Monday morning, Kerry took the elevator at LifeStyleXer directly to the floor where Harry Chapman’s office was located next to the glass-enclosed conference room. It wasn’t even eight a.m. yet, but instinct told her that with an IPO deadline looming, the company’s CEO would be at his desk when the markets in New York opened three hours ahead of California time. She knocked at his open door, apologized for interrupting, and was bidden to take a seat.
Chapman, a trim man who looked to be in his early fifties, listened without interruption as she swiftly explained her sudden and unexpected offer to live on the Montisi Olive Ranch and—in exchange for a roof over her head—lend her talents as a part-time chef and food consultant to this enterprise.
She did her best not to lose her nerve when she saw that the CEO’s features had grown grave.
Before he could respond, she hastened to add, “Finding somewhere decent to live in San Francisco in my price range is practically impossible. And, actually, I think my not sitting in an office cubicle all day and being part of the world of everything I’ll be writing about—as I did with the first few posts you seem to like so much—will greatly enhance the quality of my blog and keep driving traffic to the parent website. I’m happy to work in the city two days a week if you’ll cover a room at the W on Mondays and Tuesdays.”
She nearly winced when he raised an eyebrow at that suggestion, but plunged ahead with the proposed arrangement she hoped he’d agree to.
“Honestly, Mr. Chapman,” she rushed to assure him, “working among the artisanal California food producers can only be good for this company. I think my living in Petaluma two-thirds of the week will be good for both our causes.”
She held her breath, watching Chapman mull over her long speech. She wondered if she had just made the stupidest move in her life.
The CEO began to tap one end of his pen on his desk.
“Okay,” he said with a final flick. “Here’s what I’ll agree to do: The company will cover two days a week at the W Hotel and we’ll keep our arrangement with you—minus fifty percent of that weekly salary Ms. Silverstein agreed to pay you. I’ll keep two-thirds of your stock options intact—if the number of page views on your blog remains as high as it is today until LifeStyleXer goes public in a few weeks and, after that time, restore them to the full five-hundred thousand dollars if the page views remain at least eighty percent of that figure, on average, for the next two years.”
After only a few seconds’ hesitation she said, “Fair enough,” and then added with a frisson of trepidation, “And can this new agreement be drawn up as a separate contract from Charlie Miller’s? He’s really much more suited than I am to managing those ten new food bloggers I’m recruiting... and, by the way,” she told Chapman parenthetically, “I already lined up four good ones at the food writers’ dinner I attended at Montisi Ranch over the weekend.”
“Well, that’s excellent news,” Chapman said, appearing pleased. “Good idea. I’ll make a note to have Ms. Silverstein tell him he’ll manage the national food blog team once you’ve recruited the remaining six.”
Kerry could barely keep from grinning. “Also, Mr. Chapman, I believe that Ms. Silverstein has assigned Mr. Miller some tech projects, as well. His job, now, has very little relation to what you’ve hired me for, which is why I’d like my contract to be separate.”
Harry Chapman paused and appeared to be considering her words carefully.
“Yes,” he agreed, nodding his assent. “You and Mr. Miller are fulfilling different roles now that you’re here working for us. I’ll let HR know what we’ve decided today, and have Legal draw up your new agreement.”
“That’s terrific.”
Chapman pointed to his computer’s screen. “By the way, Ms. Hannigan, my wife is a huge fan of your blog, and has been ever since you started writing it. She made that marvelous dill sauce recipe of yours for the salmon we served Sunday night and she loved the second blog you posted this morning about what to plant in an edible, organic backyard kitchen garden.” He laughed. “It’s a good thing I like vegetables.”
“T-that’s wonderful!” Kerry stammered. “Thank you so much for telling me.”
He leaned forward and tapped his pen once more on the desk. “What you’ve been writing about is exactly what we needed to add to the mix of what we’re doing around here. In fact, it’s very important to the overall approach we’re taking with the company leading up to the IPO. So, good job!”
Kerry felt color infuse her cheeks at hearing such high praise and rose from her chair, anxious to depart Chapman’s office before he had any second thoughts.
