Hungry for More (2012) (4 page)

The more desperate that Paul became to hold onto the restaurant, however, the more that it seemed to slip through his hands. The partners had called an “
i
nvestors meeting” for two weeks in the future. He was sick with dread when he considered what it was going to be about. Surely there was some way to hold on
.
He struggled for hours to come up with a plan, but it was no use. His life was well and truly
screwed
.

The next morning Paul was surprised to find that he had actually dropped off to sleep sometime during the night.  His alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet.  Normally he slept like the dead, so he wondered what had
awakened
him.  He didn’t have to wonder for very long.  A child’s cry pierced the air.  Paul sat up quickly in surprise.  

Atherton.

He groaned.  He
knew
that he should go and see what the problem was, but instead he sank back down into the mattress.  Surely the
nanny
would deal with whatever was the matter
.
  She had been keen enough to keep her job last night!  She might as well earn her keep.  

Paul closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise.  He had another half an hour before he had to get up and face another hellish day.  He intended to eke out every last second of his time in bed.  At least, that was his intention until he heard Miss Parker’s voice.

“I know, Tad.  We’ll clean you up in a second.  I just have to find the washing machine for these sheets.  I suppose it must be in the kitchen?”

Paul was out of bed in a flash.  He raced across the room, jumped over his pile of discarded clothes, and jerked open the door violently.  Miss Parker was just walking past his room towards the kitchen with an armful of soiled sheets.  She stopped dead.

“What are you DOING?”

The nanny looked at him in open-mouthed surprise for a moment before rallying.  “I need to launder these sheets.  Tad-
Atherton
had a little accident,” she explained quietly, glancing over her shoulder.  Paul followed the look, but his son was nowhere to be seen.  “I only need to use your washing machine.”

“It’s NOT in the kitchen,” he blurted, grabbing Bridget’s arm to stop her in her tracks when she started to move again.  The thought of pee-soaked sheets going anywhere near his cooking domain was making him feel ill.

“Mr. Devoe!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Paul apologized quickly, taking his hands off the nanny.  “The uhm- laundry room is just down here.”  He ushered Miss Parker in the
other
direction, glancing into Atherton’s room on the way.  Paul thought he saw a little face peeping out from behind the door, but when he glanced again it was gone.

“I am sorry that we woke you,” Miss Parker said quietly.  She stared down at her toes.  “Atherton doesn’t
normally
wet the bed.  I think he was just unsettled after the move.”

Paul nodded.  “Fine.  It’s fine,” he said distractedly.  “I guess I should go and say good morning properly?”

Miss Parker smiled, and Paul was again reminded of how extraordinarily pretty he found her.  She had the most amazing peaches
and
cream complexion.

“You might want to get dressed first,” she murmured, and blushed.

Paul glanced down at himself, breathing a small sigh of relief when he saw that he was wearing a rumpled t-shirt and black pair of shorts.  He might have run out naked for all the thought he had given to himself when he’d sensed the threat to his kitchen.  He scratched his chin.  He was badly in need of a shave too.

“Why don’t I clean up and then cook the two of you breakfast?” he suggested.

Bridget quickly looked up from stuffing sheets into the washing machine.  “Oh no, you really don’t have to do that, Mr. Devoe!”

“I insist,” he said, turning to go.  He was awake now.  He might as well face the day head on.  He didn’t know anything about children or nannies, but he knew how to cook.  Surely a good breakfast would make amends for some of his mistakes from the previous day?

Paul helped Bridget locate fresh sheets for Tad’s bed, and then he left her on her own to clean and to dress the child while he set about preparing their food. As soon as he set foot in the kitchen, he felt more at ease.

There was something to be said for the task of presiding over a fast and busy service. Paul loved the crash and clatter of pots and pans, the heat, the danger, and the swearing, but he also relished the chance to slip away to his own home kitchen. He loved to have the time to experiment and to perfect what he was doing without the distractions of everyone else.

Here in his apartment, surrounded by his own things and provisioned with choice ingredients that he had selected for himself alone, where he was able to work without consideration of profit margins and turnover expectancy, he felt like an artist with a clean sheet of canvas and a box of paints.

Paul went to the refrigerator. It was a
massive
sub-zero that Phoebe had fought him for during the divorce. Designed to hold party platters, it was as deep and dark as a glacier cave. It was here where he hoarded his dearest treasures. He fished out ingredients one by one:  smoked salmon slivered into nearly transparent sheets, brown eggs from the organic market, fresh cream, scallions, a pint of raspberries, and a loosely wrapped slab of aged cheddar. He spread them out on the counter, taking care to set the eggs in the sun to warm while he gathered the rest of his supplies and set his pots and pans on the stove.

Paul completely lost himself in the cooking. He forgot the restaurant and all of his other worries as his body worked through the comforting motions of chopping and stirring. He tasted and seasoned. He tossed in pinches of herbs that he plucked from the pots that lined his windowsills. Then, when the dishes met his standards, he carefully arranged the portions onto plates and placed them on the central island in front of a pair of stools.

“Miss Parker? Tad?”

“Coming!”

There was a sound of footsteps down the hall. A few seconds later, the nanny reappeared, dragging Tad in tow.

Paul did a double take when he saw the boy. Although still small for his age, he was much taller than his father remembered. Paul was stunned to realize that he hadn’t seen the child since Christmas.

The boy hid behind his nanny’s leg. His dark brown eyes- mirrors of Paul’s own- were anxious and uncertain.

Paul faltered for a moment, not knowing what to do, but Bridget took command of the situation.

