In the Eye of the Storm / Catering to the CEO Read online

  “Well, I would hope not.” She sighed at her own snippy tone and decided to try to be pleasant. “So what happened? What did you fight with the guys about? It had to be pretty intense for them to leave you there.” When he didn’t answer, Holly prodded a little bit more. “I mean, I can’t imagine you guys fighting at all. You seem to always be laughing and having a good time.”

  Not taking the bait, he simply replied, “Like I said earlier, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  By silent agreement, they dropped the subject and drove the rest of the way without speaking another word. The only sounds came from the rain pelting the car and the roar of thunder.

  When Holly finally turned into his subdivision, she gasped with surprise. With nothing more than the light of the street lamps, she could tell that the homes were beautiful. Large wooded lots gave way to homes that took her breath away. They passed a sizeable lake on the right side of the road, and Holly saw a gazebo off in the distance. At the prodding of the GPS, she turned into Stephen’s driveway, drove up the winding drive, and had to stifle another gasp. His home was very rustic-looking with stone facing and cedar shingles. She couldn’t see the colors in the dim light, but Holly knew they would be stunning. As much as she hated having to be here at this ungodly hour, suddenly she wanted to get out and explore—rain and all.

  Stopping the car directly in front of his door, she waited for him to climb out. It seemed that Mother Nature had decided to wait for that exact moment to throw more high winds and now hail into the mix. “Great,” Holly mumbled. “More fun for the drive home. Can’t this night end?” Her head slumped forward onto the steering wheel in defeat.

  Without a word, Stephen reached across the car, turned the key, and shut it off, taking the keys out of the ignition. “Um, excuse me,” Holly chimed in a singsong voice. “What do you think you’re doing? I can’t drive home without my keys.”

  “You can’t drive home at all in this. It’s almost three thirty in the morning, and the weather’s gotten worse. I may have been an inconsiderate bastard thus far, but I’m hoping to remedy that right now. I have five extra bedrooms, Holly—you can take your pick and sleep here. I’ve kept you out and awake long enough.” With that, he climbed out of the car and went to open the front door of the house.

  Holly sat mutely for a minute. Was the man for real? Sleep at Stephen’s house? Was that appropriate? Should she protest? It wasn’t like she was sleeping with Stephen; she was sleeping in his house. She could choose whichever bedroom was furthest from his, and it would be fine, right? Chewing her lip, she looked up and saw him leaning in the open doorway, half-asleep and waiting. Sighing with resignation, she pulled up her hood, climbed out, and went to join him.

  “Thank you,” she grumbled as she walked past him into the house. Stepping inside, Holly immediately kicked off her wet sneakers while she waited in the foyer for him to lead the way. Within minutes she found herself walking up a grand, curved staircase before coming to stand in a bedroom that was almost the size of the first floor of her own condo!

  Besides being massive in size, it was beautifully decorated. Holly had decorated Stephen’s last home, but he had purchased this one as the model home with all the furnishings. The back wall had a huge picture window with floor-to-ceiling drapes in shades of cream and taupe. The bed, which looked the size of a small continent with four posters, stood along the middle of the right wall and was piled high with pillows in jewel tones. The furniture was large and honey-colored, and Holly wanted to sigh.

  “You have your own bathroom through here,” Stephen indicated, “and there are fresh towels in the closet. Soap, shampoo, toothbrushes, and toothpaste are all in there as well, and there’s a robe hanging on the back of the door.” He stopped with hands on hips and glanced around the room as if making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. And then it hit him. “Wait here.”

  He strode from the room, and Holly peeled off her wet coat and was about to place it on the upholstered lounge chair that sat invitingly in the corner but then thought better of it, fearful of ruining it. Glancing around for a better option, she walked into the bathroom and hung her coat over the shower curtain rod. She came out of the bathroom as Stephen was walking in with a small pile of clothes.

  “I figured you might want something other than wet sweats to sleep in. There’s a T-shirt here, a flannel shirt, dry sweat pants…I wasn’t sure what you would be most comfortable in, so I grabbed a variety.” He looked nervously at her as if he were handing her a hand grenade rather than pajamas.

  “That was very kind of you, thank you,” she said as she took the clothes from him and turned to place them on the bed. Turning back to wish him good night, Holly found him rooted to the spot staring at her. They stood that way for countless seconds with only the ticking of an antique clock that was sitting on top of the dressing table before Holly finally whispered the words to him. It had been a long night, and Stephen staring at her had Holly feeling funny. Surely it must be the exhaustion making her feel so…so…weird. Him, too, she thought, because Stephen never stared at her. Ever.

  Stephen nodded and pivoted toward the door. With a hand on the handle, he began to walk out and close the door behind him when he stopped. Holly was still standing next to the bed. “The fight was about you,” he said quietly and closed the door. There was no malice in the statement, no accusation or blame; he was merely answering her earlier question.

  Holly wanted nothing more than to go after him and demand to know what exactly that meant. Why would he fight with his two best friends about her? She got along very well with both Will and Derek. What could they possibly fight about? As much as her curiosity demanded to know, her sleep-deprived body won the battle of wills, and she changed into the T-shirt Stephen had given her. Even though she had gone through her bedtime routine hours earlier, Holly felt the need to wash her face and brush her teeth one more time before taking on the task of moving the mountain of pillows so she could crawl between the cool, silky sheets.