“Thank you so much for seeing me this morning without an appointment,” she said, reaching across his desk to shake his hand. “And you have my absolute promise to work harder than ever to merit your wife’s and this company’s support.”
Harry Chapman nodded absently and began typing notes into his computer that Kerry could only assume were the details of the new bargain they’d just struck.
“Check your email later today,” he confirmed, not looking up. “You can print out, sign, and deliver the new contract directly back to me.”
“Will do,” Kerry said over her shoulder, exiting his office as quickly as she could before she ran into any vice presidents who might be wandering the halls.
***
Kerry slipped into her Aeron chair inside her cubicle, pulled out her cellphone, and texted Ren the news that her negotiations with LifeStyleXer had concluded, resulting in everything she wanted in order to be able to move to the ranch as a Montisi Olive Ranch food and marketing consultant—and “Jeremy’s sous chef,” she added, for good measure.
Within seconds, an electronic message popped on her screen.
Totally delighted. Pick you and luggage up at seven and take you to dinner at Poggio’s in Sausalito to celebrate on the way home?
She felt a fluttering and glanced at her right hand, only to realize that the feeling of butterflies was vibrating inside her own chest.
Perfect, she texted him back. Then she realized Ren hadn’t mentioned the situation with Sara. She’d ask him when he picked her up at the W later.
By close of business later that same day, Kerry received her new contract and delivered it—signed—back to Harry Chapman’s desk. Just as she was leaving, she nearly groaned out loud at the sight of Beverly Silverstein briskly walking down the hall in her direction. Kerry glanced at Harry Chapman’s door that she’d left ajar at his request.
“You’ve been meeting with Harry?” Beverly demanded with a sharp edge to her tone. “What about?”
“Just summoned for a little meet-and-greet,” Kerry said with a deliberate shrug. For some reason, she was no longer intimidated by the woman and continued to walk past her. Over her shoulder she added, “Turns out, Mr. Chapman’s wife is a big fan of my blog. Isn’t that great?”
Before Beverly could say anything else, Kerry stepped into the elevator that would take her down to the floor where she could write a couple more blogs in her despised cubicle with the knowledge she would only be sitting in it two days a week.
At ten minutes before seven p.m., she checked out of the W Hotel and made a reservation for a single room there, every Monday and Tuesday night “for the foreseeable future,” as she informed the desk clerk. Ren was waiting in the Mercedes at the entrance when she wheeled her suitcase through the doors and halted at the curb.
“Is this all you have?” he marveled.
“This is it, at least until my stuff from New York arrives,” she replied. “I guess I’ll have to put most of it in storage until we see how everything works out.”
Ren grabbed a hold of her wheelie to store it in the trunk of his car and grinned.
“It’s going to work out just fine.”
“What’s the latest about Sara?” she said, hesitating to get into his car.
“Tell you at dinner.”
Once again, Kerry wondered if she weren’t about to trade the problems of dealing with one difficult female for another. As they headed across downtown San Francisco towards the Golden Gate Bridge, she longed to ask Ren exactly what, if anything, had been decided. Then, she resolutely pushed all thoughts of the yawning unknown from her mind and gazed at the dark expanse of water on both sides of the bridge. She’d made her decision, and come what may, she’d power through it.
Once on the Marin County side, Ren took the first exit off Highway 1 and wound his way down a steep incline and into the maritime village of Sausalito. Lights winked at her from the cluster of dwellings that climbed the hills above the Bay as if they were part of a landscape in Portofino, Italy.
Ren left his car with the valet, took Kerry’s arm, and guided her into Poggio’s Trattoria on Bridgeway, Sausalito’s principal thoroughfare. Close by was a series of piers where several luxury yachts and the ferries to San Francisco docked, along with more modest sailing craft.
“What a pretty place!” she exclaimed, pointing to several art galleries and shops they passed whose windows displayed chic clothing and all manner of handicrafts.
“It’s a town of about seven thousand, full of artists and serious sailors,” he explained. “Sausalito is fighting to hold on to its uniqueness against an onslaught of digital millionaires who are buying up houses here, right and left.”
