Billionaire's Black Quadruplet Babies (BWWM Romance)

by Ciara Cole

  “Hell, Talia, give a girl a hint! I hate waiting forever for a reservation after your review. Give me a hint so I can get in before everyone else does and rub it in their faces.” Mara rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain, making Talia laugh.

  “I don’t know whether to be terrified right now or take pity on you.”

  A victorious smile spread over Mara’s face. “Pity. Definitely pity.”

  Talia couldn’t help but laugh again at her editor’s antics. “Without saying too much, how about I tell you that I’ve already been to a buzzed-about Greek restaurant with a moussaka that will make you rethink your stance on eggplant?” Mara typed covertly as Talia talked, pulling another laugh from her.

  “Bless you, honey. Now go on and get to writing.” Mara shook her head as Talia stood. “I swear all that food goes straight to your ass in the best possible way. You get a bubble butt, and I get love handles.”

  Talia turned with a dim smile. “Yeah, well, one of us has a good, handsome man at home who probably loves grabbing those handles.”

  “The other of us is picky as hell. Tell me, Talia, what was wrong with Anthony? Or what about Bryant? Preston?”

  Talia groaned at the memories those names evoked. “Anthony lived at home with his mother, in the basement. Bryant thought my skin was too dark to help him in the corporate world and Preston…” She crossed her arms and glared at the woman responsible for that particular fiasco. “Well, Preston, despite the prep school name and golden boy looks, was a bona fide criminal.”

  “He was not!”

  Mara’s outrage would have been funny if Talia was kidding. “He was, no is. He told me himself. He owns several dispensaries, but mostly to launder his other drug money.”

  “Really? Do you think he could drop off some of those brownies?”

  Talia rolled her eyes. “He’s your friend, ask him.”

  “Not me. Bill is his broker, that’s all.”

  Talia gave her a skeptical look. “Well, I’m not asking him anything ever again so you better call him up. Meanwhile, I have some writing and eating to do. Later.” She exited Mara’s office and weaved her way through several banks of cubicles where her magazine coworkers furiously typed and fact checked to make deadline. Talia was lucky that most of her work was online, syndicated and updated weekly. She was pretty autonomous except for Mara, so she didn’t have to put up with the same stress as the rest of the magazine.

  She was grateful that her days were no longer filled with ringing phones, shouted facts and questions, and the overall chaos of any weekly publication. She’d started out as a mere fact checker, and not the kind who got to call up cool people to double check their interviews. Nope, she had to check things like one teaspoon of baking soda or one tablespoon. Sometimes that meant testing recipes out in her crappy apartment or talking to some hipster baker in Brooklyn. She’d done a damn good job as fact checker before she was hired by a women’s publication to do listicles, an article that was little more than bullet points on how to get the smoky eye look, drive your man wild and pick the right jeans for your body.

  Her big break had come three years later when the food blogger had come down with a vicious case of food poisoning and they needed someone to fill in. The article had been about the new food truck boom in the city, and she had done a great job. Her witty and irreverent style of writing had impressed Mara, who tasked her with reviewing some of the high-profile food trucks. From there, The Mathers Report was born.

  Now Talia spent her days researching restaurants and chefs up and down the east coast, sometimes making special trips to other cuisine hot spots, and spinning poetic prose about the dishes. It was a sweet gig that she loved, and every day she was grateful she got to do it. Even when she had to write a less-than-glowing review. That’s why she liked to do the interview before she tried the food. It was tough when you found out you liked someone you had to give a bad review.

  Tonight she had to visit The Family Table, an Italian restaurant known for its quality ingredients, flavorful dishes and family-style servings. She’d also heard it was a place where old mobsters came to get a taste of Italy, but she doubted that was true. No one in New York was in the mob anymore. It wasn’t the 1990s. Hopping in a cab, Talia grabbed her phone and pressed the green button under her best friend’s face and listened to it as it rang.

  “Please tell me you’re calling to offer me a free meal!”

  Talia smiled at her dramatic friend. “Tiana, hello. I’m great, thanks for asking.” She heard an exasperated sigh on the other end and asked, “Bad day?”

  “The worst and the only thing that can fix it is good food and wine. Lots and lots of full-bodied red wine.”

  Talia chuckled. “In that case, come over at seven and we’ll head out then.”

  Tiana groaned again. “Seriously? We’re not going to do the whole deep cover thing, are we?” She whispered the words as though they were actually going undercover.

  “Nope. I’m just doing an interview tonight. You live right next door, why are you complaining?”

