A Beauty For The Billionaire

Mrs. Hennessey announced to the room at large, “There’s an Anabel Carlisle downstairs to see you. I showed her to the salon.”

That seemed to snap Hogan out of his preoccupation with what might have been and pull him firmly into the here and now. “Anabel is here? Tell her I’ll be right down.”

“No, Mr. Dempsey, she’s here to see Ms. Merlin.”

Hogan’s jaw dropped a little at that. But all he said was, “Hogan, Mrs. Hennessey. Please call me Hogan.” Then he looked at Chloe. “Guess she refigured her budget and wants to hire you back.”

Chloe should have been delighted by the idea. Not only did it mean more money coming in, but it also meant she would be free of Hogan Dempsey and his damnable heartache-filled eyes. She should be flying down the stairs to tell Anabel that she’d love to come back to work for her and would pack her bags this instant. Instead, for some reason, she couldn’t move. “Tell Anabel we’ll be right down,” Hogan told Mrs. Hennessey.

The housekeeper nodded and went back down the stairs. Chloe stood still. Hogan gazed at her curiously.

“Don’t you want to hear what she has to say?”

Chloe nodded. She did. She did want to hear what Anabel had to say. But she really needed to cook. Cooking was something she could control. Cooking filled her head with flavors and fragrances, with methods and measurements. Cooking restored balance to the universe. And Chloe could really use some balance right now.

“Well then, let’s go find out,” Hogan said.

Chloe looked at him again. And was immediately sorry. Because now he looked happy and eager and excited. And a happy Hogan was far more overwhelming, and far more troubling, than a conflicted one. A happy Hogan reminded her of times and places—and people—that had made her happy, too. And those thoughts, more than anything, were the very reason she needed to cook.

* * *

Hogan couldn’t understand why Chloe looked so unhappy at the thought of seeing Anabel. Then again, Chloe hadn’t really looked happy about anything since he met her. He’d never encountered anyone so serious. Even cooking, which she constantly said she wanted to do, didn’t really seem to bring her any joy.

Then he remembered she’d never actually said she wanted to cook. She always said she needed to. For most people, that was probably a minor distinction. He was beginning to suspect that, for Chloe, there was nothing minor about it at all.

“C’mon,” he told her. “Let’s go see what Anabel wants.” And then, because she was standing close enough for him to do it, he leaned over and nudged her shoulder gently with his.

He might as well have jabbed her with a red-hot poker, the way she lurched away from him at the contact. She even let out a soft cry of protest and lifted a hand to her shoulder, as if he’d struck her there.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized, even though he had no idea what he needed to apologize for. “I didn’t mean to...”

What? Touch her? Of course he meant to touch her. The same way he would have touched any one of his friends, male or female, in an effort to coax them out of their funk. People always nudged each other’s shoulders. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed the gesture. Chloe looked as if she’d been shot.

“It’s okay,” she said, still rubbing her shoulder, not looking like it was okay at all.

Not knowing what else he could say, he extended his arm toward the stairs to indicate she should precede him down. With one last, distressed look at him, she did. He kept his distance as he followed her because she seemed to need it, but also because it gave him a few more seconds to prepare for Anabel. He’d known he would run into her at some point—hell, he’d planned on it—but he’d figured it would be at some social function where there would be a lot of people around, and he’d have plenty of time to plan. He hadn’t thought she would come to his house, even if it was to see someone other than him.

What Mrs. Hennessey called a “salon,” Hogan thought of as a big-ass living room. The walls were paneled in maple, and a massive Oriental rug covered most of the green marble floor. A fireplace on one wall had a mantel that was dotted with wooden model ships, and it was flanked by brown leather chairs—a matching sofa was pushed against the wall opposite.

Three floor-to-ceiling arched windows looked out onto a courtyard in back of the house, and it was through one of those that Anabel Carlisle stood looking, with her back to them. Either she hadn’t heard them come in, or she, too, was giving herself a few extra seconds to prepare. All Hogan could tell was that the black hair that used to hang in straight shafts to the middle of her back was short now, cut nearly to her chin.

And her wardrobe choices were a lot different, too. He remembered her trying to look like a secondhand gypsy, even though she’d probably spent hundreds of dollars in Fifth Avenue boutiques on everything she wore. Today’s outfit had likely set her back even more, despite merely consisting of sedate gray pants and sweater. But both showcased lush curves she hadn’t had as a teenager, so maybe they were worth the extra expense.

As if he’d spoken his appraisal out loud, Anabel suddenly spun around. Although she looked first at Chloe, she didn’t seem to be surprised by Hogan’s presence. But whether the smile on her face was for him or his chef, he couldn’t have said. “Hogan,” she said in the same throaty voice he remembered. God, he’d always loved her voice. “Good to see you.”

