by Zuri Day
“How often do you fly to New York?”
“Fairly often.”
“For the Chow Channel mostly?”
“That and a couple other business interests. Plus, I like the city.”
“You sound like my friend Stefanie. The one who came with me to the restaurant the other night and was turned away.”
Pierre grimaced. “Ouch.”
“She said she’d accept a free meal as your apology.”
“Done.”
The pilot announced they were ready for takeoff. Once airborne, they continued conversing.
“Did you have to try out to get on the Chow Channel?”
Pierre shook his head. “That was a fluke. I’d done some video in the kitchen at New Orleans, preparing a couple dishes, just messing around really. One of their producers came across it on YouTube and called me up and...here I am.”
“Lucky break.”
“Indeed.”
“And the energy drink, Intense Energy?”
“That happened through someone I met in New York who worked with the company. She told me they were looking for a face for their brand. I have a face. So I went to the audition.”
Roz smiled. “Had you ever done anything like that before?”
“Never.”
“Then how’d you know it was something you wanted?”
“I’d heard how much money the spokesperson would be making.”
“Ah, that’s a motivator. Did you beat out a lot of people?”
“A couple hundred.”
“Wow. Impressive.”
“I think my friend may have put in a good word for me. It also helped that I was on the Chow Channel and had a following.”
“So you’re a Chow Channel star, the face of the number one energy drink and have just opened a restaurant with a backlog of reservations and rave reviews. For someone who had a front row seat to one of the country’s most devastating hurricanes, and was basically forced into adulthood at age fifteen, you done good.”
“Thanks.”
“Your mom must be so proud.”
Roz watched the smile on his face dissipate. He nodded, but said not a word. She wisely changed the subject. Over the next two hours they talked about everything from places they’d traveled to favorite foods. Roz learned that they shared a love for tennis, Thai food and old-school jazz. While not having much to say about his mom, Pierre talked extensively about his mentor at New Orleans, and the life-changing move from urban Houston to Marc’s home in the suburbs. The more they talked, the more she felt Pierre relax and begin to open up.
Time flew by, and when they touched down in the Big Apple, the pace increased even more. Roz took copious notes as Pierre breezed through filming at Intense Energy, handling all the attention with ease. He gave each person who stopped him his undivided attention. Fan, cameraman, producer, cabdriver—he treated everyone kindly, and with respect. By the time they arrived at the Chow Channel, Roz knew firsthand just how much work Pierre packed into a day.
After watching him flex for Intense Energy and smile while cooking for the Chow Channel crew, she realized something else. She was pretty sure that she’d fallen in love with him. Yep, gaga, like every other female who had eyes and breathed.
Almost eight hours after arriving in New York, Pierre and Roz said goodbye to the folks at Chow Channel, which marked an end to his day.
“Did you enjoy that?”
“Every minute! It was fantastic!”
“I see the excitement in your eyes.”
“No one knows how hard you guys work behind the scenes.”
“At the restaurant we have a saying. ‘Being easy is hard work.’”
“Ha! That I now know for sure.”
They got on the elevator. He became quiet, head back, eyes closed as he leaned against the cool metal of the wall. Roz found herself studying his face, his profile. His hair wasn’t black, but a rich, dark brown with blond highlights some women paid to achieve. His looked natural, as did his perfectly arched brows above those gorgeous eyes now hidden by lids sporting ridiculously long eyelashes that curled at the ends. His nose, thin and aquiline, was perfectly proportioned. For the first time she noticed the merest hint of a mustache and a tiny mole just above and to the right of pinkish, tan-tinted lips.
You are one fine brother.
Pierre opened his eyes, suddenly, unexpectedly. Roz was busted.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s what we journalists do, always examining, looking, probing...”
Pierre eased off the wall and took a step toward her. Then another. Roz’s heartbeat increased as she watched his eyes take in her face, then lower to her lips as he licked his own.
He stopped in front of her, separated by inches.
“What are you doing?”
“Examining, searching.” He leaned forward, brushed his lips across hers. “Probing...”
He kissed her again, pressed his groin against her. Roz took a breath, which was all the opening Pierre needed to slip his tongue inside. Examining, searching, probing...
The elevator stopped. Pierre reached up and tweaked a hardened nipple as he stepped back, adjusted himself, letting Roz know that he was hard, too.
“I have a place up in Harlem. Would you like to see it?”
Roz knew what he asked wasn’t one question, but several. She had one answer for all of them.
“Yes.”
During the thirty-minute ride from the Chow Channel studios in Chelsea to his two-bedroom, two-bath condo just off 110th Avenue, Pierre’s behavior was friendly, but platonic. Given the way Roz’s body hungered for his touch, the space between them in the spacious Town Car back seat felt as wide as the Hudson, which they traveled alongside. He entertained her with tales of his first time in New York and getting lost on the subway, falling in love with Broadway and Times Square and eating his way through New York’s plethora of neighborhoods—from Little Italy and Chinatown in Lower Manhattan to French African and Jamaican fare on Harlem’s Striver’s Row. Pierre kept his hands to himself as they entered the lobby and rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor. But as soon as they entered his home and closed the door, it was clear that he still had an appetite, and she was the dish he desired.
