Part 27 (1/2)

”I can hardly believe someone who cooks as badly as I do is discussing pots as a metaphor for love,” Samantha said as laughter erupted on the other side of the table.

”But you've never stopped trying to cook,” Edward pointed out reflecting on the number of times in the six months since he'd arrived at the Alexander that he'd arranged to have food picked up after a failed attempt. ”I think that says something about you.”

”Oh, I'm sure it does,” she replied. ”But I'm a little afraid to find out what.”

There was more laughter. More looks aimed their way.

”What's so funny?” Samantha finally asked.

”Your sister was just telling us a story about the year you cooked the Thanksgiving turkey,” Claire said.

Samantha groaned. Her face flushed with what could only be embarra.s.sment.

”It was the year we were married.” Jonathan looked straight at Samantha for the first time since he'd seated her. ”We were coming to Bellewood, but she wanted to contribute something meaningful to the meal.”

”Yes, we were microwaving bits and pieces of that poor bird until almost midnight.” Cynthia's tone was droll.

”I didn't find out until after Thanksgiving, when I went in to complain, that a turkey can be labeled 'fresh' if it hasn't been frozen more than once. I thought that fresh meant unfrozen so I didn't even attempt to defrost it,” Samantha explained. She rolled her eyes at their laughter. ”That's the thing about cooking. The directions often seem unfairly unclear.” Her voice trailed off. Edward followed her gaze and saw Jonathan regarding her with an odd smile on his lips.

”We were afraid none of us would survive when Sam first started trying to cook,” Hunter said.

”Why?” Brooke asked. ”What did she make?”

”It didn't matter,” Meredith said.

”Why not?” Claire asked.

”Because it all looked like hockey pucks in sauce.”

Even Samantha joined in the laughter this time.

”Fortunately, Jonathan was there to save us from starvation,” Meredith said.

”How did he do that?” Edward asked, trying to envision Jonathan and Samantha without the elegant patina of their current life surrounding them.

”Wait a minute,” Jonathan said to Hunter and Meredith. ”We made a pact. I believe there was even a vow of secrecy.”

”Right,” Samantha said. ”Like I never saw those McDonald's bags in the trash outside. Or smelled the French fries on all of you when you'd come back from those ridiculous after-dinner errands.”

The conversation moved on, the mood lighter as the table was cleared and the desserts and coffee served. Edward wondered at the furtive looks Samantha and her husband stole at each other. And the careful looks Hunter, who'd begun to regale the table with stories about his first a.s.signments for Private Butler, began to aim at Edward.

”Here, you have to try this chocolate pecan pie and Doris's praline pumpkin pie with maple rum sauce.” Samantha put a piece of each on a plate and placed it in front of Edward, then prepared similar plates for Brooke, Claire, and Kyle Bromley.

”You should have seen me driving Mimi Davenport to Nashville in her ancient pink Cadillac. Which she refuses to allow to be driven over forty-five miles per hour.” Hunter shook his head with amus.e.m.e.nt. ”'Young man,'” he drawled with a slight quiver to his voice in a dead-on imitation of the elderly woman. ”'There is no need for undue speed. I would like to survive this trip and return home in one piece.'” He laughed. ”And when we stopped for lunch at this broken-down roadside diner outside Chattanooga she put the silverware in her purse.”

Edward's lips tightened. One didn't share a client's behavior with others and certainly not for laughs. ”I believe that's privileged information,” Edward said tightly.

”Did you hear that, Jonathan?” Hunter called down the table. ”Apparently what a concierge sees is as privileged as information that pa.s.ses between client and attorney. What do you think of that?”

”I think that if your boss tells you that, you need to listen,” Jonathan replied evenly.

Brooke and Claire s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably in their chairs. Meredith's forehead wrinkled in consternation. Her boyfriend looked over his shoulder as if scoping out potential escape routes.

”You did such a fabulous job on Alicia Culp's party,” Samantha said to her brother even as she laid a hand on Edward's arm. ”You have a genius for organization that we never realized. But I can understand how important discretion is in this type of service business.” Her tone grew more adamant, as if she might still convince him of the merits of good behavior. ”You can't just pick and choose which parts of your employer's instructions you want to pay attention to.”

”Maybe, maybe not,” Hunter said. ”I'll tell you what I have learned from the estimable Mr. Parker.” He fixed his green-eyed stare on Edward once more. ”I have learned that I can take almost any c.r.a.p job and make it into lemonade.” His smile conveyed no humor. ”But it would take a lot more than I've been paid and a sight more respect for my abilities to feel the need to keep my lips sealed.”

Cynthia frowned. ”Hunter,” she admonished. ”It's Thanksgiving. And there are guests.”

”I'm sorry,” Hunter said without an ounce of sincerity. ”I didn't mean to spoil dessert.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. Edward could feel Samantha's distress and Cynthia's disapproval on either side of him. Jonathan Davis's eyes were pinned on his brother-in-law as if he'd seen this before and wasn't looking forward to what was coming.

”What I'm best at is seeing the potential in a business,” Hunter went on as if someone had asked. ”Even when its creator doesn't get it. And I am truly gifted at explaining that potential to investors.”

”Yes,” Claire said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled around the table. ”That's why I invested in Private Butler when Hunter explained the opportunity.”

”Me, too,” Brooke said. ”He showed me how to take the equity in my condo and put it to work. Even Isabella and James put money in after Hunter told us he'd signed Mr. Fiston and Mrs. Davenport and James Culp. Everybody wants to put money behind you, Edward.”

Edward felt a brief moment of confusion. It evaporated as Hunter Jackson's lips curved up in a derisive smile. At the end of the table Jonathan Davis's eyes closed briefly.

”Well, that money isn't actually going into Private Butler,” Hunter said, staring directly at Edward. ”Because Edward made it clear he didn't want investors. Or expansion. Or, to put it bluntly, progress of any kind.”

”I don't understand then,” Samantha asked on a quick intake of breath.

Edward thought back to James Culp's comment at his wife's party and understood all too well.

”The money, almost half a million dollars of it, is going into a private concierge company that I've fas.h.i.+oned after Private Butler,” Hunter said. ”A company that I'm going to build and then franchise.” Hunter's green eyes grew even more brittle. ”I wish you would have agreed to succeed, Edward,” he said. ”I could have raised this money for you and helped you grow your business.”

No one moved or spoke, least of all Edward, as the horror of what had taken place-what Hunter Jackson had done-sank in.

”It was amazing how many of your satisfied clients and employees begged to give me their money when I explained how much could be made building a company like Private Butler. Almost as amazing as how few of them read the fine print on their investment doc.u.ments.” He shook his head and shrugged as if it was all beyond his control. ”I'm not sure if they fully understood that we're parting ways. They could hardly hand over their money fast enough.”

Edward heard Brooke and Claire's gasps as they were forced to confront the truth. He felt pretty short of breath himself.

”Well.” Hunter stood, dropped his napkin on the table, and bowed slightly to Edward-a perfect and mocking imitation. ”I guess we can consider this my resignation. I appreciate the training and the concept.” He bowed to Brooke and Claire, who were still processing the fact that they'd invested in Hunter and not in Private Butler. ”I appreciate your confidence in me and will be sure to keep you posted.”

With a final nod and thanks to Cynthia, Hunter swept out of the dining room. They were still sitting in shocked silence when the front door slammed shut behind him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

MINUTES AFTER HUNTER'S EXIT, THANKSGIVING at Bellewood came to an end.

”I'm so sorry,” Samantha said repeatedly as she walked Edward, Brooke, and Claire out to their car. ”I had no idea. I . . . I'm so sorry!”