  The whole time she moved about, her thoughts stayed on Stephen’s last words to her. God, how she hated to be left hanging like that! It wasn’t enough that she had trudged all over the place for him tonight? He had to drop a bomb like that and leave? She glanced at the door for what seemed like the tenth time and then resigned herself to the inevitable—answers would have to wait until morning.

  Pulling back the plush comforter, she climbed into the bed. As she snuggled into the pillows and into a comfortable position, her final thoughts were of the look of sadness on Stephen’s face as he had closed the door tonight.

  What had that been about? The man she had dealt with in the last hour was hardly the confident, powerful man she worked with every day. What could possibly have happened tonight to cause such a dramatic change in his demeanor?

  If Holly could have stayed awake to analyze it any more, she would have. But the comfort of the bed and her extreme sleepiness took their toll. Before long, sleep claimed her.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning Holly awoke well rested but confused about her surroundings. It did not take long, however, for it all to come back to her with blazing clarity, and she groaned with remembrance. Stephen. The rain. The fight. The look.

  That stupid, sad look.

  Stretching lazily, Holly looked over at the clock and gasped when she realized it was after ten. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in so late on a Saturday. Well, that was usually because Stephen had her on the phone by eight a.m. with some sort of project idea that he had come up with the night before. Honestly, didn’t the man’s brain ever rest?

  Apparently it had this morning because he hadn’t bothered her. Okay, maybe his brain hadn’t rested, but he was being polite enough to let her sleep in. Was he even awake yet? Holly kicked off the blankets and jumped at the sound of thunder as she padded her way to the bathroom. In her exhaustion the night before, she had
not taken in the opulence of it all—a marbled double vanity, a deep and wide garden tub, a shower that looked like it could bathe four people with a double showerhead. It was like staying at a five-star hotel!

  Stripping off the T-shirt Stephen had given her to sleep in, she grabbed some towels, stacked them outside the shower, and climbed in. The hot-water spray felt heavenly. The soaps and shampoo were all brand-new and from one of those designer bath shops that Holly never could afford to shop in. Feeling completely decadent, she lathered up from head to toe—twice!—before getting out of the shower and drying off.

  She put the soft, fluffy, spa-quality robe on before she brushed her teeth and went in search of a blow dryer to try to do something with her hair. Thick hair past her shoulders would take forever to dry on its own; she most definitely needed more than a towel. Finding a dryer under the sink, she did the best she could without her usual styling products and brushes, and less than thrilled with the results, she put the dryer back where she found it.

  With a quick look through her purse, she found a small supply of makeup. Luckily there had been moisturizer in the well-stocked bathroom, so by the time she put last night’s sweats back on—which luckily were now dry—she felt almost like her normal self. One last look in the mirror told her what she already knew: under normal circumstances, she would never, ever, go out in public like this. But with no other choice, Holly straightened the room, grabbed her jacket, and headed out the door and down the stairs in search of Stephen.

  At the bottom of the curved wooden staircase, Holly heard the sound of plates being moved around. If that hadn’t drawn her attention, the enticing smell of food would have helped her find her mark. Silently walking into the kitchen, she expected to find the housekeeper there making the food that was causing her stomach to growl. Instead, she found Stephen. The sight of him dressed casually in flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt, with his jet-black hair still mussed from sleep and a day’s worth of stubble on his chin, had Holly’s mouth going dry. The normally impeccably dressed-in-a-suit-and-tie Stephen—who, in her opinion, looked like he was born to wear that ensemble—somehow looked even better in his morning attire.

  Shaking her head clear of those wayward thoughts, she cleared her throat to get Stephen’s attention. “Good morning,” she said, and he replied in kind.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked as he popped a couple slices of bread into the stainless-steel toaster on the counter. “I didn’t want to wake you, but I was ravenous.”

  “Sure. What are we having?”

  “Breakfast is the only meal I can cook, and if I do say so myself, I cook it well. I’ve got all the makings of any kind of omelet you could want.”

  Holly raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay.” She walked over to the butcher-block island where he had all his ingredients laid out and took it all in. “I’ll have…hmm… I think I’ll go with a Western one if it’s not too much trouble.”

  In response, Stephen held up the omelet pan that was already on the stove. “Great minds think alike,” he said with a smile, and Holly felt her stomach dip. Had he always had that dimple? “Coffee’s already made.” He pointed to the coffeemaker at the end of the counter. “Mugs are in the cabinet right above it.”

  Without a word, Holly helped herself and, as was habit, made his as well. They worked together in silence, and within minutes they were seated at the table overlooking the massive yard through the bay window.

  “I cannot believe it’s still raining,” Holly said after thanking Stephen for the plate he handed her. “I thought for sure the storm would have moved on by now.”

  “I watched the weather report this morning, and according to TV5, it’s going to be like this all weekend with the worst of it hitting this afternoon.”

  Nearly choking on her food, Holly said, “Seriously?”

