A Recipe For Trouble

By Louise Clark

How many people have their very own twenty-first century version of a fairy godmother? Single mom Angelina Redding has Molly, and it's a good thing too, because Angelina's life is about to get very complicated.

Start with Craig Harding, the sexy academic with a mysterious past she's managing an event for. Craig is not only a dream to work with, but he's also exactly the kind of man she is attracted to. Too bad the college she and Craig work for frowns on personal relationships between their employees.

Add the cooking competition Angelina is staging for Craig. With one issue after another troubling the event, Angelina has begun to wonder if the glitches are deliberate. International culinary competitions are high-stakes events and winning one can bring big rewards. The contestants are single-minded, perfectionist chefs and they all intend to come in first. Is one of them behind the sabotage?

Season with a murder that threatens the future of the competition and Angelina knows she's got a problem. Still, she has Molly, her helpful fairy godmother who doesn't mind fixing what goes wrong. But Molly's aid has unintended consequences when she makes the body disappear.

Now there's no body and a murderer at large. Angelina and Craig will have to work together to keep the moody chefs in line, the competition on schedule, and the murderer at bay.

What better way for a girl to figure out if the sexy guy she works with is really the one she wants?

A Recipe For Trouble is 362 pages of mystery, romance, and humor, all mixed together to provide a savory reading experience. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saffron Place Publishing
• Release date: Jan 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9780987993885

Louise Clark

I have been writing for most of my life and have ventured into a variety of genres. I am currently focusing on three: Mystery / Mystery Romance (The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series and Recipe for Trouble, currently available in Radish Books and soon to be a standalone title available in e and print formats) Historical Romance (The Hearts of Rebellion Series) Time-travel Romance (Fighting Fate) and a Time-travel with romantic elements (Ridgeway, part of the now out of print Swept Through Time anthology and soon to be republished as a single title release in e and print.) I’ve also been published in contemporary romance and may tried my hand at it again in the future, but for now the other genres are keeping me busy. I have a newsletter I use to keep in touch. Click http://eepurl.com/b0mHNb to sign up. 

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Copyright

Published internationally by Saffron Place Publishing

RR # 1, Dunrobin, Ontario Canada K0A 1T0

Copyright © 2016 Louise Clark

Exclusive cover © 2017 by Dreams2Media

Inside layout © 2017 Louise Clark

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher, Saffron Place Publishing, is an infringement of the copyright law.

Published in print and e- formats.

This edition contains the full text originally published as a serial on Radish Books in 2016.

Catalogue records are available from the

National Library of Canada

Print ISBN 13: 978-0-9879938-7-8

E-book ISBN 13: 978-0-9879938-8-5

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

Shape Up?

Yeah, Shape Up. Can you believe she suggested it? Angelina Redding slapped a pad onto the clipboard she was taking with her to a late afternoon meeting.

Her assistant, Molly Sutherlin, shook her head. Shape Up is a fitness center. Staging a social event there will never work.

You know that. I know that. Now I just have to convince Beth she knows that too.

It's Friday afternoon. Why does she want to meet with you on Friday afternoon at five? You should be heading home.

Angelina sighed. Beth Upton managed Alumni Affairs at the college where they worked. She liked to arrange events for alumni in unusual locations and she used Angelina's conference management services to organize them. She thinks holding the annual New Graduates Evening at Shape Up is a brilliant concept. She wants to do a pool party or a luau theme. Something different a young audience will go for. She figures Shape Up will be empty late on Friday afternoon and we can get a real sense of the size of the area.

Molly sniffed. She was a plump woman, somewhere on the shady side of fifty and prone to wearing flowing dresses in floral patterns. She said the style was comfortable and the colors added sunshine to her day. Angelina couldn't fault that. Molly was probably the most cheerful and optimistic person she knew.

Molly's voice was far from cheerful now though. I think Beth is being unreasonable. You have two children to pick up from daycare. How are you going to do that?