“I can certainly understand why they might want to live here. What an amazing waterfront town, and yet so close to the city.”
Once inside Poggio’s, they were led immediately to an intimate leather-clad booth whose high sides bookended a table with starched linen and a forest of stemmed glasses and handsome cutlery.
Ren ordered a plate of bruschetta and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.
“Shouldn’t it be Prosecco?” she teased, referring to an Italian sparkling wine.
“This calls for busting the budget one last time,” he replied and then fell oddly silent as their waiter poured the French champagne into slender, crystal flutes.
When they were alone again, Ren raised his glass.
“To you and our new venture,” he toasted her, “and I can’t wait to hear how you pulled this off!”
With some pride, Kerry described her session with CEO Harry Chapman and the fact he’d agreed to a renegotiated employment package.
“Chapman seems to be a very decent guy, and he actually listened when I explained what I wanted to do and why. Luckily,” she said with a laugh, lifting a piece of toast with tomato, basil and drizzled olive oil from the plate that sat on the table between them, “his wife is a fan of my blog and he appears to listen to her, as well!”
“Sounds like you convinced him to let you keep your stock options.”
“Two-thirds of them to begin with, and half my current salary, which seemed fair, since I’m not available to do much else but my blogs for them.” She briefly recounted the rest of the CEO’s changes to her employment package, concluding, “If I hang around past the two year period, I get more stock.” She smiled, and added, “But I fully expect to be working full time at the ranch by then, so that won’t happen.”
“You are the best, Kerry Hannigan,” Ren said, smiling back. “Not bitten by the Big Bucks Bug, are you? What a gal...”
With a shrug, she popped the bruschetta into her mouth, slowly began to chew, and closed her eyes, savoring the explosion of flavors. Then her lids flew open.
“Poggio uses your olive oil, doesn’t it? This is one fabulous concoction they’ve just served us!”
Ren inclined his head modestly. Kerry took a deep breath. Despite her brave words about her future at the ranch, she couldn’t seem to stop worrying about Sara Lang. The truth was, the woman was a problem for her as well as for Ren, and she wanted an idea what she would be facing by living in Petaluma.
“So tell me,” she asked. “What’s the latest about Sara? Did you two have a chance to talk since yesterday?”
“We did,” Ren confirmed. “It wasn’t a very pleasant conversation, but I got her to agree to move on within the month, whether or not she’s found a new job.”
Kerry supposed that was progress, if not perfection.
“One problem, though,” he added.
“What?” she asked, wondering what trick Sara might be concealing up her sleeve.
“We added a dinner on Tuesday for visiting experts from the UC Davis Olive Oil Center.”
“That’s where they test products for purity and grade and publish their findings—to the dismay of the cheaters,” Kerry confirmed, “the ones claiming extra virginity for products that are actually of a lower grade?”
“Exactly. It’s a big deal, and with Jeremy forced to stay off his feet most of the day, would you be willing to take charge, with José and Sara assisting? I’ll help, too,” he assured her.
“And protect me if Sara suddenly decides to find a new use for the kitchen knives?” she asked, only half in jest.
“I won’t leave you two alone for an instant,” he assured her.
“Well, if Jeremy can give us both directions from the couch, she’ll probably behave, don’t you think?”
“Let us hope. You and I will just have to work on marketing and product development issues later in the week.”
Kerry groaned inwardly at the thought of dealing with the quarrelsome woman under the pressured circumstances of producing a stellar meal for such an important group, but then she reminded herself that Sara would be gone in a month.
“Despite my concerns about your sister-in-law,” she mused, “I might as well admit to you that hanging out in the kitchen is the part of the job I most look forward to.”
“Slaving over a hot stove?” he asked skeptically. “Some kind of feminist writer you are.”
“It’s pure heaven to me!” she assured him, laughing. “I’m excited about the other things you want me to do, and I don’t want Jeremy to think I’m trying to replace him, but I just love that commercial kitchen of yours, and the vegetable garden right outside, to say nothing of the wonderful outdoor oven you’ve built. It’s just that—” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “It’s just that it’s the perfect combination of everything I’ve dreamed I wanted in my life.”
