Cale stopped, forcing her to a halt, and announced stiffly, “I don’t eat.”
“I didn’t ask you if you eat,” she pointed out. “Can you cook? ”
“Why would I cook if I don’t eat?” he asked dryly.
“Not doing one doesn’t preclude your doing the other,” Sam said impatiently, and then clucked with irritation and tried to urge him to continue forward as she pointed out, “Male designers don’t wear women’s clothing, but they design it.”
“How do you know they don’t wear it?” Bricker asked lightly, drawing Cale’s attention to the fact that he and Mortimer had followed and now stood behind them.
Mortimer chuckled at the words, but Sam didn’t seem to see the humor. Grinding her teeth together, she tugged at Cale’s arm again. “Come on. You need to get to the restaurant before she changes her mind and takes off for the new place or something.”
Cale tugged his arm free of her hold. “I do not cook food and have no desire to visit a place filled with the stench of it. You’ll just have to arrange a meeting for a different day. I have no desire to go to her place of business.”
“I can’t believe Sam told her sister I am a chef,”
Cale muttered for probably the sixth time since finding himself bundled into the passenger seat of his rental car, and riding away from the enforcer house with Justin Bricker at the wheel.
“Believe it,” Bricker said dryly. “Sam is desperate to see her sister settled with an immortal. She and her sisters are as thick as thieves. She’ll do everything and anything she can to ensure that Alex doesn’t have to be left behind at some point in the future.”
“Hmm.” Cale supposed he could understand that. He had often thought it must be hard for mortals to give up their families and friends to claim the immortals they loved. They gained a lot in return, of course: eternal youth and a love and passion most mortals could only dream of. Still, family was important to his clan, and tohis mind it spoke well of Sam and her sisters that they deemed family important as well.
“Still … a chef? Just the sight of food makes my stomach turn, and the smell …” He grimaced and shuddered, growing nauseous at just the thought of it. His reaction to food was one of the reasons Cale didn’t much bother with mortals anymore. Their very lives seemed to revolve around food or beverages. They did business over coffee or drinks and held feasts to celebrate every event. It was for that reason that Cale had funneled most of his business interests into areas where he need only deal with immortals. Of course, some of them ate too, those who were still young, or were mated. But he ran into the problem much less often when dealing with immortals than he would with mortals.
“This is the first time I’ve heard of an immortal with that kind of reaction to food,” Bricker commented, and then cast him a curious glance, and asked, “Just how old are you?”
Cale scowled. The older he got, the more he detested answering that question and supposed he was starting to feel his age. Not physically, of course, but mentally. The truth was, lately, Cale was bored to tears. It was why he’d agreed to a long visit in Canada. He hadn’t had any real change in his life for a very long time. Running companies that catered to immortals’ needs and had mostly immortal employees meant he hadn’t had to change his name or job for some time. He also lived on a country estate just outside Paris where there were no neighbors to notice his lack of aging. It had allowed him to avoid moving as well.
Cale knew that while doing so had been convenient, it had also allowed him to stagnate. Lately he’d been thinking that a major rearranging of his life was in order. He’d been contemplating leaving his company in the hands of one of his capable senior employees and taking up a different line of work, but he simply hadn’t decided on what he wanted to do. He’d considered several things, but most of them necessitated attending university to gain the necessary skills, which meant being around mortals and their ever-present love for food.
Another option he’d considered was hiring himself out as a mercenary. Cale had enjoyed battle in his youth, and while he couldn’t become a proper soldier because he couldn’t risk daylight, he understood they still hired mercenaries to fight in third-world countries. He supposed it spoke of how low his mood had sunk that the idea of a bloody battlefield appealed to him.
“If you’re Martine and Darius’s son, you have to have been born before Christ,” Bricker said thoughtfully. “Your father died in 300 B.C. or something, didn’t he?”
“In 230 B.C.,” Cale said tightly. It was not a time he liked to recall. He had lost not only his father but several brothers that year, all in the same battle. Actually, “slaughter” was the better word since they’d been lured into a trap by an immortal who vied for the same mercenary contracts they did and had decided to eliminate the competition. Cale’s father, Darius, had been a great warrior and raised his sons with the same skills, and then made a living by hiring himself and his sons out for battle.
