One More Taste (One and Only Texas #2)(55)

With a shake of her head, she picked up the chef’s knife, then set it down again, as though she couldn’t quite remember what she needed it for. Her hand lighted over the jar of shrimp, then touched the rim of the grits bowl. He’d never seen her frazzled like this, not even at his mother’s house, after they’d …

He shook the thought away. A little tough to establish professional distance when his thoughts kept sliding back to that night.

“I got a ride from a friend,” Emily said. “Sorry that dinner’s going to be late. It couldn’t be helped.” With that, she turned the burner under the pot on.

“What happened tonight? What’s wrong?”

She turned to face him, but her haunted expression only left him with more questions. All he knew was, he wasn’t going to let her cook. She was too distracted to be anything more than a hazard to herself. What she needed was TLC, not to serve him. “Forget the Frito Pie. And forget cooking, too. I had a great day and I’d love to celebrate. With you. Let’s go out to a restaurant instead.” Jesus, man. So much for keeping a professional distance. “It would be an informative exercise,” he added in haste. “You could choose a restaurant that’s the critics’ darling right now and critique it for me. Explain how you would do it better.”

“Briscoe Ranch is out in the boonies. The hottest restaurants in Texas are hundreds of miles away and probably booked solid since it’s Friday night.”

A legitimate point, one he should agree with so they could move back to solid, professional ground. “One, I have access to a helicopter. And two, Shayla’s an expert at last-minute reservations for everyone at the equity firm. She has yet to be turned down for a reservation on my behalf.”

“I forget that you’re a billionaire.”

“Multimillionaire. I’m still a little less than halfway to a billion in assets and investments.” And didn’t he sound like the biggest douchebag in history, clarifying that for her? “But most of it is tied up.”

Her eyes lit, sharp with humor. The only trace of her former distress was the red rimming her eyes. “So you’re an underachiever, is what you’re saying? Okay. But just so we’re clear, I’m definitely judging you on that.”

“Oh, had you stopped judging me for a moment there?”

She inhaled slow and deep through her nose, as though waking up and drawing life and hope into her body once more.

He filled a glass with water and delivered it to the counter next to her hand. “Name the restaurant and I’ll give Shayla a call.”

She lifted the glass and drank deeply of the water. Her hand trembled with the effort. Perhaps she hadn’t rebounded as swiftly as she wanted him to believe. “A friend of mine is in an abusive relationship. There was an incident today and I tried to help. That’s why I’m late.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting the reason for her absence to be, but that sure wasn’t it. “Is she out of the situation now?”

Emily set the glass down too hard. Not because she seemed angry, but as though her storming emotions had robbed her of complete control of her body. “No. She won’t leave. She’s stuck there, believing she deserves it. That’s the way it is, you know? You absorb the shame of it until you’re nothing. That’s the most horrible part about abuse. For most victims, there is no rock bottom. It’s a well that never ends.”

She shuttered her expression again and turned away, her gaze on the lake through the window.

Knox didn’t know the first thing about abusive relationships, but Emily had spoken as though she did. She couldn’t be talking about herself, could she? The inimitable Emily Ford was no victim, and as far as he knew, she wasn’t involved with anyone. God, he hoped not, on both accounts. Then again, how could he be sure? He knew practically nothing about her outside of her culinary skills and her friendship with the Briscoes. The realization floored him. He’d slept with her, she had a key to his house, she knew his father’s favorite meal, and yet she was a complete enigma to him.

“I wish there was a way to help your friend,” he said.

She sniffled, then released a long, slow exhalation. “I might hold you to that offer someday.”

The possibility rose in his mind again that she was the one in trouble. “I hope you do. And in the meantime, where should we dine tonight?”

She only had to think for a moment. “The Smoking Gun.”

He raised an eyebrow in question.

“It’s a restaurant in Austin,” she said. “You’d love it, if Shayla can get us in, which would be a huge if. They’ve been booking more than a month out.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

She smoothed a self-conscious hand down her front, the white T-shirt stretching over her curves. “I guess I’d better borrow a dress from Carina.”

Another dress … He wasn’t sure his heart could take it. Would she let her hair down? Would she be true to her bold streak and wear comfortable flats or slip her feet into delicate, strappy high-heels? The thrill of discovery coursing through him should have been enough of a warning flag to spur him to cancel.

He watched her lift the glass of water for another drink, her hands steadier now. At least his dinner plan had succeeded in calming her nerves, though a weary sheen settled over her eyes once more.