"What? What did you just say?"
Cale considered Alex's expression, and said more slowly, "I'm not a chef. I am a businessman."
"But you-I hired you to-Oh my God!" Panic on her face now, Alex stood up and began to search her pockets.
When she came up with her phone and began to punch in numbers, Cale frowned and stood up as well. "Who are you calling?"
"Bev," she snapped. "I have to see if you've ruined me or not."
"I haven't ruined you," he assured her quickly. "Please, Alex, put that away and hear me out."
"No. I-" She paused and peered at him narrowly. "You cooked the Trout Amandine. It was perfect."
"Er ... yes ... well ..." Cale frowned, trying to decide how best to handle this. Obviously, he shouldhave taken a moment to think this through before opening his damned mouth. His only thought had been that she loved cooking and he enjoyed business, so why not switch and let him help with managing things rather than the cooking? Cale had thought she'd be pleased to get back to cooking and leave the business issues to him. And he suspected she would be, but starting with "I'm not a chef" probably hadn't been the cleverest way to go. Alex wasn't ready for the "I'm not a chef but a vampire" speech, and he couldn't explain that he wasn't really a chef without explaining how he had then managed to keep from ruining her restaurant's reputation tonight.
Jesus, I'm obviously not on my game tonight, Cale acknowledged, and suspected it was this life-mate business that was at fault. Despite Marguerite's "feeling" and Sam's excitement, and even Bricker's taunts, he really hadn't been prepared to walk in there and discover Alex was indeed his life mate ... and he wasn't handling the situation with his usual aplomb. He needed to turn this around and quickly, or he suspected she'd be tossing him out on his ear at any moment.
Before Cale could quite decide how to save the situation, Alex stopped glaring at him to concentrate on the phone as it was obviously answered on the other end.
"I'm sorry I woke you, Bev," Alex said grimly. "But I need to know what happened at the restaurant tonight."
Cale didn't have to hear the woman's voice to know what she would say. They had made sure that neither she nor the other staff was aware of Marguerite and Leigh's presence in the kitchen. Still, he was relievedas he listened to Bev assure Alex that everything had gone like clockwork and Cale had been a great success. Everyone had raved about his food, the woman told her, and one of the city's most respected food critics had been a diner at one of the tables and had been so pleased he'd revealed himself and promised a very complimentary review in Saturday's food section.
Alex was looking more and more confused as the woman spoke, and when she ended the call, she turned that confused look on Cale. Her expression shifted to grim, however, as she slid the phone back into her pocket. "Was that your idea of a joke? Bev said everything went well tonight. Better than well. What-?"
"Just sit down, Alex," Cale interrupted quietly. "I'll explain everything."
She hesitated, but then settled back where she had been. Cale immediately sat across from her, wondering how the hell he was going to explain this ... and then inspiration struck. "I fear my English isn't as good as I would wish, and I occasionally misspeak when trying to explain things."
He was just congratulating himself on coming up with that when she said dubiously, "It sounded pretty clear to me. I am not a chef is pretty plain."
Cale grimaced. "Yes, well, I meant to say that I am not a chef like you. You said cooking was your first love, while business is not. I am the opposite, I love managing the business end of things and would rather not be cooking." When her eyes narrowed, he added, "Unlike you, I was not following a dream when I got into cooking."
But he was actually following a dream when he'd agreed to be the chef Alex needed tonight, he realized. The dream of getting close to and claiming his life mate. It was a lifelong dream, really. One every immortal had.
"I got into cooking due to family pressure," he said. It wasn't exactly a lie. Sam had gotten him into this, and she was Alex's family. If he were lucky, she would be his family soon as well.
"Ah," Alex murmured, nodding solemnly. "I see. A family restaurant ... pressure from the folks to train as a chef and take over the business ..." She nodded again, apparently sure she had it all figured out. "Cooking isn't in your soul, but your blood."
"Blood certainly has a lot to do with my situation," Cale muttered.
