Page 2 of The Love Thief

CHAPTER TWO Some Enchanted Evening

The night sky exploded into a glittering array of red, white, and gold pops of light as the fireworks began.

I was standing alone at the far end of the sprawling estate, feeling suitably satisfied with the success of the hospital gala.

The five-bedroom mansion looming in the background was illuminated by a golden light, a perfect background for the big spenders milling about the five-acre garden.

We had fought hard to secure the catering contract, and the “Gala Chairwoman,” Mrs. Phyllis Tavers, had been nothing short of a nightmare of a diva.

Her lifestyle of privilege was mirrored in the gilded frames of the art lining the marble entrance hall.

If I had to give her a title, it would be the Sir Edmund Hillary of social climbing.

A mash-up of Rothschildian opulence, her home featured a formal dining room that would seat up to twenty-two local, deep-pocketed kings and queens with even deeper desires to see, be seen, and, in many cases, be heard, a little too loudly.

Ornate, throne-like chairs at each end of the table gleamed and were reflected in the wall of smoky mirrors.

A row of smaller, leather-cushioned mahogany chairs lined up on both sides.

As I neared the building, knowing what was inside, I paused a moment to breathe in the air of wealth surrounding the place. Moving toward the dining room, I straightened myself, hoping that my small frame would measure up to the tall stakes this evening held for me and my partner Carly.

Rumor around town was that the powder room featured a gold-plated toilet, but I didn’t have the nerve to sneak a peek.

A Marie Antoinette complex ? I mused as I bustled toward the platters of food warming on the sideboards.

I caught my image in the mirror on the wall before me.

Assuming an air of professionalism, I tried hard to concentrate on my goal for the task at hand: to throw the greatest event in town.

However, my thoughts drifted back to the moneyed crowd and, in particular, Mrs. Tavers’s demanding expectations over the past weeks.

You’re gonna be fine.

I straightened my chef’s coat with a quick jerk.

These people are human beings, too , I reasoned.

Besides, I had guests to serve. Now was no time to be fantasizing about the rich and famous.

Despite some initial resistance to moving away from the familiar beef or chicken, once Mrs. Tavers and her small planning team tasted our pistachio-crusted mini lamb chops, they were all in.

She had discovered us through the same local society tabloid in whose photographs she regularly appeared, attending various soirees, always decked out in the latest designer duds.

Our little startup catering business had been highlighted in an article for a pop-up foodie night we had thrown where the writer not only loved the flavors but was also knocked out by my artistic plating.

Through the use of small edible flowers and swirls of sauces, each dish gleamed with the broad, unbroken fields of color of postimpressionism.

Not only did we get a stellar review of our food, but the headline also read, “San Diego’s Hottest New Chef,” and featured a large photograph of me, as well as additional pictures of our appetizers, main course, and dessert.

It was easily the best photo of me ever taken.

I looked sophisticated, joyful, and I had a coy smile on my face.

Unfortunately, the photo they took of Carly and me together never made it into print.

It was an oversight that Carly insisted was okay, but I always wondered if she felt otherwise.

Hopefully, this gala would be the launching pad Carly and I needed as we went off on our own to compete with the big-boy caterers in San Diego.

For the past several years we had worked for the best caterer in town.

I was now head chef and Carly was head of sales; we were also best friends.

We were taking a giant leap of faith together.

I’ve always had a thing for fireworks. In my overly romanticized fantasy world, I dreamed that my prince would someday come and our first kiss would be underneath a sky exploding with neon bursts of color.

Fireworks equal love. And not just any kind of love, but big, soul-stirring, major heart-tingling, explosive, legendary love.

As I stood on the slightly damp expanse of perfectly manicured grass, I had my arms wrapped tightly around me trying to stave off the slight chill in the air when I felt someone approach me from behind.

I turned around and, in the dim light, saw a tall, well-dressed man smiling at me.

“It’s gotten chilly,” he said, taking a step toward me.

For a second, I forgot the cold as my heart skipped a beat.

He emanated an intoxicating warmth mixed with an air of extreme wealth.

“You look cold,” he said gently. I took a step back, wondering where this divine creature had come from.

