Recipe for Satisfacton (6 page)

Chapter Six

Sterling pulled into the long driveway that led to Vivian Madewood’s house. When she emerged through a tunnel of trees, the home in front of her took her breath away.

It wasn’t a home, it was a compound. Gray brick, white shutters. Two pillars flanked the front door. Behind the house, and on either side, were buildings with the same façade. Maybe a guesthouse or a garage—or both.

The rolling front lawn, lush and green, continued to the edge of the property, where it was fenced off from the rest of the street. Purple, pink, and white flowers grew over two oversized pots by the front door.

She came to a stop at the top of the roundabout and threw her gearshift into park. While turning off the engine, she got a tickle in her stomach at the thought of seeing Jack. She couldn’t stop from triple-checking herself in the rearview mirror. What she looked like shouldn’t matter. She was just here on business. Purely professional, nothing else.

She glanced at her watch—it was five, but she didn’t see any other cars in the driveway. She stepped out of her practical compact car and smoothed down the front of her khaki skirt, grabbed her purse and files from the back seat, and trotted up the front steps. The singsong chime of the doorbell sounded. When it finally opened, she fully expected an employee to answer, a maid or butler, or someone of that nature. Instead Jack stared back at her, looking as though he’d just woken up. His feet were bare, and for some reason, she felt as if she were intruding. But when he realized it was her, he smiled wide.

In the light of day the man was no less sinful, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt that showed off his tattoos—and there were a lot of them. This was the first time she’d gotten a glimpse of most of his arm. He was sex on a stick and she wanted to lick him like a lollipop.

Focus!
You’re here to do a job.
But she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from his biceps. Oh god, Boring Sterling didn’t ogle client biceps. But Penn’s voice took over her brain, coaxing her to bring out her exciting side. She tamped down her desire. Only Boring Sterling from here on forward.

He ducked his head and caught her stare. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat, fought her rising blush, and tried again. “Hi.”

“Come in.” He waved his hand behind him and she walked across the threshold.

The sweet scent of cookies and fresh flowers filled her nostrils. A beautiful summer arrangement sat in a large glass vase on a hallway table to her right—white lilies the star of the display.

She inhaled deeply. “It smells wonderful in here.”

“Ginger cookies. They’re almost done.”

“Those are beautiful flowers.” A woman would pick those flowers. There must be a maid—or he wasn’t unattached, as she’d originally thought.

“My mother loved having fresh flowers in the house. I just got into the habit of buying an arrangement every week.”

“You live here?” This unexpected and surprising opportunity was looking more complicated by the minute.

“For the moment.”

She nodded. He’d moved back in after his mother died. Sadness settled in his eyes but he shook it off with a swipe of his hand through his dark hair.

As if his gesture washed away his emotion, he smiled, a satisfied grin that traveled all the way to his eyes.

Heaven help me.
She wasn’t supposed to get involved, but doing her job, in this house, where Jack Vaughn lived, was going to be difficult. “I feel like I’m intruding on family business. Believe me, I know how insane that can get.”

“You’re not intruding at all.” He moved closer, his shoulders relaxed, his gait confident. “This is a great opportunity for us to become friends.”

Friends? She wanted to be anything
but
friends with Jack Vaughn.
Stop it, Sterling.

“So…you’ll be here. When I’m here. All the time.” Was she asking as the professional organizer trying to manage her time, or to confirm just how hard she would have to work to avoid him? There was no way she’d be able to focus with him in the same room.

“I’ll be working a few shifts here and there, but yes, I’ll be at the house.” That satisfied smile darkened to something a little more intense. Something that sparked a fire in the region she was supposed to be ignoring. “It’ll be nice to have the company.”

Right. Lonely. He didn’t know anything about being lonely. She was positive that his BlackBerry was filled with names of gorgeous models he’d dated over the years.

He leaned against the hallway table, crossing one foot over the other. Heaven help her. The man was sexy. “What exactly will you do?”

