Feel the Heat (Hot In the Kitchen)

chapter Twenty-Two


Outside, a wall of oppressive July heat rose up to meet them, but it still registered cooler than the stifling atmosphere in the bar. Slipping Jack’s severe grip, Lili retreated to several feet away from the bar’s entrance, her heart pounding so hard she worried her chest might explode.

Ohgod ohgod ohgod.

Once, she had asked Jack if he would punch everyone who said something mean to her. She’d thought it was sweet when he said yes. Be careful what you wish for.

Cara paced, phone surgically attached to her ear, muttering “shit” over and over, and something about how they needed to get a statement out to the press. Her whole posture spoke to caged chaos as she got to work on saving her job and the television future of her boss.

Dazed, Lili turned to find Jack crowding her. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

No, no, no. “You shouldn’t have done that.” She squeezed her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

People streamed out of the bar, their noisy laughter strident and probably unrelated to what had just happened. Lili’s cheeks blazed hot all the same and she tried to walk away, but Jack commandeered again and directed her to his car. He felt too big, too potent, the power she envied barely leashed. Not that she was afraid of him, but she saw now that he had good reasons for ignoring the trash that was written about him.

Seconds later, they were making their getaway through the side streets of Wicker Park. An eerie calm descended, as if the farther away from the bar she got, the easier she could breathe. But it was just an illusion, another segment of her fever dream. She hadn’t even said good-bye to Cara. At last glance, her sister had been eating the sidewalk in her Manolos, hands sculpting the air furiously as she did what she did best. Managed and controlled. The network deal might survive the night—no one had been hurt physically—but how long before a smashed phone turned into a smashed jaw?

Looking out the window, she saw they had slotted into a space right outside DeLuca’s. Long past closing, the lights were still on, which meant Tad was likely mangling the cash-out. Holing up in the back office with her Mount Everest of paperwork until the storm passed by was starting to look like a very attractive option.

She jumped at the warm brush of his knuckles on her arm. “Lili, are you all right?”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she repeated, feeding him a sidelong glance.

“He deserved it.”

“Maybe, but have you given a single thought to how this affects your contract?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Can’t say I have. That’s typically how mindless rage works.”

“This isn’t funny, Jack.”

“I agree. Someone calls you names, disrespects you, and I’m supposed to just stand by and take it?”

“You’re supposed to use your common sense and think about what’s best for your career. Your reputation. I don’t care what people say about me,” she said, stunned at its truth. The insults might pierce for a moment but she could learn to tune it out. Not so sure that Jack could, though.

He snorted and muttered something she couldn’t make out.

“So, the next time something like this happens, off come the gloves again?”

She could see his mind whirring, computing the implications before dismissing it to the other side of the street. “Well, I’ve been informed by my lawyer that the First Amendment prohibits me from getting cease and desist orders for Facebook pages and Twitter accounts, so I’ll just have to take care of it the old-fashioned way.”

“Cease and desist orders? You mean you tried to get the pages taken down?” She struggled to get the words past her rapidly constricting throat. “Jack, you can’t stop the Internet from existing!” She had completely underestimated his need to protect. It was Jules and the paparazzi, a disparaging remark in a bar, a nasty comment in 140 characters or less.

Guilt and love collided in a fiery pileup in her chest. He had stood up for her and put everything on the line, behavior that was crazy and stupid and struck every emotional chord in her body. How could she not love a man who was willing to risk everything to protect her? And how could she love him and let him do that?

“Jack, this can’t go on.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll all blow over.”

“That’s what you said after the video and it didn’t. The Internet exploded like a confetti bomb. My father practically had a coronary.”

“And your father will know now that I can protect you. Anyone who tries to hurt you will have me to deal with.”

It would never end. Jack would wage a full-scale war on anyone who crossed her. Living with that responsibility, and the dread fear that he would begin to realize what a liability she was, would crush her. She wasn’t worth this depth of fervor. She never could be.

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Really, Lili? Because the way I see it, you spend so much time taking care of everyone else that your battles—your needs—get pretty short shrift. You can’t stand up to your father. How are you going to stand up for yourself?”

Shock rolled over her at the way he pieced that together. “This…this has nothing to do with my father,” she spluttered.

“Yes, it does. You let him tell you what to do, with the restaurant, with your life. Even now, you’re only concerned with what he thinks.”

