A Passionate Love Page 2

  “It’s just dinner,” he said quietly.

  She lifted her gaze, studying him with dark brown eyes that were decidedly more guarded than before.

  “Dinner it is,” she agreed.

  Cameron curtailed the urge to punch his fist in the air, instead taking a pen from the cup on his desk and removing a small notebook from the inside breast pocket of his suit. “What’s your number?”

  “I can enter the digits into your cell phone,” Simone offered.

  “I don’t own a cell phone.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Please explain to me why, in this day and age, you don’t have a cell phone.”

  “I don’t need to have a cell phone when everyone else has one.”

  Cell phones were a modern convenience he considered a blessing and a curse. The way he figured, if anyone needed him, they could find him at the club or at home. Otherwise, they could leave a message. Seldom had he experienced a situation where someone actually really needed to reach him right away. The freedom of not having an electronic device glued to his face every single day was a relief. He gave his up years ago and didn’t miss it.

  “Number?” Cameron poised the pen above the lined paper.

  Simone shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe him, and then gave him her number.

  “This is your real number, correct? Because we do have your contact information on file.”

  “You have my assistant’s contact information on file, but yes, that’s a good number.”

  “Perfect. I’ll call you. That way you can pay your debt.”

  She opened her mouth to speak again, probably to make a tart reply. Seeming to think better of it, she pursed her lips, and gave a little laugh before walking toward the door.

  He followed, watching the way her body moved, his nostrils flaring at her sexy, hip-swinging walk. He bit his knuckle. Goddamn.

  She turned at the door and looked back at him, her hair swinging in a thick wave between her shoulders.

  “Have a good evening, Mr.—Cameron.”

  “You too, Simone.”

  When the door closed behind her, Cameron expelled the air from his lungs in a huff and sat on the desk, gripping the edge.

  “Wow,” he murmured.

  Chapter 3

  Back on the rooftop, Simone found her purse and touched up her face, reapplying her lipstick and dabbing a bit of powder on her nose and cheeks.

  When she was finished, Ella approached. “What happened to you?” her sister asked.

  “Nothing.” Aside from the mortification of throwing up on a complete stranger, she felt much better than when she left. Lighter. Almost giddy.

  Avoiding her sister’s shrewd gaze, she walked over to the table of heavy hors d’oeuvres and plucked a piece of beer-battered broccoli from a platter. The crunchy shell crackled in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed the tasty appetizer, a hint of sweet and spicy hitting the back of her throat.

  “I don’t believe you,” Ella said behind her.

  “What do you think happened?” Simone asked.

  “I don’t know, but you’re going to tell me.” Ella took Simone by the arm and tugged her over to a far corner against her will, away from the deejay where they could speak without yelling. Ella placed a fist on her hip. “You came back with a smirk on your face. What’s going on?”

  Simone laughed. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Ella’s perfectly arched brow lifted higher. “Simone.”

  Her voice took on their mother’s stern tone, and Simone almost laughed at the similarity. Like their mother, Ella wore her hair in a neat bun. Wearing a tight mini that showed off her almost-back-to-pre-pregnancy-weight figure, she still appeared conservative. She even looked like their mother, with her narrow face and high cheekbones.

  Simone sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. It was futile to avoid her sister’s questions. Ella wouldn’t stop until she’d wrung the answer she wanted right out of her. “I met the owner of the club. His name is Cameron Bennett.”

  “So?”

  “He…asked me out, and I accepted.”

  “You just got back into town and you’re jumping into another relationship?”

  Simone bristled at her sister’s tone. “First of all, I’m an adult. Second of all, I’m not entering into another relationship. We’re going to dinner.”

  “Why? He’s the owner of a nightclub.”

  “Don’t be a snob. Besides, I owe him.”

  “What could you possibly owe him?”

  Simone launched into an explanation of how she’d thrown up on him and then the conversation in his office.

  “Sounds like he’s a slick one,” Ella said drily.

  “I can handle him.” Simone waved away the concern and walked over to the railing. As usual, Peachtree Street was alive with cars and pedestrians, as if residents would rather be out and about—anywhere but at home. She was the opposite.

  As a member of the wealthy Johnson family, whose multibillion-dollar beer and restaurant empire was run from their Seattle headquarters, there was always some function to attend, particularly in her line of work. Her mother, Sylvie Johnson, was a sister to the now-deceased head of the Johnson family and a brilliant businesswoman in her own right, who managed a personal portfolio of successful businesses and investments.

  Simone steered clear of the business aspects of the family fortune and concentrated her efforts on promoting the Johnson Foundation’s causes. That was her strength.

  She’d moved to Seattle five years ago to work more closely with the foundation, concentrating her fundraising efforts on issues surrounding children’s causes in housing, education, and healthcare. When her relationship ended, she decided to move back to Atlanta and take on a more active role in the charitable giving arena.

  In her role as philanthropic ambassador, she was a volunteer but did have an expense account. Her busy social calendar included international travel and representing the family at events around the country. Fundraisers, volunteering on benefit committees, and schmoozing with other socialites at the theatre and charity balls all fell under her list of duties.

