Alicia came out of the bar, a smile on her face. “There are some good looking men staying at this hotel,” she said, eyeing the certificate in Sara’s hand.
“Did you win something?” asked Alicia.
Sara waved her off and tried walking around her to the trash. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just some food.” She crumpled the certificate up, and tossed it when Alicia snatched it out of the air mid-throw.
“Don’t just throw it out. We can use it for the three of us,” she said, unfolding it to read.
“I won it and I don’t want it,” said Sara, trying to grab it from Alicia. “Now toss it out.”
Alicia read on, her eyes growing wide. She looked at Sara in shock. “How can you throw this out? It’s for a privately cooked dinner by THE Laurent Stein. Do you have any idea how good looking he is?”
“The clerk told me he’s supposed to be some sort of celebrity chef,” said Sara. “Can we just toss it, change, and get to the pool?”
Alicia held the certificate protectively against her chest. “Why throw it out? The three of us can use it together.”
“It’s only for two,” said Sara.
“I’m sure we can work something out and add a third,” said Alicia. “Besides, it’s not his celebrity that matters. It’s how fantastic he looks. Even with his chef jacket on you can tell he has a great body,” said Alicia, her eyes becoming lusty.
The temperature rose inside Sara. She’d always been less desirable than her sisters, but they’d never deliberately made her feel bad about her body, or her luck with men. Coming off her disappointment from not winning something she really wanted, and her recent breakup, Alicia’s attitude stuck Sara the wrong way. She won the prize. Not Alicia. She watched Alicia calculating her odds on bagging this celebrity chef in bed.
“It’s non-transferable,” said Sara.
“I can read,” said Alicia. “That’s why you need to go down and claim the prize for dinner tonight.”
“I’ll think about it. Let’s get up to our room,” she said, taking the certificate back from Alicia. She couldn’t let it happen. Alicia couldn’t use her prize to notch another man in bed. They rode the elevator up while Sara considered her options.
If she ignored the prize, then Alicia would pout and Erica might even be upset about missing the opportunity for a free meal. Plus, now that she thought about it. The restaurant was one of the finest in New Orleans. If they dined there on their own, it would rack up a considerable bill. But if they did go for the free dinner, then she had to keep Alicia away from this celebrity chef.
The elevator dinged their floor and they stepped into the hallway. Alicia reached her room first. “Head over to the restaurant and make the arrangement for dinner tonight. I’ll meet you down at the pool when you’re done,” she said.
“It won’t take long,” said Sara. She keyed open her own room and threw herself on the bed. Why did problems like this always happen to her? The trip up to the room hadn’t offered a solution. At work, she was the problem solver. A consultant at one of the Big Five, she was paid to go into companies, figure out their problems, and then offer up useful solutions. But when it came to her sisters, her pride, and her love-life, all her training meant nothing. In time she would figure it out, but she had less than thirty minutes before Alicia would start looking for her. Ten minutes from now, she wanted to be in the water, not thinking about dinner while it was still late breakfast time.
Time. She sat up in bed. At work, her projects were billed by the hour. That’s the one thing she never had enough. A celebrity would be a busy person. Taking the time out to personally cook a multi-course dinner wouldn’t be a good use of their time. She thought it out and realized that this was her solution. She could go down to the restaurant and claim the dinner. But because they had three instead of two people, she could offer to waive the prize requirement of a personally cooked, private dining room dinner, for a regular dinner cooked by the regular staff. She’d get a free dinner for the weekend and the celebrity chef didn’t have to waste an hour or two catering to her. It was a win for everyone. Except Alicia, who’d have to forgo the chance to land someone semi-famous.
She loved her creative solution. This Laurent Stein would go for it. He’d have too. She got up and started going through her bag. On Monday she had to go straight from the airport to work, so she’d brought a set of work clothes. She would head to the restaurant dressed in those. Completely professional, but unsexy. She’d cut the deal with the chef; then considering the number of beautiful women that probably threw themselves into his bed on a weekly basis, he’d ignore her, agree to her idea, and they’d never see each other again.
It was perfect. She took out her work clothes and started changing.
Chapter 12
Laurent Stein looked up from his computer and rubbed his temples. The nightmare begins, he thought. When he had agreed to offer his cooking talents as one of the monthly prizes for the New Orleans Visitors Bureau, he never expected how much he would come to regret it. He had wanted to help promote the city he loved, watch it recover economically, and get some good press for his restaurant. It hadn’t worked out the way he envisioned, and he had promised one prize a year for three years.
Last year, when the winner of his dinner prize had showed up, they insisted on him grilling up a hamburger. They sniffed their nose at his offers of a fine seafood gumbo and every other Cajun delicacy. The winners could have had anything, but he just plopped down two pounds of hamburger, and then he grilled it up while they lectured him on how everything was better back home.
