“In my case because I slept with a client! Oh, God—” Kayla groaned and dropped her head onto her hands “—how could I have been so unprofessional?”
“He already was your client so what is the problem?” Élise gave a Gallic shrug. “Maybe it would be different if you had sex with him to persuade him to give you the business. Although maybe not. Jackson is so hot I think any woman could be forgiven—” She thought about it for a moment and Brenna laughed.
“You’re an alley cat, Élise.”
“Sex is a normal part of life. Not something to be embarrassed about. Unless the sex is bad, of course. From the dark rings around your eyes I’m assuming the sex wasn’t bad.”
Bad? It had been exceptional. The first time, the second time, the third time...
Kayla dug her hands in her hair. “It was just the one night. Like you and Sean. That’s it. I’m—I’m just going to carry on as if nothing happened.” And she knew the real reason for her panic had nothing to do with being unprofessional and everything to do with the way she felt about Jackson.
Brenna sipped her coffee. “You think he’s going to go along with that?”
She had no idea. She didn’t want to think about it, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about it. She wasn’t used to confiding in other women. She wasn’t used to waking up in a man’s bed.
She wasn’t used to feeling this way.
Élise poured a small amount of pancake mixture onto the center of the pan and spread it until it formed a thin, even layer. “Jackson will do what suits him. He is a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. He is very strong. I like that about him.”
She liked that about him, too. Along with many other things.
A crepe appeared on the plate in front of her.
“Voila!” Élise dusted it with sugar and folded it with a flourish. “Crepe au sucre. Eat. After a night of sex, you need food.”
She ate, and of course it was delicious because she was fast learning that Élise was incapable of producing anything that wasn’t delicious. To make sure the subject didn’t return to Jackson, she revealed to them her initial ideas for Snow Crystal.
“There are lots of angles I’m going to try with the media, but the biggest one is you—” She looked at Élise. “Female French chef transforming the restaurant experience in this little corner of Vermont—the press will love you.”
“Vraiment?” Élise’s face brightened. “This is promotion from ‘the French Bitch,’ I think. From bitch to babe. I will be a celebrity, perhaps. I will be rich.”
“You can open your own restaurant in Paris.”
“I wouldn’t want to do that.” Élise turned her back to them and something in her voice and the set of her shoulders made Kayla wonder if there was more to that declaration than a simple statement of future plans.
She remembered how quiet Élise had been when Brenna had suggested a girls’ weekend in Paris.
She remembered what Jackson had said to Darren.
Elise has a home and a job here for as long as she wants.
“I’m glad you’re not going back to Paris,” Brenna muttered, her mouth full, her fork already loaded. “You’re a pain in the butt, but you can cook like no one I’ve ever met. This is delicious, although it kind of cancels out the hour I put in on the treadmill this morning. How can you cook like this and stay so slim?”
“Because I do not eat everything I cook, imbecile.”
Kayla decided that Élise’s secrets, whatever they were, belonged to Élise. “I think Walter would also interest the press. A man who was born here, raised here and still runs the place.” She sampled the maple syrup. “I’m a little worried about what he’d say to them. It could backfire in a spectacular fashion. Then there’s Tyler, of course—ex-downhill champion now working here. I need to think how I can use that. It’s got to be a draw for experienced skiers. I think we should put together packages that would appeal to the expert. Ski master class. We could offer a ‘powder date with Tyler O’Neil.’”
“Except that this is Vermont, so the powder is about as predictable as Tyler, which isn’t saying much.” Brenna nursed her coffee and Élise looked thoughtful.
“Tyler is hurt, I think. I don’t mean his leg, I mean his whole self. He loved ski racing. It was his everything. Like my cooking. If I could no longer cook, I would want to boil myself in oil.”
“I want to boil you in oil most of the time.” Brenna picked up her fork. “And Tyler can still ski.”