“Oh, um…” He sure did like to switch gears. She got back to business. “I’ll take an inventory of your mother’s things and then figure out a plan for storage, disposal, and donation if necessary.”

“Sounds good.” He raised his hand and gestured to the staircase. “Would you like a tour of the house?”

“I’d love a tour.” She grabbed a notebook and pen from her bag and followed him across the foyer, which had a fifty-foot ceiling. The walls that surrounded them curved inward as they got closer to the top.

“This is the sitting room that no one sat in until we came along.” He gestured to a stylish room with a white fabric couch and three matching wingback chairs. A fireplace in the center of the far wall was surrounded by a white mantel. Sterling admired the framed photographs of Vivian Madewood and her boys displayed across the top.

“White furniture and teenage boys?” she asked. “Your mother was a brave woman.”

“Or she had really great fabric cleaner.” He grinned. “The furniture is only a couple of years old.”

He took her through the rest of the first floor—the dining room had an old-world table that sat at least twelve people. Ornate china and silver were housed in a carved hutch and buffet. The kitchen was a chef’s dream. Counter space galore, a Sub-Zero refrigerator, two stovetops, two wall ovens, and the biggest exhaust fan she’d ever seen outside of a professional kitchen.

“How many hours did you and your brothers spend in this kitchen?”

He ran his hand across the granite countertop. “We spent more time in here than we did sleeping. It calmed us somehow.” He stopped and rested his back against the edge of the counter. She lost him for a moment or so, his brain no doubt thinking back to some good memories.

They continued on the first floor past the gym, which held more equipment than the Y she visited on occasion. He led her into the most elaborate den she’d ever seen. A screen took up an entire wall. A leather couch was arranged directly in front of it, and off to the sides and behind were several La-Z-Boy chairs. Large speakers were mounted inside the walls around the room. Along the left wall were floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with DVDs.

“Wow. I bet you never went to the movies. You didn’t have to.” She ran her hand along the back of one of the chairs. She didn’t even have a television until she was fourteen. And even then, it was a puny twenty inches, and only watchable when the bunny ear antennae were feeling up to it.

“We had a lot of fun in here.” He laughed. “This is where we used to bring girls. We had a running bet on which one of us could get the furthest…” He stopped, a small grin appearing on his face. “That’s not really important.”

Laughing, she gripped the back of the chair. He had no reason to be ashamed. “I bet you were the first one.”

He only smiled.

“And your mom was all right with what went on in here?” She found it hard to believe that a woman like Vivian Madewood would agree to teenage fornication in what was supposed to be a family room.

“She wasn’t home every minute of every day.” He gave her a guilty look. Like a kid who’d just stolen a cookie from the jar. “Besides, as long as we weren’t on the street living the lives we escaped, I don’t think she would have cared about a little teenage sex.”

“There’s always a double standard, isn’t there?”

“Maybe. But Vivian would never stand for disrespect. And although it may sound crude what we did in here, only one of us sealed the deal. Although I won’t tell you who.” He winked then grabbed her hand. “Come on, let me show you upstairs.”

They headed back across the foyer to the rounded staircase. Along the white walls hung pictures of the family. The majority were pictures of the boys, alone and together. A strong, fearsome foursome. She wondered if they had always been so happy. One picture in particular caught her attention. Jack as a teenager—far less tattooed but still inked—standing next to Vivian and wearing his graduation cap. Vivian’s smile in the picture was so genuine, and her eyes sparkled with pride. She hugged Jack with the love of a mother. So tiny and petite, she fit right in under his armpit.

“That’s one of the best memories I have.” He sidled up to her on the step and wiped his finger across the top of the silver frame.

“Your mom was a beautiful woman. You look happy,” she added.

“I didn’t think I’d ever graduate from high school. But Mom made sure of it.”

She loved that they called her Mom. One would think coming into a home as a teenager would douse any chance at the Mom card, but Vivian Madewood was obviously a special woman.