The assault started at the door, where he pulled her around and placed her against it, sandwiching her with his body, crushing her lips as he pulled at her top. She wanted to stop him or at the very least tell him to slow down, take it easy. But her hands had other ideas, as even while these thoughts played in her mind, she reached for his belt and frantically undid the buckle. They parted just long enough to pull off this, push down that and toss the clothes aside. He picked her up then, his hands gripping bare ample buns that hung on either side of a lacy pink thong as he walked them to the bedroom and lowered her to the bed—gently, almost reverently, as though she was precious and rare. Only then did he pause to stare at her body, the effect evident as she watched him grow harder before her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to bring his breathing under control. “It’s been a while and you’re so beautiful and I just want to...”
He dropped to his knees, bent to her ankles and kissed a trail from there to her thigh, all while searching for and finding her landing spot, its moisture evident as his hand swept her thong. After lavishing the same attention on the other leg, he removed the sandals she still wore and let his boxers hit the ground.
Lord. Have. Mercy.
Roz bit her lip, tried to not to writhe with anticipation of what was to come. Delano, her ex, had treated oral like a gift unwrapped only on special occasions, like a birthday, graduation or anniversary. But here it was her first time with Pierre and already his tongue drew lazy circles on her thigh, then licked a line to her heat. He swiped the slit between her folds, rubbing the lace
against her now hard and supersensitive bud. Roz grabbed the spread, her body arching with an almost primal need for direct contact, long and deep.
“Please,” she whispered, softly and to herself, hoping that he hadn’t heard her.
But he had. He pulled the fabric aside and increased his assault. Burying his tongue inside her as he lapped her nectar and teased her pearl. He raised her legs and spread them, leaving her open and exposed for his thorough tonguing. Roz felt she would die from the pleasure and tried to push away from him. But he gripped her legs and held her firm—swirling, sucking, flicking, kissing her there—until the orgasmic ecstasy that had begun in her toes pulsated through her body and caused an explosion, the likes of which Roz had not known was possible. It took a few seconds before she realized the hoarse scream reaching her ears was her own. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, but before she could try and stop them, indeed before she could hardly move at all, Pierre had sheathed himself and begun a slow, tight descent inside her. He held himself back, gave her body time to adjust. And when it did, he made slow, deep, powerful love to the deepest part of her being. Made love to her soul. Roz had thought him dangerous. Now she knew it. Pierre didn’t have a lethal weapon, he was one. She knew something else.
It was time to live dangerously.
Chapter 11
Later, after the two had recovered from the strenuous workout and Pierre had belatedly given Roz a tour of his modern, compact and cozy love lair, he suggested they spend the night in New York, and wake up tomorrow for round two. Tempting, but Roz declined. She needed to write while the notes were fresh, and knew Andy would want to see results from her day in the field. So after a shower, during which she turned on the water and turned off her thoughts, they headed back to the airport for a quiet ride home.
Roz woke up the next morning to sore thighs and mixed emotions. Yesterday had been the best day of her life and the worst that could happen at the same time. Pierre was an excellent lover, easily the best she’d ever had. She’d broken her own rule about not sleeping with subject matter. The thought had come several kisses, forbidden touches and an orgasm too late, and she still felt guilty about it. Stefanie would tell her to stop being so serious. To shrug it off and chalk it up to a night of great sex. But her body wanted more than one night. And so did her heart.
“Turn it off, Roz,” she mumbled, easing out of bed and heading for coffee.
But despite what she told herself, she couldn’t do it. Everything about him was sexy. After Delano, she should have been immune to Pierre’s physical charm. She’d thought she was. Yet some light flirtation, a private flight and a whirlwind afternoon in New York and her will had folded like cheap origami. Folded like hundreds, maybe even thousands before her. Way to set yourself apart, Roz.
Sleeping with Pierre was probably the wrong move. So why had it felt so right last night? Didn’t matter. It happened. One-night stand. Probably over. Time to move on. After calling Mrs. Powell to confirm their appointment, she sent Andy the article written last night and reminded him of her midmorning appointment that day. Once in the car, she called Stefanie.
“Hey, Roz!”
“Hey, Stef.”
“So...”
“Don’t get mad at what I’m going to tell you, because everything was out of my hands.”
“What, you didn’t get the reservation? Girl, please. I don’t care about that.”
“I flew to New York yesterday.”
“Youdidwhat?” Stefanie rushed three words into one.
“So not long after we hung up I arrived at Easy Creole Cuisine.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And when I got there a helicopter was on the roof.”
“Get out.”
“No kidding. And King Kong, who I now know as Buddha, was at the door.”
“You came here with Pierre?”
“Yes.”