“Tad, don’t you want to say hello to your daddy?” she said and gave the child a gentle nudge forward.

Paul looked at the nanny, who gently inclined her head. He took the look to mean that he should press on with the introductions, and so he sank down on his haunches and held out his hand.

“Good morning, Atherton.”

The four-year old stared uncomprehendingly at the extended palm.

Paul squirmed uncomfortably.

“Why don’t you give
D
addy a hug?” Bridget suggested.

Tad required another nudge before he stepped forward, and then pressed his face against his father’s chest.

Paul didn’t realize, until that moment, how long he had gone without human contact. He wasn’t exactly a cuddly guy. The soft, wriggling warmth of Tad’s small body was a shock to his system, albeit not an unpleasant one. He wrapped his arms lightly around the boy and offered a gentle squeeze before they broke apart.

“Daddy has cooked you breakfast.”

Once again, they were relying upon Bridget to tell them what to do. Paul took a step back an
d watched as his son struggled o
nto one of the high stools at the counter. Then he pushed forward one of the plates.

“Voila!” he said, with a flourish as he whipped off the silver dome. He watched for Tad’s reaction- and frowned when it wasn’t what he expected.

The little boy’s brow furrowed, and he pushed the plate away. “It looks yucky.”

“Atherton!” Bridget exclaimed, her harsh tone underscoring the use of the vile, formal name. “I’m sure that it’s delicious. You just need to try something new. Why don’t we let
D
addy tell us what it is.” She turned expectantly toward Paul.

“Smoked salmon frittata, raspberry blintzes and melon salsa…” Paul said, but looked deflated.

Bridget stepped forward, cutting off a piece of blintz and then pushing it toward her charge’s mouth. “Open,” she commanded.

“I don’t want to!” Tad whined. His dark eyes grew teary. “It looks yucky!”

“
Atherton!
”

“I want an egg and soldiers!” he whimpered.

Paul’s face blackened, but he let Bridget continue to reason with the boy.

“
I know you are used to your egg and toast, sweetheart, b
ut we are going to try new things. Remember? We’re having an adventure.”

“NO!” Tad barked, starting to squirm out of the chair.

Bridget caught his arm and held him fast.

“Don’t be a naughty boy, Tad. Remember our rule. You have to try three bites before-!”

“I DON’T WANT IT!” Tad was shrieking now. He fought to get away.

Paul, at first aghast, was steadily growing annoyed. What the hell had they been feeding his kid anyhow? Didn’t he know what that breakfast was
worth
?

“Tad-!”

The next action seemed to happen in
slow
motion. One little fist swung through the air and landed on the edge of the plate, causing it to flip into the air. It somersaulted off the counter and then crashed onto the hardwood floor, shattering into a hundred pieces.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Paul finally exploded as his sacred kitchen and precious food were profaned in the same bratty stroke.

Tad met his gaze and then promptly burst into tears.

This time, Bridget wasn’t fast enough to catch the boy as he jumped out of his seat and hurried down the hall to his room. She went chasing after, pausing just long enough to shoot Paul a look of disgust.

Paul cursed, whipped the dishtowel he had draped over his shoulder off and threw it furiously onto the floor.

He stood in the middle of the kitchen seething for a minute.  He really wished there was someone around that he could hurl abuse at, but there was no one except himself.  Paul took a deep breath, turned his temper down to a gentle simmer, and then bent to start cleaning up the mess of food and broken crockery that was smeared all across his kitchen floor.

He had just finished picking up all of the pieces of shattered china when Miss Parker stormed back into the kitchen.  She looked even
angrier
than she had the night before.

Paul muttered a curse under his breath, before standing up to face the enraged nanny.

“What did you do that for?” she demanded furiously.  Her hands were once again planted on her hips.  “He’s sobbing his eyes out!”

“What’s his problem?”  Paul snapped.  He felt guilt in addition to anger. It was a bad combination that didn’t bring out the best in him.  Bridget looked appalled.

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact his mother just died and he’s had to move into a strange house away from everything he’s used to with a father he hardly knows?” she shouted, flushed and breathless by the end of her retort.

Paul didn’t know how to respond to that. It was the second time that Miss Parker had left him speechless.  He looked away guiltily.  He knew that everything she had said was true, but he didn’t know what to
do
about any of it.  Atherton had lost Phoebe. He doubted that his ex-wife had been a stellar mother, but apparently she had done better in the parenting department than
he had
.

“I’m sorry,” Bridget whispered, evidently having run out of steam.  “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, Mr. Devoe.”

Paul shrugged.  “You spoke
the
truth.”  He turned back to his pots and pans, and a strained silence fell between them.  “Your breakfast is getting cold,” he pointed out, after another minute had ticked by.  It really
pained
him to see the food go to waste.

“Oh!” Bridget started.  She glanced at the plate that he had prepared for her.  “Oh, I’m not hungry.  Thank you.”

Paul made a sort of strangled choking groan.  However, before he could physically
force
her to sit down, and taste the food that most
normal
people would pay him a small fortune to rustle up for breakfast, she had scurried back out of the kitchen and disappeared from sight.

“For Christ’s sake,” Paul swore, and helped
himself
to the frittata off her untouched plate.

Chapter 4

Bridget hurried all the way back to Tad’s room, afraid that Paul would chase after her for refusing to eat his food. 
Oh God, it had looked so good!
  And the smell
!  Bridget’s mouth was still watering.  However, she would rather face Paul’s eternal wrath than eat in front of him.