Ren and Kerry locked glances and once again since meeting this man, their surroundings seemed to blur around the edges and all she could manage to do was gaze across the table as currents of unexpected elation filled her chest.
Just then, the waiter arrived with steaming plates of perfectly cooked al dente pasta coated with a rich lamb Ragu sauce for Ren, and another that was laden with freshly steamed mussels in a garlic-laced broth for Kerry.
The moment of intimacy was broken, but thoughts of Ren’s nearness and the emotion that appeared to have passed between them lingered as she studiously focused on twirling her fork into the long threads of linguine placed before her.
Later, in the half hour it took to drive from Sausalito to the ranch, Ren outlined his strategy for the next business quarter. Before Kerry knew it, his car was turning left, past the ranch gate and down the hard-packed dirt road. Prego and Scusi bounded down the path, tails wagging wildly, as Ren collected her luggage from the trunk and led her up a gentle hill, past the large greenhouse situated twenty yards beyond the kitchen.
They approached a whitewashed, batten-board bungalow perched on the low rise, its two front windows anchored by dark green wooden flower boxes planted with squat holly bushes. Their bright red berries reminded Kerry that Christmas was a mere two weeks away. Could she sneak back to New York for two or three days and surprise Angelica, she wondered, as she noticed that lights glowed from the inside of the cottage, warm and welcoming.
“Here we are,” Ren announced, as he put a key in the lower portion of a forest green double Dutch door and pushed it open. Kerry heard the pride in his voice as he pointed out the stone fireplace, updated kitchenette, single bedroom, and a bathroom sporting a claw-and-ball tub.
“My grandmother used to come out here to paint in this little cottage.” He gestured toward the windows. “She said it has the kind of daylight that inspires creativity... so I thought it might be just the place for a writer. José spent all day getting it ready, and I got the tech guy out to install a router so you can have Wi-Fi up here.”
“Oh... that’s fantastic!” Kerry replied, clapping her hands.
She followed him further into the living room where she noted the stacked logs awaiting a match to light a cozy fire. A small, round table for two took up one corner, and a hand-woven rug graced the hearth.
“What a little jewel box of a place!” she exclaimed. “And that’s the perfect spot for my laptop computer,” she said excitedly, pointing to the little table. “I can crank out eight-hundred words at a shot within view of gorgeous olive groves climbing up the hill!”
“So, it’s not too small?”
“Oh, no...” she said on a long breath, turning in a circle. “It’s perfect! This is a dream cottage for someone like me.” She turned toward Ren and added gratefully, “I can’t quite believe I get to live here!” As she spoke, Ren’s steady gaze made her pulse speed up in dizzying fashion. “Thank you so much, Ren. I feel as if I’m in some dream...”
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Kerry felt in that instant that there was a strange force field drawing them inexorably closer to one another.
Finally Ren said, “I’d better go see how Jeremy is doing.” He turned away and strode toward the Dutch door whose top section was open, offering a glimpse of the greenhouse below. “He supervised José and Sara’s putting together a farm-to-table dinner tonight that we served to a small group of local restaurateurs and I want to hear how he thinks it went.”
He paused at the door and although the distance between them had widened, Kerry continued to sense the same magnetic pull as before. Somehow, it seemed the most natural thing in the world when he asked, “Want to come with me?”
Kerry nodded as a little ripple of happiness skittered down her spine.
When Ren pushed open the screen door to the commercial kitchen, Jeremy was sprawled on the leather couch. José stood at the sink, rinsing the last of the dishes and putting them in the heat sterilizer, while Sara was sitting at the table with a large glass of cabernet at her side.
“Hi, all. How’d it go tonight?” Ren asked.
Jeremy looked up and greeted them wearily, “Hey there... and welcome, Kerry. We sure could have used you tonight. It’s going to be so great having you here.”
Sara was staring sullenly into her glass.
“Oh? What happened?” Ren inquired.
Jeremy darted a glance at Sara and shrugged.
“I’m obviously not operating on all cylinders right now, and it just felt as if our timing was off. José was great following my instructions on making most of the food, but...” He paused and addressed Kerry. “You probably know what I’m talking about. It was one of those nights when we just weren’t in the zone, you know what I mean?”
