Authors: Cat Johnson
“Jeez, don’t say that. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” Troy grimaced over Gordy’s comment as he delivered Scott’s beer.
“Why? What’s wrong with you? Over at our house, the great Troy O’Donnell from Ladder 3 is legendary when it comes to the ladies.” Big and burly Gordy frowned at Troy.
Gordy came from Engine Company 31. They’d had to borrow men from four different firehouses in the city to find enough single as well as willing guys to fill the twelve months of the calendar.
Antonio laughed. “That is the problem, Gordy. Troy’s engaged now, but his fiancé doesn’t know she’s marrying the former Casanova of the city’s firefighters.”
“And she’s not going to know either,” Troy added with a warning tone.
Antonio shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re worried about, man. Amy wouldn’t care. That was before you ever met her. You were just killing time waiting for the right girl, that’s all.”
Gordy leaned in. “So come on, O’Donnell, tell me the truth. Is it true you hit triple digits?”
Troy shot him a less than brotherly look. “No comment.”
Scott took another slug of beer. “How did you know, Troy?”
Antonio raised a brow. “That he hit triple digits in his dating? We kept that chart on the wall in the firehouse. Remember?”
“No, not that.” Scott scowled. “I mean how did you know that girl number one-nineteen was
the one
, when the first one-hundred-eighteen weren’t?”
Gordy choked on his beer. “One-hundred and nineteen. Jesus, O’Donnell. You’re my new idol.”
Troy ignored Gordy’s outburst. “You just know, Scotty, with no question. If you’re having doubts about Linda, then she’s not the one for you.”
Antonio rolled his eyes. “As if you should be giving relationship advice. I seem to remember I had to convince you that Amy wasn’t a lesbian.”
“Whoa. She was a lesbian?” Gordy nearly dropped his beer this time. He set it down on the bar, as if he’d just realized it would be safer not to be drinking during this conversation.
Troy scowled. “No she’s not and never was, but at the time I thought…oh, just shut up, Gordy. And
you
can step in with your own relationship advice for Scotty any time you feel like it, Antonio. You’ve been awfully quiet tonight except for when you’re discussing my personal life.”
Antonio scuffed his black cowboy boot on the grungy floor of the bar. “I didn’t think Scotty’d want to hear much from me tonight after what happened with him and Linda.”
“Why?” Scott frowned and debated on whether to get another shot.
“Because before the shoot today, I, uh, stopped by the jewelers and ordered an engagement ring for Maddie.” Antonio watched Scott and waited.
Scott swung his gaze from Antonio to Troy, and then back again. “Jeez. You’re getting engaged to your girlfriend now too? Both of you are getting married?”
Antonio shrugged. “I’m not asking her until New Year’s Eve, but I couldn’t wait any longer to order it.”
Scott shook his head. “If both of you are getting married, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I should just propose to Linda. It would be easier, I guess, than fighting about it.”
Antonio shook his head. “No, man. Are you crazy? Troy’s right, you’ll know when you’ve found the right one. Don’t jump into marriage just because everyone else is doing it.”
Gordy nodded. “Damn right. You’ll end up right back where you are now, alone but with an ex-wife and only half your worldly assets. Be happy that all you’ve got now is an ex-girlfriend and your stuff in a box.”
He sighed, knowing they were right
.
But that word
, alone,
stuck with him. Yup. The minute Scott left the bar that night he knew he’d feel alone, and fueled with beer and tequila, he’d call Linda. Then what? More fighting? Some make-up sex? An ill-fated marriage proposal...
He took the cell phone out of his pocket and slid it across the bar. “Somebody take that and don’t let me use it to call Linda tonight, no matter what.”
“Oh, yeah. Nothing worse than the drunk-dial to the ex.” Gordy blew out a breath as Antonio, probably the least drunk of them, picked up the phone and pocketed it.
Scott glanced around the group and realized he loved these guys. They’d be there for him. Always. Unlike Linda.
