Jennifer Probst - All the Way

He shifted his weight, and she realized her breasts almost slipped out of her bra. “Oops. Sorry. Make it up to you later.”

“Tease.”

“Pimp.”

He choked and drank some of the expensive water. “We don’t need to spice up our sex life, baby. I already can’t keep my hands off of you, and it’s only been a week since I got you back in my bed. The kink factor is putting me over the edge. I need a shirt that says Do It With A Foodie.”

“Damn, that’s good. I’m getting one printed. Nice wine list. Great flavor. I wish he would’ve let me smell the cork, though.”

“I pocketed it for you. Figured you’d want it.”

She beamed. “You rock.”

“Tell me this isn’t a weekly occurrence and part of your job description.”

Miranda took a sip of the earthy Bordeaux. Not bad. “I only recently began my life of playing an imposter. I used to be able to go anywhere, but since my articles in Foodie magazine became popular, I transformed into a celebrity. Pretty cool, but a bit strange. I always thought critics were just like writers—known only for their work and not their face.”

He grinned. “Not many have a face like you, baby.”

“Nice line.”

“Thanks.” He studied her in the dim light. “You amaze me. It’s difficult to make a name for yourself in the food industry, especially in Manhattan. You must have worked your ass off.”

“Yeah, but it was worth it. My grandmother always encouraged me to dream big and go after what I want. I feel like she’s with me and I made her proud. That’s worth everything. Isn’t that how you feel with your own family?”

A shadow crossed his face. He tipped back his wineglass. “Not like you. I wanted to succeed for purely selfish reasons. Money. Power. When I traveled to India, I started questioning if I even liked the work. Never stopped to think about it. Maybe that’s why lately, success felt so empty.”

His startling revelation was interrupted by their waiter bringing their appetizers. Gavin quickly switched to surface topics and she allowed him the lead. Before the second course, Miranda pushed back her chair. “I’m going to excuse myself for a bit and make a trip to the ladies room. Check out the surroundings. Maybe peek in the kitchen on an oops.”

“Good luck.”

She wobbled on her platform heels, then steadied. The hardwood floors gleamed, and gilded mirrors hung on the wall beside French paintings. She preferred a bistro feel to her French haunts, but this one was stuffy, overdone, and a bit bland. Like biting into a rich juicy peach and finding it tastes like an apple. Yuck.

She used the restroom, wandered down the wrong hallway, and pressed against the wall near the swinging doors. The usual litany of French and English drifted from the kitchen. Standing on tiptoes, she peeked in the small square window. A line of chefs barked orders at the waiters as they shuffled in. Relatively clean. Organized. Not bad. In between curses that rivaled Hell’s Kitchen, a familiar voice drifted to her ears. Miranda frowned and tried to place it. So familiar. So annoying. So…

Allison Wheaton .

She stepped away from the wall at the same time the door flung open. Her heel dug for footing and slipped on the glossy finish. She hit the back wall hard and landed on her ass. The already short dress hiked up to massive heights.

She looked up. The woman stared down at her in astonishment and pure glee. Her perfect glossy hair hung in a neat bob. Golden hoops sparkled at her lobes. The pewter silk suit only added to her polish, right down to her Jimmy Choos.

Miranda scrambled to her feet in a desperate need to at least be at full height without her crotch hanging out. “What are you doing here?”

Allison’s dark eyes brimmed with mirth as she studied her appearance. “Doing a review, of course. I just got done speaking with the chef. An excellent meal, if I do say so myself.”

She spit out her words. “You knew I wanted to review LaSaveur for The Herald . Why don’t you stop stealing my beat and find your own restaurants? You have no originality.”

Allison lifted a brow. “And you’re always a step behind. You’ll never make it in this business, Miranda. You’re a cheap fluke, destined to come right back down. The only reason you got attention was from stealing my tagline.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You’re just pissed because mine is more catchy.”

The woman shrugged. “Whatever. Really, darling, did you think no one would recognize you dressed like a cheap tramp? I knew who you were immediately.”

Miranda poked a finger at Allison’s small breasts. “I’d rather dress like a cheap tramp than be one. Or do you know this chef personally, too?”

“He happens to be a friend of my boyfriend’s, so if you’re thinking of trashing this restaurant, think again. I’m running my own in tomorrow’s issue—before you’ll ever have your review to print. Now, run along dear. Find someplace else to play with your food.”

Miranda simmered with frustration. Once again, she was being trumped. Getting to print the original review of a restaurant was key. If she ran a duplicate review with negative vibes, it would look like a thwarted attempt to discredit Allison’s opinion. Not cool in the food industry. As much as she wanted to, she’d never ruin her reputation or sink to the woman’s level. “Good luck selling your readers on this dump. At least I tell the truth and don’t trade favors for favors.”

Allison gasped.

Miranda spun away and marched back to her table. Grasping her wine glass, she chugged down the rest in one long swallow. “Get the bill, Gavin.”

“Why? I thought we were doing a review.”

“I’ve got other plans. Bigger plans.” She sashayed over to him and laid an open mouth, toe-curling, stomach-dropping kiss on that gorgeous mouth.

The waiter appeared and rested their entrees on the table. “Sir, your food.”

Her man surfaced from the kiss with a stupid expression on his face. “Huh?”

Miranda waved her hand in dismissal. “The bill. The food was decent, the service sucks, and this place blows.” She dropped one lid. “And I’m about to blow something else.”

The waiter stumbled back.

Gavin threw his credit card on the table. “Keep it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

She laughed as he dragged her out of the restaurant.

…

Two days later, Gavin watched his lady smile up at her three admirers. Dominick, Brando, and Tony crowded around the table he’d vacated exactly three minutes ago.

Gavin shook his head. The men in his family moved fast when it came to a beautiful woman. He decided to hurry through his rounds and reclaim her. If he wasn’t careful, Brando would dump Tracey and challenge him for Miranda’s hand. Hell, they’d already eaten pizza together once this past week. Before long, they’d be going steady, and he’d have to duel his younger brother.

Soft laughter drifted through the air. He paused before table nine and looked over. Fiery red hair burned across the room and framed a face that had haunted his dreams for three years. His gut twisted in emotion. She belonged to him again. The knowledge brought humility. Satisfaction. And a deep, wrenching fear.

He was in love with her. Always had been. Always would be.

“Gavin?”

He blinked and looked down at his customer. “Yes, Mrs. Deniston?”

The older couple shared a look of common understanding. “You got it bad, son.”

Gavin groaned. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve been staring at her for the past five minutes. You also look like you’ve been run over by a freight train. All the signs are there.” Mr. Deniston scooped up the bill and poked his finger in the air. “You’d better do something about it.”