"What was that?" Alex asked.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "The point is I really dislike cooking. I prefer the simple logic of business and would much rather tend that end of things for you and leave you to the cooking."
Alex tilted her head slightly, uncertainty on her face. "I really didn't expect you to spend your entire vacation helping out at the restaurant. I thought-well hoped really-that you would be willing to cook for just a couple of nights until I could find someone to replace Peter."
"I am happy to help for as long as it takes," he assured her. "And as the business manager, I would be pleased to take care of the matter of a replacement for Peter if it is necessary."
"If it's necessary?" she asked with surprise.
Cale hesitated, but then decided it might be pushing his luck to tell her he was hoping for a much more permanent situation with her. Besides, if he did manage to convince her to be his life mate, he didn't know what that might mean for both their lives. He had been feeling the need for a change and would be happy to leave his companies in Europe in the hands of his managers, merely overseeing it from Canada as he helped run her restaurants, but Alex might change her mind about the direction of her life. It wasn't uncommon for new life mates to do so.
Shrugging, he merely said, "I will look into available people for the position and leave the final decision up to you."
She relaxed and nodded slowly. Her expression turned thoughtful, and he was sure she was about to agree, but Alex was a businessperson and apparently had learned some caution when it came to such decisions. It seemed that, as tempting as the idea of returning to cooking must be to her, she wasn't going to leap at the opportunity because she said, "I need to think about this."
"Of course," he murmured.
"And I don't have time for that right now," she added with a glance toward the waiting walls. A little sigh slid from her lips and she moved toward the tray and roller she'd left earlier. "I appreciate the offer, but I won't just let the first handsome face convince me to hand over my business."
"You find me handsome?" Cale asked with a grin, kneeling to open the can of paint for her.
Alex flushed, but rolled her eyes and ignored the question, merely taking the now-open can from him to pour the thick liquid into the tray, as she continued, "I'll need to know your qualifications and what experience you have. I hate to ask for a resume, but it would really help me with the decision."
"I shall give it to you orally while I help you paint," he said solemnly, and Alex set the can down and glanced to him with a frown.
"That isn't necessary. I don't expect you to help with this. It isn't under the job description of either a chef or a business manager. Besides, you aren't exactly dressed for it," she pointed out.
Cale glanced down at his designer suit, and then shrugged and began to remove the jacket. "I have several of these and this one is old anyway. Besides, in my experience, a good business manager does whatever needs doing. As you have done."
Alex grimaced. "I didn't really have much choice when the painters took off."
"There are always choices," he said solemnly. "Not always good ones, but there are choices, and here you made the responsible one."
"That's me, responsible Alex," she said with a little self-derision, and turned to start back up her ladder with the tray. She set it on the holder at the top of the ladder and then glanced down to him. "Can you hand me the roller, please?"
"Certainly." He picked it up and passed it to her, watched briefly as she began to run it through the paintin the tray, and then glanced around. "Is there another tray and roller?"
Alex paused and glanced down to him. "You really don't have to-"
"I want to," he interrupted firmly.
She stared at him for a moment but then shrugged and pointed to a corner near the front of the room. "There's another tray and roller there. I don't have another ladder though, so you'll have to do the lower half while I do the top."
"You're the boss," Cale said lightly, and moved to find the extra tray and rollers. He had set himself up with paint and was starting on the lower half of the wall beside her when she asked her first question.
"So, I gather you run the business end of the family restaurant in Paris as well as cook there on occasion? Or have you managed to get away from cooking altogether? " Cale frowned at the wall he was painting, knowing he would have to be careful here. He suspected Marguerite was right, and a relationship based on lies was not a good thing, so he really didn't want to lie any more than necessary. Finally, he said, "Until tonight I have not cooked for a very long time."
That was true enough, he had cooked before. He had roasted meat over an open fire several times in his youth. It wasn't exactly Cordon Bleu cooking, but was cooking nonetheless.