Dating sucked. Why had it taken him so long to realize that? Then he realized something else—not one of them was sober enough to drive. “You know what, guys? We forget to designate a driver.”
The group was silent for a moment as they considered that.
“I guess I could call Maddie to come pick us up.” Antonio squinted at his watch in the dim light of the neon beer sign and cringed. “Ugh, how did it get so late? She’s definitely sleeping by now.”
“We could try and get a taxi, I guess.” Gordy shrugged.
Troy held up his hand. “Not to worry. I have a much better solution.” He whipped out his cell phone and called out to the bartender. “Hey, Ralph. Does the pizza place next door deliver?”
The bartender looked up from the beer he was pouring. “Yup.”
“Perfect. You know the phone number off hand?”
Ralph recited the number as Troy dialed. “Yeah, I’d like to order a large pizza to be delivered…”
Troy relayed the address of Ladder 3 to whoever was on the other end of the line as Scott frowned. He wasn’t sure how getting a pizza delivered to the firehouse was going to get them home, but pizza did sound like a good idea. They hadn’t eaten dinner. He could definitely go for a slice or two.
About thirty minutes later, a confused pizza delivery boy who’d received a good tip for his troubles pulled his crowded economy-sized car up to the curb in front of Ladder Company No. 3 and four drunken firemen with one piping hot cheese pizza piled out.
As the group stumbled up the stairs of the firehouse, Scott smiled at Troy. “You, my man, are brilliant.”
Life, at least for tonight, was good. He had no inclination and no cell phone to call Linda, but he did have a place to sober up, pizza to fill his belly and good buddies. He could worry about tomorrow in the morning.
Chapter Two
“I’m very sorry, but I can’t do it.” The voice coming through the phone line was clear as a bell, but it didn’t deliver the answer she needed to hear.
“But you have to do it.” Begging was not out of the question at this point.
“No, actually, I don’t.” There was a short laugh. “Look I wish I could help you out, but I can’t. I’m booked solid. Good luck finding someone.” Then there was a click.
Lexi Cooper gripped the phone until her knuckles were white as panic started to set in. She glanced down at the phone book’s yellow pages and the last number she’d dialed.
Zoey’s Events
. That was it. She’d reached the Zs. There were no more listings. She’d called every caterer in a tri-state area and not one was available.
“What am I going to do?” She whispered it to herself.
“Here’s an idea, how about learn to cook.” Even though she hadn’t been speaking to him, Robert answered from across her apartment.
She glared at him and his ridiculous suggestion. “As my agent, you’re supposed to support me and solve problems like this. So start solving.”
“As a self-proclaimed renowned lifestyle maven, you’re supposed to know how to cater a simple fundraising event yourself without hiring an outside company to do it all for you.” He raised a brow and let the accusation hang in the air.
Lexi rose out of the desk chair and planted both fists on her hips. “You created the monster I’ve become. I only wanted to write general lifestyle articles. You’re the one who insisted I add entertaining and food to my column even though I can’t cook. You’re the one who arranged the cookbook deal. You’re the one who said yes to the cable television cooking show.
You
created Lexi Cooper, queen of entertaining, not me.”
He walked across the room and stood next to the desk, towering over her as she sat. “And the cookbook deal and cable show pay for this very spacious apartment. If I remember correctly, you were more than happy to jump on this bandwagon. And, may I remind you that
you
were the one who announced you would help with the planning of the Hunky Firemen fundraising event, during a live television broadcast no less, not me.”
She glanced up at the older, gray-haired man in his impeccable charcoal-colored suit. Her deals had probably paid for that suit. Robert had as much to lose as she, so how could he be so calm? Lexi let out a long slow breath. “Well, what was I supposed to do? Say no to helping out with the biggest charity event in the city and look like a bitch for not supporting the our bravest men and sickest children?”
