The Saturday Night Supper Club Page 10

  But no, that was a childish thing to do, and if there was one thing that Rachel wasn’t, it was childish. He understood that much about her at least.

  He shifted restlessly in his chair beneath the hem of the white tablecloth and fiddled with his tie. He had overdressed a little, even for this modern, high-end steakhouse. Denver wasn’t a fancy, dress-up sort of place—Coloradans expected world-class food that they could eat while wearing jeans and cowboy boots, and this place was no different. But he wanted her to know he took this meeting seriously. That he took her seriously. That he could help her.

  Even if he still had no idea how he was going to do that.

  At a quarter after six, he was about to give up and order, when the hostess led a tall, dark-haired woman toward his table. He blinked, his nerve endings snapping to attention as she neared. It was Rachel all right, wrapped in a patterned dress with a skirt like an upside-down tulip and high-heeled shoes that showed off the long line of her legs. He swallowed and rose, his mouth suddenly dry. This was supposed to be a business meeting, wasn’t it?

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.

  He faltered, not sure whether he was supposed to greet her with a kiss on the cheek as a date might or simply a nod. She took care of that confusion by holding out her hand. He shook it, noticed how hard she gripped his hand.

  A business meeting, then.

  He realized he hadn’t responded to her apology. He cleared his throat. “No problem. I haven’t been here long.”

  The hostess pulled out Rachel’s chair and she sat, immediately taking up the single-sheet menu. He watched her throat work and realized that she was nervous.

  Well, that was a surprise. Nothing about her had indicated she was capable of nerves.

  “I have a feeling you know the menu better than I do,” he said. “What do you recommend?”

  “I don’t think you can go wrong with anything here. Caleb is one of the most inventive chefs in Denver.”

  “Besides you?”

  Her eyes flicked up to his, holding surprise and amusement. “Besides me, yes.”

  “I’m going to let you order for me, then.”

  “That’s very secure of you.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t stake my manhood on knowing what to order off an unfamiliar menu. Especially not when I’m out with an award-winning chef.”

  “I’m getting the feeling you’re trying to flatter me.”

  “It’s not flattery if it’s true, and yes, I absolutely am.” He leaned back and grinned at her, rewarded when she smiled back.

  Their server, Aubrey, arrived to take their drink orders.

  “Sparkling water with lemon for me, please,” Rachel said.

  “I’ll have the same.” When Aubrey left, he asked, “No wine?”

  She shook her head. “I have to admit, Alex, I’m not really sure why I asked you here. I know you volunteered—”

  “I know why. You’re practical and you’re ambitious, and you would kick yourself if you didn’t look at every avenue offered to you.”

  Rachel folded her arms on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “And exactly what avenue are you offering me?”

  Aubrey was back with their drinks, lightning-fast service if he’d ever seen it. He suspected that the manager or the chef knew Rachel was in the house and had impressed on their server that they were to get VIP service. Rachel gestured for Aubrey to come close and engaged her in rapid conversation about the menu, ordering so quietly he didn’t catch the selections. Then she focused her attention back on him, clearly expecting an answer to her question.

  “What am I offering you? I guess that all depends on what it is you want.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. Her words came out with a hint of challenge. “I want my own restaurant again. And for that I need an investor. A silent investor.”

  “As you have probably guessed, I have a few connections who might be interested in something like that. But you also have probably guessed that you’re not a great risk right now.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Partly thanks to me.” He ignored the sting of her words as they struck. “But the Beard means something. You don’t get two nominations and a win by not being the best.”

  She held his eyes for a long moment. “You’re saying I need a way to prove myself. I’ve already thought of that.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a composition notebook.

  He turned it to face him. On the cover, printed in neat block writing, were the words The Saturday Night Supper Club. “A supper club?”

  “Part pop-up restaurant, part dinner party. Exclusive. An opportunity to show what I can do.”

  Alex nodded slowly. “And you think I can help how?”

  A flush rose to her cheeks and she took the notebook back. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be difficult. I really want to know. It seems like you have it all figured out.”

  Rachel swallowed hard, seemed to be chewing on her words. “I had a good reputation among the dining public, at least until recently. But in the industry . . .” She raised her eyes to his, and he caught that same hint of vulnerability that had pulled him in the night before. “I’ve cashed in all my chips. I don’t have any more credit left to spend here.”

  “So you need a patron?” His wheels began to turn. The idea was a fascinating one. A salon of sorts, the old-fashioned type where people gathered for good food and drink and stimulating conversation.

  “Not a patron. A cohost.” She hesitated for a long moment. “I read part of your book.”

  He sat back in his chair. Now he understood. Not only had he proved he was on her side; she figured his friends might not be as swayed by media opinion as the general public.

  Sure, he had the connections—both his own through his work as a writer and from his association with Bryan’s family—but her confidence in him was more than a little unnerving.

  “How do you see this working? Am I hosting and having you cater? Are we supposed to be friends? Is this a business venture?”