“You, too, Anabel. How have you been?”

She began to walk toward where he and Chloe stood in the doorway. She still moved the way she used to, all grace and elegance and style. He’d always loved watching her move. She was just as gorgeous now as she’d been when they were kids. Even more, really, because she’d ditched the heavy eye makeup and dark lipstick she used to wear, so her natural beauty shone through. Strangely, the lack of makeup only made her blue eyes seem even bluer than he remembered them and her mouth even fuller and lusher.

He waited for the splash of heat that had always rocked his midsection whenever he saw her, and for the hitch of breath that had always gotten caught in his chest. But neither materialized. He guessed he’d outgrown reactions like that.

“I imagine you’ve already heard most of the highlights about how I’ve been,” she said as she drew nearer. “My divorce was the talk of the town until you showed up.” She smiled again, but there was only good humor and maybe a little nostalgia in the gesture. “I should actually probably thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, smiling back.

It really was good to see her. She really did look great. So what if his heart wasn’t pumping like the V-8 in a Challenger Hellcat, the way he would have thought it would be. People grew up. Hormones settled down.

With one last look at Hogan she turned her attention to Chloe.

“I want you to come back to work for me,” she said, straight to the point. “I can pay you three percent more than Hogan offered you.”

Hogan looked at Chloe. She still seemed shell-shocked from whatever the hell had happened between them in the gallery. She glanced at Hogan, then back at Anabel, but said nothing.

Cagey, he thought. She was probably thinking if Anabel was offering three percent, she could get more from Hogan. Fine. Whatever it took to keep Chloe on, Hogan would pay it. Especially if it meant Anabel might come around again.

“I’ll raise your salary five percent,” he told her.

Anabel looked at him, her lips parted in surprise. Or something. Then she looked back at Chloe. “I can go six percent,” she said coolly. “And you can have the entire month of August off, with pay.”

Again, Chloe looked at Hogan, then back at Anabel. Again, she remained silent.

“Eight percent,” Hogan countered.

Now Anabel narrowed her eyes at him in a way he remembered well. It was her I’ll-get-what-I-want-or-else look. She always wore it right before he agreed to spring for tickets for whatever band happened to be her favorite at the time, or whatever restaurant was her favorite, or whatever whatever was her favorite. Then again, she’d always thanked him with hours and hours of hot I-love-you-so-much sex. Well, okay, maybe not hours and hours. He hadn’t been the most controlled lover back in the day. But it had for sure been hot.

Anabel didn’t up her salary offer this time, but she told Chloe, “And I’ll give you the suite of rooms that face the park.”

Chloe opened her mouth to reply, but Hogan stopped her with another counteroffer. “I’ll raise your pay ten percent,” he said. He didn’t add anything about a better room or more time off. Not just because she already had a damned suitable room and more time off than the average person could ever hope to have, but because something told him money was way more important to Chloe than anything else.

What she needed the money for, Hogan couldn’t imagine. But it was her salary that had been the most important part of her contract, her salary that lured her from one employer to another. Chloe Merlin wanted money. Lots of it.

For a third time she looked at Hogan, then at Anabel. “I’m sorry, Anabel,” she said. “Unless you can offer to pay me more than Mr....” She threw another glance Hogan’s way, this one looking even more edgy than the others. Then she turned so that her entire body was facing Anabel. “Unless you can offer me more than...that...I’m afraid I’ll have to remain here.”

There was a brief expectant pause, and when Anabel only shook her head, Chloe made her way to the doorway. “I’ll draw up a rider for my contract and have it for you this evening,” she said to Hogan as she started back up the stairs.

And then she was gone, without saying goodbye to either of them.

“She is such an odd duck,” Anabel said when Chloe was safely out of earshot.

There was nothing derogatory in her tone, just a matter-of-factness that had been there even when they were teenagers. She wasn’t condemning Chloe, just stating the truth. His chef was pretty unique.

“But worth every penny,” she added with a sigh. She smiled again. “More pennies than I can afford to pay her. Obviously, she’s working for someone who’s out of my league.”

Hogan shook his head. “Other way around, Anabel. You were always out of my league. You said so yourself. More than once, if I remember.”

She winced at the comment, even though he hadn’t meant it maliciously. He’d learned to be matter-of-fact from her. “I was a dumb kid when we dated, Hogan,” she told him. “I was so full of myself back then. I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have.”

“Nah,” he told her. “You never said anything I wasn’t thinking myself. You were right. We came from two different worlds.”