"So you just run the restaurant now?" Alex asked curiously over the quiet shush of her roller running up and down the wall.
Cale grimaced, his hand automatically moving his own roller over the wall as he thought. He didn't run a restaurant at all, but didn't think saying that would be too smart, so instead said, "I run several businesses in Europe, most of them having to do with the travel industry and transport of goods."
"Travel and transport? How did you go from a restaurant to travel and transport? " she asked with surprise.
"They are not that dissimilar," he said, and thought that was true. Argentis Inc. and Argeneau Enterprises held sway in Canada and the US, as well as the UK, but Cale had his own version of the company in France, Italy, and Spain called Valens Industries.
He ran blood banks and saw to the blood's distribution, feeding the masses ... at least the immortal masses. He also catered to immortals' needs in other ways. One company was purely for travel, with flights that started and ended in the evenings so immortals needn't travel with mortals if they did not wish. It also assisted with recommending and booking places for them to stay at their destination, transportation while there, the supply of blood during their stay, and provided them with booklets of the local haunts catering to their kind.
Cale also had another operation that aided with ID and other things immortals needed when they changed names and moved house.
He couldn't tell Alex that, though, so said, "I deal with a special-needs clientele who doesn't wish to utilize the usual transport available and travel with the masses."
"Ah, rich folk who want special attention," Alex said dryly. "We get a lot of those at my restaurant too."
"Yes, I'm sure you do," Cale murmured, and thought she would be surprised to know that a good many of them were immortals. According to Leigh and Marguerite, several of the family who had found their life mates and were eating again frequented La Bonne Vie and adored the food there. Leigh had been ecstatic about gaining access to the recipes for the sauces she'd been creating in his stead last night. Although she'd been quick to assure him that it wouldn't prevent her and Lucian from frequenting the restaurant, claiming that food always tasted better when someone else cooked it.
"What goods do you transport?" she asked, drawing him from his thoughts.
Cale sighed to himself. This not-lying business could be quite tiresome. After taking a moment to debate, he continued vaguely, "These special clientele often have needs they wish filled that are not the usual items that can be bought at a grocery store."
"Please don't tell me you're talking prostitutes here," Alex said, tipping her head to look down at him with worry.
"No. Merely exotic beverages or unusual items," he assured her with a laugh. You didn't get more exotic than blood as a beverage, or the occasional coffin to sleep in for old-timers who disliked giving up the old ways. At least, they would certainly be exotic and unusual to mortals.
"Exotic beverages," she murmured, shaking herhead. Alex then wrinkled her nose, and asked, "And you really enjoy the business end of things?"
Cale chuckled at her expression. "It is not all as tedious as you seem to find it. There is the challenge of resolving problems, the excitement of new projects, the-"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll take your word for it," she interrupted with disgust. "Frankly, problem solving is not one of my strong suits ... unless it's a problem like reducing the acid content of a tomato-based sauce, or how to get a souffle perfect. I'm better with food than people. People tend to piss me off."
He glanced up at her with surprise. "But you own a restaurant. You must deal with people day in and day out."
Alex waved that suggestion away. "I deal with my kitchen staff, who are intelligent and good at what they do. I don't have to deal with whiny customers who order something they've never heard of like gazpacho, and then complain that it's cold, not knowing that's how it's to be served." She clucked with irritation. "And I certainly am not used to dealing with the ineptitude of salespeople who write down the wrong numbers and get completely inappropriate and unwanted goods sent to me like lime green carpet and paint, and screaming orange bathroom tiles."
"Did that happen?" Cale asked with surprise.
Alex set her roller in the tray with a sigh, and then stretched her back and nodded. "Why do you think I'm painting? I hired men to do this, but by the time I gotback from the old restaurant tonight, the wrong paint had been delivered and the painters had almost finished painting the walls with it," she explained with disgust and shook her head. "The walls looked like someone had puked green slime all over them."