  The family’s generous donations made a huge difference in the lives of the beneficiaries, but so much of her work included attending parties, Simone looked forward to quiet evenings at home. Rather than visiting the hottest nightspots, relaxing in front of the TV or having people over for dinner was her favorite way to engage with friends and family.

  Ella came to stand beside Simone. She remained silent for a while, as if sifting through her thoughts to find the right words. “I hate to say it, but this guy…Cameron, is that his name? He could be like all the others.”

  Because of her acute attraction to him, Simone didn’t want to think about that possibility, but her sister was right. Cameron was not from their world, and she’d seen often enough the fallout when men couldn’t handle women with her type of wealth.

  The Brooks women didn’t have much luck in the love department. They were either jinxed or simply unlovable.

  Only months after her last child was born, Ella’s husband, an executive at the Johnson family restaurant group, left her. Long before that, at the age of fifteen, Simone and Ella’s father divorced their mother, Sylvie, after a contentious marriage, leaving her to be a single mother to two boys and two girls.

  Simone gnawed the corner of her lip, flipping over the conversation with Cameron in her mind. “We’ll go out to dinner, have a little fun, and that’s it. I’m not taking him too seriously.”

  “So you say,” Ella said skeptically.

  “Don’t be so negative.” Simone bumped her sister’s shoulder with her own. “I’m not looking for forever, and it’ll be nice to have someone to go out with. You don’t exactly have time for me. You’re busy with the kids, and Reese and Spencer are always chasing women.” Ella groaned in agreement about their brothers. “It’ll be nice to have someone
to spend time with when I’m not working and traveling.”

  “Make sure he’s not married.”

  “Oh my goodness, you’re the worst, you know that? He’s not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He wasn’t wearing a ring.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Make sure.”

  Simone stared down at the gleaming diamond and emerald ring on her right hand. He wasn’t married. Not only did she not see a ring on his finger, there were no family photos in his office. In all honesty, she didn’t think he was the type to hide that he was married.

  She was certain of it. She just knew.

  Quietly, she asked, “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

  “No way!”

  Simone glanced at her sister, whose eyes followed the line of cars below, jaw set hard in resolve. Simone looped an arm around her sister’s and leaned her head against her shoulder. Ella had been very hurt when her husband left, and Simone’s heart ached from knowing that her sister had suffered such an abrupt and unforeseen end to her marriage.

  “It’s not worth it, Simone,” Ella said softly, her voice vibrating with pain. “Have fun, but guard your heart.”

  Simone nodded, unable to talk over the lump of emotion stuck in her throat.

  Was this really who she had become? A guarded thirty-year-old woman who focused solely on her work at the foundation, and closed off so no one could get near enough to hurt her? That wasn’t the life she wanted to live, but it seemed that was the future spread out before her.

  Cameron’s handsome face and brilliant smile came to mind. With a smile like that, he had to be fun, and he was certainly pleasant to look at.

  If dinner went well, he could be her interim dating partner. Until Mr. Right came along.

  A floor manager sidled up beside Cameron as he stood on the second floor overlooking the jostling crowd. A stocky woman with a cheerful demeanor, Stella oversaw the kitchen on the first floor.

  “I thought you were leaving early,” she said.

  “I had some things to take care of.” He angled his body in her direction, watching the colorful lights flash across her light brown face.

  Stella pulled a pen from behind her ear. “Since you’re here, mind signing off on this order for me?” She extended a clipboard.

  “Hank signs off on the orders,” Cameron pointed out, referring to the assistant general manager, his second in command.

  “I know, but I couldn’t find him, and since you’re right here, I thought I’d bug my super-duper, wonderful, generous boss instead.”

  She smiled brightly, and a half smile crossed Cameron’s lips in response.

  “What do you want?” he asked, not falling for the extra compliments.

  “Um, any chance I can have next weekend off?”

  He heard the hesitation in her voice, and rightly so. He had no problem with staff who needed a night off here and there outside of their regular schedule, but with weekend nights being the busiest, the club maintained a strict policy that if staff wanted an entire weekend off, they were required to put in the request at least two weeks in advance.

  Cameron looked up from the list of supplies. “The whole weekend?”

  Stella nodded, biting her lip.

  “I’m not going to tell you no, but you know the rules.” He perused the first page of the supply order and flipped to the next page. “Have you talked to Hank?”

  “I was kind of hoping—”

  “You were hoping I’d say yes and override him.” He scribbled his signature on the last page and handed Stella the clipboard. “Hank is your direct supervisor.”

  Her face sobered. “I know.”

  “You should always go through him, and that’s what you need to do this time. Talk to him. Make sure he has coverage for that night. If so, I have no problem with you taking off the weekend.”

  “Thanks, Cameron.”

  She hurried away.

  “Hey, Stella.”

  She stopped and turned slowly, clutching the clipboard. Trepidation marred her features, as if she was worried he would pull back his permission.

  “Talk to Leticia. She mentioned wanting to pick up extra shifts.”

