Life would be a lot simpler if I were into Ben. Shira and I could be sisters-in-law, and I’d forever have someone to lift heavy objects for me. Too bad my taste skewed toward devastatingly handsome, bespeckled computer geniuses.
Technically, it wasn’t my fault the waiter’s arm caught on fire. Sure, I probably shouldn’t have said,“Prove it,”when he’d claimed to be a fire breather on the side, but I didn’t think he’d take it literally—especially not in the middle of a packed catering kitchen.
Everything had been going fine until someone spilled oil in the path of a server carrying a tray of wineglasses. She’d slipped, and the tray flew. Luckily for her, one of the chefs caught her just in time, but the tray lost its battle with gravity, smacking the fire breather in the back of the head at the worst possible moment.
His head jerked forward, and the flames followed.
Right onto his highly flammable work uniform.
He screamed. Everyone froze.
It was by sheer luck I’d been holding a pitcher of water.
Moments after I’d doused the fire, the catering manager had charged in, oblivious. “The dessert table needs to be refilled ASAP.”
I didn’t argue. Grabbing my cart, I made a swift exit before anyone could connect me to the tiny, semi-contained inferno in the kitchen, which had only been sort of, in a small, microscopic way, my fault.
My cart filled with desserts, I crossed the room, trying to ignore my jumping nerves. The space was a swirl of muted pastels, fine china, and understated elegance. I offered polite smiles as I passed clusters of guests, keeping my head down and pace steady, only to be stopped by an older woman dripping in diamonds who wanted to discuss all the ingredients in my macarons. At first, I was wary of her intentions, then she all but demanded my business card so she could hire me for her granddaughter’s graduation party, and it became a lovely surprise.
When she finally walked away, I let out a long breath, and that was when I saw him.
At the far side of the ballroom, surrounded by four men in suits who looked like they had private jets and boardrooms to return to, stood Tore. I recognized Sam among them, and I was almost certain the silver-haired guy was the mayor.
Tore was taller than all of them. Sharper too. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him, and though I was too far away to be sure, I’d bet anything he was spinning his ring as he spoke.
The men were riveted, and with themayorhanging on to Tore’s every word, it struck me how powerful he was. This was a man other powerful people listened to.
All the riches in the world were nice, but they didn’t turn me on. This, though, seeing the respect Tore was given by men who were no doubt used to being treated with deference?
Thiswas something else entirely.
Chapter Sixteen
Salvatore
Ittookmelongerthan I liked to make it across the room to the dessert table.
Understandably, people were surprised to see me here. I usually avoided luncheons and galas like the plague. I gave generously to charity but saw no reason to make a big show of it. Quiet donations to causes I supported were enough; I didn’t need recognition.
Sam was in attendance, though, so I’d set aside thirty minutes for small talk to keep him happy. Ignoring everyone like I wanted to would only annoy him.
He frowned when I walked away from my chat with the mayor, but politics didn’t interest me. If any feathers were ruffled, Sam would smooth them over. He was used to it.
My timing turned out to be perfect.
Bea had emerged from the kitchen a few minutes ago, trailed by a faint puff of smoke. She’d been waylaid several times on the way, making us reach the dessert table at the same moment.
Herdessert table.
I wasn’t sure how uncommon this setup was, since I rarely went to events like this, but I couldn’t imagine anyone else had evercreated such a beautiful tablescape. There were desserts and candy at all levels, sitting on glass trays. Cream puffs stacked into pillars. Colorful macarons arranged in rainbow order. Between the desserts were small silver vases holding brightly colored flowers. Even picked over, it was art.
Her eyebrows lifted when she spotted me loitering, nonplussed by my appearance.
It fascinated me how easily she could convey her emotions by moving the muscles in her face. Some people were hard to read, but Bea broadcasted what she was feeling loud and clear.
I picked up a pink macaron. “Did you make this?”
“What are the chances you’d be attending the same event I was hired to cater?” she countered.