Cale glanced at the unpainted portion of wall and noted the green tint to the white primer they were covering. He ran his roller through the paint in the tray again and continued painting as he asked, "And the green carpet?"
"The same deal. I had a project manager then and was working at the other restaurant training the new crew. I stopped in here to check on things after closing and found the floor carpeted in a sea of pea green rather than the shade I had chosen. I nearly had a heart attack, and it was too late at night to do a damned thing about it. I spent most of the next morning making calls trying to get it straightened out."
"Obviously you did," Cale commented, glancing down at the dark carpet visible through the drop cloth.
Alex snorted. "Yeah. But it cost me. The project manager had signed for the carpet, and it couldn't be returned because it had already been laid. Basically, I had to buy it all over again to get the right color installed."
"Is that when you fired the project manager?" Cale asked, shifting his tray further to the right to continue painting.
"No," Alex said on a sigh. "He said he'd forgotten what color it was I'd chosen and I hadn't shown him. Ithought it was just a one-off. So I bit the bullet on that one, but then the same thing happened with the tiles for the bathroom and kitchens."
"Screaming orange?" he asked, recalling her earlier words.
"Yes," she said with displeasure. "And that time I had reminded him of what color the tiles should be that morning. I even called the store the night before delivery and made the store clerk read the numbers out to me to be sure they matched the ones on my receipt."
"They did?" he asked.
"Oh yeah, so I went to work in the old restaurant sure everything would be fine, only to arrive to the orange tiles covering the kitchen and bathrooms that night."
"The project manager allowed them to be installed?" Cale asked with a frown.
Alex snorted with disgust. "Turns out my project manager was a raging alcoholic and apparently off-site more than he was on. That day he arrived with a hangover, let the installers in, then left them to sign for the tiles and went to pass out in my office." She shook her head with a sigh. "But I wasn't about to bite the bullet this time. The tiles I had ordered were a ridiculously expensive Italian import. They cost as much as everything else put together."
"What happened?" Cale asked.
Alex's mouth twisted bitterly. "The head tile guy was smarter than the carpet installers. He thought the orange might be wrong and tried to wake up the project manager, but he was out cold. So he double-checked the tile numbers on the receipt against the numbers onthe boxes before accepting them, and the numbers were the same so he just decided I had bad taste and went ahead with it."
She glanced down and smiled wryly when she saw Cale's surprised expression. "I checked the numbers myself, and they were indeed the same. It seems the salesman had mistakenly reversed two numbers when writing them down, and the orange tiles were what were on the order ... and I'd signed the damned thing without double-checking. I'd gotten exactly what I'd signed for."
Cale winced and guessed, "The supplier wouldn't replace them?"
Alex snorted and turned back to her work. "The orange ones had been installed. They had to be torn out and didn't come out intact ... and like I said, they were superexpensive. He wasn't taking that kind of loss if he didn't have to. Unfortunately, my signing the order with the wrong numbers got him off the hook. Legally, it was my fault. Buyer beware and all that."
"And now the paint," Cale murmured, frowning as he continued painting as well.
"Yes, well, after the tiles, I fired the project manager." She scowled at the wall, and admitted, "It was too late though. Replacing the tiles, even with less expensive ones, pretty much wiped me out financially and I couldn't afford to hire another manager. But I needed someone here to make sure there were no more errors like that. I certainly couldn't afford another mistake, so I promoted Peter to head chef two weeks ago, so that I could be here at all times and double-check everything."
"But?" Cale prompted, knowing something had gone wrong or they wouldn't now be repainting the walls.
"I ran over to the old restaurant today to pick up some papers, and the paint showed up a little early. Plus, I was much longer than I intended to be thanks to Peter quitting and my having to find a replacement. By the time I left you at the restaurant and got back here, more than four hours had passed." She shrugged unhappily. "In the meantime, the wrong paint had arrived and the men started painting."
"Ah," Cale breathed. He worked in silence for a minute, and then asked, "Are you having to swallow the expense for this mix-up as well?"
