Page 116 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

Three weeks later

Of all the things Jillian Bass thought she would never do in her life, work for her father was at the top of the list. But here she was, corner office with a Times Square view, nice big mahogany desk taking up half of the space, an administrative assistant that was, if anything, overly attentive, and a staff of people to do her bidding. All she did all day long was sit in meeting after meeting, make a few decisions, crawl home brain dead and fall into bed, and start it all over again the next day.

Boring.

Where was the creativity in that?

She wanted to plunge her fingers into fondant and dip the tips in chocolate. Eventually, she would take over her realm as the president of Jeaneva Chocolates, but for now she was appeasing her father with a short-term stint here at Bass Publishing Conglomerates—which she hated with a passion but would tolerate for the time being. Her father had been such an ass lately, until she had agreed to come work for him. At least he was more pleasant when he was bossing her around.

The things one does to keep peace in the family.

She longed for Harbor Falls and Bittersweets but wouldn’t let herself linger there. Just a brief diversion, occasionally. It was much too painful to stay there for long. The store was up for sale, in the hands of Martin Realty. The movers were supposed to sweep in early next week and pack up her belongings.

Then it would be over for good, and she could get on with her life.

Ugh. Those words had come straight from her father’s mouth a few days earlier.

Thing was, she missed Harbor Falls, and the people, and the lifestyle there. But she had to forget it. It didn’t work. She belonged right here.

Well, somewhere here, like, in New York but not necessarily here at Bass.

Just bide your time, Jillian...

Repeatedly, she popped her pencil eraser on her shiny desktop while staring out the window.

“I wonder if Scott went back to Italy...”

Stephanie, her assistant, simultaneously knocked and barreled in the door. She didn’t know why the woman even bothered to knock, barely a fraction of a second existed between knock and entrance. But no matter, the day was nearly done, and she was ready to get out of here.

Stephanie laid a folder on her desk.

“So, here is the article to be approved first thing in the morning, complete with pics. You know the drill. We go to press at ten, so we have to be quick about this one.”

Yes, she knew the drill. She set the folder aside.

Another one landed in her hands.

“This is a pitch for a potential article from one of our leading writers. Ross said for you to get with him right away. Helluva story, he said.”

Of course. They were all a helluva story in Insights. Jillian passed that one to the side, as well.

“And here are some notes about the party tonight. The players, who you might encounter, what their stories are, and so on.”

Her gaze shot up. “Party?”

“Didn’t Ross tell you?”

Hells bells. No.

“I am not going to a party tonight, Stephanie. I have a date with my bed and a good book.”

Ever the efficient assistant, Stephanie rounded the huge desk, wiggled the mouse on Jillian’s computer, and popped open her email program. She glanced her way.

“Have you even opened your email today?”

A look of horror passed over the young woman’s face.

Jillian shrugged.

“To be honest I don’t think I’ve opened it all week.”

The girl’s eyes grew even more round as she turned back to the computer. She moused and clicked for a few seconds. “Here.”

She pointed.

“Thursday evening, seven o’clock, Marriot Marquis hotel. The party is in a private suite.”

She turned back to the folder and flipped some pages.

“Here we go. The room number is there. All the information you need.”

She handed the folder back to Jillian.

Her brain hurt. All she wanted was to go home. It was a quarter past five, and she was going to have to somehow spruce up. No time to go home. And she needed a different dress. Shit.

She grasped the folder.

“All right, Stephanie. Thanks.”

Smiling, the woman moved toward the door.

“No problem. It’s my job.”

Then she whirled back.

“Oh, and I almost forgot. Ross said to be sure and take your phone with the good camera. He wants pictures of any celebrities you see.”

Great.

“Thanks, Stephanie. Will do.”

She left, and Jillian collapsed in her oversized leather chair.

“I hate my life.”

And I miss Scott. If only things had been different.

****

Everything and everyone were in place. Perfect.

Suzie looked about her and smiled. This was going to work. She knew it.

She couldn’t have pulled it off without Patricia Plum, her agent turned television producer at Channeling Food. Suzie had been working behind the scenes in Harbor Falls until a couple of days ago, and Patricia was taking care of things here in New York. They had a taping coming up next week, anyway, for the second season of The Matchmaking Chef, so Suzie just came a few days early.