  Stella’s shoulders sagged in relief and the smile returned. “I will!”

  After she’d left him alone, Cameron turned his attention to the swarm of people gathered around the circular bar. Men and women waved cash in an effort to catch the eyes of the busy bartenders, while others took advantage of the bar stools, crowded close together and flirting as they sipped their drinks.

  His brother, Mason, monitored the inside and outside of the club from a security office on the second floor, but he also liked to keep an eye on the goings on. The combination of a large crowd and alcohol could sometimes take a violent turn, and every extra pair of eyes was valuable.

  His eyes focused on two men shoving each other and jockeying for position, but the altercation quickly died down when a thick-necked bouncer dressed in a black suit intervened.

  Cameron hadn’t only stuck around to keep an eye on the club goers. His gaze shifted to the escalator, where patrons glided to the first floor. He was watching—waiting, for another glimpse of Simone.

  He laughed at himself. What was he doing? She and her friends could be here all night, and here he was sticking around for one last glimpse of her.

  Shaking his head in disgust, he pushed away from the railing, but something on the escalator—or rather someone on the escalator, caught his eye.

  He froze, the muscles in his abdomen tightening.

  Simone and a small group of women descended, talking animatedly to each other. The same feeling he’d experienced upstairs—a breathlessness, like an asthmatic would suffer—clenched his chest.

  And all he could do was watch.

  The women wound their way through the crowd, turning heads as they did, and a few feet from the exit, Simone turned. As if she knew he was watching.

  A muscle in his jaw tightened as they locked eyes. Cameron didn’t turn away or hide his blatant observation.

  Simone hesitated, and they remained transfixed, each with their eyes fastened on the other.

  She truly was an attractive woman. She waved, and he smiled, lifting a hand in greeting.

  One of the women with her, whose hair was in a neat bun, followed Simone’s gaze and seeing him, looped an arm through Simone’s and tugged her toward the exit, breaking the spell.

  Cameron kept an eye on the back of Simone’s head until she disappeared.

  Devoid of her presence, it was as if a dark cloud descended over the club. He no longer saw the flashing lights. He no longer heard the thumping music.

  He remained rooted to the spot a few minutes longer, eyes trained on the entryway she’d disappeared through.

  What was wrong with him?

  Cursing silently, Cameron shook his head vigorously and snapped out of the trance.

  Then he walked away to make his own exit out of the club.

  Chapter 4

  She was either late or not coming.

  Cars whizzed by on the busy street where Cameron paced the sidewalk in front of Cooks Gadget Warehouse. Checking his watch again, he huffed in annoyance, as if that would make Simone appear.

  Sunday nights were his night off, and he’d scheduled their date at the gourmet store where he purchased cookware and other kitchen supplies. It also served as a cooking school. Staff teachers and guest chefs taught almost every night of the week, and he’d booked a class during couples’ night for him and Simone to attend. Tonight’s menu consisted of a two-course meal, made up of an appetizer and entree, but if Simone didn’t appear within the next few minutes, she’d miss the beginning of the two-hour class.

  When he’d called her to set up a time for their date and get a sense of what she liked to eat, he’d learned that she didn’t cook. At all. Before he hung up, he knew he wanted to bring her here. Cooking was a creative way for them to get to know each other. S
omething different, at least, since he was pretty sure nothing he suggested could compare to dates she’d had in the past.

  Unfortunately, she’d clearly stood him up.

  Fighting back the urge to slam a frustrated fist into the red brick exterior, Cameron spun around and entered the store. He would not let her absence spoil the night. Walking through the retail space, he nodded at the young man who looked up from a recipe book behind the counter, going all the way to the back, where two stations were set up on either side of four ranges.

  He went to his assigned spot where he shared a range with a tall, blond male and a South Asian woman with a red bindi on her forehead.

  “Hi,” Cameron said, and they returned the greeting.

  He checked inventory against the items on the ingredients list, making sure he had everything to prepare the dishes. Tonight’s meal started with a prosciutto-wrapped grilled fig salad and ended with lamb and beef stuffed ravioli in a spinach-cream sauce.

  The instructor, a stout woman with her hair braided into two chunky cornrows, came by. “Alone tonight?” she asked.

  “Seems that way.” He donned an apron and tugged the strings tight with unnecessary force.

  “You’ll be fine. You should be teaching the class.” She winked at him and went to check on other students.

  Chuckling to himself at the compliment, Cameron set out glass ramekins and a cutting board for the mise en place prep. It was second nature to get all the ingredients laid out beforehand, something he’d been doing ever since he started cooking with his father at nine years old.

  His father once advised a young Cameron that, “Everybody says the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’m here to tell you, that’s the way to a woman’s heart, too.” Then he winked. “That’s how I got your mother.”

  Cameron hadn’t understood the importance of those words back then because he’d only been interested in the opposite sex if he could tug their braids or snap a bra strap. Working in the kitchen was strictly about the cooking and creating a dish that others could enjoy. Even in the midst of playing kickball or softball with neighborhood friends, Cameron often found a way to join his father in the kitchen.