Angelina added a pen to a pocket on the side of the clipboard before she dropped the board onto her desk so she could shrug on the jacket part of her navy blue pantsuit. She flicked her dark hair free of the collar, then gave the hem a little tug to straighten the garment on her shoulders, but she didn't button up the front. Working in the college environment meant she didn't have to be as formal as in private business.

I was able to get hold of Grant. He's picking the kids up. She glanced at her watch. Four forty. I'm a bit early, but I may as well go down to Shape Up now. That way I can check out the space before Beth gets there.

And come up with some good ideas why a pool party isn't going to work, Molly said, disapproval coloring her voice.

Angelina laughed, but didn't disagree. I'll see you on Monday, Molly. Have a good weekend.

You too, Molly said to her back as she headed down the hall.

The Shape Up facility was located in the basement, below the administrative offices for Point Grey College, Yaletown Campus. The classrooms at PGC Yaletown were housed in a converted warehouse, but the admin offices were in a modern addition at the back of the building. The staircase to the basement was located in the bridge area between the old and new parts so that students, as well as administration, could use the fitness facilities.

She passed through the empty change room, noting the steel-gray lockers, wooden benches and utilitarian dove-gray tiles on the way. It would take a lot of work to transform the change rooms into something festive and party-like. A good first argument against using the facility.

She pulled open the heavy metal door and entered the pool area. The first thing she noted was the width of the floor surrounding the pool. Perfectly adequate for bathers intent on moving from pool to change room, but not designed to hold a crowd bent on networking. Excellent argument number two.

Someone would inevitably end up fully clothed in the pool, she thought. And one in would probably mean everyone in. Excellent argument number three.

As she looked at the pool, imagining it full of writhing, giggling, fully dressed bodies, she realized Beth was wrong. Shape Up wasn't empty at four forty-five on a Friday afternoon. There was the man doing laps in the pool.

He swam with a concentrated vigor that told her he wasn't aware she was observing him. Or maybe he was, but didn't care. He was doing the Australian crawl, his strokes long and sure, his kicks powerful. As Angelina watched, he reached the far end of the pool, did a diving turn and pushed off the concrete wall. He cut through the water for a moment before resuming his swimming strokes.

Whoever this man was, he was in good shape. Angelina couldn't help but enjoy the play of muscles on his back, the economical grace with which he swam.

She gave herself a little shake. He'd probably come down here to work off a long, tiring day. It was time she stopped intruding on his privacy and got on with her reason for being here.

Still... He was lovely to look at.

Deliberately, she turned away to focus on the room's interior.

Angelina?

She turned quickly, recognizing the voice. Craig!

Craig Harding, Yaletown's Vice President Academic, the man in charge of all of the programing at PGC Yaletown, hauled himself out of the pool in a quick, lithe movement. He stood for a moment, dripping onto the off-white tiles before he padded over to nearby shelves to get a folded towel. He came back toward her, already drying himself with the thin white terry Shape Up provided.

What are you doing here? he asked, probably because she was dressed in business clothes and carrying a clipboard instead of wearing a bathing suit.

Angelina stared as he gave his dark hair a quick rub that left it spiked and tousled in an attractive way. Her eyes followed the towel as he rubbed it over one arm, then down his chest toward his abdomen.

He was wearing a blue bathing suit that showed off his body admirably. His chest was sprinkled with a light coating of dark hair and his abdomen, while not quite a six-pack, was taut and flat. A jagged white scar marred the area from near his belly button, down toward his hip, where it disappeared into the suit.

She swallowed hard and told herself to get a grip. Gawking at a senior administrator, a man she was also arranging an event for, was not a good idea.

He threw the towel over his shoulder and she looked into his eyes. She saw amusement there and blushed.

He smiled. Slowly. Lazily. He knew she'd been staring and he didn't mind. Maybe, she thought with a little flutter, maybe he even liked it.

He tilted his head and looked her up and down. Thoroughly.

She felt herself heat. She was blushing all over now.

You're not dressed for a swim, so it must be something else...

Beth Upton wants to do an event here. Their voices echoed loudly in the big, bare space.