Alex shrugged unhappily. "Probably. The men signed for the paint. And it was used, or most of it was. The store manager said to bring back any paint that hadn't been opened, which is one can," she added dryly.
"I'm guessing you checked the receipt to be sure you'd ordered the right one this time?" he queried gently.
Alex nodded. "Both the billing receipt and the delivery invoice say White Sand."
"And the cans?" Cale asked.
Alex stopped painting and glanced down at him with surprise. She obviously hadn't thought to check the cans. Setting her roller in the tray, she hurried off the ladder and moved to the used and unopened cans of paint she'd set in the corner. Cale immediately set down his own roller and followed.
Pausing at her side, he quickly glanced over the cans. The lids to the used ones were off and lying ontheir tops on the drop cloth, but the full one still had its top on.
"That one says White Sand," he pointed out, gesturing to the unopened can. His gaze slid to the half-used can. The lid had been replaced, but a smudge of green paint covered the label. Cale knelt and began returning the other lids to their cans. A few also had their label obscured, but two were readable, and said "White Sand."
Cale shifted to take the unopened can in hand. Spotting the opener, he grabbed it, caught it under the lid and tore the top off the paint can. They stared at the thick green liquid revealed.
"It looks like someone mixed them wrong," Cale said quietly. "The store will have to reimburse you for this."
"And for the painter's time," she said, beaming at him as if he'd revealed a small fortune in gold dubloons in the can. Cale had no idea how much painters cost, but felt sure he hadn't saved her that much money. He suspected she was just happy to have at least one reversal of fortune, one instance where she wasn't having to bite the bullet and swallow the expense. She proved him right by saying, "Maybe this is a sign that my luck is changing. You may just be my good-luck charm, Cale. Thank you."
"My pleasure," Cale assured her, putting the lid back on the can. Straightening, he said, "I shall have it taken care of in the morning, if you like?"
Alex smiled wryly. "It would be worth it to hire you just to not have to deal with the store manager again."
"Then hire me," he said. When she hesitated, headded, "You could return to cooking and stop worrying about all of this."
"You're like the devil whispering in my ear with temptation," she said with amusement.
"Good. Hire me," he repeated firmly.
Alex hesitated. Finally, she frowned and shook her head. "You're from France."
Cale's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a problem?"
"Well, only to the government," she said dryly. "You won't have a SIN number."
"A sin number?" he asked with confusion.
"A Social Insurance Number," she explained. "They call it a social security number in the States. I'm not sure what they call it in France, but you can't work in Canada without a Canadian SIN card ... or at least a work Visa or something."
"I have a Social Insurance Number," he lied. Arranging for such things for immortals who wished to relocate to Canada was one of the things his companies did.
"How can you have a Social Insurance Number? You're from France," she said with confusion.
"I have dual citizenship," Cale said blandly, thinking he'd have to call his office and have his assistant arrange for a SIN card to be sent to him. Realizing she was staring at him wide-eyed, he added, "A good portion of my family lives here. It is why I came."
She tilted her head, "Is Mortimer family?"
"No. He works for my uncle, though," Cale said, and that just seemed to confuse her more.
"How can he work for your Uncle? Mortimer, Bricker, and Decker are in a band."
Cale stiffened. No one had told him that Alex thought the men were in a band. Smiling a bit stiffly, he said, "Work is perhaps the wrong term, but my uncle books their ... er ... concerts and appearances. They play where he sends them."
"Oh, you mean he's their agent or manager or whatever," Alex said nodding.
"Yes, that's it. He is their manager," Cale murmured, leading her back across the room. He picked up a roller, and then noting that she had finished painting the area where the ladder allowed her to reach, he took a moment to move the ladder for her.
"Thank you," Alex said as she began to climb back up it.
"De rien," Cale murmured, wondering how Lucian would feel about his new cover.
