L.A. Confidential. Джулия Кеннер

work and the expeditor was finishing up the final orders for the latecomers to lunch.

      “The woman I loved turned down a marriage proposal and told me she was moving to New York five years ago,” Ken said, making sure his voice was low enough for only Tim. “A year later, she dumped me and shacked up with some Hollywood big shot. I think I’m entitled to a touch of melancholy.”

      Before Lisa left, Ken had been absolutely certain of the way his life was going to go down. He was going to live in a bungalow near the beach with his filmmaker wife and their beautiful kids, and they’d spend Sunday mornings trying to outdo each other with exotic and bizarre omelet variations. Weekend afternoons, they’d go see movies, then sit on the deck overlooking the ocean and analyze the heck out of the film they’d just seen while the kids played in the surf. During the evenings, he and Lisa would mingle among the Hollywood elite as they dined at a Ken Harper restaurant.

      It had never once occurred to him that Lisa had a different view of the world.

      Of course, they’d never seriously talked about marriage, although his insistence that they not sleep together until after they were married had meant that the topic had come up once or twice. The fact was, he’d wanted to bury himself inside of her more times than he could count. But he’d been down that road before, though never with a woman like Lisa. He’d thought she was special. He’d thought she was the one. And cliché or not, he’d wanted his ring on her hand before they’d shared a bed.

      When she’d walked out, he’d been shaken to the very core. He’d begun to second-guess every decision as he lost the control he so prided himself on. His business acumen faltered, and he’d made some bad decisions. Decisions that had set him back months. He didn’t intend to lose control like that ever again.

      Tim was still staring at him, an almost sorrowful expression on his usually jovial face.

      “What?” Ken demanded.

      “You need to move on.”

      Ken crossed his arms and leaned against the stainless-steel prep area, trying to find a retort. But nothing came. Tim was right, but he didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about it.

      Lord knew, he’d cursed Lisa enough, especially on those rare occasions when he’d let the bitterness and humiliation get the better of him. He’d cursed and yelled and ranted until sheer exhaustion pulled him back. And still she was there, just under his skin. Part of him.

      So how the hell could he move on?

      Tim turned to Kelly, his sous-chef, then added some herbs from a nearby bowl to her roux, and Ken inhaled the wonderful scent. “Smells great,” he said, partly to change to subject, but mostly because it was true.

      “Of course.” Tim’s grin broadened shamelessly. “It’s my recipe.”

      Ken let his gaze wander over the kitchen, not really seeing, as his thoughts drifted back to Lisa. “The thing is…” Ken trailed off, wishing he hadn’t even opened his mouth.

      “What?”

      “Nothing.”

      Tim headed toward the stockroom, looking behind him to make sure Ken was following. “Spill it,” he said when they were out of earshot of the rest of the staff.

      “It’s just…I don’t know. I guess, when I think about her, even after all this time, I’m furious with her…but I also wonder what the hell I did wrong. You know. What I should have done differently.”

      “I repeat—you need to move on.”

      Ken brushed aside the comment. “I know, I know. But I’m not just talking about her. I’m talking about me. Not just with Lisa, but with my life.” The truth was, she’d left him with a legacy of self-doubt, and it burned.

      “Never second-guess yourself because of a woman, my friend. That’s the path to an early grave—or at least a psychotic episode.”

      Ken chuckled. “Yeah? Well, you may be right about that.”

      “And speaking of moving on…I interviewed the cutest pastry chef last week.” Tim kept his expression totally serious as he checked a produce list. “Now there’s a cream puff—”

      “Knock it off,” Ken said with a grin.

      Tim cracked a smile. “Just watching out for my best friend. You should date more.”

      “Me? You’re the one who hasn’t had a date since Melinda left. I’ve had so many dates I should buy stock in a little black book company.”

      “First,” Tim said as they left the stockroom and headed for the break room, “we’re not talking about me. Second, you haven’t had dates, you’ve had physical encounters. Hit-and-run dating.”

      He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the Formica-topped table, his large, former-NFL-linebacker body looking out of place on the small chair. If his knee hadn’t blown out, Tim probably would have made it far in football…and Ken would be out one hell of a chef.

      “I mean, have you tried to get to know any of those women?” Tim asked.

      Ken cocked his head and tried to look stern. “I can’t say I’m comfortable being psychoanalyzed while my head chef sits in the break room right as the lunch rush is wrapping up.”

      “No?” Tim took another slug of coffee. “Well, I’m a perfectionist, you know. And I don’t think I can work until I’m sure you aren’t making a mess out of your life.”

      Ken pinched the bridge of his nose, half in irritation and half in amusement. “I appreciate your concern, but my life is fine. I’m not holed up in some dark room pining away for Lisa. I hardly think about her—”

      Tim snorted.

      “—except for this time of year. And I am dating.”

      “You’re not seeing anyone seriously.”

      “Neither are you.”

      “We’re not—”

      “Talking about you. I know. But maybe we should.”

      “It’s only been a year,” Tim said. “And it’s not like I have a ton of free time.”

      “Touché.”

      Tim sighed and drummed his fingers on the table. “All right. You win. But just tell me one thing.” He looked Ken in the eye and waited for his nod. “You doin’ okay?”

      “Sure,” Ken said, not sure if it was the truth or a lie. “I’m absolutely fine.”

      ALICIA DUNCAN hated to fail. Particularly when the failure was known, as was this most recent setback. Now she sat perfectly straight in front of the mirror as her producer poured out his litany of complaints. A ponytailed bimbette fussed near her, supposedly fixing Alicia’s makeup, but clearly eavesdropping.

      Well, wasn’t that just great? The bimbette would probably run to the phone the second Alicia left, and soon enough the gossip would be everywhere—Alicia was on the outs with her producer because she couldn’t land a piddly-ass little story about restaurant mogul Ken Harper. What made the defeat even more grating was that she and Ken had actually dated last summer, but he still wouldn’t do her this one favor.

      She closed her eyes and pressed a finger to her temple. She’d won two Emmys, for crying out loud. She really didn’t need this garbage.

      “Have you even heard a word I’ve said?” Gavin’s irritated voice filtered through her thoughts, and she looked up, the reflection of her eyes meeting his in the lighted mirror.

      “I don’t need to hear your every word, sweetie. I got your point twenty minutes ago when you first opened your mouth.” The bimbette dabbed her forehead with a powder puff, and Alicia jerked forward, glaring. “You. Out. Now.”

      The girl backed away, her eyes wide, her teeth digging into her