter.” After that pronouncement, he rubbed his chest.

Lara was on her feet in an instant, her own heart thumping as she worried over his. “Dad, are you okay?”

He shrugged off the hand she’d placed on his arm. “I’m fine. Or I will be once you’re gone.”

If he’d inserted a knife between her shoulder blades and given it a few ruthless twists, it would have been less painful. Still, her reception here was no less than she’d expected.

“I’m going.” She hesitated only a moment before telling him, “I know I’ve said I’m sorry, but there’s something else I want you to know. I love you, Dad.”

* * *

Finn watched Lara walk away. Her head was up, her shoulders squared. He wasn’t fooled in the least. She was gutted. And he was just plain pissed.


He turned to Clifton. “She does, you know. What does she have to do to prove herself worthy of your love?”

“Stay out of it,” the older man warned gruffly, but he looked as if he’d been sucker punched.

Finn ignored Clifton’s order and went on. “She’s made mistakes. Some pretty big ones, from what she’s told me. But I don’t think she’s the only one who put strain on your relationship.”

“You know nothing of our relationship!”

“I know your daughter wishes that you had one,” he shot back. “I know she’s been reaching out to you, trying to patch things up. I also know that the two of you have a lot in common.”

That earned a scoffing noise.

“Lara loves cooking as much as you do, Mr. Chesterfield. And she’s damned good at it.”

“She styles food.” Clifton’s tone was condescending.

Finn’s hands balled into fists at his sides, but he went on. “Your daughter’s skill and passion for cooking, both of those come from you. If you gave her half a chance, you’d see that.”

Clifton tilted his head to one side and regarded Finn. “You seem to care a great deal about Lara.”

“I do.”

“Yet you’re after the job she wants. How does that sit with you?”

“I...”

“Are you glad she’s no longer in the competition?”

Because he wasn’t sure how to answer that, Finn replied, “I care a great deal about Lara. I want her to be happy. All I’m saying is I think you should give her a second chance.”