Robert grabbed one of her hands and squeezed, like a father might do. At least he was finally showing her some support and acting like she presumed an agent was supposed to. But since he’d been her one and only agent since the very beginning, she wasn’t exactly sure what other agents were like.
“You did the right thing, and you’ve done a great job. The fireman calendar is selling like hot cakes, thanks to your brainstorm of using single firefighters and auctioning off dates with them afterward. The promotional idea—your idea—for the calendar men to play Santa Claus all over town the week before the bachelor auction, is brilliant. And the cocktail party ‘bachelor mixer’ at Bryant’s Department Store will raise some nice cash and raise even more awareness for the children’s hospital.”
“Except that there will be no food for the guests to eat at the party. I wish I’d never come up with that last idea.” Lexi sighed heavily.
“Alexis, I know you think I was just being a smart-ass, but I was serious about what I said before. I do think you should learn how to cook. You’re smart, you’re talented and you’re eroding your own self-confidence by insisting you can’t learn.”
He was using her full name, which is what he always did when he coddled her, but this time it wasn’t going to work. “I can’t learn. I burn water.”
Robert shook his head. “I don’t believe you. You do great on the cooking show.”
“Because all I do is read a script from the teleprompter. All the final food is pre-prepared by the chef on the set because
you
told them I’m too busy to do it myself. Which is the same excuse we’re using about why I can’t come up with hors d’oeuvres for the Bryant’s event without an outside caterer. Only in the middle of the holiday season, there’s not a reputable caterer to be had anywhere. Christ, how would I even begin to cook for a hundred people, at minimum? It could go up to five hundred guests for all we know.”
Robert was still silently watching her. He could be quiet better than anyone else she’d ever met. And dammit, it worked every time. She couldn’t stand it. She had to fill the silence, so she gave in.
“All right. Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that I did want to learn. How the hell does Lexi Cooper explain that she needs basic cooking lessons? What do I do, go to the local trade school in disguise and enroll in Cooking 101?”
“We get you private lessons. Pay the instructor well and make her sign a non-disclosure agreement. With enough legal threats, she’ll never talk to the press, or anyone else, about the fact you can’t cook. There’s a great woman chef I know who would probably do it—”
“I don’t do well with women.” At Robert’s raised brow she elaborated. “Why do you think I quit the PR agency and chose to be a writer? One toxic female boss too many, that’s why. I work better independently anyway.”
“Fine, we’ll find you a man.”
Lexi let out a laugh as her mind took a turn for the gutter. If only Robert could perform that miracle and actually find her a man. It had been a long time…much, much too long.
As if he’d read her mind, Robert smiled. “I
meant
to teach you to cook.”
Damn, it was unnerving when he did stuff like that. Too bad the only man in her life who knew her this well was her married agent who was old enough to be her father’s older brother.
“The event is in a few weeks. It’s doubtful I can learn to cook at all, but even if I can, I won’t be up to speed in time to cater the fundraiser.” Lexi scowled at his persistence when it came to this crazy cooking lessons idea, which she doubted would work and still didn’t solve her problem.
Robert smiled patiently. “You’ll come up with something. You always do.” He pinched her cheek lightly, much like her granddad used to do when she was little.
She rolled her eyes at his unwavering confidence in her, secretly wishing she shared it. “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”
~ * ~
Hitler was alive and well and giving private cooking lessons to Lexi. At least, she was convinced it was him judging by the dictator-like attitude, insane outbursts and irrational demands of perfection. She’d been reduced to tears in the ladies’ room more than once. He’d also thrown her own culinary creations, imperfect though they were, literally at her. She was beginning to wake up regularly in cold sweats after dreaming of such horrors as falling soufflés and curdled eggs flying at her head as she ducked beneath the stainless steel counter.
And now it was midnight and she was, of all places, in the refrigerated aisle of the all-night convenience store. She had to practice her chocolate soufflé before tomorrow’s torture session with Fredrick, gourmet chef from hell.