His eyes opened wide with disbelief. She'd shaken him out of the personal back into professional. She suppressed the vague feeling of disappointment.

His expression skeptical, he said, Not a very welcoming space for a party.

She wants to do a luau theme.

Craig looked slowly around the room.

The rough concrete walls, painted a painful pale green, were adorned with life-saving devices and a clock. The pool surrounds were bare, except for shelves at either end of the rectangular pool and next to them, white plastic baskets for used towels.

Angelina had the impression Craig was assessing the space critically, analyzing all the options the way a scholar considered every side of an issue.

Although the room is large, there's not a lot of floor space, he said.

Angelina made a sound of agreement in her throat.

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. You'd have to redecorate.

Beth likes the idea of some potted palms and wall murals depicting tropical vegetation. Angelina watched disbelief skitter across Craig's face.

You're not serious.

She laughed. Unfortunately, I am. Beth is very creative. That's why she has me do the actual planning. I'm her balance between the innovative and the impossible.

You think you'll be able to convince her that a pool party won't work?

Craig sounded hopeful. Angelina smiled at him. I'll start by telling her that Marshall will never go for painting murals on the walls—

He might, Craig said, if it comes out of my budget. Beth reported to Craig, so ultimately he'd be the one signing off on the proposed pool party.

Marshall Drake, Angelina's boss, was the Vice President of Operations for Yaletown and the senior administrator at the facility. Though Craig's academic unit produced most of the college's revenue, Marshall dictated the expenditures, as he oversaw all the practical elements that made the college work, from daily cleaning and maintenance through to the Registrar's Office.

Even if you're right and there is a possibility Marshall might agree to repaint the walls, I'm not going to mention it, Angelina said, shaking her head. If I did, I'd never get Beth to stop thinking about holding the New Grad Evening here and she'd be in your office daily, pestering you with very good reasons why you should spring for the murals.

Craig ran his fingers through his hair. The gesture did little to smooth down the wet, spiky ends. Say no more. I will never speak of murals again.

Angelina laughed. Good thing we got that out of the way, because here comes Beth.

Beth Upton had long black hair swept up into an elegant chignon and warm dark eyes that made everyone she met feel she was interested only in them. She was dressed in an eye-popping neon sheath that did marvels for her figure. Energy crackled around her whether she was still or in movement.

Angelina! Sorry I'm late. Her eyes widened as she identified who Angelina was talking to.

You're not late, Beth, Angelina said. I came down early to consider how we could make the pool venue work.

Beth wasn't listening. She was staring frankly at Craig and the expression on her face said that she liked what she saw.

Angelina couldn't blame her, but she also felt a twinge of annoyance that was simply stupid. She might be divorced and free to begin a new relationship, and she might like that new relationship to be with Craig Harding, but the fact was, they were not in a relationship of any kind. They worked at the same institution and she was planning an event for him in addition to the one she was doing for Beth. That was it. She had no right to feel jealous.

And yet, she did.

A slow smile curled Beth's lips. Do you always swim at this time of day, Craig?

He clutched the end of the towel he'd tossed over his shoulder, but that was the only evidence that he was uncomfortable with Beth's flirtatious manner. I don't use Shape Up as much as I should. He nodded coolly to Beth, more warmly to Angelina. I'll leave you to your meeting.

Oblivious to his indifference, or perhaps just ignoring it, Beth said, I want to have the next New Grad Evening here.

Angelina already filled me in.

Beth widened her smile. Would you like to join us while we discuss the specifics? I'd value your input.

He smiled, politely, nothing more. As this is a preliminary meeting, I wouldn't want to inhibit the brainstorming process. I'll leave you to it. Have a good weekend.

You too, Angelina said.

Before he turned to leave he flashed her a high-voltage smile that Angelina felt all the way down to her toes.

Beth sighed as she watched him walk away. Such a lovely man. He has absolutely no interest in me... More's the pity.

Angelina was enjoying the view of Craig's departing form too, but Beth’s comment made her shake her head. Beth, he’s your boss.