The Visitors Bureau made things even worse. They had sent a cameraman to snap photos, but instead of using one of the more reputable locals, the bureau wanted to save some money. So they hired someone cheap. The photos ended up blurry and useless for running in any advertising. The entire experience left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he resolved to withdraw his offer for the next two years of prizes, until his publicist convinced him otherwise. It’s only a few hours once a year for the next two years, he said. He decided that it was better to just put up with it and avoid the papers running his name as someone who backs out of a deal meant to help the local economy.
But that was a year ago, and now those ‘just a few hours’ were today.
He got up from his desk and headed out of his office into the kitchen. The smells and sounds of a busy kitchen usually put him in a better mood. In his own kitchen he could focus on what he did best — creating art from food.
His sous chef walked over to him. Jullian Miller, had been his right hand for years now, and good friend since middle school when Jullian’s parents immigrated to the US from Jamaica. They both shared a deep passion about making great food. Whereas Laurent thrived in both the challenge of making the best tasting food and its public presentation, Jullian shied away from anything but the actual cooking.
“You look awful,” Jullian said. “They have another oil spill in the Gulf?”
“That obvious?” Laurent picked up a knife to dice some green onions. He shook his head. “The winner of this year’s dinner prize is coming to claim their burger,” he said.
Jullian winced. “Maybe you’ll get lucky this year and get someone who really loves real Cajun food,” he said. “A couple of ladies who like to eat.”
“You know what the tourists are usually like. Except during Mardi Gras, they’re all on a diet, and either impossibly skinny, or they have no sense of what a good meal is because they eat anything that’s put on their plate. It’ll probably be someone who wants a hamburger again, or maybe they’ll go all radical on me and ask for a jumbo sized portion of fish N chips,” said Laurent.
Jullian moved to another counter and gathered ingredients for a new order. “Nah, no one can be that unlucky twice in a row. This year, it’ll be couple on a diet and all they want are some salads.”
The knife slipped in Laurent’s hand and some green onions fell to the floor. He looked up at his sous chef, annoyed, b
ut then he started laughing. “I guess I just have to make the best of it, whoever they send,” he said. “It’s just today and then once more next year. I can get through that.” Even while he went back to help prep for the oncoming lunch customers, he envisioned a beautiful women lying next to him, while he fed her from his own hands, food that he had made.
A waiter came back from the front and laid two new orders down. Jullian called them out for the other chefs to begin preparing.
The waiter called to Laurent. “Hey boss, there’s some lady out front looking for you. Something about dinner arrangements for tonight.”
“What’s she look like?” yelled Jullian from across the kitchen. “Any curves?”
“Don’t answer that,” said Laurent. “I’ll just go meet her and get the plans set up.”
“She dresses like my ex’s lawyer,” answered the waiter, as Laurent headed to the front to meet his prize winner.
Sara felt out of place. Everyone dressed so informally, and she walked in with a sharp, beige power outfit on. She imagined all eyes on her, flagging her as a tourist, and mocking her for being so formal. Her arms wrapped around, and hugged her body a moment, before she relaxed. When she worked, she frequently had business meetings at restaurants and never felt this uncomfortable. But now that she was actually supposed to be on vacation, she dressed like she was at work, and everything felt off. If she had just left her number with the waiter, then she could have made these arrangements over the phone.
She quickly decided that was the better plan. She took a paper and pen from her purse, and then walked over to the bar to write her contact information down. A tingling spread across her entire body.
“Can I help you?”
Sara turned and lost herself in the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. She forced herself to tear her gaze away. Attached to those eyes was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Short and wavy brown hair, that she wanted to run her fingers through, a strong jaw, and a smile that melted her insides. She fumbled for words.
He turned her around to the bar and pulled out two seats for them to sit down in. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked again.
She clutched the note in her hand, and then handed it to him. He opened it up and read it. Almost impossibly his smile became bigger and she gulped.
“Your name and phone number,” he said. “Thank you. Should I be calling you for something?” His voice dropped lower and his last words rumbled through her.
A vision of him pulling her clothes up and raking his teeth across her nipples passed through her mind. Sara took a deep breath. She was imagining things. This man’s voice, this stranger, hadn’t just spoken to her in a seductive tone. It was silly. They’d just met. Her nipples rubbed against her bra sending sparks down her belly.
The man extended his hand. “I know your name,” he said, holding up her note. “I’m Laurent. The visitor bureau said you’d be coming by to arrange dinner for later.”
She shook his hand and instantly regretted it. His skin felt smooth and warm. The tingling in her body increased and spread. What had come over her? She’d never felt this awkward, and good, when meeting someone before. Vivid X-rated thoughts of men, only seconds after meeting them, were something that Alicia boasted about having, not something she did.
Business. She needed to get focused on the reason she came her— to cut a deal with him for an extra person at dinner. Once she focused on business, then her thoughts would naturally tame themselves. “I thought we could make a deal for an extra person for dinner tonight,” she said.
Chapter 13
He sent a silent thank you to the visitors bureau. His tongue had dropped into his throat the moment he laid eyes on her. Standing by the door, with the sun shining on her through the window, the light highlighted her every curve. The winner should be a tourist, not a business person, so Sara’s choice in clothes left him a little confused. He hadn’t seen tourists dress so properly before, and he wondered briefly if she had flown in for a wedding or something other occasion.