Patricia had big connections, and that was what she had been counting on. Thank God, Patricia was as adventurous as Suzie. Of course, Patricia owed Suzie big time, after all the work she did to find her a husband. She and Ames had been married for six months now and happy as little clams.

Patricia was game, and that was a very good thing.

“All right. Let’s go through this list one last time.”

Patricia leaned over the table and looked at the list with Suzie, who began with.

“The press release was delivered to Bass Conglomerates, right?”

Patricia nodded.

“Ames acted as a courier and delivered it earlier in the week. Jillian was on the requested invite list.”

“Good.”

“The staff all knows to show up at six thirty?”

“Yes.”

“Piano player?”

“Check.”

“And they know to leave sharply when the piano player stops playing?”

“Yes. They understand.”

“The food order?”

“All is set there.”

“Oh, and who is going to the airport?”

Patricia stepped back.

“I forgot to ask Ames about that. Let me call him.”

A little panic settled in Suzie’s gut.

“Patricia, we have to get to the airport. That’s an important part.”

She nodded. “I know!”

She punched at her phone. “Ames!”

They chatted, and Suzie went back to the list. She’d talked with hotel staff, had made sure Brad was following through with things on his end, and had already double-checked with the florist. She couldn’t think of a thing that was left to do.

Patricia snapped her phone shut.

“We’re good. I’d already mentioned it to Ames and had totally forgotten it. He’s in a cab on his way.”

“Good.”

Sighing, Suzie glanced about and then to her friend.

“I think our work here is nearly done.”

Patricia nodded. “Agreed.”

****

Wearing a little black dress that she had purchased for too much money at a dress shop between her office and the hotel, Jillian punched the elevator button to take her up to a Presidential Suite on a high floor. Begrudgingly, she had stuffed the folder with the guest list into her purse and made sure her cell phone was at the ready.

“Let’s not disappoint Daddy,”

she muttered.

The door opened and she crossed the large hallway, glanced to the numbers on the wall, and headed in the right direction. The party started at seven, and she doubted that most people would arrive that early. It was a ridiculously early time for a party. So, she’d lingered longer than she’d intended at the dress shop, and then had to go back to her private office restroom to freshen up, had an email and another piece of business to take care of at her desk before she left, and finally, here at fifteen minutes to eight, was ready to join the party.

It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Music and laughter spilled from the room as she approached, the door to the suite propped open. She went on inside.

There was definitely a party going on here. People were everywhere. Pretty people. But no one she recognized, at least not yet.

Meandering into the room, she glanced about. The suite was large, and a baby grand piano sat in a corner with a man playing it and a woman singing some jazzy tune. Food trays were scattered about, and a girl with a tray full of wine glasses headed her way.

“May I get you a glass?”

she asked.

“Chablis.”

“I have some right here.”

Jillian took the glass and paused as the piano player stopped playing and the girl stopped singing. When that happened, everyone in the room halted talking. And at once it seemed like they were all looking at her. She froze with the wine glass barely touching her lips.

In the next second, everyone started heading for the door. Leaving!

What in the world?

Occasionally someone would glance her way and smile, but for the most part, they treaded in small groups toward the door and left. Not exactly sure what she should do, she contemplated that she should also leave, herself.

As the last two people exited, the piano player and the singer, she took a step toward the door.

“Jillian?”

It was the voice that made her turn around. The room suddenly appeared a lot larger than a moment earlier. She scanned it, and her gaze landed on a man standing on the far end.

“Scott?”

He moved closer.

“Please don’t leave.”

With each of his hurried steps, her heart picked up its cadence.

“What are you doing here?”

He shook his head.

“I was invited to Suzie’s review party for her next cookbook, but everyone seems to have left. Except you. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Suzie’s cookbook?”

He nodded.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the folder. Quickly, she scanned the contents.

“I was told this was a celebrity charity event to help kids in poverty overseas.”

Shrugging, Scott stepped closer.

“It sure is good to see you.”

She had to admit that he certainly was a sight for her sore eyes.

“I think we’ve been duped,” he said.

Jillian thought about that for a moment.

“No, I think we’ve been matchmaked.”

At that moment, a knock came to the door, and a table for two filled with dinner rolled into the room. They waited while the server pulled up the leaves, adjusted the tablecloth, and arranged the food.

“Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

The server looked to Scott.

“No. This looks wonderful.”