There was truth there but hell if she was going to let it muddy the waters. “So I should just substitute one tyrant for another? Because that’s what you are, Jack. You expect everyone to fall in line with your worldview and to hell with the art of compromise. That’s what families, friends, lovers do. They compromise.”

That muscle near his mouth was in full throb. “You’d know all about compromises. You’ve compromised so much you’ve forgotten what you want. Who you want to be.”

She swallowed back the hurt of yet another pointedly accurate blow. “I’m trying to make sure your career doesn’t explode in your face.”

He made a sound of scorn. “No, you’re not. You’re looking for the easy way out. You’re afraid of what you feel. You’re afraid of trying and failing. Hell, you’re afraid of trying and succeeding. You’d rather let your own dreams die instead of rocking the boat. With your father, your art, with us. I know exactly what you’re thinking, Lili. I always have.”

A tremor rattled her thigh and she fisted her hands in her lap to force it to calm. No go. Where did he get off being so intuitive and handsome?

“Let me tell you what I think. You weren’t protecting me back there. You were just marking your territory.”

“I prefer to think of it as branding you as my own, but you can phrase it in those terms if you like.”

He talked like she was an acquisition for his empire, and she was glad because it gave her the fuel she needed. “From the minute I met you, you’ve done nothing but bully and make demands. If it’s not me you’re trying to bend to your will, it’s Jules and probably a million other people you expect to kowtow to the great Jack Kilroy. Veiling it in charm and that stupid accent doesn’t make it any less manipulative. I told you I wanted to take it slow but all you do is push and push.”

His face stormed over. “Better that than standing still.”

The words sliced through her like blades. Her distress wound a path from gut to chest to throat and she swallowed hard to force it back. She’d always known she wasn’t slick enough for Jack’s world, where he hurtled along at the speed of light, forever chasing some textbook vision of excellence.

“Sorry I can’t move fast enough for you.”

He laughed, short and bitter. “Oh, you moved pretty fast in that bar, Lili. And you were certainly no slowpoke when you came to my hotel room after the taping. Seems you’re happy to take risks for certain things, like sex, but when shit gets real, up go the walls and out come the excuses.”

Lili couldn’t conceal her astonishment. “We’re not all as sure as you, Jack. Not everyone comes out of the womb with a fully formed plan for world domination.”

He leaned in close, his mouth as hard as his gaze. “At least I’m not afraid of admitting what I want. What I need. I’m not going to beg, Lili. Either you’re in or you’re out.”

“How could I refuse such an attractive offer?”

“That’s right, smart-mouth. Make a joke.” A half-sneer curled his lips. “Whatever you need to keep it simple. I’m coming on too strong and you can’t stand to be pushed. Or you’re making this huge sacrifice so I won’t be forced to rip anyone’s head off and ruin my career. Let’s just go with one of those, shall we? Either way, you come off looking pretty good.”

His vicious grip on the steering wheel drew her dizzy gaze to the pale knuckles of those strong, blunt hands. She didn’t have to look to know his jaw was set in a hard line, his lips thinned to invisibility.

“Jack, you want too much,” she said to the window.

“And you don’t want enough.” He spoke, not with rancor but with a tired resignation that sent a bolt of alarm through her chest. He had reached an impregnable wall and no longer had the energy to break through. Those well-crafted defenses of hers were too entrenched, those bone-deep fears impossible to overcome. And the worse part was that she knew it and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Did we ever have a chance, Lili? Did you ever see a future for us or was I always meant to be the good-time guy to make you feel wanted, a stopgap to go with the half-life you’re living? Well, go find someone else to use because I deserve better than that. I deserve more than you’re willing to give.”

She felt as though her heart and lungs were about to fly apart. He was right. She could never be the woman he deserved. Fumbling, it took her a moment to find the door handle, never mind that she was looking right at it.

“I need to get out,” she gasped, but it didn’t open until she heard the click of the lock. It would be stupid to read anything into that, such as Jack releasing her from her bond to him. Really stupid.

After slamming the car door, she expected him to drive away, and it took her a moment to realize he was waiting for her to get inside her apartment. Protecting her to the end. Once sequestered, she gasped and hauled in oxygen to the heart she could feel blackening with hurt. When it didn’t help, she realized the muscle was damaged beyond repair.