"So you're here visiting family," Alex commented as she set back to work, and then gave a slight laugh. "I'm glad to hear it. I thought maybe you weren't too bright, vacationing here during the coldest season."
Cale smiled faintly, but said, "I'm sure there is a lot to do here in the winter."
"Oh yeah," she agreed with amusement. "Ski, snowmobile, or huddle inside by a warm fire until the cold passes. I tend to prefer the latter."
"You don't like to ski?" he asked, wondering what she did for fun, or if she even took the time to do anything fun. He suspected Alex was a workaholic. Successful people usually were.
"I've never been," Alex admitted with a shrug. "I've always wanted to try, but never really had the opportunity or time ... Snowmobiling sounds like it might be fun too, but I've never tried that either."
Cale was thinking that perhaps he should arrange an outing for her to try both activities, when she said, "I'm sorry about roping you into work tonight when you're here to visit family."
"Not at all," he said at once. "I merely would have been sitting in my hotel tonight anyway." It wasn't true of course. Cale probably would have been having a powwow with Marguerite and Lucian, and most likely Sam and Mortimer, trying to figure out a different way to get close to Alex. In fact, her bad luck had actually been his good fortune ... even if he couldn't cook.
"I doubt you would have been sitting in a hotel," Alex said at once. "Your family is probably eager to see you and ..." She paused and quit painting to frown down at him. "Working for me would prevent your seeing them."
"They all have jobs," he said quickly. "Working would fill my time while they were unavailable."
"Oh, yes, I hadn't thought of that," she said, but her hand had slowed and she glanced down to ask, "You're staying in a hotel rather than with your relatives?"
Cale chuckled at the question. "I had several offers to stay with relatives, but since most of them just got married, I thought they might not really appreciate my intruding."
"Most of them just got married?" Alex glanced down at him sharply. "You aren't related to that family Sam is always talking about, are you? The Argeneaus? Theyjust had some big multicouple wedding in New York last weekend."
Cale nodded. "I flew to New York for the wedding, stayed in the city for several days to do some business and see a Broadway show or two, and then flew up here."
"When are you flying home?" she asked.
Cale paused. He hadn't actually set a date. He'd left his return date open because he hadn't been sure how long he'd wish to stay. He'd wanted to look into business opportunities here while visiting. Mind you, he hadn't expected to be taking on a job in such short order but was happy to go with what fate was presently offering if it allowed him a chance to win Alex. The question was, how long would that take?
Frowning, he rubbed his stomach absently as he tried to figure it out. He knew mortals expected a courtship. But how long would that take? A week? Two weeks? Months?
"Two months," he answered, just to be on the safe side.
"You can take that much time away from your businesses?" Alex asked with surprise.
"Good bosses understand that working themselves to exhaustion does no one any good," he said meaningfully, glancing at his watch. When Alex grimaced at the gentle reprimand, he added, "I have good employees working for me, ones I trust to handle the day-today issues. They will call if anything important comes up, but otherwise, probably won't even miss me."
"Huh," Alex muttered. "It must be nice."
"You have good people working for you," Cale said quietly. "I suspect Peter wasn't, but Bev is a jewel, and Bobby and Rebecca seem quite competent."
"They are," she agreed. "Bev has been a surprise. She held Bobby's job before, and I've always known she was good, but she's slid into the sous-chef position as smoothly as if she's always been doing it. I actually considered promoting her to head chef and looking for her replacement."
"Why didn't you?" Cale asked.
Alex hesitated, then admitted wryly, "Because I'm hoping to return to the position of head chef myself eventually and would feel bad about demoting her when I did."
"Ah," Cale said with understanding. Rubbing his stomach, he paused to peer at their work. He was finished with the lower portion of the wall all the way to the end and ready to start on the next wall. Alex was a little further behind, but that was a good thing. He could get started on the next wall and be out of the way of her ladder by the time she got there. He shifted his tray to get started.
"So, what got you into cooking?" Cale asked as he set back to work.