I wordlessly nodded, unclutching myself as he slipped his navy cashmere jacket off his shoulders.

“May I?” he asked, moving a little closer.

I nodded and shuddered slightly as he draped it across my shoulders.

The jacket was as soft as puppy ears, but it smelled of expensive cologne.

“I’ve noticed you dashing about all night,” he continued. “You’re the caterer, right?” My face flushed as I looked down at my old chef’s clogs. Suddenly, an awkward silence ensued.

Why was this princely man talking to me?

A niggling, familiar sense of doubt clouded my vision as I blinked hard.

He is just being nice , I reasoned, pulling the jacket ends closer to my body.

Really, I’m just the hired help.

“I’m just crazy about those bacon-wrapped scallops, and the truffle risotto was amazing,” he said encouragingly. He flashed a set of white teeth that would have illuminated the night sky. I could feel my shoulders loosen ever so slightly.

“Yes, they are indeed our specialty,” I offered, cocking my head to one side as I grinned at him.

“I could live on that! Oh, forgive my manners. My name is Barry Tavers,” he said, smiling at me with the confidence only Prince Charming could have.

Tavers was a name everyone in town knew. It was plastered on hospitals, symphony halls, and education centers. Anonymous giving was not what this family was about.

“I suppose you are related to Phyllis Tavers?” I asked, hoping my face didn’t reveal the loathing I had developed for her over the past few weeks. The man looked at me apologetically.

“Oh yes.” He sighed, holding his hands out to his sides.

“That’s my mother. I hope she didn’t torture you too much.

She can be a bit difficult as I’m sure you now know,” he said with a smile.

With that, he clapped his hands together and laughed so infectiously that I just had to join him.

I could feel the tension escaping my limbs for the first time all month.

Phyllis had put Carly and me through living hell with all her demands.

Looking at Barry now, I wondered how such a dragon could have produced such a lovely son.

Not wanting to risk saying anything negative about my first, and so far, biggest client, I remained silent.

Even though Barry seemed to share at least some of my opinion about his mom, she was paying us well to put on this gala.

I felt at ease with his gentle manner, but I didn’t want to make a wrong move by agreeing with him. Besides, I didn’t even know him!

Yet something about him made me trust him immediately in a destiny-driven kind of way.

It wasn’t just his dashing good looks and well-manicured hands.

He exuded a charm that put me off balance.

Erecting myself within the warmth of his jacket, I lifted my eyes back to the brilliant lights in the sky, trying hard to settle my racing heart.

For this event, Mrs. Tavers had been talked into using “reduced noise fireworks” at the behest of her neighbors, many of whom had horses.

It was rumored that she once had four small, fluffy, designer dogs—all white—but she had their voice boxes removed so she wouldn’t be disturbed by their barking.

As much as I loved fireworks, I certainly appreciated their lack of Boom, Boom, Boom .

Barry continued his polite banter, looking me directly in the eye as he easily shared stories about his background.

The conversation was easy, and in the scope of less than ten minutes, I learned he was a lawyer, a divorced father of twin teenage girls, and anxious to find his soulmate and have more children.

His hobbies included tracking down rare art in Europe for his parents’ collection, playing tennis, having a passion for design and architecture, and fine dining, the latter being something we definitely had in common.

My phone began buzzing in my bra, which made me gasp. How embarrassing to have to reach through his jacket underneath my shirt to retrieve it! I saw a text. The kitchen needed me—NOW.

“Gotta run, Barry. Lovely to meet you,” I said as I slipped off his jacket and turned to hurry away. For a split second, our hands touched. An electric shock raced through my entire torso down to my toes as our eyes met.

“Do you want to get together sometime?” He looked at me intensely.

My mouth went dry as I swallowed hard.

“Uh, sure,” I stammered. “Sounds like fun!” I faked a casual tone as I looked at my phone again to distract myself from this force of nature. “I really have to go,” I apologized as I backed up, nearly stumbling into a potted plant behind me.

I swerved around, heading for the kitchen as thoughts raced through my mind. Was this my fantasy coming true? Was my prince the son of a nasty, wealthy witch?