That had been important then, when all Kaitlyn wanted was to feel safe as she rebuilt her career. Her entire life, she’d had one dream. To go to a respected culinary institute, get an entry-level position in a highly respected kitchen, and work her way to the top. She’d checked off the first two items on the checklist with relative ease, but she hadn’t been expecting the toxic, misogynistic atmosphere that New York kitchens seemed to pump out of the air vents. She’d learned to deal with it, though. After a few unwanted encounters that ended with the tip of her knife resting inches from their liver, the men who didn’t seem to understand the word “no” learned how far they could take a joke with her.
And then one forgot.
She’d left the kitchen, and it hadn’t taken long to rebuild herself as a cookbook developer—a job she’d fallen into because her best friend, Marjorie, was a freelance food photographer—but it had taken considerably longer to rebuild her confidence. She could have never loved the poet, and maybe it was unfair to have wasted his time pretending she could. But she saw now that he had been a crucial step between Le Fontaine and Landon. He’d cleansed her palate, so to speak.
Not that she had a taste for Landon. Kait groaned into the couch and flipped over onto her back. Oh, what was the point of lying to herself? Of course she did. And if things continued on like they were, he was going to take a bite out of her that she might not be able to recover from. He was a James, after all.
Without fully thinking through what she was doing, Kaitlyn dug her cell phone out of her purse and—after warning her fingers not to dial Landon—called Marjorie.
“Kait?” Marjorie picked up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
“Does something have to be wrong for me to want to call my best friend?”
There was a pause as Marjorie checked the time. “You know it’s 1 am, right?”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Of course I was sleeping. As I may have mentioned, it’s 1 am.”
“Do you want to come sleep here?”
Another pause. “Is this a booty call, Kait? Did you dial the wrong person?”
Yes.
“No,” Kait pushed herself into a sitting position. “I have an apartment with two bedrooms in New Canton. Remember, you said you’d take the pictures for the LeClarks cookbook?”
“Yes,” Marjorie said sleepily, “but then you said you couldn’t afford me, and that’s why I gave you that crash course in photography and told you I’d edit them.”
“Things have changed,” Kait said. “We got a new investor. He’s loaded. Come now.”
“Are you drunk?”
Yes.
“No.”
“Kait,” Marjorie said warningly. “I’d be thrilled to come. But I have bills, so this loaded investor had better be on board with paying my fee.”
“I guarantee he is.” Kaitlyn heard Marjorie get out of bed and rustle through her datebook.
“You’re in luck. I have to finish reshoots tomorrow for The Heart and Hand, but I can come the day after because I don’t start my next job for two weeks. Have him book me a bus ticket.”
“You’re the best, Mar.”
Gray opened his front door and said, “This is becoming a bad habit, Kait.” Then he got a good look at her and added, “You look like roadkill.”
“I didn’t sleep well,” Kait muttered. “Make me some coffee with that stupid science experiment on your counter, please.”
While she slumped on the couch, Gray made them each a cup.
“It’s three buttons, in case you were wondering,” he said, sitting in the armchair across from her and putting her mug on the coffee table. “Literally one more than your Keurig, but without the environment-ruining benefits.”
“I buy reusable K-cups,” Kait said, grabbing her coffee eagerly. Of course that stupid machine made it the perfect temperature.
Gray nodded. “And you came all the way across town to tell me that...why?”
“That’s not what I came to tell you.” Kait struggled to remember what was so important to run by Gray that she’d come—oh right. “I want to hire Marjorie to shoot the cookbook.”
Gray’s eyebrows raised. “No, I want to hire Marjorie. You said we couldn’t afford her and that you could take the pictures yourself for free. And when I said I’d rather pay Marjorie, you said—”
Kait waved her hand irritably. “That was when we were poor. Now we have Landon. Get him to write her a check, or send her a gold bar. Whatever it is that rich people do.”
Gray laughed. “The James family only has platinum bars. And as it happens, there’s enough for Marjorie. I was going to give you more than we agreed on if you didn’t totally screw up the pictures, but I’m happy to send her a check instead.” He sipped his coffee, relieved. He’d known Kait would do a good job—she wouldn’t let a LeClarks cookbook look amateurish—but having Marjorie’s talents would raise it to the next level. “This is a good idea, Kait. It would have been an even better idea two hours from now, but I’m glad she’s on board.”
So was Kaitlyn. Not only would the LeClarks cookbook be a work of art now, but with Marjorie in the second bedroom, there was no risk of succumbing to Landon.
“Speaking of Landon,” Gray said, startling her. “What happened between you two last night? Everything seemed fine when I left.”
“Nothing happened,” Kait lied automatically. “He remembered he had some important...business stuff...to do.”
“Right.” Gray nodded. “Important business stuff. Did he say what?”
“You know,” Kait said vaguely. “Stocks and bonds and all that.