* * *

“Jack, wake up.”

He jolted and almost fell over because his left side had decided to stay in the land of Nod. Apparently, a Mack truck had run over his head, then backed up to finish the job. And he was drooling. Bloody brilliant. He peered up and Jules peered down, her face pale and concerned. Huh, there’s a switch. She was worried about him for a change.

Then he realized the incongruity of their positions. She stood over him, and he was puddled on the floor of his new restaurant kitchen. Stiffness had snarled his back muscles into a slab of frozen beef. Par for the course when you fall asleep with your back to a refrigerator door.

“How did you get in?” he croaked while he swiped at his mouth. He strained to lift his head. Any more than an inch would require coffee or a crane.

“You left the door open, idiot. I called your mobile but you didn’t answer.”

“Because I was asleep.” His head snapped back and a painful wince answered. “So you walked into an empty restaurant in a dodgy neighborhood on the off chance I’d be here?”

“Don’t worry. The sprog kicks up whenever it suspects danger. Like baby spidey senses or something.” Bending over, she extracted a quarter-full bottle of Johnnie Walker from his hand, subbed it with a cup of coffee, and looked around. “You’ve been busy.”

He followed her gaze. Pots begat pots, skillets had birthed skillets. All the countertops bore evidence of last night’s surge of creativity-slash-destruction.

“I was trying to get something right.”

She squinted. “Did you?”

“I don’t know.” The entire night had been spent on one thing: the risotto from the taping. It wouldn’t make an appearance on his new menu, but he was determined to perfect it or die trying. After pan number fourteen—or was it fifteen?—his numbed taste buds won over his judgment and he packed it in. That’s when his friend Johnnie Walker stopped by for a confab.

“Aren’t there health codes against drinking and cooking?” She placed the whiskey bottle down on the counter with a disgusted nose wrinkle.

“I cooked, then I drank. No chefs were harmed in the making of this mess.” Much.

With her sandaled foot, she gave his thigh a gentle shove. “I remember you used to stay up all night cooking when you were hacked off about something.” Before you left, she didn’t add.

He had no desire to take a trip down memory ditch. Besides, more recent events took precedence in his overcrowded brain. “How bad is it?”

“Not so terrible. You’re top of the video charts, but this time, someone got your good side.”

Unfolding to a stand, he stretched the pins-and-needles away, wishing it were that easy to shove aside the pain in his head, his chest, his…hand? He turned over the palm of his right hand in response to the throbbing call of a burn. How the hell had that happened? Michelin-starred chefs, or the executive chefs of restaurants that earned Michelin stars, weren’t immune to the odd burn here and there, but usually he remembered how he acquired a raw welt that stretched from pinkie to thumb. The memory-numbing effects of alcohol, he supposed.

He took a sip of coffee, surprised that it was just how he liked it. That was immediately replaced with guilt. He had no idea if his sister even drank coffee.

Spanning his forehead with his injury-free hand, he shielded his vision for a needed moment and tried to recall the events of last night. All day he’d been pissed off—at Laurent for his know-nothing Frenchness, at Tony for his lack of trust, at Jules for the mixed-nuts messages, at his useless lawyer who had no legal solution to the online bullying. But mostly he’d been pissed at Lili, and going Jack-smash on the first person to look at him crooked seemed like a marvelous idea. The details were foggy. His gaze drifted to the bottle. He was fairly positive the fireworks had culminated in property damage but no fisticuffs. For months, his policy had been to let it ride so it didn’t acquire power, but he refused to stand by while someone took pot shots at his woman. And then to have her use his ham-fisted heroics as an excuse to bail…well, wasn’t that just the funniest cosmic joke? Protect her. Ignore it. Damned if he do, damned if he don’t.

Everything he was feeling must have been visible on his face. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself locked in Jules’s tight, and frankly unfamiliar, embrace.

“What’s that for?” he asked, ruining it.

“You looked like you were about to drop,” she said, making up for his crankiness as only family can do. “Heard about Lili. She didn’t like Tough Guy Jack?”

He drew back. “Don’t stop there. She doesn’t think all that highly of Bully Jack and can definitely do without World-Dominating Jack.”

When Jules didn’t jump to his defense, he stared. And waited.

