Her Client from Hell Read Free

‘Nate Munro? I wondered...usually people use a search engine or
a business card rather than a world famous rock star to find a caterer.’
    ‘Yes, he recommended you. Although why I bothered I don’t
know—’ But his new mate had done him a huge honour by allowing him to film his
more intimate home life for a documentary which could well be award-winning—if
only for the usually very private subject. Which meant Jack owed him precisely
five more minutes to hear Cassie out before he took his leave and found a more
organised, punctual and less disturbingly off-the-scale attractive caterer.
    The flush turned from embarrassment to irritation. She wore her
emotions very obviously on her face—as if there was no caution button. No
keeping things in check. How could people live like that? Spilling their
feelings out at any given moment? Did they have no control? It was his endless
fascination and what made his films so damned compelling to watch.
    ‘Nate’s almost as bad at interfering in my life as his wife.
That’s my sister, Sasha. I keep telling them to butt out and I know they mean
well, but...’ She inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly. ‘But, well, you’ve
already said you don’t want my life story.’
    ‘I already know Nate’s, and a little of your sister’s...and
therefore some of yours.’
    ‘Not the best bits.’ She winked, but he refused to laugh. He
did not want to know about the best bits of her life. Or the worst. Or anything
more about her. Five minutes. Her hands moved as she talked. Was there not a
serene molecule in that far too interesting body? ‘So you’re the rock-umentary
producer man—my sister did mention you. And Nate’s right; I am reliable. I’ve
just been having a trying time recently.’
    ‘Yes.’ He tried to keep up. ‘Something about a paring
knife?’
    ‘I left it at home. Which is probably a good thing, seeing as
you look like you might want to use it.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Okay. Can we
begin again? I’m Cassie Sweet. Caterer extraordinaire. And just a little bit out
of control right now. But normal service is being resumed. And my cooking is
brilliant.’ She smiled.
    ‘Jack Brennan.’ Always in control .
He shook her hand. It was warm and soft. And why the hell he’d even noticed he
didn’t know.
    She took a step back and looked around at the crowd, then
raised her voice above the chattering. ‘I’ve booked a room. Hang on a sec.’ She
turned to speak to a passing waitress, who shook her head and shrugged.
    ‘Shoot.’ Cassie sighed loudly and her fist curled tight around
the satchel strap. Was that a curse under her breath? ‘They gave the room to
someone else because I was late.’
    Typical. This escapade was turning into a disorganised farce.
He needed to leave and take his chances on someone more professional. ‘Look.
Forget it. I’ll find someone else. Some time else.’
    ‘No. Please. Please. Tell me this isn’t happening.’
    ‘It is. In full glorious Technicolor.’ Your problem, my nightmare.
    ‘I’ll have a word with Frankie, the manager. He’s just over
there.’ Shoving her bag at Jack, she disappeared into the crowd. ‘Frankie! Hey,
Frankie!’
    Did she have another speed? Like just plain old fast instead of
whirlwind? And now he couldn’t leave unless he took the bag with him or left it
here. Unattended, in a crowded bar. It could end up in anyone’s hands. And not
that she didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t need that on his conscience. It was
full enough already.
    In a few moments she was back, breathless but grinning. ‘Good
old Frankie. There are a couple of free tables outside. Saves those for his best
clients. Talking about food always makes me hungry so I’ve ordered some nibbles.
They do the best soft shell tacos here with pork belly crackling. You must not
leave without trying those. And he gave us a bottle of red on the house for the
mix-up. Result!’
    She brushed past him and Jack caught a scent of vanilla