But when she spoke about ‘making a deal’, he had realized her intention. For some reason, she was uncomfortable about being here to claim her prize. Her clothes were a form of security, to do something she didn’t want to do. A woman full of contradictions, yet as beautiful as Sara didn’t walk into his restaurant often. If he wanted to see more of her, and make use of the phone number he now had, he had to gently find out why she didn’t want to be here. Then make her comfortable.
“Well, if we’re going to talk business, we have to do it over drinks,” he said and walked around to the other side of the bar. He took two glasses and laid them on the bar. “Any preferences or can I surprise you?”
Sara tugged at her skirt. “Do we really have to have drinks? I thought we could just discuss this quickly and be done,” she said.
“Chocolate?” he asked.
Sara blinked.
“A white chocolate drink mixed with some rum. It’s absolutely delicious. We have to order the chocolate well in advance to be sure we have enough available.” He watched as she shifted in her seat again, but his heart stopped as her tongue quickly licked her full lips. “Maybe just a sip,” she said.
“Of course,” he said and started mixing the rum in with the other ingredients. He put a straw each of the two glasses and placed one in front of her. She eyed it hungrily, but restrained herself from immediately taking a drink. He held his glass up, took a drink, and waited for her to follow. A slight moan escaped from her lips as she took the first taste; he saw her close her eyes and take a deep breath. A wave of heat passed through him, and then the bulge in his pants grew bigger.
“That was delicious,” she said after opening her eyes.
“It’s a house specialty,” he said. Then his voiced lowered. “I’m glad you liked it.”
She took another quick drink before putting it back down on the counter, a slight tremble in her hand. “We really should get back to discussing dinner tonight,” she said. “I’m in town with my sisters and I’d like all three of us to have dinner here. Of course, because there’s an extra person, we wouldn’t expect you to actually cook for us in a private room. The main seating area with the regular patrons is fine.”
She went through her offer so quickly, that he thought she might run out of breath. Somehow, she really was nervous about being here. He still couldn’t understand why, but now that she had laid her offer on the table, he could work around it for what he wanted— more time with her. As much time, and as intimate, as he could manage.
He put on a faux grimace. “It’s not just the dinner, you know. The visitor’s bureau wants to come by and take some photos. Maybe even get a comment or two. Plus we need to be able to say that we honor the terms of all our prizes. If the bureau just wanted to offer a dinner, we sell gift certificates for them to give out. It’s really all about the personal cooking experience that I offer in our private dining rooms.”
“Oh…,” said Sara, and she took another sip of her drink. “I thought that we could just make a quick deal and get you out of the whole cooking for the prize thing.”
“Have you had lunch yet?” he asked.
“No,” she said biting her lower lip.
“Well then, that solves the problem,” he said. “You let me cook you a private lunch and then you can have a regular dinner with your sisters in the restaurant.” He had no intention of not cooking for her sisters later, but Sara didn’t need to know that. All she needed to do was accept his current offer and then he’d have her for another hour at least while he prepared a meal for her.
He kept his gaze fixed on her and admired all the angles of her face. She was the image of beauty. Full round eyes, high cheekbones, and lips that heated his heart every time her lips passed over them. Even under her clothes, he could make out the luscious curves of her hips, thighs, and body. He needed to be careful not to scare her away. Her anxiety had lessened since tasting his chocolate drink, but her eye
s betrayed some inner battle she waged. He needed to add an appeal to something else.
“If you let me cook you lunch now then I can go back to the visitor’s bureau and tell them that I still honored all the terms of the prize: a meal personally cooked by me and dinner. I don’t think they’ll mind if we break it up into two meals,” he said. Sara relaxed.
“You’re helping me, so I wouldn’t want you to get any bad publicity,” she said, seeming to decide. Then she added in a low voice of her own. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Her sudden teasing hit him unexpectedly. “Absolutely,” he said, smiling back at her and wondering if her sudden change in demeanor meant anything. He made a quick decision.
“You up for a short walk?” he asked.
“Won’t lunch be here?” she asked.
“We only have two private rooms in the restaurant and during lunch, unless there’s a prior reservation, they’re kept open for our business clients holding small group meetings. But I have another kitchen, that I used to cater out of, and it is only a block away. I kept it and it’s fully stocked,” he said. He wasn’t completely honest. The private rooms were used mostly for groups during lunches and early breakfasts, but they were both empty now. The next reservation for either of them was two hours away.
Sara seemed to hesitate again, and then he added. “I can give you a tour while you’re there too.”
He put his hand on the small of her back and a shock of electricity went through his arm, but instead of pulling away, he pressed his hand more firmly on her back and the energy warmed him. She relaxed into his hand, and then walked with him to the door.
The old kitchen sat less than five minutes away from the restaurant. From the outside it looked like a converted real estate office, but inside had been completely redone. Laurent held the door open for her.
Cajun Vacation Page 8
