Moorehouse Legacy: Beauty and the Black Sheep Part 20

"I'm here to see Nate." She s.h.i.+fted a briefcase to her other hand and checked a diamond watch.

"I'm sorry. He's busy." Really busy. Very, very busy.

"Tell him it's Mimi. And I want a table. Over there." She pointed to the windows that looked out over the lake. As luck would have it, there was a table for two open and no reason Ms. Fancy Pants couldn't have it.

Frankie picked up a menu and led Mimi across the room. The other diners snapped their necks to get a look at the blonde. It was like leading Vendala through a fraternity house.

After Mimi sat down, she picked up a fork and inspected the tines, as if looking for dirt. "Gla.s.s of Chardonnay. Not the house. I want something French. Is he making his escargot?"

"No."

"Then I want a salad." Mimi's eyes flashed. "He knows the way I like it."

Frankie's jaw tightened around her molars. The broad wasn't just talking about lettuce, she thought.

In a fierce mood, she stalked into the kitchen. Nate was flying over the stove, tossing spices and salt into four different saute pans on the burners in front of him. Half-plated meals lined up behind him and more orders were getting put up by the waitresses.

"You've got a visitor," she said. "Right off Michael Kors's runway in New York. Mimi somebody."

Nate barely looked up. "Okay. Thanks."

"She wants a salad. Says you know how she likes it."

"Fine."

Frankie went over to where the wine was kept. She'd have felt so much better if he'd said something like, G.o.d, why's that horse-faced fas.h.i.+on victim darkening our door?

Of course, then he'd have to be referring to someone else entirely because there was nothing horse-faced about Mimi. And a man would have to be dead from the neck down not to want to have the blonde looking for him.

When Frankie went back out to the dining room, she was proud of herself. She'd only briefly considered slipping some rat poison into Mimi's French Chardonnay. And hadn't followed up on the impulse.

"Where is he?" the blonde demanded, as if she expected Nate to deliver the wine. "Did you tell him I'm waiting?"

"Yes."

Mimi smiled, although the joyless expression wasn't directed at Frankie. She was looking at the kitchen's doors. "Fine, but he better drop the defiant act when he starts next week."

"Starts what?"

Mimi's gaze s.h.i.+fted upwards, as if she was surprised to have to explain herself. "I'm the owner of Cosmos and he is my new Executive Chef."

Frankie narrowed her eyes. "Oh, really."

The woman looked around impatiently. "My salad? Where is it?"

"Coming right up." Your Highness.

Frankie marched into the kitchen.

Her first instinct was to jump in front of Nate and demand an explanation, but she held back. Hadn't she learned anything? The last couple of times she'd blown her lid off at him, she'd been in the wrong. She certainly owed him a chance to explain. Maybe there had been a misunderstanding. After all, he'd committed to stay until Labor Day so he had four weeks left.

She couldn't believe he'd break his promise and leave in seven days. That just wasn't like him.

Evidently, Mimi had perseverance as well as style and a lot of cash. The blonde waited all the way through until the end of the night. She wasn't gracious about the delay, but she didn't march into the kitchen and interrupt the flow of service, either.Although maybe she was just determined to make Nate come to her.

Mimi also hated downtime, apparently. As soon as she'd polished off her salad, she got to work, spreading out papers and cracking open a laptop. When Frankie suggested she go to the library for some privacy, the woman missed the point and said she was fine with the noise. She didn't seem at all concerned that she was tying up a table, but Frankie wasn't about to cause a scene in front of her patrons by demanding Mimi go elsewhere.

At the end of the s.h.i.+ft, Nate finally went out to talk with the woman. Frankie couldn't pretend to do any work while they were meeting so she cleaned her desk, filing loose inventory reports and accounting sheets, putting pens and pencils in the drawer, cleaning the phone. When there was nothing left to tidy, she picked up the Times review and sank back into her chair, reading it. She was cruising along, the words sinking in, when she frowned and had to backtrack.