Before Kerry could respond, Sara spoke up with an unpleasant edge to her voice.
“You mean I wasn’t in the zone,” she mimicked. “Well, what do you expect, Jeremy? I had to do the desserts and make the salad and serve and clear—which is usually José’s job!” She shot a sharp look in Kerry’s direction. “Of course, you probably think that everything will magically be peachy keen, now that you’ve ridden to the rescue.”
“Kerry’s work the day Jeremy got sick speaks for itself,” Ren said, his exasperation evident, “and you could probably learn something if you’d drop the attitude and just pay attention.”
“Oh, really? I’m the problem? Just wait a while,” Sara predicted darkly. “I googled the words ‘Kerry Hannigan, chef.’” Her eyes narrowing, she pointed her index finger toward Kerry but addressed her employer. “The only paid cooking job this fraud’s ever had that came up in the search results was at a sleazy pub in New York that her parents owned prior to her getting her high-and-mighty degree from the CIA.” She affected an innocent shrug. “I don’t get it... why is she here, Ren, unless you’ve got something else going on you’d like me to break to my parents who still think you’re in mourning over their other daughter.”
Ren’s expression was a study in neutrality, although there was no mistaking the anger in his tone.
“Sara,” he said, “I hate to sound like one of your parents, but you’d better just say goodnight. Then, I’d like to see you in the office at nine o’clock, sharp, capisce?”
Adding to the acute discomfort of everyone in the room, Sara stonily remained sitting where she was. Kerry wanted nothing more than to grab her suitcases out of the cottage on the hill and head straight back to San Francisco.
What in the world had she gotten herself into?
Uncomfortable silence continued to poison the air. At length, it was Kerry, herself, who ended it.
“Well, on that happy note, I think I’ll leave you all.” She addressed the exhausted-looking chef. “I’ve been hired here to help on the business side, but call on me, Jeremy, whenever you need a hand. I am more than happy to offer it, including tomorrow night’s dinner for the UC Davis Olive Oil folks.” She turned to face Sara. “I can understand how my being hired has upset you, but I am not the enemy, and you’re only hurting yourself by behaving like this.”
And before anyone in the kitchen could say another word, Kerry was out the door and sprinting toward her little bungalow, its two windows glowing a warm welcome in the absolute stillness of the surrounding hills.
***
By the time Kerry reached her new front step, she heard the kitchen door down the hill open and slam shut and two angry, but indistinguishable voices floated on the evening air. She turned around in time to see Ren and Sara gesticulating at each other and walking swiftly along the lower path in the direction of the ranch office.
Ren had probably reached his limit and Kerry wondered what he would—or could—do to resolve the situation any sooner than scheduled. She could only pray that eventually things would settle down and she could begin what she hoped was a completely new chapter in a wonderful lifestyle that had somehow fallen into her lap.
She turned her back on the drama unfolding in Ren’s office and entered her new living quarters. Within minutes, she had unzipped her suitcase and hung her clothes in the bedroom closet. Her next task was to crank out two more blog assignments, which she did over the next hour and a half, despite her thoughts occasionally wandering down the hill. She’d brushed her teeth and was about to get ready for bed when she heard a knock on the door. Ren, himself, stood on the cement front step with a grim expression, his hands in his jeans pockets.
“That was bad,” he said without preamble. “I told her after you left that she has two weeks to find herself another place to live. Then I called her parents in her presence and asked them to alert Sara’s shrink and make arrangements to house their daughter as soon as they can. I’ve had it.”
“But what about poor Jeremy? José’s been great, but—”
“Plan B,” Ren cut in. “Like you said, you’ll be Jeremy’s backup, if that’s okay with you, and the marketing side of things will definitely have to wait, because I fully understand that your first priority is pumping out those blogs and there won’t be time—”
“As of today,” she interrupted him, “my first priority is all of it.” She was buoyed by the fact that Ren hadn’t hesitated to make such a tough decision. “And we wouldn’t be able to make progress with any of the things you want to do around here unless you ordered Sara Lang to go her merry way, as you just did.” She reached out and briefly touched his arm. “I realize that there are probably many layers to all of this that I can’t possibly know about, but I truly appreciate what you just did. Keep the faith, Ren,” she added, echoing the Claddagh’s earlier message. “We’ll figure all this out.”