Alex smiled faintly and admitted, "Believe it or not, it was my grandfather."
"Really?" he asked with interest and glanced around to see her nod.
"He was a cook in the army when he was young, and then a line cook when he came back. He loved to cook and sort of infected me with it." She paused to run herroller in paint and then said, "He was my best friend."
Cale raised an eyebrow. "Your grandfather?"
"Yeah." Alex laughed at his expression, and then shrugged. "My family moved every year until I was about ten. It made it hard to make and keep friends."
"Why did your family move so much?"
Alex blew her breath out, but said, "My dad was a mechanic who wanted his own shop and was also handy around the house, and my mom was a secretary with a good eye for interior design who supported his dream. The year I was born, they bought an old heap of a house, spent a year fixing it up around their jobs, and then sold it and bought another. They did that every year until I was about ten, when they finally had enough money to start Dad's garage.
"That's when Gramps, my mother's father, moved in. Mom and Dad worked long hours to make a go of the garage, and Gramps had just retired. His health wasn't very good, so he moved in to help out with us kids. I have two younger sisters," she paused to explain. "Sam you've met, and the baby of the family is Jo, who's traveling in Europe right now with her boyfriend."
"Anyway, the years Gramps lived with us were the best ever," she said with a fond smile. "Every day after school, we'd come home to find him whistling as he pulled cookies or some other small treat from the oven. He'd say, 'Do your homework, girls, and you can have one ... But only one each. We don't want to spoil your appetite for dinner.' " She chuckled. "We used to rush through our homework in record time, and then he'd bring the treats out and sit down with us at the table,and we'd all eat one with a glass of milk while we told him about our day."
"He usually sent us to watch television then while he started dinner, but I'd leave Jo and Sam watching cartoons and go into the kitchen to bother Gramps. I'd ask what he was doing, and why he was putting this or that in, and he'd explain patiently and give me a small task to do. By the time I started high school, he was letting me do larger tasks and even letting me cook while he assisted me. I've loved cooking ever since, and when I graduated from high school, I decided to train as a chef."
"Your grandfather must have been proud," Cale said, and frowned when he saw sadness claim her face.
"I'm afraid he never knew. He died of a heart attack toward the end of my last year at high school."
"I'm sorry," Cale said quietly, absently rubbing a hand over his stomach.
"So am I." Her tone was solemn. "He was a wonderful man."
"What about your other grandparents?" Cale asked.
"Oh." Alex sighed. "My father's parents died before I was born, and my mother's mother, Gramps's wife, died of brain cancer when I was little. I don't even remember her. Gramps was it."
"Well, I'm sure he would have been proud to know you went on to become a chef."
"He would have been bursting with it," she said with a laugh. "Especially since I trained in Paris. He always used to tell me Paris produced the world's best chefs. He would have been impressed that I went there."
"You trained in Paris?" Cale stopped painting at the news that she'd been so close geographically so many years ago. If not for fate, he might have met her then.
"Nothing but Paris would do," she assured him on a wry laugh. "I was determined to be the best chef in the world."
"Did you like Paris?" he asked, wondering if she would like his home.
"I loved it," Alex assured him. "The smells, the sights, people watching ... It's the only place I know where absolutely everyone seems to be wandering around with baguettes in hand." She grinned and admitted, "I was almost sorry to come home when I was finished training."
"But you did," he prompted when she fell silent.
"Oh yes. I managed to get a job as a line cook in a good restaurant, then worked my way up to sous-chef, but my dream job was head chef. It probably would have taken another four or five years to find that kind of position anywhere if I hadn't opened La Bonne Vie."
"Did you make the money for that the same way your parents did? Renovating houses? "
"No. I'm neither handy like my dad, nor do I have a good eye like my mom," she said. "I started La Bonne Vie with my share of the inheritance when my parents died in a car accident."
"I'm sorry, but I'm sure they'd be pleased with your success. The one is doing so well you're opening a second," Cale praised.