Unfazed, she gave the slimmest of shrugs. “Well, you can be a bit over the top.”

He remained silent. There might have been glowering.

“That’s all well and good with your kitchen slaves, but it can be tough for the rest of us.”

“So, I’m a bully?”

“Not exactly. It’s more…” She pulled a breath from somewhere deep. “You’re like this force of nature, this bright star. Everyone wants to please you and you know that and expect it, so when they don’t, you get disappointed. You’re a fierce optimist, the most optimistic person I know, actually. You see all this promise in people and when they don’t live up to your expectations, it frustrates you. A lot.”

Stunned, he blinked at her because that was about the longest speech he had ever heard pass her lips. “But just to be clear, I’m not a bully?”

That earned him an indulgent smile, a blast of sunshine as rare as steak tartar. He loved when she turned it on for him. “Bully. Optimist. Perpetually disappointed. Which do you prefer?”

He preferred whichever one got him Lili, but there was only so much his overworked heart could withstand. Teasing her to distraction when she wanted sex and he wanted more was one thing. Bullying—no, convincing—her to date him was another. But he was damned if he was going to beg her to love him. He was flat-out, knockdown in love with a woman who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, match his raging appetite for her.

F*cking depressing.

And now Jules. How much of that sharp observation applied to their hell-in-a-hand-basket relationship? The perpetually disappointed tag, on both sides, sounded most apropos. Even though he felt like tiny people with tiny hammers had taken up residence in his head, and his heart sat in his gut like a lead balloon, there were still enough caffeine-activated neurons to recognize that Jules and he had just had a moment of honest-to-God communication.

“Thanks for checking in on me,” he said, meaning it. Needing it.

At this, her face crumpled like she’d just tasted vinegar. He pointed. She bolted. Looked like Baby’s spidey senses recognized the imminent threat of sibling candor and kicked off. He considered following her to the bathroom and holding back her hair while she threw up, but they weren’t quite at that level yet.

On the nearest counter, his phone lay in the shadow of a bowl of shitake mushrooms, and he turned it on for the first time since he’d parted ways with Lili last night. Seventy-three messages. Forty-four from Evie. Thirty-odd from Cara, Jules, and assorted well-wishers. Zero from Lili. That about summed up his life.

He bit the bullet and made the call. She answered on the first ring.

“Jack,” she dragged his name out to ten syllables. “You’re killing me.”

“Pretty sure your three-packs-a-day habit will get you first, Evie. Worried about your fifteen percent?”

A lung-stripping cough rattled the line, and for some reason, it cheered him. The world might be collapsing around his ears but Evie was still Evie.

“Fifteen percent of nothing is still nothing,” she husked out. “But all is not lost. They’re meeting right now and my source at NBN says Stone Carter had quote, unquote, a twinkle in his eye. Fat old fart. The ratings for Kilroy’s Kitchen reruns are better than the original broadcasts, and with the premiere of Jack of All Trades moved up to next week to capitalize on your current popularity, interest in the Jack Kilroy brand has never been higher. People can’t wait to see your great Italian love affair told with real production values and commercial breaks.”

His cells tingled with a pain he couldn’t ascribe to his hangover. It was looking increasingly likely that he’d be getting reacquainted with Johnnie W. the night of the premiere.

“But?” he prompted, because he could hear it as clear as if she were blowing smoke in his face.

“You’re going to have to cool it. Defending your Rubenesque girlfriend might appeal to the horny housewives of Middle America, but it can’t last. Once or twice is heroic. Any more will be seen as downright moronic. They won’t tolerate it in the long-term.”

Jack was well aware of that. On cable, he could be humping goats and roasting them on a spit afterward and no one would bat an eyelid. Network, as everyone insisted on telling him, was more suited for eunuchs. He’d been called a lot of things but testicularly deprived was not one of them. Anyway, the woman he would happily surrender every one of his Michelin stars for had no more use for Jack Kilroy’s personal bodyguard service, so Tough Guy Jack could officially retire.

“The cookware people phoned again—they want to set up a meeting this week. And Random House needs to nail down the proposal for the next book.” She coughed long and hard. “Relax, Jack. Everything’s coming up roses.”

The countertops, dappled with the remains of his elusive search for perfection, screamed back their dissent. His hand started to throb again.

Bloody roses with a mess of f*cking thorns.