a low groan from her throat as she slipped her feet into her flip-flops. How reckless of her. She’d abused Zane’s hospitality already.
She entered the bathroom, another ode to magnificence, and glanced at herself in the mirror. Smudged mascara and rumpled hair reflected back at her. She washed her face and finger-combed her long wayward tresses. She’d take care of the rest once she reached her own room.
Exiting Zane’s room, she made her way down a short hallway. Voices coming from the kitchen perked up her ears.
Mrs. Lopez spotted her and waved her inside. “Just in time for breakfast.”
Mariah and Zane sat at the kitchen table, coffee mugs piping hot in front of them. Upon the housekeeper’s announcement, both heads lifted her way. Blood rushed up her neck, and her face flamed.
“Morning,” Zane said, peering into her eyes and not at her wrinkled mess of clothes. “You ready for some breakfast?”
“Good morning, Jessica,” Mariah said. They’d obviously been deep in concentration, poring over a stack of papers.
“Yes, yes. Sit down,” Mrs. Lopez insisted.
“Oh, uh...good morning. I don’t want to intrude. You look busy.”
“Just same old, same old,” Mariah said. “We’re going over plans for Zane’s new restaurant. We could use your input.”
She’d given Zane her input last night. God. She’d kissed him. Remembering that kiss sent a warm rash of heat through her body. She’d missed his cheek and gotten hold of his lips. Was it the alcohol, or had her heart strummed from that kiss? The alcohol. Had to be. He must have known it was a genuine miscalculation on her part. She hadn’t meant to kiss him that way.
“Yes, have a seat, Jess,” he said casually. “You need to eat. And we sure need a fresh perspective.”
Before her shower? Luckily Zane hadn’t mentioned anything about her lack of discretion last night or her state of dress today. She’d overslept, that much was a given. Back home, she rose before six every morning. She loved to go through the morning newspaper, take a walk in the backwoods and then eat a light breakfast before heading to her classroom.
There were a platter of bagels with cream cheese, a scrambled egg jalapeno dish and cereal boxes on the table. The eggs smelled heavenly, and her stomach grumbled. Seeing no other option, she sat down and reached for the eggs as Mrs. Lopez provided her with a bowl and a cup of coffee.
“Bien.” She gave a satisfied nod.
Jessica smiled at her.
As Zane and his assistant finished up their breakfast, she ate, too, complimenting Mrs. Lopez on the food she’d prepared.
Zane told Mariah, “Janie and Jessica worked at their folks’ café in Beckon. They served the best fried chicken in all of Texas.”
“That’s what most folks said,” she agreed. She couldn’t claim modesty. Her parents did make the best fried chicken in the state. “My parents opened Holcomb House when I was young. They worked hard to make a go of it. It wasn’t anything as grand as what you’re probably planning, but in Beckon, the Holcomb House was known for good eats and a friendly atmosphere. When Dad died five years ago, my mom couldn’t make a go of it by herself. I think she lost the will, so she sold the restaurant. I’m no expert, but if I can help in any way, I’ll give it a try.”
“Great,” Mariah said.
“Appreciate it,” Zane added. “This restaurant will be a little different than the one in Reno, in cuisine and atmosphere. The beach is a big draw for tourists, and we want it to be a great experience.”
Zane probably had half a dozen financial advisors, but if he needed her help in any way, she’d oblige. How could she not? She cringed thinking that Zane slept on a sofa last night. A quick glance at his less than crisp clothes, the same clothes he’d worn last night, meant that he probably hadn’t got to shower this morning, either. Because of her.
Once the dishes were cleared, Mariah pushed a few papers over to her. “If you don’t mind, could you tell us what you think of the menu? Are the prices fair? Do the titles of the dishes make sense? We’re working with a few chefs and want to get it just right. These are renderings of what Zane’s on the Beach will look like once all done, exterior and interior.”
For the next hour, Jessica worked with the two of them, giving her opinion, voicing her concerns when they probed and offering praise honestly if not sparingly. Zane’s on the Beach had everything a restaurant could offer. Outside, patio tables facing the beach included a sand bar for summer nights of drinking under the moonlight. Inside, window tables were premium, with the next row of tables raised to gain a view of the ocean, as well. It wasn’t posh, but it wasn’t family dining, either. “I like that you’ve made it accessible to a younger crowd. The prices are fair. Have you thought about putting a little stage in the bar? Invite in local entertainment to perform?”
Mariah shot a look at Zane. “We discussed it. I think it’s a great idea. Zane isn’t so sure.”
Zane scrubbed his chin, deep in thought. “I’ve got to get a handle on what I want from this restaurant. My name and reputation are at stake. Do I want ocean views and great food or a hot spot for a younger crowd?”
“Why can’t you have both?” Jessica asked. “Quality is quality. Diners will come for the cuisine and ambiance. After hours, the place can transform into a nightspot for the millennials.”
Amused, Zane’s dark eyes sparked. “Millennials? Are you one?”
“I guess so.”
His head tilted, and his mouth quirked up. “Why do I suddenly feel old?”
“Because you are,” Mariah jabbed. “You’re cranking toward forty.”
“Thirty-five is a far shot from forty, and that’s all I’m saying.”
“You’re wise to stop there,” Mariah said playfully, yet with a note of warning. Jessica could tell that Mariah Jacobellis wasn’t a woman who put up with age jokes. Although Mariah was physically lovely, she seemed to take no prisoners when it came to business or her personal life. Jessica admired that about her. Maybe she could take a lesson from her rule book.
Zane leaned way back in his seat. “You got that right.”
Mariah stacked the papers on the table and rose, hugging them to her chest. “Well, I’m off to make some phone calls. Zane, think about when you want to resume your tour. I’ve got to let the event coordinators know. They’re on my back about it. Oh, and be sure to read through that contract that Bernie sent over the other day.”
Zane’s lips pursed. “I’ll do my best.”
“Jessica, have a nice morning. And if you’re around Zane today, please give him a hand. He may look like a superhero, but he’s really not Superman.”
Could’ve fooled her. Last night, he’d been super heroic.
Mariah pivoted on her heels and strode out the door.
Zane chuckled.
“What?”