Beth shrugged, then laughed. I know, I know. Relationships between a supervisor and his employee are not allowed.

Craig disappeared into the men's change room. Angelina gave a mental sigh.

It was Beth who brought them both back to the job at hand. Potted palms over there, and there, and there, she said, pointing. A tropical mural on the long wall opposite the change room doors. A water mural around the doors. We can open them up and pretend they lead to underwater caves.

Angelina's head whirled. Clearly Beth had been visualizing her pool party all afternoon. Convincing her to abandon the idea might be more difficult than she'd imagined.

Time to ramp up her creativity and stop the luau before it took on a life of its own.

Chapter Two

AT ANY ONE TIME ANGELINA worked on three, four, sometimes a half dozen events, all in various stages of development. This week was no exception. In addition to Beth’s alumni party, she was organizing a dinner for Rafe Templeton, the president of PGC, as well as the event for the surprisingly buff Craig Harding.

This afternoon her priority, however, was the president’s dinner, which was being held tonight. An awards dinner for the National Association of college Educators, the event was being held in Dining Delights, the restaurant managed by the Culinary Department and run by chef instructors and students from the college. She'd been up earlier to liaise with Vaughn Canby, tonight's executive chef, and Kirk Brewer, the dining-room instructor, over the details for the event. Everything was in order at their end.

As the Director of Event Planning for PGC, Angelina was responsible for making events hosted by the college run smoothly. Ensuring all the details meshed on the day of the event was a key part of her job. Rafe would know that and she was quite sure he'd be judging her performance tonight. Though he liked to see himself as a people person, Rafe never let his staff forget that he was the boss.

As always on the day of an event, adrenaline pumped through Angelina. Outside her office Molly hummed along to the song playing on her radio. Angelina laughed softly to herself. Molly was feeling the positive energy too as she rolled and tied the printed menus that would be included at each place setting. Obviously the task was going well.

The phone on her desk rang. Call display alerted her the call came from the President's cell phone. Angelina greeted Rafe cheerfully. He probably wanted an update on the status of the dinner preparations. She'd be able to reassure him everything was on track.

I had to leave the meeting to make this phone call, Angelina, he said. He didn't sound pleased.

Angelina settled more deeply into her chair. Then your problem must be an important one. How can I help, Rafe?

Rafe liked staff members who were quick to understand his needs and react to them. His tone eased from self-important to pleased. It's about the dinner tonight.

Angelina did a mental review of the specifics for the event. Dinner preparation by the chef instructors was well underway. Table decorations were done. Goodie bags had been filled and were down in the restaurant, waiting to be given out at the end of the evening. The combined menu and program had been printed on expensive parchment and would be rolled and tied with royal blue silk ribbon in plenty of time to be added to the place settings.

She said confidently, Rafe, everything is under control. I can't think of one thing you need to be concerned about.

There was an audible silence on the other end of the phone.

Angelina had worked for Rafe long enough to know what that meant. Her hand clenched around the handset while her mind scrambled to figure out which detail wasn't up to his exacting standards.

The timing is off.

Timing? He was kidding, wasn't he? They'd had half-a-dozen meetings to work out the details for the evening. When the dinner would start, the exact minute each menu item would be served, the moment the speeches would begin. Rafe had fussed about each. He wanted the dinner to proceed with stopwatch precision.

She pulled a pad of lined paper toward her. Are the workshop sessions running late? Tell me when you want the dinner to start so I can make sure Chef Canby is able to accommodate the change.

There was a sigh on the other end of the phone line. I know you try hard, Angelina. I have always appreciated the work you do.

Adrenaline pumped through Angelina. She'd missed something, but what? Something to do with timing, that was clear enough. She ran over the schedule in her head. Meet and greet, six to seven. Wine service and appetizer, seven to seven thirty. Entrée seven thirty to eight thirty. Dessert at eight thirty. Speeches, including Rafe's introduction of the chefs and service staff then his thanks to them, nine to nine forty-five. Event conclusion ten o'clock.

