An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(36)

For some reason, the fact that Jack had followed through on the setup bothered her.

Having just finished the documentation portion of the project, and being cross-eyed from so much concentrated work with the microscope, the last thing she felt like doing was meeting one of his friends. Or maybe the idea of being charming in front of Jack and his college roommate was what exhausted her. Pretending to be interested in one man’s conversation while ignoring her attraction to another was going to require more coordination than she felt like she had.

She told herself that none of it had to do with the fact that she’d been looking forward to having dinner with Jack alone, which was what they’d been doing the last few evenings. He tended to stay at the office rather late and she’d been putting in long hours with the portrait. When he’d come home, he’d check on her progress with the painting and then they’d eat in the kitchen while trading stories about their days.

She’d pointed out just last night that his skills with the microwave were showing improvement and his obvious pride had made her smile. Apparently, his incompetence was from lack of practice. He’d told her that he usually didn’t get home until ten o’clock at night and ate at the office, but now he had a reason to leave earlier. He evidently liked their talks as much as she did.

In those quiet moments, she felt as if she was truly getting to know him, and what she was discovering was a surprise. Yes, he was a tough-as-nails businessman, but people mattered to him. One of his senior management team, the Walker Fund’s general counsel, had a daughter who was dying of a neuroblastoma at the age of six. Jack was beside himself with grief for the family and she’d never forget the expression on his face as he’d described how helpless everyone felt. All the money and the power in the world were not going to save the little girl. Connections had gotten her treatment at the Dana Farber Cancer Center and had ensured that she’d been seen by the best Harvard-trained specialists in oncology and pediatrics. But she was still going to die.

Callie could have sworn Jack’s eyes had watered briefly while he’d talked about the situation, and it had taken every bit of her self-control not to reach across the table and take his hand.

Arthur was another one of Jack’s soft spots. The other night the dog had come inside with a limp. Jack had gotten down on his hands and knees, in his suit, to look at the injured foot. As he’d gently probed the area, Artie had capitulated to the examination with total trust, even as he winced while a thorn was taken out. When it was all over, Jack had put some bacitracin in between the pads, wrapped some gauze around the wound, and then fed Artie some filet mignon from his own plate. That night, the dog had wanted to sleep with him.

“Hello?” Jack prompted.

She shook her head. “Sorry. Hey, what’s that fantastic smell?”

“Thomas’s marinara sauce, I believe.”

“Thomas?”

“Our erstwhile cook.” He frowned. “You haven’t seen him during the day?”

“No, I stay up in the garage.”

“All day long? Until I come home? Don’t you eat?”

She shrugged. “I lose track of time and forget.”

“Where’s your watch?”

“I don’t have one.”

He grumbled something under his breath while taking her elbow and urging her ahead. The contact burned and she closed her eyes briefly, letting him lead her into the kitchen.

“I think you will like Thomas.”

As she fought against the urge to lean into Jack’s body, she thought maybe it was a good thing this other guy was coming. Maybe she’d really like him and her mind would get taken off of Jack.

When they got to the kitchen, she was surprised to see a man with only one arm holding a pot of boiling water over a sieve in the sink. She doubted she could have handled the load with two hands, but the guy looked perfectly at ease as he tipped the handle and sent a torrent of hot water and pasta over the lip.

“Thomas, I’ve got someone for you to meet.”

The cook looked over his shoulder. He was probably around sixty, she thought, and had a face like a bulldog with the short, stocky body to match. She caught a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from under his short-sleeved shirt and noticed there was a small gold hoop in his earlobe. She never would have guessed a roughneck like him would be in charge of Buona Fortuna’s kitchen. She imagined the chef would have been some whip-thin Continental with a haughty attitude to match Mrs. Walker’s.

Thomas sent her a grin and Callie liked him on the spot.

“So this is who’s been stealing food out of my refrigerator,” he said. The man had a terrific New England accent marked by flat vowels and hard, lingering consonants. “Every morning I come down and fruit’s gone out of my bowl, someone’s been into the eggs, and bread’s gone. Just like there’s breakfast being made.”

He put the pan to the side and came over. His kitchen whites were spotless, she noted, except for the dish towel that hung from his belt and had a couple of red smudges on it.

As they shook hands, she noticed that he had a tattoo of an anchor on the inside of his forearm. A seaman, she thought.

“So what are we eating, chef?” Jack asked, going over to the cupboards and taking out a pile of dishes. He proceeded to set the low-slung oak table that was in front of a bay window.