Excerpt from Creme brulee upset
Excerpt from Crème Brûlée Upset by Laurel Bradley
Copyright 2007
Chapter 1
Mike Tucker mingled, liberally sampling hors d’oeuvres from the groaning buffet at his surprise party. The food was beyond belief. The sweet, onion relish was a perfect contrast to the peppery edged roast beef. His housemates, Randy and Alex had obviously spared no expense.
The living room was steamy, and the buzz of conversation nearly deafening. Everyone he knew had been in on the secret—his business partners and their wives, the office staff, and friends from grade school on up.
He shook his father’s hand and hugged his mother, smelling her spicy perfume.
“Did you call Patrice today like you promised?” his mother asked, brushing an invisible something from his suit coat.
He put on his expressionless courtroom face. He hadn’t seen Patrice since she’d left for Le Cordon Bleu in Paris more than four years ago. “Yes, Mom,” he said. And it was true. He had called Patrice. She just hadn’t been home.
He scanned the crowded room, wondering if the call was supposed to have been the catalyst that would have allowed Patrice to attend the party. If so, it was better that he hadn’t gotten through. He was no more ready to see her now than he’d been when she’d moved back to Chicago six months ago to take the job of head chef at Victor’s. Still, part of him felt strangely disappointed when he didn’t spot her. Maybe she’d be arriving later, with her parents. “Are the Wilsons here?”
“Roy and Janice are in Cancun this week. Didn’t you get their card?”
“Oh, yes, I did.” She wasn’t coming. He topped off his drink and took a long sip.
The scotch was smooth and went down like water. Surprised to find that his world was a little blurry around the edges, Mike abandoned his tumbler and concentrated on his guests.
Moments later, Randy appeared at his elbow. “Having fun?”
“Yeah.” Mike grinned. “This is a great party. You guys shouldn’t have.”
“Nothing more than what I expect from you when I make partner,” Randy said as he led Mike to the far side of the room. “A word to the wise—be nice.”
Be nice? Mike didn’t get time to speculate the meaning of Randy’s comment before his roommate’s whistle cut through the noise.
As heads turned in their direction, Randy’s voice rang out. “Can I have your attention please?”
Patrice Wilson took a deep breath and opened the kitchen door. The surprise party was in full swing, and the air was thick with the sound of voices. Looking in the living room, she recognized a few of the guests, but not many.
Blocking the door open, she centered the serving cart in the passageway. This was it, the moment when she wheeled out her masterpiece and offered Mike congratulations on making partner. Still she hesitated, pausing to wipe damp palms on her crisp, white chef’s apron. Maybe presenting this dessert wasn’t the best idea.
Looking across the room, she saw her brother Randy had already positioned Mike where they’d agreed in front of the picture window. A single glance at Mike was all it took for her heart to skip a beat. His chocolate-brown hair had been recently trimmed and lay in sexy waves that begged to be touched. His navy suit was exquisitely tailored, emphasizing his broad shoulders and slim torso. But tonight wasn’t about how good he looked. Tonight was about congratulating him, showing him she’d grown up, and moving on.
Everyone watched as a towering confection was wheeled out of the kitchen. A golden heart suspended on shards and spirals of three kinds of chocolate hovered above a magnificent crème brûlée with fresh raspberries. It was an amazing dessert.
Flashes burst as several people captured the moment.
Mike looked up from the culinary marvel to its presenter and his thanks died on his lips. Patrice. His stomach clenched around its alcohol-soaked contents as all the guilt and desire of their past descended. He wasn’t prepared to see her or to handle the mixture of feelings she always engendered.
“If this were Valentine’s Day, I’d ask you to be mine.” She smiled, laughter over their semi-private joke sparkling in her brown eyes. “But since it’s not, I’ll just say congra—”
“I’m not yours and never will be, and I don’t want your damn heart.” His inner turmoil over Patrice always seemed to come out as anger.
Patrice’s smile froze, breaking into a hurt “O.”
Mike instantly regretted his words. He reached out in a misguided attempt to comfort her, but his aim was bad and his reflexes slow. He hit the top of the confection, snapping off the heart. He tried to grab it, to rescue it, but missed, bumping into the cart with enough force to tip it.
Mike watched in horrified fascination as the beautiful dessert slipped from the platter and smashed into Patrice.
She tried in vain to catch it.
Cameras whirred and bulbs flashed, capturing Patrice’s stricken expression as globs of cream-colored custard, once perfect berries and raspberry sauce with chunks of caramelized sugar covered her hands, arms, and apron. A strangled noise came from her throat as she bolted for the kitchen.
Mike couldn’t even apologize. At least not to her. She was gone before the initial uproar died down.
Gone before his mother caught his eye in a caustic glare.
Gone before Randy slugged him.