Every item on the list had been scrutinized and refined until the timing was as perfect as the menu items the chefs would produce.

So what was Rafe's problem?

You know that PGC's reputation is on the line tonight.

Angelina swiveled her chair so she could stare out her small window. The view wasn't much: the crumbling brick wall of the eighty-year-old warehouse on the opposite side of the alley. As she stared at the red brick she visualized Rafe, tall and lean with the ascetic features of a medieval pope. Being chosen as the site for the NACE banquet dinner is a great honor, she said cautiously.

More than an honor, Rafe said. He delivered the words in a brisk, no nonsense way. It's an acknowledgement of Point Grey College's standing as the premier educator in the culinary field.

Yes, sir, Angelina said.

Rafe continued in a warmer tone, Fortunately, we only need to make a small change.

Why did that not reassure her?

A detail, nothing more. There was a chuckle in his voice now.

Every warning instinct Angelina possessed went on alert. They were four hours out from the beginning of the dinner. At this point any alteration was enormous.

I'm afraid I forgot about it when we discussed the timetable for tonight's event.

How could he forget something so important that a last minute timing change was necessary? I'm sure I'll be able to sort it out. What's the problem?

I need to make a speech to the guests.

Angelina closed her eyes as she mentally sighed with relief. The speeches were already slotted in. Rafe had probably forgotten that the arrangements had been made. Not a problem, Rafe. It's already been done.

There was another heavy silence. I take it you're referring to the after dinner speeches?

The chill in his voice had Angelina stumbling over her words. Well, uh, yes. As well as Rafe's introduction of the chefs and staff, there was to be a presentation to the outgoing chair of the NACE.

The focus after dinner will be on the presentation. My speech needs to happen before we sit down to eat. At the end of the reception would be the perfect time, I think.

"You're going to thank the chefs and serving staff before the dinner?" Angelina said blankly.

I'm going to welcome the delegates to PGC Yaletown, Rafe corrected. I had a thought—a revelation, really—during the last session. The Association is holding all of the meetings at a hotel, and as luxurious as this establishment is, hotels are not what the NACE as an organization is all about.

Angelina swung her chair around. Her position now allowed her to see out through her office door to Molly's desk.

The stack of printed parchment paper that had been at her assistant’s left hand was now a pile of rolled menus on the opposite side of the desk. As Angelina watched, Molly rolled a piece of the oatmeal-colored parchment paper into a tube, then tied a length of royal blue ribbon around it. Smoothing the silk with the pleasure of a job well done, she dropped the roll onto the pile, then kissed her fingertips with a finality that couldn't be mistaken.

I'm done! her extravagant gesture said. She swirled her chair around so she was facing Angelina's door. The big grin on her face faded as she noticed Angelina's expression.

Molly mouthed, "What's the matter?"

Angelina held her hand up, silently asking Molly to wait as she said into the phone, How long will you be speaking, Rafe?

Shouldn't be more than fifteen to twenty minutes, Rafe said.

Fully absorbed in the conversation now, Angelina rolled her eyes skyward. A short speech, no more than a quick word or two of welcome would have been more than enough. A fifteen-minute epic would end up with tired, hungry people shifting on their feet and whispering behind their hands as Rafe droned on.

The potential for disaster was huge.

PGC is a fine college and our new Yaletown campus is in the center of the downtown core. The NACE should have held the workshops on campus. But it didn't. Annoyance edged Rafe's voice. Tonight I want to reinforce what an excellent venue PGC Yaletown is. I'll do that in the welcome speech.

Angelina's heart sank. Tired, hungry people being lectured. This was getting better and better. Vaughn Canby, our chef for the evening, will have to hold dinner back unless we shorten the reception by fifteen minutes.

I don't want the reception shortened, Rafe said. It's only three o'clock now. Vaughn's the best chef in Vancouver. We're giving him plenty of time to accommodate the change. Pushing the serving time back a few minutes won't be a problem.

I'll talk to Vaughn as soon as I’m off the phone, Angelina said.

