British Bachelors: Fabulous and Famous: The Secret Ingredient / How to Get Over Your Ex / Behind the Film Star's Smile

‘Thanks. Hard work but worth it. VIP events like this are a perfect way to get word-of-mouth publicity. Gold dust. I had no idea that Lottie knew so many people in high places.’

His brows came together. ‘Lottie Rosemount?’

‘Absolutely. That girl has a contact list to die for. If anyone deserves praise for making this benefit a sell-out it’s Lottie. Oh, have to go. Enjoy the party! And I hope you like the food. We’re trying that new event menu from the Beresford Paris which has been so popular.’

‘Wait up. What are you serving? Surprise me.’

‘Canapés followed by plated cold starters, three choices of hot buffet, salad and cheese. And I know you are going to sample some of everything because you always do before the desserts arrive.’

Sean gestured with his head towards the swing doors that led to the kitchen. Waiters were clearing away what little was left of the patisserie.

‘I have a head chef in there who has been screaming at her brigade all night that Rob Beresford is in the room and they had better cook as though their jobs depended on it. Forget the other city chefs. You are the one my team want to impress. They are nervous wrecks in there! So don’t worry about the food. Your job is to do the celeb thing. And good luck with that. See you later.’ And with that Sean strode over to greet the cluster of new arrivals who had packed the reception area behind him.

Rob stepped to one side, and tried to bring his breathing back down to a level where he could control it.

What the hell was the new event menu from Paris?

He was supposed to be responsible for the entire food-and-drinks range across all of the Beresford hotel chain.

His mother’s exhibition and the filming of the TV show had sucked every second of his life for the past few months but surely he would have heard about a new menu?

Why had no one told him about it? Or worse. They had told him but the message had got lost in the hundreds of emails he received every day.

Of course he had to trust the hotel chefs. He had personally picked them, got drunk with them and slayed them with cooking better than them. But as for trusting other people to create an entirely new menu? Forget it.

He needed to get to the hotel kitchens and find out exactly what they intended to serve at this function.

He glanced around the gilt high-ceiling dining room. Top hoteliers, company directors in designer suits, food journalists and, if he was not mistaken, several of the college lecturers who were responsible for what skills he had. So overall pretty much everyone in London with an interest in developing amazing new chef talent.

Brilliant for the charity. And a nightmare waiting to happen if this new menu was not totally spectacular.

And walking towards him around the edge of the room, one very, very pretty girl.

Lottie Rosemount. Only not the hard-working baker version of Lottie he had spent most of the day with.

This Lottie was dressed in a pale lilac cocktail dress that fitted her perfectly, the fabric draped close to her waist then flaring out over the slim hips to just above the knees. Then long, slim but muscular legs and high heels.

Tonight Lottie Rosemount was every bit the young female corporate mover and shaker he had seen at parties all over the world. Efficient. Brilliant. Organised.

Only he knew the real Lottie. The woman who had taken a high-street bakery and transformed it into something spectacular. Doing what she loved to do, her passion. On her own terms.

When had he last met a woman like that? Not often. Oh, he had met plenty of glossy-haired girls with high IQs who had claimed they were doing what they truly loved, and plenty of lady bakers had studied business, but so few people were able to combine the two skills to create a successful bakery.

Lottie had.

Maybe that was why he connected with the elegant, stunning woman he was looking at now, though he had only met her a few days earlier.

They were different from other people.

Her life forces, her energy, sparkled like the jewels in the bracelet on her wrist. She was effervescent, hot, and so attractive he had to fight down that fizz of testosterone that clenched the muscles under his dress shirt and set his heart racing.

Just at the sight of her.

Rob watched Lottie chatting away to the other guests. He heard her speaking and replying to questions in French and what sounded like Russian. Of course. She must have studied modern languages for business.

He headed for the bar, anxious not to make a fool of himself, ogling the woman in the lilac dress, but she strolled across through to the other room, totally confident and completely at ease in this group of top decision makers in the catering world. It was the kind of ease that came from an expensive education. Hadn’t she mentioned something about a management degree?

It was an education designed to open doors. And it had.

His education had been at the school of hard graft and a local college that would take in a boy with a police record and next to no academic qualifications past the age of seventeen.

He picked up a glass of sparkling water and turned back to the cluster of other guests at the same moment as Lottie started introducing some tough-looking lads to one of the college lecturers he vaguely recalled from his student days, going out of her way to make them feel relaxed and included.

He had got it wrong.

She was not one of the hobby bakers who opened a cupcake shop for a joke. A whim to keep her and her friends amused and give them somewhere to meet up to laugh at the poor schmucks who had to slave for a living.

Just the opposite

She had trained. Worked. Slaved. Knew what she was talking about.

People did not often surprise him, not after years in the hotel trade.

Lottie Rosemount was one of a kind.

Perhaps that was why his gaze stayed locked solid on that lovely face until she turned and strolled away towards the stage on Sean’s arm to begin the charity auction, leaving Rob to stare after her. And the low back of her dress.

Whoa. Mind-blowing. Brain-blasting whoa.

What had he intended to do? Oh, yes. Find out what the hell was going on with this new menu he knew nothing about.

He caught sight of a waiter emerging from the kitchen with a platter of canapés. Then another, and another. His heart instantly sank. It was too late.

The food service had started. There was no way he was going to barge into that kitchen and start asking questions when the food was already on plates.

Plan B. He was going to have to find out the hard way. By tasting every single dish presented to the guests at this event. And they had better be spectacular. Or he would want to know why.

* * *

‘Well. What did you think?’

‘I think he did a fine job.’ Lottie smiled, her gaze focused on the stage. ‘Consider me impressed. But don’t you dare tell him that I said that. The students are thinking of joining his online fan club and they must have taken at least a hundred photos on their mobile phones.’

Lottie stood shoulder to shoulder next to Sean and they watched in contented silence as Rob chatted and laughed with the newest group of catering students. He had spent most of the last hour following the charity auction happily introducing the wide-eyed students to chefs who Lottie had held in awe for most of her life. Chefs who she had somehow managed to get to donate seven-course dinners as auction prizes were like putty in Rob’s hands.

‘There is one tiny little thing which I should mention. Did Rob come up with tonight’s menu?’

Sean shook his head. ‘Rob is responsible for the hotel standards but the executive chef at the Paris hotel sent over the recipes.’