Excerpt from Crème Brûlée Upset by Laurel Bradley
Copyright 2007
Copyright 2007
Chapter 1
Mike Tucker mingled, liberally sampling hors d’oeuvres from the groaning buffet at his surprise party. The food was beyond belief. The sweet, onion relish was a perfect contrast to the peppery edged roast beef. His housemates, Randy and Alex had obviously spared no expense.
The living room was steamy, and the buzz of conversation nearly deafening. Everyone he knew had been in on the secret—his business partners and their wives, the office staff, and friends from grade school on up.
He shook his father’s hand and hugged his mother, smelling her spicy perfume.
“Did you call Patrice today like you promised?” his mother asked, brushing an invisible something from his suit coat.
He put on his expressionless courtroom face. He hadn’t seen Patrice since she’d left for Le Cordon Bleu in Paris more than four years ago. “Yes, Mom,” he said. And it was true. He had called Patrice. She just hadn’t been home.
He scanned the crowded room, wondering if the call was supposed to have been the catalyst that would have allowed Patrice to attend the party. If so, it was better that he hadn’t gotten through. He was no more ready to see her now than he’d been when she’d moved back to Chicago six months ago to take the job of head chef at Victor’s. Still, part of him felt strangely disappointed when he didn’t spot her. Maybe she’d be arriving later, with her parents. “Are the Wilsons here?”
“Roy and Janice are in Cancun this week. Didn’t you get their card?”
“Oh, yes, I did.” She wasn’t coming. He topped off his drink and took a long sip.
The scotch was smooth and went down like water. Surprised to find that his world was a little blurry around the edges, Mike abandoned his tumbler and concentrated on his guests.
Moments later, Randy appeared at his elbow. “Having fun?”
“Yeah.” Mike grinned. “This is a great party. You guys shouldn’t have.”
“Nothing more than what I expect from you when I make partner,” Randy said as he led Mike to the far side of the room. “A word to the wise—be nice.”
Be nice? Mike didn’t get time to speculate the meaning of Randy’s comment before his roommate’s whistle cut through the noise.
As heads turned in their direction, Randy’s voice rang out. “Can I have your attention please?”
Patrice Wilson took a deep breath and opened the kitchen door. The surprise party was in full swing, and the air was thick with the sound of voices. Looking in the living room, she recognized a few of the guests, but not many.
Blocking the door open, she centered the serving cart in the passageway. This was it, the moment when she wheeled out her masterpiece and offered Mike congratulations on making partner. Still she hesitated, pausing to wipe damp palms on her crisp, white chef’s apron. Maybe presenting this dessert wasn’t the best idea.
Looking across the room, she saw her brother Randy had already positioned Mike where they’d agreed in front of the picture window. A single glance at Mike was all it took for her heart to skip a beat. His chocolate-brown hair had been recently trimmed and lay in sexy waves that begged to be touched. His navy suit was exquisitely tailored, emphasizing his broad shoulders and slim torso. But tonight wasn’t about how good he looked. Tonight was about congratulating him, showing him she’d grown up, and moving on.
Everyone watched as a towering confection was wheeled out of the kitchen. A golden heart suspended on shards and spirals of three kinds of chocolate hovered above a magnificent crème brûlée with fresh raspberries. It was an amazing dessert.
Flashes burst as several people captured the moment.
Mike looked up from the culinary marvel to its presenter and his thanks died on his lips. Patrice. His stomach clenched around its alcohol-soaked contents as all the guilt and desire of their past descended. He wasn’t prepared to see her or to handle the mixture of feelings she always engendered.
“If this were Valentine’s Day, I’d ask you to be mine.” She smiled, laughter over their semi-private joke sparkling in her brown eyes. “But since it’s not, I’ll just say congra—”
“I’m not yours and never will be, and I don’t want your damn heart.” His inner turmoil over Patrice always seemed to come out as anger.
Patrice’s smile froze, breaking into a hurt “O.”
Mike instantly regretted his words. He reached out in a misguided attempt to comfort her, but his aim was bad and his reflexes slow. He hit the top of the confection, snapping off the heart. He tried to grab it, to rescue it, but missed, bumping into the cart with enough force to tip it.
Mike watched in horrified fascination as the beautiful dessert slipped from the platter and smashed into Patrice.
She tried in vain to catch it.
Cameras whirred and bulbs flashed, capturing Patrice’s stricken expression as globs of cream-colored custard, once perfect berries and raspberry sauce with chunks of caramelized sugar covered her hands, arms, and apron. A strangled noise came from her throat as she bolted for the kitchen.
Mike couldn’t even apologize. At least not to her. She was gone before the initial uproar died down.
Gone before his mother caught his eye in a caustic glare.
Gone before Randy slugged him.
Excerpt from Crème Brûlée Upset by Laurel Bradley
Copyright 2007
