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The power she held over me was terrifying. I ached for her. It wasn’t just her body I was interested in, though. She was intelligent, quick-witted, and kept me on my toes.
Even though my parents would’ve preferred me choosing Cecily, my mind was made up. I would focus all of my energy on Liza Mims and, hopefully, we would be mated. Based on Dad’s condition, I hoped it would happen sooner rather than later.
After a few hours had passed, it was time for me to head home. Liza walked me to the door, and when I turned around, she squeezed my hand, sending electrical shocks up and down my arm.
“Thank you again,” she whispered.
I jerked my hand back, afraid of what I might do if my skin remained in contact with hers a moment longer. “Thank you for the second chance.”
My mood had lifted, but Zephyr’s news sat in the back of my mind. My gut and my parents’ reactions to her told me that the lack of information on Liza’s past had something to do with them. Could Liza’s undocumented arrival in Presley Acres have something to do with them not wanting me to mate with her?
Chapter 11
Liza
The incessant beeping of my phone alarm jolted me awake from a deep sleep full of dreams and visions of my future—the future I wanted. Ty was a featured co-star, and I was sad to wake up. My dream world was much better than my reality, where an alarm continued to blare. I slapped at the screen, hoping to make the horrific sound disappear.
As I squinted against the morning sunlight, a stabbing pain shot across my forehead.
“Ugh. Not today.”
Groaning, I unplugged my phone and propped myself up on one arm to scan my schedule. Last thing I needed on a day like today was a migraine. My schedule was booked solid, which wasn’t out of the norm, and I didn’t have time to nurse a headache.
I was shocked, and more than a little disheartened, to see that my assistant had neglected to inform me that I had a new client. Cecily fucking Banks.
Hell’s fire. Not to say that she was my kryptonite, but if we were going with a superhero analogy, she was definitely at the top of the supervillain category. There was no reason in the world this woman would hire me to prepare several dinners for her. She had a live-in chef. This had to be a trick.
Even if I ignored the rumors—the shit she’d said about me that had made their way back to me thanks to everyone thinking I needed to know how she felt—she obviously hated me and cursed the ground I walked on.
I sighed. My head pounded, and my eyes only opened far enough to be two tiny slits, barely letting any light in at all.
This was not the way I wanted to interact with Cecily, with a pounding headache, and alternating which eye I kept closed to the light, but I couldn’t cancel on a new client, especially one with Cecily Banks’s money just because I had a migraine. Even if I would’ve preferred to cater for anyone other than that spoiled bitch.
Rolling my eyes, I scanned a spreadsheet with Cecily’s many requests and requirements. She had more damn demands than anyone I’d ever worked for. What a delight this would be. Gluten-free, sugar-free, grade-A beef and pork. No chicken. No salt. No onion. Organic and free-range only.
I rolled out of bed, popped two aspirins, and showered. Feeling somewhat refreshed, I threw on my typical uniform of a black blouse and black chef pants.
There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to prepare me for a meeting with Cecily, but I decided to give the coffee a fair shot, anyway. I poured a large cup of black coffee, added enough sugar to power a team of toddlers, then sat down to review my account. Not surprisingly, Cecily’s payment had already been posted. I didn’t blink twice at the hefty amount.
I was used to collecting large sums thanks to the number of rich clients I served in Presley Acres and the surrounding area. They wanted the best, had demands, and to make sure they got what they wanted, they ponied up the cash, gladly handing over impressive amounts in the hopes that my food would impress their rich friends. It usually did. My return business as well as word-of-mouth made it difficult to take on new clients.
By the time I left to start my workday, I felt a bit more human and could open both eyes at the same time, although the headache lingered. My first stop for the day was the butcher. Cecily had requested several different cuts of steak. Luckily, I’d worked out a discount with Chad, the owner of the butcher shop. We supported each other’s businesses, and in a town like Presley Acres, that was important.
“What’ll it be today, Liza?” Chad greeted me when I walked in the door. He was used to my random visits, though I knew to come early in the morning before he sold out of the best cuts.
“Hey, Chad. Let me have ten filets, six ribeye, and three T-bones. A couple Porterhouse, a few sirloins, and a tenderloin each of pork and beef.” I leaned over and peered into the glass case. “Go ahead and throw in some bones, as well. I need to simmer some more bone broth for an upcoming luncheon.”
Chad quickly packaged my selections, handed me the invoice, and waved goodbye. The place was getting busy, and I had a lot to do.
I moved on to my next stop. The local bakery was owned by an older woman who’d been baking in Presley Acres since she was in her teens. It was a small shop, sitting in between much larger buildings that had been erected years after she opened her business. She was the best, hands down, so I refused to visit any of the newer and shinier bakeries in the surrounding area. No one dared open another bakery in this town because of her.
The enticing scent of freshly baked pastries lifted my spirits. Susan was known all over Texas for the lightness of her bread, and she had so many repeat customers from out of town who paid extra to have her bread shipped directly to them. I used to bake my own, but like the butcher, she’d given me a deal and hers was better. I stayed in my lane and bought hers.
After standing in a short line, I quickly scanned the case. “Can I get three loaves of white bread and two loaves of garlic bread, please? And an herb loaf, a cheese loaf, and a couple of bread bowls.” I wanted to serve soup.
Susan smiled and looked at me over the rim of her thick glasses. “Nothing for yourself today, Liza?”
“Nah.” I smiled in return. “No time for treats today.” Although I wished there was when I spotted a mighty delicious looking eclair in the case covered in chocolate and stuffed with a smooth custard filling. If only.