  He nodded while sipping his coffee. “’Fraid so. I don’t think anyone expected the storm front to stall over us.” He nodded toward her plate, which he’d loaded not only with the requested Western omelet but also with home fries and toast. “How’s your breakfast?”

  “Oh…um, everything’s great. Thank you.” Sighing, Holly looked out the window, dreading the drive home in this weather. “So why breakfast?” she asked, desperate to keep the conversation neutral and avoid looking at him. For some reason, sitting here in Stephen’s kitchen, having him cook for her in his pajamas, seemed way too intimate for comfort. The faster she ate, the faster she could go out into that miserable weather, go home, and stop fantasizing about other intimate activities she’d like to engage in right about now.

  “I figured you’d be hungry…”

  She laughed. “No, I mean, why can you only cook breakfast? When most people say something like that, it usually means they can make toast or instant oatmeal. But this”—she nodded her head toward all the food on the table—“is clearly more than that. This is a feast! I can’t remember the last time I had such a decadent breakfast. But I would have been fine with some instant oatmeal.”

  “Ah. Gotcha. My mom used to make big breakfasts on the weekends. After my father died, she had to work two jobs all week long, and the only time we really spent together was on the weekends. I used to make sure I got up early with her, and we would make breakfast together, the two of us. She didn’t believe in being lazy, so I had to be an active participant in the making of the meal.”

  “Wow, impressive!”

  “Not at first. I thought it was girl stuff to cook, so I’d try to mess up so she would let me sit and watch. But she caught on to my scheme pretty quickly and made me eat whatever I cooked.” Holly laughed. “I figured if I wanted to eat something edible, I was going to have to pay attention and get better at it. Burnt pancakes and eggs with shells in them taste as bad as they sound.”

  “That is a very sweet story,” Holly said. She nibbled on her whole-wheat toast. “My family loves to cook. We spend hours in the kitchen concocting things. My parents had their own café for years up on Long Island. I always thought I would do the same, but I enjoy cooking much more when it’s not a career.” She paused at that thought. “You know, I can’t even remember the last time I put an effort into cooking a meal.” Shaking her head, she added, “I’m going to have to remedy that.”

  “What made you stop? I mean, I know it’s not as much fun cooking for one, but…” he asked, sincerely curious.

  “Oh, no, it’s not that, it’s…well…” She hesitated. “Our work schedule doesn’t allow me to come home and cook. You know, we eat dinner most nights in the office. Why would I come home and cook dinner at nine o’clock at night after already eating with you earlier?”

  He had the good sense to look sheepish. “Sorry. What about on the weekends? Why not cook then?”

  Placing her fork down, she looked at him pleadingly, not wanting to say any of this. “You normally call each morning and talk to me all through breakfast, and then I spend the rest of the day trying to do the things I need to do for my life.” Stephen paled.

  Unfortunately, Holly realized this would be the perfect opening to clear the air of all that was said in the car the night before—or, rather, earlier that morning. She slowly finished chewing her last forkful of home fries, lingered over the last drop of coffee, and even went so far as to play around with her place setting before chancing a glance at her boss and speaking what was on her mind. “Look, Stephen, I think we need to talk about some things.”

  Taking a last drink from his coffee mug, Stephen set it down and then stood to clear the table. “I know, I know,” he said wearily. “I had no idea you were so unhappy working for me, Holly.”

  “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I never said that,” she began. “It’s just…I need a life outside of work. I didn’t realize how much I was resenting it until last night.” And now. “You made me so mad that I guess everything came
to the surface.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that you couldn’t have a life,” he snapped as he put the plates into the sink.

  Getting defensive at his tone, she replied, “No, you never told me I couldn’t have a life, but you sure make it hard to! I don’t go out during the week to see friends because I’m too tired from the long day. I don’t sleep in on the weekends because you’re calling me first thing in the morning. I know your business is very important to you, Stephen, and you are very good at what you do, but it’s not my company or my business, and it certainly isn’t my life. I want to go out and not worry about staying out too late and being woken up early on my day off. I want to socialize with people. I want to date!” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “What if I hadn’t been alone last night?”

  “What?”

  “What if I had been with a man last night? Do you think I would have left him in bed to come and get you?”

  “Were you in bed with a man last night?”

  Holly sighed with frustration. “Of course I wasn’t in bed with a man last night! I wouldn’t be here now if I was! Geez, did you not see where I was going with this?” The man was clueless. “What I am trying to say here is what would you have done if I was not available to help you?”

  “But you were.”

  “But what if I wasn’t?”

  “But you were.”

  “Stephen!” she yelled. “Stop being obtuse for a moment! Why didn’t you call a cab? Or George?”

  It was as if she had flipped a switch, so fast and so sure was the change in him. Where he had been calm and casual, he now stalked like a caged animal. He ran his hands through his jet-black hair as he prowled the length of the kitchen. In normal circumstances, Stephen was intimidating by his size alone; standing at a little over six feet tall, he was built like an athlete. But seeing him now, clearly angered, he seemed to have doubled in size. “You know, Holly, I think I kind of like it more when you’re not so pushy and argumentative,” he snapped.