Including Cale, his mother had borne eleven children with his father, all sons. The pair had met and become life mates in 1180 B.C., when his father was two hundred years old and his mother three hundred. While they had adhered to the rule of one child every century, they’d also had two sets of twins, and—so far—the council didn’t punish parents for having twins by making them wait an extra century to have another child. Of those eleven sons, only three still survived. The rest had died alongside their father on a bloody battlefield in 230 B.C. Cale still ached at the memory of the mammoth loss.
“Well, then maybe your reaction to food is because you’re so old,” Bricker murmured with concern. Apparently, the idea of having such an extreme distaste for food was bothersome to the younger immortal. Shrugging, he said more cheerfully, “But if Marguerite’s right about this—and she always is—once you meet Alex, you’re going to find yourself craving food.”
When Cale merely peered at him dubiously, he chuckled, and added, “Trust me. By tonight, you’re going to be stuffing your face like a mortal after a weeklong fast.”
Cale scowled, not pleased at the suggestion. Really, he wasn’t any more pleased to find himself trapped in a vehicle with the younger immortal. Food eaters always had a similar stench. Normally that smell didn’t bother him so much, but then he wasn’t normally trapped in an airless car with one. Wrinkling his nose, he sighed, and asked, “Why are you driving me there again?”
“Because you don’t know your way around Toronto,and Sam didn’t want to take the chance of your getting lost,” Bricker reminded him with amusement. “She also worried you might crack up your car on the icy roads and didn’t want to risk that either. Since Mortimer wanted to discuss her turning and wouldn’t let her drive you herself, she reluctantly decided I should deliver you to Alex. I’m to report back to her on every word that passes between you,” he announced with amusement.
“Right,” Cale muttered, beginning to wonder what he’d gotten himself into here. Perhaps it really wasn’t worth it to humor Marguerite after all. Not if it meant going to a restaurant where he would be surrounded by the stench of mortal food … and this Alex woman thought he was a chef for God’s sake! What on earth had possessed Sam to claim he could cook? He didn’t know the first damned thing about cooking and didn’t want to. On the other hand, if it turned out Marguerite was right, and this woman was his life mate … Well, he supposed that might make it worth it … and he really might start to like food again then.
“Here.” Bricker reached blindly into the backseat to retrieve a book. He offered the large volume to Cale, saying, “Sam thought it might help if you gave this a quick once-over on the way.”
“Cooking for Dummies?”
Cale read with something akin to horror as his gaze moved with distaste over the picture of the dead, headless, featherless, and trussed-up roasted chicken on the plate next to a bunch of equally roasted vegetables.
“Well, it can’t hurt,” Bricker said with amusement. “Alex is expecting a world-class chef.”
Cale tossed the book back on the seat behind him with disgust. “I have no intention of cooking. I’ll just go there, meet the woman, see if I can read her, and leave when I can.”
“Or,” Bricker drawled, “you’re going to go there, discover Marguerite was on the mark
again,
that you can’t read Alex, and you’ll be desperate for an excuse to stay close to her as you try to lay claim to her as a life mate.”
Cale snorted. “If I can’t read her, and she is my life mate, I won’t need an excuse to stay close to her. She’ll want me there.”
“Oh, man, do you have a lot to learn about mortal women,” Bricker said dryly.
Cale glanced at him sharply. “Surely, if she is my life mate, she will—”
“What? Drop into your palm like a plum, ripe for the picking? “ Bricker tore his gaze from the road to glance at him with obvious amusement. When Cale merely scowled, he shook his head and turned his attention back to the road. “You weren’t paying attention back there at the house, were you? Didn’t you catch the fact that Mortimer and Sam are life mates, have been together for eight months, and yet she’s only now agreeing to the turn? Mortal women do have free will, you know.”
Cale’s eyes widened as he realized that was true.