"Perfect! I knew I could count on you to sort things out, Angelina. Now, for the program, I'd like the wording to read this way: Rafe Templeton, the President of Point Grey College, welcomes the members of the National Association of College Educators to Point Grey College, Yaletown Campus. Include the date as well. I think that makes a nice touch."

Angelina's eyes locked with Molly's. The menus have already been printed.

Molly's eyes widened. She dragged her gaze away from Angelina's to look down at the pile of rolled parchment. When her eyes rose to meet Angelina's again, Angelina thought she saw a hint of the despair she was feeling mirrored in her assistant's gaze.

On the telephone Rafe didn't hesitate. Perfection, after all, was his mantra. Have the Publication Arts Department re-print them. It's only fifty or sixty copies.

Angelina swallowed the urge to protest. Publication Arts scheduled the practical part of their curriculum in the morning. That was when they laid out documents, fiddled with the specialized paper, perfected the document so that what they produced was a prime example of the printing process. Since it was now mid-afternoon, the students who did the actual work were in academic classes. She was pretty sure Publication Arts would not be able—or willing—to do the reprint on such short notice.

She did a mental shrug. If they declined she'd figure out some other way to produce the programs. I'll make sure the change is made.

Excellent! I knew I could count on you to do a great job, Angelina!

With that, Rafe hung up.

Time to brainstorm with her assistant. Molly! That was Rafe on the phone.

A last minute change for tonight? Molly said, sounding resigned.

Angelina nodded. They both knew Rafe all too well. Angelina told Molly about his ‘revelation,’ then added, He wants the program changed to include the new pre-dinner speech.

Molly's expression was disapproving. That man expects miracles.

And we provide them for him. The document Publication Arts created is in a page layout program I don't know how to use. If I give you the wording Rafe wants inserted, can you manipulate it?

Molly didn't hesitate. Yes, of course. I'll get right on it. Then I'll talk to Pub Arts about a reprint. With luck we'll have a revised menu ready in an hour.

Relieved, Angelina, nodded. Good. I'll go down to the kitchens to talk to Vaughn.

Forty-five minutes later she was back at her office door. Vaughn had ranted about irresponsibility and the lack of respect for his art, but in the end she'd managed to soothe his irritation. By the time she left his kitchen he'd snapped into command mode and was busy redirecting students to make sure Rafe's change would happen.

Molly's cubicle was empty and when Angelina entered her office she saw a splash of white on her desk chair. Molly had left a note saying that she was down at Pub Arts. If Angelina wanted to talk to her, she had her cell phone with her.

Angelina dropped the note into recycling as she sat down at her desk. There was nothing more she could to do for tonight's dinner, so she hauled out the file for the Culinary Olympics Team Trials, the event she was handling for Craig Harding. Occurring in just under three weeks, the Trials were very much his project and he'd been involved in every step of the planning process.

Resting her hand on the folder, she allowed herself a minute to think about him. Craig Harding wasn't what she considered a normal academic. Not only did he have a body that said he worked out regularly—as she'd discovered when she met him at the pool—but he was quick to understand the real necessities of life.

He'd come to PGC when the Yaletown campus opened three years before. When she first worked with him on an event, she'd been in the final throes of a divorce. Tense and brittle, she'd been all business and so had he. A year later the divorce was finalized and she'd been carefully fitting herself into a new normal. That was when she first noticed that Craig Harding was not just a well-respected administrator, but one heck of a good-looking man.

A warm and friendly man with a killer smile.

The kind of man a woman would enjoy being with.

Sadly, a man who was off-limits because she worked with him.

With a little sigh she shoved her personal thoughts aside and concentrated on the file in front of her.

She ran her finger down the checklist stapled to the inside front of the file folder. Invitations to compete had been sent to the top chefs in the province and responses received. With the participants confirmed, a reduced room rate had been negotiated at a nearby hotel. Molly checked with the hotel a couple of times a week to see who had registered. There was a note in the file that she'd called on Monday and the only group that hadn't booked rooms was the contingent from Oak Bay Institute on Vancouver Island. Molly had confirmed that the special rate was still in effect, with the hotel waiting for the Oak Bay booking.

