“That was your cue, darlin’. We can talk about the book now.”
“Oh! Sorry.” I sat straight and leaned forward. “So tell me about it.”
“I’m going to do an e-book with a narrative about the restaurant, and I want fabulous pictures to accompany it. I told you our next theme is ‘Sticky Fingers.’ I want you to photograph it all: the restaurant, my team, the process of creating and assembling the dishes, and the food. That’s the important thing. I want the food to look fucking awesome. That’s why I need you.”
I was intrigued and a little intimidated. “It sounds fabulous, but it’s also a really big job.”
“I don’t do anything halfway. It’s a huge undertaking and it’s going to get a lot of attention, but I think you’ve got the right eye for it. I didn’t pull your name out of a hat. I asked around. I did my research.”
“Then you know I haven’t done anything like this before.”
He sat forward, arms on the table between us. “I know you’re the person I want. I’ve seen good things. I’ve heard good things. I’m impressed, Miss Catherine Kelly, and I don’t impress easily. I know Ben Lee. He’s the one who first suggested you.”
“Ben was really sweet to take me on at the last minute. I owe him.”
Hutch shook his head. “Take a look at your photos in Chicago Now. Those figs were damn sexy, Catherine, almost pornographic. Then take a look at the waitlist to get into Willowgrass. Your debt is paid.”
I felt my face heat again. I had the feeling Ben’s cooking, more than my photographs of his raw figs with blue cheese and drizzled with warm, spiced honey, was the reason Willowgrass was so successful. But Morrison Hotel was on a whole other level. It would be huge to have my name associated with it and with a chef like Hutch. He was internationally revered and what I’d seen from him in the kitchen reminded me of what I’d seen in so many of the best surfers. Determination, razor focus, absolute dedication. Hutch would not be an easy man to work with. “I’m definitely interested,” I said.
“Good. Take your time and think about it. Ask your Mr. Lambourne his opinion. He’s been in here more than once.”
I blinked in surprise before it occurred to me that Ben might have mentioned my relationship with William. Still, I hadn’t expected the conversation to move to him—to William. “He’s not my Mr. Lambourne,” I said. William wasn’t anyone’s to claim, least of all mine at the moment. Hutch cocked an eyebrow.
I gestured futilely. “William and I…we’re…” I faltered. What exactly were we now?
“Now this is interesting. He’s a lucky man if he has you, Catherine, but I kind of like the odds better if he doesn’t.” He winked at me.
I almost laughed. Hutch had a way of flirting that was more fun than predatory. He was a lot different from William in that way. But if he and William were in business together, I needed to know that up front. “Is William an investor in Morrison Hotel?” I asked.
“Oh, no, darlin’. Lambourne is a good guy, and he definitely has his hand in eateries all over town, but this ain’t one of them. Morrison Hotel is all mine. I don’t want you in order to get to him. I want you because you’re the best.”
“Alright. What do you need from me? A proposal?”
“You read my mind. See, we work well together already. And Catherine, I’ll want that ASAP. I want to move on this.”
Sensing the meeting was over, I rose and Hutch, always the gentleman, followed. “Any questions for me before you go?”
“Not really.” I should have left it at that. I knew I should. But I didn’t. “You mentioned you were cocky about three things. One is cooking and I have to admit, those were the best beignets I’ve ever had. What are the other two?”
We paused at the entrance, and he gave me a lazy grin. “Are you sure you want to know?”
I nodded, not sure at all.
“You aren’t going to find anyone who can cook, play guitar, or fuck better than I can. I’m cocky, but I live up to the hype.”
I didn’t have a response, but was saved when Hutch leaned forward and kissed me on both cheeks. I caught his scent again and a glimpse of the tattoos that began on the side of his neck and snaked downward. Just what artistic wonders lay under his shirt? I blushed and stepped away.
“Call me, beautiful,” he said, seeming to know exactly what I’d been thinking. “I’ll be waiting.”
***
I stepped out of Morrison Hotel and into the bright sunlight, made even brighter by the contrast to the dark interior of the restaurant. I only paused for a moment to get my bearings because I knew exactly where I was headed—to WML Capital Management. I figured it was about a thirty-minute walk up Michigan Avenue, but I didn’t mind. The sky was clear and it was brisk, but not windy, plus I needed the time to get my head on straight.