Nathaniel Walker, black sheep of the wealthy and socially prominent Walker family, burst onto the culinary scene a decade ago. Following three years in Paris at Maxim's, the Walker heir returned to his family's seat in New York where he eventually landed at La Nuit....

The article went on, but she couldn't read anymore.The Walker heir.

Of course. Nate, short for Nathaniel.

Nathaniel Walker. The first man by that name had been a Revolutionary war hero and had signed the Declaration of Independence. Talk about American royalty. And wasn't a Walker now governor of Ma.s.sachusetts? That was probably Nate's brother, who he'd said was into public service.

h.e.l.l, the Walkers were beyond rich. Made the Weatherbys look like candidates for a trailer park.

She threw the paper down. Boy, she knew how to pick them.

Good Lord, it was David all over again. Except this time, the man in question had lied about his family's wealth and influence, not been cowed by it.

Nate appeared in her doorway. "Hey, did you notice how busy we were tonight? Listen, about Mimi-"

"Yeah, let's talk about her. Thanks so much for giving me notice," Frankie snapped. What she was really angry about was the way he'd kept his family's ident.i.ty from her, but Mimi sure as h.e.l.l was a good target for the feelings of frustration and betrayal.

"Excuse me?"

"When we were you going to tell me you were leaving? The day before you took off?" Frankie planted her palms on the desk and shot up from her chair. "I can't believe you're pulling out in the middle of the season after you promised you'd stay until Labor Day!"

Nate put his hands on his hips and stared down at the floor like he was trying to control his temper.

"Look, Frankie-"

"G.o.d, I'm such a fool!" Her voice cracked. "I trusted you. I let you in. I'm so G.o.dd.a.m.ned stupid."

"Frankie, I'm not going to the city next week. I'm staying here. You know what my plans are for the future. h.e.l.l, I want to include you in them. Come to New York with me."

"Yeah, and how's that going to work? Ms. Fancy Pants out there looked pretty d.a.m.n handy with the back office stuff while she tied up one of my tables waiting for you."

"Mimi came up here to try and-"

"She'll make one h.e.l.l of a partner, I'm sure-"

"Will you listen-"

"Although personally I think that blouse was a little low cut. Not for a stripper, of course-"

"Frankie-"

"Then again, she's more who I thought you'd go for-"

Nate pounded the desk with his fists, making paper clips bounce out of their holder. "Why the h.e.l.l are you so concerned about who I'm going into business with! You're never going to leave this place. You'd rather hide behind your family than live your own life."

Frankie recoiled, but recovered quickly.

"Yeah, let's talk about family, why don't we?" She shoved the review at him. "Nathaniel Walker, heir to an American dynasty's fortune. When were you going to mention the fact that you've got more money than G.o.d? Or did you figure it'd be harder to get me into bed if I knew, considering I don't trust rich men-something which, incidentally, is proving to be a very accurate data screen for me."

Nate's face turned to stone, but his eyes blazed. "Did it ever occur to you that I didn't lie? Did you even for a second think-"

"So you're saying the New York Times fact-checker was taking a nap when this review went out?"

He leaned forward, over the desk. "Your lack of faith in me is astounding. But at least you're consistent."

With a bitter expletive, he turned around and headed for the door.

"Don't you dare put this on me!" She rushed across the room at him. "I asked you about your family. Twice. And this was after I'd made it clear what had happened with David. What the h.e.l.l am I supposed to think when I find out the truth?"

Nate halted. His shoulders moved up and down while he breathed heavily.

"You just can't do it, can you," she muttered. "You just can't be honest."

Nate wheeled around so fast, she leaped back. His face was full of rage and pain.

"You want to know the truth?" He took angry steps towards her, forcing her to move backward. He looked as if he'd completely lost it. "I don't tell anyone about my family. And I'm not a Walker heir, I was disinherited by my father when I went to cooking school. My net worth is less than $100,000 and that's only because I've busted my a.s.s and saved every dime I could."

