Part 20 (1/2)

”I'm here to see Nate.” She s.h.i.+fted a briefcase to her other hand and checked a diamond watch.

”I'm sorry. He's busy.” Really busy. Very, very busy.

”Tell him it's Mimi. And I want a table. Over there.” She pointed to the windows that looked out over the lake. As luck would have it, there was a table for two open and no reason Ms. Fancy Pants couldn't have it.

Frankie picked up a menu and led Mimi across the room. The other diners snapped their necks to get a look at the blonde. It was like leading Vendala through a fraternity house.

After Mimi sat down, she picked up a fork and inspected the tines, as if looking for dirt. ”Gla.s.s of Chardonnay. Not the house. I want something French. Is he making his escargot?”

”No.”

”Then I want a salad.” Mimi's eyes flashed. ”He knows the way I like it.”

Frankie's jaw tightened around her molars. The broad wasn't just talking about lettuce, she thought.

In a fierce mood, she stalked into the kitchen. Nate was flying over the stove, tossing spices and salt into four different saute pans on the burners in front of him. Half-plated meals lined up behind him and more orders were getting put up by the waitresses.

”You've got a visitor,” she said. ”Right off Michael Kors's runway in New York. Mimi somebody.”

Nate barely looked up. ”Okay. Thanks.”

”She wants a salad. Says you know how she likes it.”

”Fine.”

Frankie went over to where the wine was kept. She'd have felt so much better if he'd said something like, G.o.d, why's that horse-faced fas.h.i.+on victim darkening our door?

Of course, then he'd have to be referring to someone else entirely because there was nothing horse-faced about Mimi. And a man would have to be dead from the neck down not to want to have the blonde looking for him.

When Frankie went back out to the dining room, she was proud of herself. She'd only briefly considered slipping some rat poison into Mimi's French Chardonnay. And hadn't followed up on the impulse.

”Where is he?” the blonde demanded, as if she expected Nate to deliver the wine. ”Did you tell him I'm waiting?”

”Yes.”

Mimi smiled, although the joyless expression wasn't directed at Frankie. She was looking at the kitchen's doors. ”Fine, but he better drop the defiant act when he starts next week.”

”Starts what?”

Mimi's gaze s.h.i.+fted upwards, as if she was surprised to have to explain herself. ”I'm the owner of Cosmos and he is my new Executive Chef.”

Frankie narrowed her eyes. ”Oh, really.”

The woman looked around impatiently. ”My salad? Where is it?”

”Coming right up.” Your Highness.

Frankie marched into the kitchen.

Her first instinct was to jump in front of Nate and demand an explanation, but she held back. Hadn't she learned anything? The last couple of times she'd blown her lid off at him, she'd been in the wrong. She certainly owed him a chance to explain. Maybe there had been a misunderstanding. After all, he'd committed to stay until Labor Day so he had four weeks left.

She couldn't believe he'd break his promise and leave in seven days. That just wasn't like him.

Evidently, Mimi had perseverance as well as style and a lot of cash. The blonde waited all the way through until the end of the night. She wasn't gracious about the delay, but she didn't march into the kitchen and interrupt the flow of service, either.Although maybe she was just determined to make Nate come to her.

Mimi also hated downtime, apparently. As soon as she'd polished off her salad, she got to work, spreading out papers and cracking open a laptop. When Frankie suggested she go to the library for some privacy, the woman missed the point and said she was fine with the noise. She didn't seem at all concerned that she was tying up a table, but Frankie wasn't about to cause a scene in front of her patrons by demanding Mimi go elsewhere.

At the end of the s.h.i.+ft, Nate finally went out to talk with the woman. Frankie couldn't pretend to do any work while they were meeting so she cleaned her desk, filing loose inventory reports and accounting sheets, putting pens and pencils in the drawer, cleaning the phone. When there was nothing left to tidy, she picked up the Times review and sank back into her chair, reading it. She was cruising along, the words sinking in, when she frowned and had to backtrack.

Nathaniel Walker, black sheep of the wealthy and socially prominent Walker family, burst onto the culinary scene a decade ago. Following three years in Paris at Maxim's, the Walker heir returned to his family's seat in New York where he eventually landed at La Nuit....

The article went on, but she couldn't read anymore.The Walker heir.

Of course. Nate, short for Nathaniel.

Nathaniel Walker. The first man by that name had been a Revolutionary war hero and had signed the Declaration of Independence. Talk about American royalty. And wasn't a Walker now governor of Ma.s.sachusetts? That was probably Nate's brother, who he'd said was into public service.

h.e.l.l, the Walkers were beyond rich. Made the Weatherbys look like candidates for a trailer park.

She threw the paper down. Boy, she knew how to pick them.

Good Lord, it was David all over again. Except this time, the man in question had lied about his family's wealth and influence, not been cowed by it.

Nate appeared in her doorway. ”Hey, did you notice how busy we were tonight? Listen, about Mimi-”

”Yeah, let's talk about her. Thanks so much for giving me notice,” Frankie snapped. What she was really angry about was the way he'd kept his family's ident.i.ty from her, but Mimi sure as h.e.l.l was a good target for the feelings of frustration and betrayal.

”Excuse me?”

”When we were you going to tell me you were leaving? The day before you took off?” Frankie planted her palms on the desk and shot up from her chair. ”I can't believe you're pulling out in the middle of the season after you promised you'd stay until Labor Day!”

Nate put his hands on his hips and stared down at the floor like he was trying to control his temper.

”Look, Frankie-”

”G.o.d, I'm such a fool!” Her voice cracked. ”I trusted you. I let you in. I'm so G.o.dd.a.m.ned stupid.”

”Frankie, I'm not going to the city next week. I'm staying here. You know what my plans are for the future. h.e.l.l, I want to include you in them. Come to New York with me.”

”Yeah, and how's that going to work? Ms. Fancy Pants out there looked pretty d.a.m.n handy with the back office stuff while she tied up one of my tables waiting for you.”

”Mimi came up here to try and-”

”She'll make one h.e.l.l of a partner, I'm sure-”

”Will you listen-”

”Although personally I think that blouse was a little low cut. Not for a stripper, of course-”

”Frankie-”