“And contrary to what the movie claims, Earth girls
aren’t
easy.”
“What?” Cale asked, completely bewildered by the reference.
“Never mind,” Bricker muttered with disgust. “Thepoint is, while
we
grow up with the knowledge that someday we will meet that special someone who can’t read us and whom we can’t read and so will, therefore, be our perfect life mate, mortal women
don’t.
They grow up being taught that men are cheating, lying bastards and being told that they will have to kiss a lot of toads before they find the one who will be their prince. And
then
they’re taught to be cautious because some princes are actually wolves in princely clothing.”
Cale peered at the younger immortal with dismay. “Are you serious?”
“You don’t watch much TV, do you?” Bricker asked dryly, and then suggested, “Get a clue, watch a movie or two tonight. It will bring you up to date on the state of the war of the sexes.”
“War?”
“Yes, war,” Bricker said solemnly. “Women aren’t the sweet little biddable gals pleased just to have a bit of attention anymore. If they have a man in their lives, it’s because they want him there, not because they need him to take care of them. Today’s women can take care of themselves. At least a lot of them can. And as a successful businesswoman, Alex is one of the ones who can. In fact, dragging her attention away from her business is most likely going to be more of a struggle than anything. Especially right now,” he added grimly.
“Why especially right now?” Cale asked.
“She’s in the midst of opening a second restaurant,” Bricker informed him. “She started with this little hole-in-the-wall. It was fancy,” he added, in case Cale got the wrong impression. “But small. Only she’s onehell of a cook, and it was a raging success. You had to book months ahead to get a table. So she decided she needed a larger venue, only from what Sam has said, that’s been one problem after another, and Alex has been running in circles trying to get it together in time for opening night.”
“When is that?” Cale asked.
“In two weeks,” Bricker said dryly. “Trust me, she’ll be running around like a chicken with her head cut off and—life mate or no life mate—you’ll be lucky if she gives you the time of day if she finds out you’re
not
a chef.”
Cale was silent for a moment, and then undid his seat belt and shifted around to reach in the back for the cookbook. It seemed to him it was better to be safe than sorry.
“There’s absolutely no one you can think of who’s even a halfway-decent cook and presently unemployed?” Alex asked unhappily, and then listened to the voice over the phone as Gina, a dear friend who was also a chef, told her no. Alex grimaced, and murmured, “Well, thanks for trying, anyway.”
Alex set the phone back in its cradle with a weary sigh. She’d spent the last forty-five minutes since talking to Sam making calls, but there didn’t appear to be any chefs out there in search of a position … which was just ridiculous considering the state of the economy, but it was also just her luck lately.
Growling with frustration, Alex scrubbed her hands over her face, and then dropped onto her desk chairwith a groan. She’d continued with her calls in case the chef whom Sam was sending over was completely unsuitable, but it seemed he was her only hope at this point. If he wasn’t up to scratch, she would have to cook here herself tonight, which meant she couldn’t see to the things she needed to do to get the larger restaurant opened on time at the new location.
Why on earth had she set herself up for this hell? Alex wondered miserably. It had seemed such a simple and easy plan at the time. This restaurant had been going like gangbusters, always full, the money rolling in. She’d been the fat, happy cat enjoying the cream of her success … and then some little devil had whispered in her ear that she should expand and, like an idiot, she’d rushed impulsively forward with the idea.
Originally, Alex had hoped to purchase the storefront next door and simply knock down the wall between and make this restaurant larger. But then she’d realized it meant canceling several bookings to get the work done, and then someone suggested simply opening another restaurant at the other end of the city. She might bring in a whole new clientele.
With visions of a chain of La Bonne Vie restaurants dancing through her head, Alex had set out to find the perfect building in the perfect location. Then she’d settled down to decorate and market the opening of the second La Bonne Vie. Everything had gone smoothly at first, and then bad luck had begun to plague her. The perfect spot had been an old Victorian house at the edge of a busy shopping area. It was newly renovated, charming, and perfect—until an electrical firehad broken out late one night shortly after she’d started decorating it.