  She was chewing her thumbnail, an unexpected sign of insecurity. “I hadn’t worked out all the details. I thought I’d be responsible for the food, and you’d take care of the guest list, preferably influential types that would post about it on social media. Eventually we’d sell tickets, but Ana thinks we should build some buzz first. Sort of like how businesses host friends-and-family or press nights before they open.”

  “Sounds like you’ve already thought of all the angles. I’m assuming you need a venue.”

  “That would be the first step, yes.”

  The answer was clear, but he wasn’t sure she would go for it. A back waiter appeared with their first course, tiny plates holding translucent slices of something he was almost certain was raw fish.

  “What’s wrong, Alex?” Her words held a hint of a challenge. “You don’t like octopus?”

  In response, he forked a slice into his mouth.

  It was disgusting. However, he gave it a couple of manful chews and neither gagged nor reached for his water glass.

  He could see by her expression she wasn’t fooled.

  “It’s okay,” she said, attacking her own plate with enthusiasm. “It’s an acquired taste.”

  No point in trying to pretend. “I don’t mind sashimi. But it’s the texture of the octopus, not the taste.”

  “More for me.” She gave him a sly little smile. “Don’t worry. I was more conservative with the rest of my choices.”

  By conservative, though, she didn’t mean light-handed. Course after course came out, and he couldn’t deny each was more delicious than the last. The octopus was followed by a small charcuterie plate, then an heirloom bean salad. He was half-expecting some elaborate plated entrée that looked like modern art, but instead Aubrey set before him a beautifully cooked rib eye smothered in blue cheese butter.

  Rachel flashed him a little smile. “So maybe I hedged my bets on that on
e.”

  He sliced into it and took a bite. “This might be the best steak I’ve ever eaten.”

  “No argument here.” Rachel turned to her fish—an Asian-style barramundi—but he saw a little glimmer of mischief again. If he wasn’t mistaken, this might also be the most expensive steak he’d ever eaten.

  So perhaps she wasn’t above a little payback.

  He could hardly count this as suffering, though. When dessert came out—a flight of sorbets—he exhaled in relief. He felt about ready to burst.

  Aubrey brought the check, and to his surprise, Rachel reached for it. Alex slid it out of her grasp. “I told you to pick the place, so this is mine.” He managed not to let his eyes widen at the figure on the ticket when he slid his credit card into the folder. He waited for Aubrey to take it before he voiced the idea that had been rattling around his head all night.

  “We should hold the supper club at my place.”

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Your place?”

  “Don’t sound so suspicious. You should see it before you make up your mind.”

  “I can’t imagine why I would be suspicious.”

  “I’m not sure which hurts more: the aspersions to my character or the lack of confidence in my creativity. Seems a little cliché, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re not helping your case.”

  He shrugged. “Bring your friends along if you’re worried about my intentions. But you need a venue, and I have one.” She still looked like she couldn’t decide, so he took her notebook and scrawled his address on the last page. “Check it out. Call me in the morning if you want to take a look. And if you like the idea, we can talk further.”

  Rachel still looked doubtful, but she shoved the notebook in her handbag and pushed away from the table. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “Thank you for introducing me to an excellent restaurant. I enjoyed it. Even the octopus. A little.”

  “Liar.” The corner of her mouth lifted into a slight smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know if I’m coming.”

  “I hope the answer is yes.”

  She gave him a little nod, then turned and left the restaurant. He sank back into his chair and let out a breath. Rachel at his place. She was right to be suspicious. Because after less than two hours in her company, he wasn’t sure that guilt or business were anywhere present in his thoughts.

  Chapter Eleven

  RACHEL TAPPED the piece of notebook paper repeatedly on the edge of the table, earning a glare from the older couple next to her. She set it down and folded her hands in her lap. Where were Ana and Melody? She’d sent out the SOS first thing this morning after a sleepless night, knowing that Ana would probably be at the gym and Melody would be finishing up her shift at her new job. The bakery had taken one look at her qualifications and hired her on the spot.

  She sipped her Americano and shoved down her impatience. At last, she caught a glimpse of a tousled blonde head coming in through the front door, turning every which way to catch a glimpse of Rachel. She half stood and waved Melody her direction.

  Her friend wove her way through the tables at the retro breakfast joint in Denver’s Ballpark neighborhood, revealing an off-the-shoulder eighties-style sweatshirt over a pair of leggings. When she slid into the booth, Rachel noticed there was still flour in her hair. “Sorry I’m late. Ana hasn’t arrived yet?”

  “I just got a text from her. She got called into a meeting, but she’ll be over as soon as she can get free.”

  Melody looked at her closely. “This isn’t a morning-after walk-of-shame breakfast, is it?”

  Rachel gasped. “Of course not. You know me better than that. Last night was strictly professional.”

  “Pity,” Melody said. “The professional part, I mean, not the walk-of-shame thing. I was hoping one of us had a little romance in her life. Heaven knows there isn’t a man present anywhere in mine.”

  “You mean it’s hard to find a guy who puts up with your schedule? I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

  Their young male server approached, his eyes lingering a little too long on Melody’s bared collarbone and shoulder. Rachel suppressed a smile. Melody’s nonexistent love life certainly wasn’t because of lack of interest. She was simply as married to her job as Rachel was. As Rachel had been.