She came up against the edge of the desk and gripped the wood.

Nate's voice wavered with emotion. "You want to know why I don't talk about them? Because I don't feel like a Walker. Because my parents rode me constantly for not being who they wanted me to be. But mostly it's because the last woman I told had an abortion when she found out I wasn't the rich man she thought I was."

Frankie felt the blood leave her face. "Oh, Nate-"

"My child was taken away from me. I was prepared to do the right thing when the woman told me she was pregnant, but then she got a look at the ring I could afford and split for some clinic." His body was shaking, his eyes too bright. "I hate my name. I hate where I come from. And to have you call me a liar because I didn't trot out my G.o.dforsaken lineage is a real frigging treat."

It all made such terrible sense. That night when they hadn't had a condom and he'd pulled away, shutting her out and looking haunted. The way he avoided children. His old car. His clothes. That he'd been hunting for months for a restaurant instead of just cutting a check for whatever caught his eye.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Her voice seemed to reach him because he took a deep breath and collapsed into the chair in front of her desk.

"Ah, h.e.l.l," he said, putting a hand up to his face.

"Nate, I had no idea."

He cursed, but at least he reached out for her hand. "Of course you didn't."

She stroked his shoulder. He was such a big man ordinarily, but he seemed to have shrunk into himself, his legs tucked under the chair, his arm wrapped around his stomach.

Anguish stretched his deep voice thin. "I keep thinking I'm going to get over it, you know? But every time I see some kid, I get hammered with what could have been. And, G.o.d, I blame myself."

"But you didn't make that choice. She did."

He talked over her. "I should have known. I should have fought, or something. I should have saved...I just didn't find out until it was too late."

"It wasn't your fault, Nate. It was a terrible tragedy and you lost something very, very real, but you are not responsible."

He looked up from between his fingers. His eyes were s.h.i.+ny.

"You are not responsible," she repeated.

"And this is coming from you?" he countered gently.

Frankie thought of her mother disappearing into the storm. "That was different."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Because it happened to you?"

"Maybe."

He tugged her down so she was sitting in his lap. "It's so much easier to forgive other people, isn't it. It's harder when it comes to ourselves."

She nodded slowly.

They stayed that way for a long time.

"I'm not going to work for Mimi," he said abruptly. "I'd already told her no in the spring. When she saw the piece in the Times, she figured she'd try and persuade me again. I was direct with her. There's no way I'm going to be sidetracked, even by the likes of Cosmos."

Frankie cleared her throat. "What if you don't find something to buy? What will you do?" The real thing she wanted to know was whether there was any chance he'd consider staying.

"I'm just going to keep looking. I don't care if it takes a decade," he said forcefully. "I've had to fight for what I wanted all my life. My parents never respected me because I was supposed to be a lawyer or a finance guy like my brother. I was supposed to marry a debutante and have two towheaded children and live in Wellesley and belong to the club and play racquetball. But I was always different. My friends were metal-heads who had tattoos. I didn't go out for crew, I played hockey and got my nose broken and my front tooth knocked out. I barely made it through Harvard, not because I couldn't do the work, but because I didn't care."

She smoothed his hair back, drinking in what he was saying. The answers to her questions were tumbling out of him, filling in the blanks.

"I can't give up. I won't give up. Because if I have my own place, I succeed or fail on my own. No one tells me what to do unless I ask for their advice. And no one can take it away from me."

"You're going to get what you want," she said, aware that her heart was breaking. For him. For them. Their split was inevitable and it was coming so fast. Four weeks.

Make them count, she thought.

His eyes flashed up to hers. He had such beautiful eyes. Green and gold.

"I meant what I said, Frankie. I want you to come with me. You'd be fantastic and I know we can work together."

She kissed him on the forehead. "Shh."