Page 6 of Winning Her

She sighed. “Fine, honey. I’ll be waiting!”

I hung up, thinking hard about how I didn’t want to have to call her back so that she could tell me the last thing I wanted to hear all over again.

Why did they have to come back?

Not that I particularly had a thing against them all. It was just one of them that I had a problem with.

Growing up, I’d been in the Thompsons’ shadow. Both of my parents had worked for the family pretty much since before I was born. My mom, Joan, worked as a housekeeper while my dad, Ted, worked as the family butler. Through them, there were some occasions where I’d get to see Mr. Thompson, though those times were few. More recently, I’d met him after I started working at this hotel.

But even though I’d grown up in their shadow, I was growing out of it. I wasn’t just a child of the house help; I was making a name for myself with my work, my creations.

The father had been good to my parents. He wasn’t like what most TV shows made rich, successful businessmen out to be. He was pretty respectful of his staff, and he’d never said a bad word to either of my parents as far as I knew. In fact, they sang his praises.

It was Trent Thompson, the oldest son of the house, who I had a problem with. My chest was filled with dread at just the thought of him stepping back into the city, and I hadn't seen him yet.

What was I going to do?

Memories started to resurface, memories of my childhood. Memories of the crush I’d always had on Trent. They were sweet in the beginning, all young and full of curiosity. He was already quite a character back then, but my crush had only persisted, until one day he’d figured it out.

He’d laughed. I was still traumatized by that. When you’re a young girl, even when you’re shy and nervous with a boy you like, you don’t picture them laughing at your feelings like they meant nothing, but that was exactly what Trent had done to me.

Afterward, he’d even gone to talk to his father because of it. He didn’t just talk bad about me though. No. He’d tried to talk his father into letting my parents go, firing them as a punishment for me. I figured he must have thought the only reason I was after him was because of the family money.

Back then, more than because he’d laughed, that he thought that money was the extent of my interest in him had hurt me immensely. Being laughed at was humiliating, but not as painful as my love for him being dismissed as a love for his money.

It stuck with him. When I struck up a friendship with his half-sister Emily, he’d shown how much he resented it, like in his mind I was getting near her because I’d missed my chance with the first born and heir, so I was endearing myself to the sole daughter of the family who pretty much got whatever she wanted if it wasn’t too outrageous. Although, “outrageous” meant different things to the rich than it would to everybody else.

Things between Emily and me were hardly like that, though. Emily loved food, a love that I shared. It had been enough to get me through culinary school. When I’d come back as a chef, Emily couldn’t have been more delighted, and it had remained our bond.

Back when I still lived in the mansion, before I’d left for college, Emily would sneak into the staff quarters. She’d always been a curious, happy child, and everyone loved her so no one ever gave away her secret even after she was caught. It was how she and I had officially met for the first time. I taught the young, rich girl who had everything handed to her with a word or the snap of her father’s fingers how to cook in the small kitchen in my parent’s shared quarters at the mansion. After that, she’d sneak downstairs and we’d play chef. I told her one day that I would become a real chef.

I’d kept that promise, and Emily and I were still as close as ever. Even though I didn’t get to see her much because work was so demanding. But on the days I had the time, she’d show up in the hotel kitchens, and we’d make something, pretend it was like old times.

“Jessi!”

I jumped with an aborted yelp, eyes widening as my mouth fell open, and I turned to the person who’d just shouted my name and nearly stopped my heart from beating, cutting off my trip down memory lane in the process.

“Laura!” I said her name chidingly. “You didn’t have to scare me like that!”

She just rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’ve just been standing there staring off into space for a while, you know? Someone already did the work for the cakes.”

I looked over to where I’d left my work and frowned to realize the space had been cleared already. Yeah, I wasn’t the only pastry chef there, but usually people didn’t just come and hijack my work. I needed it, dammit! I needed to have something there to keep me busy, to stop me from thinking, and to help me put off talking to my mom for as long as possible.

My eyes narrowed at Laura. She was a colleague of mine, though she didn’t work in the same area I did.

“What did you even call me for?”

“I just wanted to let you know that we’re pretty much done for the day. There are other people that will be dealing with setting the food up for clients. The pastry chefs can go home.”

What? No!

I didn’t yell out like I wanted to, but it was a close call.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else for me to do?” I asked, and I was sure I sounded a little desperate, but I didn’t care. “I could start up on the menu for tomorrow, at least make some dough and put it in the fridge so I won’t have to start from scratch tomorrow…”

“You already did that,” she said impatiently, frowning. “Don’t you remember?”

Ah. “I’d just forgotten,” I said sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”