Angelina wondered why OBI hadn't made a reservation yet, but it wasn't her problem, so she moved on to the next item on the checklist––the facilities at PGC assigned to the event.

Three kitchens and Dining Delights had been reserved for the week of the competition, as per Craig's instructions. Angelina had notified Maintenance that the tables in the restaurant would have to be reset and they'd sent an acknowledgement of her work order. Craig was responsible for reorganizing the classes usually held in the teaching kitchens. She noted a printout of an e-mail canceling the classes for the week of the competition so that the students could participate as helpers or observers.

Letters had been sent to the chefs chosen to judge the competition, notifying them of the times they had to be at the college. A guest list had been assembled from names supplied by Rafe, Craig and John Milford, the department head of Culinary. Invitations to attend had been sent to each name on the list.

Everything was up to date. There was nothing to be concerned about.

Angelina closed the file with a snap. Her mood had lightened considerably. Oh, yeah, it feels good when plans come together and all the parts of an event fall into place. She picked up the folder, intending to drop it back into her file drawer.

An unexpected voice—an annoyed unexpected voice—sounded behind her. I'm glad you're satisfied. I have to say, I'm not.

Chapter Three

STARTLED, ANGELINA dropped the file back onto her desk. The papers spilled out into a jumbled pile. She hastily tidied them.

Sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you, Craig Harding said, walking into her office.

As her heart rate settled back normal, embarrassment flooded Angelina. Craig had caught her talking to herself. She must have sounded like an idiot. Ah, that's okay. She took a deep breath in an effort to regain her usual professional calm. It didn't work because her gaze had settled on Craig and all she could think about was the man himself.

He was dressed more formally than usual, in tailored trousers and a well-cut sport jacket. Still no tie, though, she noted with amusement. His clothes triggered a concern and she frowned. Shouldn’t you be at the NACE meetings?

I was, he said. I had to come back to the college to deal with problems related to the event.

Dismay washed over Angelina. Had one of his faculty members complained about the last-minute changes to the dinner? Vaughn Canby? Or the chair of Pub Arts, angry at Molly’s insistence they reprint the menus? Craig, there wasn’t much I could do. When Rafe says jump, I’ve got to jump.

He frowned. So Rafe is behind this?

You didn’t know? Yeah, he called me this afternoon and told me to set it up.

Craig leaned against her window frame, putting his face in shadow, but emphasizing the excellent shape of his body as he pushed back the sides of his jacket to shove his hands into his pockets. Distracted, Angelina let herself look and enjoy for a moment before she focused on the issue between them.

I know Rafe and Shasta Baker have had a confrontational relationship since their divorce, he was saying, but why would he want to cancel the special rate you arranged for the Olympic Trials?

The Olympic Trials? Cancel the room rate? What are we talking about?

Craig’s body stiffened, but his voice remained mild. I was told this afternoon that when Shasta Baker’s admin assistant tried to book rooms for the OBI group, the hotel clerk informed her the block had been canceled—by your office.

That’s not possible. The assistant must have forgotten to mention the bookings were for the Olympic Trials. I’m sure it’s a simple mistake that can be easily corrected.

A smile flitted across a mouth that was wide and generous. If only. Craig straightened. Unfortunately Shasta Baker has unwavering faith in her assistant. If the assistant said it happened, it happened. Twenty-five minutes ago Shasta found a very public opportunity to taunt Rafe about his inadequate staffing. She said it was typical of his stuffy, old-fashioned, out-of-touch organization.

And Rafe was planning to deliver a speech praising PGC’s many accomplishments to the same group of people. Angelina closed her eyes for a brief moment of despair. Spats between Rafe and his ex, Shasta, didn’t happen often since Shasta lived in a different city, but when they did the fallout could be devastating. Which pretty much described what happened today.

Yeah, Craig said, acknowledging her expression. "Rafe was not happy.