  Melody ordered a pot of decaf and then began fiddling with the paper sugar packets in front of her. “So what’s this about? Something must have happened to make you convene an emergency waffle meeting.”

  “I’ll tell you as soon as Ana gets here.” On cue, Rachel glimpsed the dark head of her other best friend through the front window. Ana caught sight of them immediately and marched through the restaurant, an imposing figure in her designer business suit.

  “I’ve got less than an hour,” Ana said. “I have a conference call at nine, and I lied about an off-site meeting so I could skip staff meeting.”

  “It wasn’t a lie,” Melody said. “Rachel has important news.”

  Ana flagged down a passing server—not theirs—and asked for an espresso, and then focused her attention on Rachel. “So it wasn’t a waste of a good dress?”

  “I don’t know about that, but at least it wasn’t a waste of time. Alex says he’s in. And he thinks he has a venue for me.” Rachel paused. “He offered his place.”

  Immediately, both Ana’s and Melody’s expressions shifted to alarm.

  “Rachel,” Ana began.

  “I know. I thought the same thing. And then I looked up the address.” She brought up the listing on her phone and swiveled it around to face them. “This is the building in Cheesman Park. Obviously not his apartment, because this one is up for sale.”

  Melody blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a fifteen-story building. His apartment is on the fifteenth floor. According to his neighbor’s listing, there are four penthouse units, and each has access to a private roof deck overlooking the city.”

  “How exactly does a writer afford that kind of place?” Ana asked. “That sounds suspicious.”

  “Even so, it’s probably worth checking out, right? He invited me to take a look today. Said to bring you two if I was worried about his intentions.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you going over there yourself, but I can barely keep my eyes open,” Melody said. “And Ana sounds booked today.”

  “You were the one who set up the meeting at Rhino Crash!” Rachel exclaimed. “And now you think he’s a serial killer?”

  “They never look like serial killers,” Ana said. “Haven’t you seen those crime shows? All the neighbors say what nice, normal men they were. ‘We never would have known he had bodies of women buried in his basement.’”

  “You two are a lot of help. I’m going. I was hoping one of you might be able to come with me, but . . .”

  Ana reached across the table for the notebook paper. “Is this the address?” She snapped a photo of it with her phone. “Let us know when you get there. If I don’t hear back from you in two hours, I’ll call the police.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Dead serious.” Ana grimaced. “Poor choice of words. Listen, he’s probably a nice guy. Just be careful. Go with your gut.”

  That was the first good advice she had heard. Her gut rarely steered her wrong, and now it was telling her that Alex was her best shot at getting her life back. Rachel pulled out her phone and tapped out a message to him. I’d like to take a look at your venue if the offer is still open. Hopefully that didn’t sound too much like innuendo. Hopefully he really had been serious about using his place for the supper club.

  Was she crazy for trusting a complete stranger, who happened to be the man who had gotten her into this situation in the first place?

  Yes. She was. But she was out of options. It was clear from the fact her other contacts hadn’t returned her phone calls that she was persona non grata in the industry right now. No one was willing to jump into the cross fire.

  They ordered th
eir breakfasts and turned the conversation to another topic, but the whole time Rachel was aware of the black rectangle of her phone screen on the table beside her. Maybe Alex had rethought his offer and decided he didn’t want to risk his reputation? Or maybe he hadn’t had the courage to tell her in person that he wasn’t serious about the offer of help.

  Then, just as the server brought the bill, the screen lit up.

  Come over anytime. I’ll be here.

  “I guess we’re on,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” Ana said. “And be careful.”

  “We’ll want all the details tonight,” Melody added.

  Ana picked up the tab, and then they were off their separate ways. And Rachel began praying she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

  * * *

  Alex’s building was a 1970s contemporary from the outside, all brownstone and glass with the boxy shape that characterized that area of the city. Rachel mercifully found parking down the street, from which she could study the place unobserved. If she hadn’t found the real estate listing and seen what one of the other penthouses looked like, she might doubt that he was being honest about its suitability as a venue.

  “Stop procrastinating,” she told herself. She climbed out of her car and locked the door behind her, then made her way slowly into the lobby of the building.

  Unlike the outside, the lobby was sleek and modern, with concrete floors and marble wall tiles leading to two elevators positioned at the exact center of the building. Her stomach quivered as she walked to them and punched the up button.

  Silently, the elevator glided down to the ground floor and the doors slid open. She stepped in and pressed the button. Sure enough, the elevator only went up to floor fifteen.

  “There’s no reason to be nervous,” she told herself, even though she wasn’t sure if she was nervous about going alone to a strange man’s apartment or seeing Alex again. Maybe both.

  She should have waited until Melody or Ana could come with her.

  The elevator delivered her into a wide, square landing on the top floor, only four doors marking the hallway. As she’d read, four penthouse units. She found 1504 and rapped sharply on it. Almost immediately the door swung open.