Hewitt saved his most fulsome praise for the end.
“It is the dessert, however, the simple, satisfying genius of toothsome apple tart topped by handcrafted cinnamon ice cream, that deserves to become this establishment’s signature creation. The blend of flavors and textures fill one with an actual sense of love. Chef Eilert cooks with both heart and skill, making for an experience that this sometimes-jaded reviewer confesses to being eager to repeat. A Highly Recommended for The Bad Boys Lounge from me.”
“Oh my God,” Rebecca breathed, both hands pressed tight against her mouth. Gordon Hewitt, Boston’s most persnickety and respected food critic, highly recommended her. Almost unnoticed, a tear of relief spilled from her right eye.
She had to email Raoul, though he’d probably seen the blog already. Still, her head chef would be excited. This triumph was as much his as hers. She wondered if the booking service was getting many reservations for next week. Trey’s people needed to highlight Hewitt’s rating on the Lounge’s website, maybe pull out a few good quotes.
Adrenaline flooded her, her body wanting to do everything at once. Stop, she thought. Take a breath and calm down. When she did, she knew who she most wanted to share her excitement with. She also knew the partiality meant something.
~
Zane and Trey had a private office down the hall from their bedroom suite. When they had guests, this allowed them to get work done without disturbing their company. Because they’d decided to play hooky with Rebecca on short notice, there was work to see to. As efficiently as he could, Zane checked in on a few situations he couldn’t ignore. Though the office had two desks, and he’d left the door open, Trey made his calls from the sitting room.
Zane had just wrapped things up when Trey came in.
“You done too?” Zane asked, stretching back satisfyingly in his chair.
Normally, this would make Trey admire his muscles—a reaction Zane probably took for granted. This afternoon, Trey wasn’t biting. He sat on the corner of Zane’s desk, folded his arms, and rubbed his lower lip with one finger.
“I just got off the phone with Elaine,” he said.
“Oh?” Zane prompted, unsure what emotion he was facing.
“She took a message. From Constance Sharp’s grown son and daughter. They’re under the impression their mother is in Boston and want to know if I’ve seen her. Evidently, they’re worried. Elaine seemed to think you know something about that.”
“Uh,” Zane said. He recognized Trey’s mood now: it was controlled anger. “Your aunt kind of broke into our offices Friday night. I got her out before she did any damage.”
“You got her out.”
“I had security escort her back to her hotel. I gave the guards strict instructions not to let her back in the building. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I went on that weekend with Missy, and Rebecca’s big do was when I came back. Then we convinced her to join us here. I didn’t want to throw a damper over our nice time.”
Trey’s rubbing of his lower lip turned into a pinch. “So she’s here in Boston.”
“I guess so. Her kids wouldn’t be calling if she’d gone home. I couldn’t force her to leave the city. I talked to Evan. He doesn’t think we have grounds for a court order.”
“You thought her showing up was important enough to consult a lawyer, but not to inform me?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t like seeing you upset about this.”
“Fuck.” Trey got up to pace, both hands shoveling through his dark hair. He really wasn’t himself when it came to his aunt, which tended to knock Zane equally off kilter.
“Look,” he said, hoping Trey wouldn’t jump down his throat for what he was about to say. “It’s totally your call, and you know I’ll back your play, but are you sure avoiding her is the best solution?”
“There’s no point seeing her!” Trey exclaimed. “The only thing that will satisfy her is denying my father was abused. I can’t give her that—even if she’s just a crazy old lady who’s afraid of her own guilt. The truth is the truth. My father paid for it. I paid for it. And maybe she could have done something to stop the abuse. She was eight years older than my dad. I wasn’t there. I don’t know what the fuck happened in that house.”
Zane came around the desk to sit on its other corner. He touched Trey’s arm lightly. “You don’t really blame her.”
“I don’t know whether I do or not. Kids don’t always speak up, even when they could. You and I both know that.”