He nodded and headed for the door. “Wait,”

Scott said, digging into his pocket.

The server shook his head.

“No, sir. It’s all taken care of.”

The door shut with a solid click after he left.

“Now I’m sure of it,”

Jillian muttered.

“We’ve been matched by the master.”

An odd silence fell between them, and Jillian was having a difficult time pulling her gaze away from the table. It wasn’t the food; it was that suddenly her heart had clutched, and more than anything, she wanted to make things right with Scott, but she wasn’t sure how….

Scott intervened by touching a forefinger to her chin and lifting it so she could look into his eyes.

“Jillian, I don’t know why or how we are both here but I’m not letting another minute go by without explaining some things to you. I should have told you about working for Bianchi,”

he said quietly.

“And all of that other stuff. But Jillian, I swear to you, that article in your father’s tabloid was not true.”

She nodded.

“I know that.”

She did. She’d done some digging and she had read enough about Scott over the past several days to know that her father’s writers were playing with fire and gross untruths.

“My father is the liar.”

“I heard you were working for him.”

She shook her head.

“Not anymore. I resigned before I left the office this evening.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I couldn’t do it.”

He hedged a moment, and then said.

“What about the boyfriend?”

She shook her head.

“No boyfriend, Scott. Rand is history and has been for a long time.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“So, what are you going to do next?”

She squared her shoulders and exhaled. “Plan B.”

“And that is…”

She wasn’t sure she should say.

“Jillian?”

She hooked into his gaze.

“I shouldn’t have doubted you, Scott, your chocolates, anything. Even if you tell me to go to hell and get out of your life, I want you to know that the night we spent together was more than a one-night stand for me. It was more than fucking on the kitchen counter. I care deeply for you. I... Oh, hell... I miss you.”

Stepping closer, he ran his hands over her shoulders and down to her biceps, squeezing.

“I miss you too, sweetheart. I can’t get you out of my head. Jillian, come home with me. Come back to Harbor Falls. We can take it slow, get to know each other better, work all of this out. Just come home, please?”

And those were the words that sent Jillian over the edge. “Home?”

“I’m not going back to Italy. I’m buying a house in Harbor Falls.”

Wow. Buying a house was a commitment.

“That’s interesting,”

she said, studying his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I just booked a flight back home to Harbor Falls for tomorrow morning.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

He stepped closer, his lips a breath away from hers.

“I’m falling in love with you, Jillian Bass. Let’s go home to Harbor Falls together.”

Yes. Home. With Scott. To Harbor Falls.

Her lips brushed his as she said.

“I can’t think of any other place I would rather be, Scott Matthews. I’m falling in love with you, too.”

****

Bittersweets, six months later….

“Scott! Where is that chocolate syrup I use to drizzle over the Falls Mountain Butternut Creams?”

Jillian shoved bottles aside in the pantry, looking for the item she sought.

“Upstairs, I think.”

“Shit. Oh. Really?”

She twisted back to look at him. He was elbow deep in powdered sugar and butter.

“Did we use it all?”

“I think so but that was our private bottle, remember? We don’t mix play syrup with business syrup.”

That’s right. They made a habit to never do that.

“Okay, then we’re going to have to improvise. Do you think Suzie will recognize a different syrup?”

She pulled one out of the pantry.

“What about this Grinaldi brand?”

Silence.

“Scott?”

“Really, Jillian, I can’t believe you asked that.”

She turned, and his nose was wrinkled in disgust.

“We’re not drizzling our chocolates with Grinaldi. Forget about it.”

She knew better.

“Okay, then for this party, we’re going sans syrup. It will just have to do.”

Crossing over to the station where Scott was working, she tiptoed over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“When you do the orders this week, make sure to order a couple of business bottles and a play one, too. I don’t want to run out.”

He grinned from ear to ear.

“You and me both, babe.”

Crowding closer, she edged her way into his arms, sugar flying, and locked her lips with his. She never tired in kissing this husband of hers.

“Um, better than chocolate,”

she murmured.

“Damned straight,”

he added and lifted her up on the counter.

She squealed in delight, knowing that yet again, they had ruined another batch of truffles.

Oh. Well.

Not This Christmas

When Nora Patterson rear-ends Reverend Rock Peters’ SUV on a secluded mountain road one snowy Christmas Eve, she finds herself temporarily snowbound with the attractive minister.