young.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “You’ll come around.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re probably right. After all, I bought my house even after you put a down payment on a penthouse apartment in Boston. I took the P.D.’s job even after you pulled strings at Fitch and Fitzwater, the leading firm downtown.” He shrugged. “I suppose if you hold your breath long enough, I might come around after all.”
Edgar narrowed his eyes. “This is your influence,” the judge said to his mother.
“If so, I’m proud of him. And you should be, too,” Emma said. “Shame on you, Edgar. I raised you better than this.”
“Logan, see to it your grandmother gets some rest. She’s cranky. We’ll talk more later.” He issued his commands and, without awaiting a response, he turned and strode toward his guests.
“He’s determined,” Emma said.
“I’m more determined.” But Logan was also tired of the battle. A part of him wished he didn’t have to fight his father for every step he took in his own life.
“Still think you don’t need my help?” Emma asked.
“I love you for your concern but I can handle the judge alone.”
“But her kind of help would be so much more fun,” his grandmother said, her gaze shifting from him.
Logan followed her glance at the woman standing on a chair, adjusting a speaker, and he had to agree. Still, no matter how tempting, he wouldn’t use an innocent woman as a pawn in his family’s game.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t pursue this attraction and get to know her for his own reasons. As Emma had probably predicted, she fascinated him in a way few women did and he wanted to know why. He placed the champagne glass down on a passing server’s tray.
“I’m here if you need backup,” Emma said.
He kissed the older woman’s weathered cheek. “I’m sure I can handle it,” he said wryly. He glanced across the lawn to where Catherine had settled back into bartender mode.
She handled the bottles and glasses with ease. Logan grinned at the sight. One of the cocktail waitresses paused and whispered something in her ear. Catherine bolted from behind the bar and headed toward the house. Without her presence, the bar loomed as empty and boring as the party had minutes earlier.
Logan sighed, seeing opportunity vanish at least for the moment.
“She’s got the goodies,” Emma said. “She’ll be back.”
“I believe drinks or liquor is the politically correct term these days.” He couldn’t help but needle his grandmother.
His gaze followed Catherine’s retreating form. The well-shaped bottom and trim waist were a sight to behold before she disappeared inside the open French doors.
Emma cleared her throat. “From your perspective I’d say she’s got the goodies,” she said with a laugh.
He chuckled. “I’d say you were right.”
A SEXY MAN HAD been watching Catherine for the last fifteen minutes. He had dark hair, model-like looks, and a penetrating stare that made her muscles weak and her heart flutter. She couldn’t imagine what sparked his interest when there were dozens of other women at the party. Female guests dressed in silky dresses and flowing chiffon skirts, beautiful women with perfectly manicured nails and hair straight from the beauty salon.
Catherine’s sneakers—comfortable shoes for a day of working on her feet—squeaked as she crossed the gleaming marble floors. She cringed and kept going. Years had passed since she had felt this…inadequate, she thought, coming up with the right word. She glanced down at her working outfit, the same one she wore to any party her company catered. Instead of feeling comfortable in her own skin, she felt out of place and transported back in time, to when she and her sister had been the Luck girls from the wrong side of the tracks.
Catherine shook her head and raised her chin a notch. There was no sense denying it. The rich were different. But Catherine had worked too hard and come too far to let insecurities hit her now. She’d survive this party. As long as the threatening rain held off…and her chef didn’t bail out.
She and her company Pot Luck couldn’t afford the disaster. With Kayla, her business partner and sister, pregnant and under doctor’s orders to stay in bed, Catherine was handling more than usual. Between doing the food prep work for today, substituting as bartender, overseeing along with her manager and planning upcoming bookings, Catherine was overworked and stressed. As soon as the temperature warmed, people clamored to organize outdoor events and Pot Luck was booked solid.
She couldn’t complain about being busy, but she did long for future days when all they would have to cater was full-scale parties like this one. But for now Pot Luck accommodated any request—from complete party packages, to hors d’oeuvres only, to simple decorations and party favors. Some day, once their reputation was more firmly established and the bank account posted a hefty surplus, they could be more discriminating—and Catherine could make more use of her culinary background as well. After this event, someday could arrive faster than she’d ever imagined.
The Montgomery party had been a coup and Catherine had no problem with rearranging her schedule to accommodate Emma Montgomery. Success here would mean referrals to the wealthiest people and most prestigious companies in Hampshire. She wouldn’t allow anything to ruin this chance, especially not a temperamental chef who was her oldest friend.
She entered the state-of-the-art kitchen where stainless steel and chrome gleamed from every corner of the room. “Nick, you’re a hit!” Catherine made her way around a long center island and placed a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek.
“The duck isn’t cold,” he denied, whacking at a large chunk of meat with a knife.
“I never said it was. The guests love the hors d’oeuvres. They’re going to spread your name from here to downtown Boston.”
Another loud whack sounded against the cutting board. “I’m already famous in Boston. I don’t need to take abuse because your help can’t get in here fast enough to serve hot food.” Beneath his anger and frustration, she recognized the concern and warning. Someone had been complaining about the temperature of the food. She cringed. She’d take care of her lazy help, but first she had to calm the chef.
Catherine glanced at his exaggerated pout. She’d grown up with Nick. She knew when to worry and when a word or two would smooth things over. She snuck a peek inside the large oven and inhaled an enticing aroma. “This smells heavenly. I don’t know another chef who can create the way you do.” She returned to his side. “The food is almost as good-looking as you are.”
The knife slammed into the wooden board again and he glanced up, dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to flatter me, Cat. It won’t work.” His gaze settled on her for the first time and he touched her cheek with one hand. “You’re red.”
“The day is so overcast I forgot the sun-screen.” Catherine shrugged. “Besides we can’t all bronze like you.”
“You’re fair. You ought to be more careful.”
She
