Recipe for Satisfacton(17)

He approached the gas stove. Two stainless steel pots bubbled on the burners. The oversize stainless steel exhaust fan worked on a low setting above. He turned down the heat to the first pot, too much steam rising off the top of the smooth, creamy mixture of white bean and pancetta. It seemed as though his frustration had seeped into his cooking. He hadn’t scalded cream since he was seventeen.

The second pot, potato and asparagus, held his favorite. The asparagus was fresh from the garden. The mini potatoes he dug up from the ground himself.

Once the vegetables were cooked through, he picked up the small hand mixer and immersed it in the pot. The blade roared to life, emulsifying the vegetables, turning the soup into a thick consistency.

These soups were the perfect complement to Cole’s new menu down at Bistro—a French-American fusion restaurant—and Jack hoped he’d offer it as the soup du jour.

When the soup was smooth, he eased off the power and pulled out the mixer, laying it on the dark granite counter. With a slotted spoon, he stirred the contents one more time before turning off the burners. He’d let it sit before he took it to Cole.

He cleaned up his mess, letting the rich smell of pancetta take over his senses. Just as Sterling had the night before. Having to leave her was torture. He was just getting started and barely had the chance to warm up. But she obviously had good reason to take off.

There was no way he was going to get over his time with Sterling when it had been nipped in the bud so soon. He had so many more inches of skin to taste, so many more orgasms to coax from her. If she could inspire him this much in just a few minutes, imagine what he could do after spending an entire evening—a whole weekend—with her?

He glanced around at his childhood home. Feelings of nostalgia got him every time at the sight of old pictures and furniture. There was a memory around every corner. Maybe he should stick around. Send someone else to Chicago to help with the restaurant.

Jack shook his head. No. There was no one else. Besides, his life was no longer in Toronto.

In reality, there was no place for him here, which was part of the reason he left. Neil handled the business end, including the gourmet food stores, and channeled his grief into a new project. Cole and Finn completely revamped the restaurants, infusing their own unique culinary viewpoints into each dish. So Jack had forged his own path, despite their disdain at his choice of business. Instead of fine dining he opened five of the best hybrid restaurants—gourmet food by day, club scene by night.

He stalked out of the kitchen to the foyer and stared at the family photos that hung on the wall along the staircase. Memories of his mother, of the complete family he had not so long ago, saddened him, making his heart ache. He turned, taking in the look and smell of the lilies that sat on the hallway table. Then he glanced to his left, the red knitting bag beside the chair in the sitting room catching his attention. It hadn’t moved since his mother left it months ago.

This house was a shrine. Probably the reason his brothers didn’t visit. It was even starting to take its toll on him. The place needed to be packed up. That was the only way for him and his brothers to recover from their grief. It was time to move on. Those memories needed to be put away, but not forgotten.

This was a job he couldn’t do on his own. He didn’t even know where to start. He needed the help of a professional. A professional organizer.

A wave of self-satisfaction washed over him as an idea took shape in his head. A heated wave that settled in his chest at the mere consideration. He would hire Sterling. Although he’d only met her last night, he trusted her. And she was Penn’s best friend—and Penn was obviously a good judge of character, since she kept Cole at a distance.

Not only would hiring Sterling prove he had what it took to be a mature, forward-looking Madewood, but he’d also get to spend time with her. If she was packing up his mother’s things she’d be in his house, breathing the same air, in close proximity for him to lure her into his bed so they could finish what they started in that limo.

His heart rate doubled at the memory of Sterling’s tiny whimpers and moans, the image of her perfect breasts and soft skin. It wasn’t only his heart rate that was affected. The front of his pants grew tight. As if someone pressed play on his brain, sounds and images bombarded him, like an endless recording on a permanent loop. And suddenly it wasn’t the heat from the stove that elevated the temperature of the house.

He leaned heavily against the wall, his left hand grabbing at the erection that throbbed inside his pants. The plan was brilliant.

Until he realized she’d be his employee. Sex with an employee wasn’t the most responsible, mature, Madewood thing to do.