“That was also the day I decided to become a chef like my brothers. Like the man who might have been my father had he still been alive.”

He gestured farther up the wall to a picture of a man. Strong jaw and chin, dark eyes and hair. Handsome. Arthur Madewood. Below hung a picture of Arthur and Vivian on their wedding day.

“Don’t they look like they belong in a 1940s film? I’ve never seen a more attractive couple,” she said. “I wish I could have met her.”

“I wish you could have met her, too.” He stepped down, bringing himself closer, the air hanging heavily around them.

He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. Her mouth parted at his touch. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her head slanted to get closer to his warm hand. Her body betrayed her. She was supposed to be strong, professional, but never had a simple touch from a man been so potent, or had the ability to cause her entire nervous system to short circuit.

What was she thinking?
You can’t have the hots for your boss, Sterling. No way. No how.

But the bigger question, the burning question, remained: why was he touching her?

They’d agreed on one night and one night only. Yet here, on this staircase, she had the distinct impression that their encounter was nowhere near complete. She broke eye contact and he hustled up the stairs.

They toured the second-floor library and the attic. She had her work cut out for her. But the stress of trying to figure out a plan disappeared when she walked into the bedroom that belonged to Vivian Madewood.

Gold. Wood. Heavy floral tapestry. Her bedroom looked like the set of a historical romance movie. “Wow.”

“You like it?”

Sterling looked over at him. “Who wouldn’t?”

He had a repulsed look on his face. “Uh…me. And my brothers. We always joked that Liberace puked up the furnishings for this room.” He chuckled.

“You know that Liberace was all sparkles and sequins, right?”

He smiled. “I do now.”

A king-size bed lay in the middle of the room with a heavy red duvet. A long dresser sat against the left wall with an oval mirror attached. The en suite bathroom was in the corner of the room, and to the right, double doors, partially open, invited her to venture inside and see what other treasures awaited.

“Is that the closet?” she asked.

Jack nodded and gestured to the door. “Take a peek.”

Her stomach tingled with anticipation as she approached the doors. She’d once seen photos of Vivian’s closet in a feature article of
Toronto Life
magazine. Although Penn would be the one to know designers without even looking at the label, Sterling could still appreciate the clothing, especially since she had never, ever, owned her own piece of high-end fashion. It was a dream that seemed so far away. A dream she didn’t think would ever happen. Not if her parents kept screwing her over financially. But now was not the time to be thinking about that.

She pushed open the double doors and the space lit up immediately, no need to even flick a switch. The colors were just as rich, the clothing just as elaborate as the magazine photos had shown, and it took her breath away.

The space was much too big to be considered a closet. More like a room. Clothing lined both sides and the far wall. In the middle on both sides, a unit made up of shelves housed hundreds of shoes. Red soles peeked out from the bottoms of a few pairs and others were blinged out with double Cs affixed to the tops. Black, silver, gold, and pink. High heels, flats, sandals, and strappy elegance. Oh yes, Carrie Bradshaw would be drooling at the sight of this hidden sanctuary.

She slid hanger after hanger of designer clothing along the metal poles, admiring the elaborate colors and designs in this monumental, spectacular closet. Penn would have a severe case of the green-eyed monster if she ever walked through here.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” She looked over at Jack, who stood in the doorway with a smile on his face. “At least not in real life.” This closet was the work of one woman, over years and years of gracing the most prestigious and elite parties in the city. Money may not be able to buy love…but it definitely bought a closet full of things that could take its place.

He walked farther into the room. “This is one of the rooms I’m having trouble deciding what to do with.” He ran his hand along the color-coded line of clothes.

There was only one thing to do with a wardrobe like this when all you had were men to hand things down to. “It should be donated to charity, don’t you think?”

“That’s a great idea.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He was open to charity. A definite product of his environment.

She opened one of the drawers affixed to the unit. Lacy undergarments stared back at her. She quickly shut the drawer—there was a fine line after all, and going through a strange man’s mother’s underwear was crossing it.