“What? And didn’t call me? Text...nothing?”
“I know, it’s crazy. Everything happened so fast. One place after the other. I barely had time to catch my breath before we were on to the next thing.”
“I can’t believe you. Start at the beginning. Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Can’t right now. I’m not that far from your parents’ house and my appointment with your mom. I’ll call you tonight and share everything, but I will tell you this.”
Roz paused for effect.
“You slept with him.”
“I shouldn’t have, but oh my God, Stefanie. It was amazing. I’ll call you later and tell you about the whole day.”
“I can’t wait. So are you seeing him again today?”
“I doubt it. I haven’t heard from him and I’m not going to call him.”
“Look, turn off that analytical mind and let your heart lead you. And if not that, your—”
“Bye, Stefanie!”
Her best friend’s laughter was loud and contagious. Roz couldn’t help chuckling as she walked to the porch. Even with the sadness of discussing Stefanie’s brother Aaron’s untimely passing, Roz finished the interview and still felt good the rest of the day.
* * *
The week passed quickly. Pierre hadn’t called Roz, but he’d thought about her every day. Not just the sex, which was amazing. But how good he felt just hanging out. Her inquisitiveness and zest for life. How she was interested in everything going on around her. How much he enjoyed their conversation. How comfortable he felt in her silence. Was he ready for a relationship? Pierre put the question on hold and focused on work. But he knew it would have to be answered sooner rather than later. From everything he’d observed, Roz wasn’t the casual kind of girl.
Pierre entered the restaurant and stood just inside its doors. This was one of his favorite times, being there early, alone, before the rush, where he could plan, dream and create new dishes without being interrupted. He walked into the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves and gathered the items to try out the first of two new signature dishes. He gathered an armful of spices, fresh herbs, carrots, garlic and the Louisianan cook’s holy trinity—onions, green peppers and celery—and walked over to a long, immaculate, stainless steel counter to start a broth. For him cooking was like meditation, and he looked forward to at least an hour alone in the kitchen before either the sous chef or the prep cooks arrived.
“Hey, boss. What are you cooking?”
It was not meant to be. Pierre looked at his watch, and with a sigh turned to see Riviera, his second-in-command, toss his knife roll on the counter and head toward him.
“You’re an hour early. What are you doing here?”
“Getting ready for a packed house and steady traffic, same as you. What’s that?”
“I don’t know yet. Since you’re here, grab me a five-pound bag of crayfish from the freezer.”
Riviera smiled with a lopsided boyishness that matched his easygoing strides as he walked to the freezer. From there he headed to one of several industry-sized sinks for a thorough thaw and wash. “You meant crawdads, right?”
“At a family boil in Oklahoma, where you’re from? Sure, that’ll work. But served in a restaurant of our caliber, and at our price, they’re crayfish.”
Riviera laughed. “Might as well go all the way and call them freshwater lobsters.”
“Even better. Working on a name for this dish. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The day’s pace was insane. But except for a few aching muscles, Pierre found the eighteen-hour day felt like eight. He left the kitchen, went through a side door and walked around to the front of the building.
“Hey, man.” He and Buddha exchanged a handshake.
“You’re out?”
“Finally. It’s been a long day. How’s everything out here?”
“You know how I do it. Everything’s under control. Look, Easy, I really appreciate you giving m
e this job, man.”
“You’re clearly the best one for it. Who knew that I’d need someone like you here? But with the crowds and the VIPs coming in...it all worked out.”
“My lady is looking for a larger apartment. With the family expanding, we need the room.”
“It’s about time to welcome the little one, huh?”
“Less than a month.”
“Another one of our employee’s wife is pregnant, too. Hope nothing’s in the water.”
“Keep the snake out and you don’t have to worry.”
Pierre laughed. His phone rang. “Alright, Buddha, be safe.” Walking across the street to his SUV, he tapped the face and held the cell to his ear. “Hey, Lizzy!”
“Dang, brother! It’s about time you answered your phone!”
“I know, baby girl. It’s been crazy over here. I apologize. How’s school?”
“It’s been crazy over here.”
Laughing, Pierre got into his car, switched to Bluetooth and pulled out of the parking lot.
“I’m trying to get through by December, so I doubled up on a couple classes.”
“Is that affecting your grades?”
“It’s affecting my sanity.”
“Remember, you’ll only get what I promised you by maintaining that 3.8.”
“Brother, a white 560 with custom chrome is my computer screenshot. That’s what helps get me through all these hours of studying.”
“I’m proud of you, baby girl.”
“You helped make it happen. The scholarship helped but I would have had to work my way through college if you weren’t famous.”
“Shut up with that.”
“I had a copy of NO Beat on my bed. My roommate saw your picture and lost her mind.”
“There were pictures with it?”
“Yeah, you didn’t read the article?”
“The writer sent me a link to it. I never saw the paper.”
“There were just a few. The Chow Channel, Intense Energy, and one of you and Marc.”
