Read Online Hot Under Pressure by Louisa Edwards - Free Book Online
Authors: Louisa Edwards
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let you in on what he was thinking. Which was almost never, with most people, but Skye used to have an all-access pass to the inner workings of Henry Beck’s brain.
Not anymore. She had to remember he wasn’t her Henry any longer—he was Beck.
When she’d first seen him again, in that competition kitchen in Chicago’s Gold Coast Arms Hotel, she’d nearly been sucked right into the black hole of those deep, shadowy eyes.
She’d stuttered and stammered, stumbled all over herself and acted like a complete fool. As per usual. While Henry—no, Beck—had stood and watched, as calm and impassive as if they’d never met.
Never laughed together. Never kissed. Never promised to be there for each other, no matter what.
As if he’d never abandoned her, left her alone in their studio apartment with nothing but a check that covered the next month’s rent, a shiny new insurance card, and a baby on the way.
Swallowing down the familiar, careworn surge of grief, Skye reminded herself she didn’t need Henry Beck and his Navy salary and benefits to get by anymore.
And she had living, breathing proof that he wasn’t the only man in the world who could ever bring himself to care about her.
Bringing an image of Jeremiah, with his dark blond hair and twinkling green eyes, to the forefront of her mind calmed her down considerably.
Holding her head high enough to put a crick in her neck, Skye told herself she didn’t give a damn what Beck thought about her living situation. He’d given up the right to comment on it a decade ago.
“So how are your parents, anyway?”
It was amazing how quickly it came back to her, that old sense of caution whenever the subject of her family came up with Beck. “They’re fine,” she told him. “Peter’s got a new play up at the Royal, and Annika’s experimenting with plastics. You know, business as usual.”
He nodded and that was it. Awkward silence dropped over them like a blanket, muffling the sounds of the market. For pretty much the first time ever, Skye wished she wore a watch, so she could check it and have an excuse to get out of this awful conversation.
If she stayed here much longer, and she’d be in serious danger of letting Beck see everything she hoped to keep hidden—namely, that he’d ripped her heart out when he left, and she’d never quite managed to get it back.
“Sounds like nothing has changed.”
His voice was flat, heavy with the weight of a hundred arguments, but even through the blankness, Skye could hear his contempt.
“Not true,” she countered, tossing her head in another attempt to get the wind-whipped hair out of her mouth. “I’m ten years older, ten years wiser, with ten years of restaurant experience under my belt. And no matter what our history is, I am going to wipe the floor with you in this competition.”
The black arches of his brows shot up toward his hairline. “You have changed. You didn’t used to be so direct. Or so competitive.”
Yeah, well, I didn’t used to be responsible for the livelihoods of an entire staff, not to mention my parents. And I didn’t used to know that there was any way to be happy without you.
But all she said was, “Get used to it. We’re almost to the finals, Beck.” Unable to help the wave of excitement that crashed over her head when she thought about it, Skye grinned. “I mean, can you believe it? We started out competing against four other teams, and now it’s just your team, my team…”
“And that asshole, Ryan Larousse,” Beck growled.
Skye’s thrill evaporated like fog over the bay. “Can’t you let that go?”
Shock erased the blank expression from Beck’s face. “He tried to trip you when you were carrying a pot full of scalding hot liquid.”
Wincing, Skye pointed out, “But he apologized! I’m sure he just didn’t think his actions through. He didn’t really mean to hurt me—he was trying to get a rise out of you. And he succeeded!”
Beck’s mouth firmed into a
Not anymore. She had to remember he wasn’t her Henry any longer—he was Beck.
When she’d first seen him again, in that competition kitchen in Chicago’s Gold Coast Arms Hotel, she’d nearly been sucked right into the black hole of those deep, shadowy eyes.
She’d stuttered and stammered, stumbled all over herself and acted like a complete fool. As per usual. While Henry—no, Beck—had stood and watched, as calm and impassive as if they’d never met.
Never laughed together. Never kissed. Never promised to be there for each other, no matter what.
As if he’d never abandoned her, left her alone in their studio apartment with nothing but a check that covered the next month’s rent, a shiny new insurance card, and a baby on the way.
Swallowing down the familiar, careworn surge of grief, Skye reminded herself she didn’t need Henry Beck and his Navy salary and benefits to get by anymore.
And she had living, breathing proof that he wasn’t the only man in the world who could ever bring himself to care about her.
Bringing an image of Jeremiah, with his dark blond hair and twinkling green eyes, to the forefront of her mind calmed her down considerably.
Holding her head high enough to put a crick in her neck, Skye told herself she didn’t give a damn what Beck thought about her living situation. He’d given up the right to comment on it a decade ago.
“So how are your parents, anyway?”
It was amazing how quickly it came back to her, that old sense of caution whenever the subject of her family came up with Beck. “They’re fine,” she told him. “Peter’s got a new play up at the Royal, and Annika’s experimenting with plastics. You know, business as usual.”
He nodded and that was it. Awkward silence dropped over them like a blanket, muffling the sounds of the market. For pretty much the first time ever, Skye wished she wore a watch, so she could check it and have an excuse to get out of this awful conversation.
If she stayed here much longer, and she’d be in serious danger of letting Beck see everything she hoped to keep hidden—namely, that he’d ripped her heart out when he left, and she’d never quite managed to get it back.
“Sounds like nothing has changed.”
His voice was flat, heavy with the weight of a hundred arguments, but even through the blankness, Skye could hear his contempt.
“Not true,” she countered, tossing her head in another attempt to get the wind-whipped hair out of her mouth. “I’m ten years older, ten years wiser, with ten years of restaurant experience under my belt. And no matter what our history is, I am going to wipe the floor with you in this competition.”
The black arches of his brows shot up toward his hairline. “You have changed. You didn’t used to be so direct. Or so competitive.”
Yeah, well, I didn’t used to be responsible for the livelihoods of an entire staff, not to mention my parents. And I didn’t used to know that there was any way to be happy without you.
But all she said was, “Get used to it. We’re almost to the finals, Beck.” Unable to help the wave of excitement that crashed over her head when she thought about it, Skye grinned. “I mean, can you believe it? We started out competing against four other teams, and now it’s just your team, my team…”
“And that asshole, Ryan Larousse,” Beck growled.
Skye’s thrill evaporated like fog over the bay. “Can’t you let that go?”
Shock erased the blank expression from Beck’s face. “He tried to trip you when you were carrying a pot full of scalding hot liquid.”
Wincing, Skye pointed out, “But he apologized! I’m sure he just didn’t think his actions through. He didn’t really mean to hurt me—he was trying to get a rise out of you. And he succeeded!”
Beck’s mouth firmed into a
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