A Sip of You(96)

“Beckett, you’re completely forgiven. We’ll party in a few weeks.”

“As soon as PR makes the announcement, you should be good,” William added.

“PR!” Beckett squealed. “I’ve never had PR people—I mean, technically they’re LeClerc’s people. He’s the star, but I don’t care. Next I’ll be lunching with my agent.”

“It won’t be long before you’re a star too.” I squeezed his arm. Both of us were grinning like idiots.

“See, this is why I had to tell you. William told me he thought it would be okay right before you got here. I was going to call you the minute I got home, but you beat me to it. Champagne at my place later?” Beckett winked, clearly thrilled beyond measure.

“Absolutely,” I said. “I can’t wait.”

He gave me another hug, then looked at William. “And I think that’s my cue to depart stage right.” He moved to shake William’s hand. “William, thanks for everything. Catch you later, okay?”

“Later,” William said with a bemused smile.

Beckett moved toward the door. “Cat, call me…” He held his hand to his ear in a phone gesture. He gave me a meaningful look, opened the door, and then he was gone.

William and I were alone. Suddenly, flutters erupted in my belly. I was so nervous. It was one thing to imagine telling William I loved him when I was a half a mile away. It was another when he was standing right in front of me, his smoldering gaze raking over me. It was all the more nerve-wracking because he looked so fucking hot in his suit. It fit him perfectly, and he looked completely cool and powerful in it. But I also knew he looked as good out of it as he did in it. We were standing there, saying nothing, and I had to be the one to break the silence. “I'm so happy for him,” I said, gesturing to the door. I was pretty sure William knew how happy I was for Beckett—he’d been right there when I’d burst into tears—but I rambled, just to keep talking. “I’ve always thought that all of his talents weren’t being utilized in food styling. Part of me worried that he was just doing it for me, so I could get work.”

William nodded, listening with the same intentness I imagined he showed everyone from world leaders to little old me. Suddenly, I felt so unsure of myself. And the more insecure I felt, the more I babbled on, telling William more things he already knew. “Beckett has been my best friend for a decade. He’s been such a great friend. He's the most selfless person I know. He deserves this. He’s really talented. You know that, right?”

“I do,” he said, saving me from babbling on. “Catherine, you have nothing to worry about. I met Beckett because of you, and I did recommend him. But he landed this on his own.” As usual, he seemed to understand what I was saying even though I hadn’t spelled it out. “Beckett impressed LeClerc,” William said, putting a hand on my back and leading me toward his desk. “And that’s no easy feat. Beckett’s an immensely talented pastry chef, and you’re right—he deserves this and more.”

I felt some measure of relief. I didn’t want there to be any rumors that my relationship with William had garnered Beckett this opportunity. He’d earned it on his own. “Thank you,” I said.

He moved so his arms were around my waist. I could smell his cologne, that special scent that was uniquely William Lambourne. “And now I think we have something to discuss.”

“We do?” I whispered.

“You came to me,” he pointed out. “Not that I mind. I’m always glad to see you, but I assume there was something you wanted.”

“Besides accusing you of conspiring with my best friend?” I gave him a sheepish grin.

“Yes, besides that.”

We did need to talk, and I wasn’t going to be able to keep my thoughts straight if I was standing so close to him. All I could think about was touching my lips to his and pressing my body against his. I wanted to strip off that suit—perhaps leave the red power tie—and feel him skin to skin. Exercising more willpower than I thought I possessed, I stepped out of his embrace.

“This must be serious,” he said, looking as displeased as I felt.

“It is. We need to talk.”

“Alright, but I don’t want to do it here. Too many interruptions.”

He moved to his desk, swiped his hand across it, and tapped something.

“Yes, Mr. Lambourne.” It was Parker’s voice.

“Tell George to bring the car around.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And reschedule my afternoon appointments.”