"Yeah, if I don't go bankrupt before opening night," Alex said dryly. She glanced down and suddenly asked, "Are you all right?"
The question and her concerned tone of voice made Cale look up to see her backing down the ladder.
"Jesus, you look awful," she murmured, stopping beside him. "You've been rubbing your stomach intermittently for the last little while, and I thought something might be wrong, but you're pale as death, Cale."
He glanced down to see that he was indeed rubbing his stomach. He was also suddenly aware of the gnawing sensation troubling him. He needed to feed, Cale realized unhappily. He hadn't fed since ... well, actually he'd only had the one bag at the enforcer house in the last forty-eight hours. Cale had unexpectedly entertained a couple of cousins in his hotel in New York last week and had used up more than he'd planned during his stay. His supply had run out yesterday, but he'd decided that rather than send for more, he could hold out until he got to the hotel in Toronto, where a cooler of blood should be waiting.
Unfortunately, Cale hadn't yet made it to the hotel. He'd received a message from Marguerite asking him to stop in once he'd landed and had headed straight to her home after claiming his rental car. As it turned out, that had been something of an ambush. He'd arrived to find Marguerite, her husband Julius, and Lucian and Leigh waiting for him.
Cale hadn't even gotten through the door before Marguerite was telling him about her certainty that Alex was the one. He'd heard her out, taking in Lucian's solemn face and crossed arms the whole while, and had known instinctively that Lucian was there to back Marguerite and would just pester him until he agreed to meeting the woman. That being the case, the first chance he'd gotten to get in a word, Cale had agreed to go to the enforcer house and arrange to meet the woman. He suspected he'd surprised everyone by agreeing so easily, but the moment he had, Marguerite had insisted he should head over at once. Lucian had spoken up then, giving him a quick rundown of the people there. He'd then given him directions before sending him on his way to the enforcer house, where he'd managed to get in one bag of blood before being hustled off to the restaurant.
That one bag hadn't been nearly enough, he acknowledged as Alex raised a hand to feel his forehead. The gnawing sensation in Cale's gut immediately intensified in response to her scent. He definitely needed to feed, he thought, and didn't realize he'd said it aloud until Alex frowned and said, "We just ate."
"It was a very small burger," he muttered and moved away, ostensibly to set down his roller, but really to get away from Alex and the blood he could actually smell pulsing under her skin.
"Yes it was," she said almost apologetically. "I always get the little cheeseburgers rather than a proper burger. It's those reconstituted onions. I really like them. Still-""And it's the only thing I've eaten all day," he interrupted as he straightened.
Her eyebrows flew up, and she was suddenly moving. "Okay. Time to go."
"You don't have to come with me," Cale said with alarm when she grabbed her purse and coat.
Alex shrugged her coat on. "How long have you been in Toronto?"
"Today," he admitted with confusion.
"That's what I thought. So you don't know where the nearest twenty-four-hour grocery store is. I do."
"Yes, but I can find my way back to that restaurant we visited earlier," Cale assured her, thinking he'd make a quick run to the hotel, drop off his suitcase, grab a bag or two of blood, and hit the drive-thru again on his way back. He'd enjoyed the food they'd had earlier and wouldn't mind more of it.
"No way," Alex said firmly. "There's absolutely no nutritional value to that stuff, and you haven't eaten all day. We'll go to the grocery store and gather the fixings for a nice healthy picnic."
"But I thought I'd stop and check into my hotel on the way back and drop off my luggage," he said desperately.
Alex turned to peer at him wide-eyed. "You haven't even checked into your hotel yet? "
"No. I'm afraid not. I went straight to my aunt's from the airport, then on to the ... er ... well Mortimer's place, and then wound up at your restaurant and now here," he finished.
"Oh, well we should head straight to the hotel first then, and we should get moving. They could give your room away," she said worriedly, rushing out of the room.
"Right," Cale muttered wearily, collecting and shrugging into his own jacket. This complicated things.