“Well, all I can say to that is, thank God I made that delivery to Amphora Nueva in Berkeley last Friday.” Without warning, he reached across the threshold and took her into his arms, pulling her close. “Otherwise,” he whispered against her ear, “I might never have met you, and then where would I be?”
Kerry marveled at how natural it felt to be enveloped in Ren’s embrace and she leaned into his torso, luxuriating in the mere feel of her cheek resting against his broad chest. At length, she pulled away and tilted her head to be able to look at him.
“If we hadn’t met last week, you’d be in a lot less complicated situation than you’re in right now,” she chided. “But since we can’t turn back the clock, how about you step into my parlor and we close the door so that every ranch hand on the place doesn’t have such a grandstand view?”
Ren didn’t break his hold of her, but simply moved the two of them a few feet past the front door and pushed it closed with his foot. His hands then framed her face, his fingers threading through her hair, sending cascading warmth up and down her neck.
“I have wanted to kiss you from that first day I watched you close your eyes and run your tongue over that cube of French bread soaked in my olive oil.”
“Good food is a sensual experience, don’t you think,” she whispered, “just like—”
“Oh... yes...” he murmured, stopping their exchange as he settled his mouth on hers.
His lips were soft, then insistent, then demanding, and Kerry suddenly wondered if she’d crossed some desert landscape in the past week to find a cool, comforting oasis where she could drink her fill. His arousal pressed against her midsection, signaling that the magnetic pull she was certain they’d both been sensing since the day they met had finally culminated in electrifying sensations coursing through every cell in her body.
When, at length, they allowed an inch of space between them, Kerry inhaled a shaky breath.
“This is pretty insane, don’t you think? I haven’t even slept one night on your ranch and look at us!”
“It’s crazy good,” he said, his voice ragged. “I’ve never felt this... this need to be so close... wanting another person to be part of my life... being with someone who makes me feel as if I have a life...”
“I feel it too,” she replied, barely above a whisper, “but really, Ren, it hasn’t even been a week since I found out about Charlie and—”
“Who cares about them?” He seized her by her two shoulders and looked as if he was almost angry.
“I don’t care about them, either,” she insisted, “but I care about what’s happening to us. How can we know this is real? Talk about crazy!” she added with a rueful smile. “We need to slow down. We’re supposed to be boss and employee, remember—”
“We’re partners! I felt it that first day when Jeremy got sick and you—”
It was Kerry’s turn to cup Ren’s face between her hands.
“I felt it that day, too,” she acknowledged, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him briefly on the lips. “But we’ve only worked together one day. Let’s take this partner business... and everything, really... in steps, or you’ll scare me to death.”
“Well, we can’t have that...” he mumbled, pulling her toward him again and nibbling her ear. “Okay then... so... since I’m still the boss, I say—let’s go in there,” he declared, nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom.
“Ren! I’m serious! I want to savor what seems to be happening here...”
“You mean this?” he said, gently cupping one breast and strafing her stiffened nipple with his thumb through her clothing. “Or, do you mean plain old falling in love? Because I think that’s definitely what’s going on here.”
“You do?” she whispered, wondering if she could keep her balance should he touch her other breast.
“It’s happened,” he stated flatly. “At least to me, it has, and if I don’t get out of here in the next five seconds, I might just drag you into Nona Concetta’s spare bedroom and have my way with you on top of that quilt in there she stitched... which would feel pretty insane.”
He leaned forward and kissed her again with a ferocity that left Kerry feeling as if she were a marked woman. Then he abruptly turned and left the cottage.
She stood at the open door, watching him stride down the hill toward the low-slung farmhouse where he worked and slept. The instant his tall figure disappeared into the gloom, she felt her ring finger pulse with warmth.
Know thy heart, indeed, Kerry m’girl...