  “Because I can,” Tiana said with a smile in her voice.

  “Brat. See you at seven.” Talia hung up, paid the driver and went inside to edit the interview and review for Delphinia’s Greek Delights. And to enjoy a small bite of the tiramisu she’d been dreaming of all morning.

  ~

  “Come on, Talia! You look fine, and I’m starving to death over here.” Tiana gave her friend a long perusal, taking in her almond-colored skin, high cheekbones, full lips and amber eyes. Talia was a beautiful woman but she wasn’t pretentious about it. Dressed in fitted light-colored jeans, a hot pink T-shirt and leather jacket, she looked effortlessly gorgeous.

  Talia glanced at herself in the mirror and packed, then repacked her purse. “I’m coming right now. And I’m not worried about how I look; I just wanted to make sure I was casual enough.” She’d learned her lesson about getting too dressed up for these things. The chefs would hit on her—endlessly—and she would never get a good interview. Too casual and she wouldn’t be taken seriously and she’d worked too hard to let that happen. So she kept an eye on fashion magazines for the latest looks and no matter the occasion she had something to wear. “Ready?”

  “Only since I got here,” Tiana glanced down at her watch, “fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Boo hoo, Tiana. Get your butt in gear and let’s head out.” They did and less than thirty minutes later they were entering the dimly lit dining room of The Family Table.

  Talia scanned the place, taking in the cherry wood bar that spanned the length of one wall, lined with green leather stools. The tables were also a beautiful cherry wood, but they were covered up by a white tablecloth with a burgundy one draped over it. The tables were large, the walls dotted with family photos dating back to the late 1800s, at least that’s how it looked. Old school Sinatra was pumped through the dining room as people laughed, ate and enjoying being together. The hostess stand was an unassuming podium on one thin leg, rather than those giant lecterns used in universities the world over.

  “I’m Talia, and I have an 8:30 appointment with Mr. Tucci. We’re going to have dinner first, but if you could let him know I’m here, that would be great.”

  The cute hostess gave me a polite smile and promised to relay the message. “Right this way, ladies.” She sat them at a table for four and removed one of the place settings. “Here is a list of today’s specials. Your server will be with you shortly.”

  “Damn, does he hire supermodels to work here?” Tiana asked.

  Talia laughed and gave a small shrug. “I doubt it, but she was gorgeous.” He probably sleeps with them all, she thought uncharitably. It wasn’t fair to lump him in with most of the womanizing chefs she’d come across, and one she’d been engaged to. Giovanni Tucci could very well be a nice man.

  “Wine or booze tonight?” Tiana asked.

  Talia scanned the specials. “Let’s go with a nice white wine. I’ll take it easy and
make sure you get home in one piece.”

  “Good, I need it. Topher wants me to write an article on love and dating. I told him, if you need sex advice, I’m your girl. Love? Find it someplace else.” Tiana shook her head, lost in the memory. “The little fucker told me that I’d better come up with something good or get used to covering the police blotter.” She collapsed back into her chair and rolled her eyes.

  “You don’t really have a personal life, Ti.” Talia hated to be the one to bring it up, but it was true.

  “That’s exactly what I told him. I mean, my needs get met but I don’t go in for all that falling in love crap.”

  Talia wished she felt the same way. The truth was that dating in the city was hard. As a successful black woman, it could be downright impossible. So she’d been happy to remain single for more than a year—nineteen months and counting—rather than settle for someone just to be with someone. She was a modern woman, sure, but she wanted to fall in love, maybe get married and definitely have a few children. But with every passing day, she tried to let go of that dream a little more. “Then do a dating expose and only choose guys you don’t have to worry about. Make it seem like you dated all types and write the hell out of it.”

  “Says the chick with a syndicated column.” Tiana smiled. “Maybe I can become like Carrie Bradshaw, and we can be rolling in the money together!”

  The waiter arrived, and they placed drink orders. “You definitely could; you just need to find your niche. Your writing is fantastic and the Times doesn’t utilize it.”

  “From your mouth,” Tiana said, wagging a finger at the heavens. “Bless your heart,” she said to the waiter who quickly returned with chilled white wine and two glasses.

  He smiled with a blush and promised to return soon with their appetizers.

  “Calm down, Sexafina, you’re going to scare that poor boy to death!” Talia laughed at her sexy flirty friend.

  “Please, he’s at least twenty-one, which means with the right training, he can last all night. I love all-night sex marathons!”

  “Yeah, Tiana, we all do. Some of us just don’t get them once a week.”

  “You could if you stopped being so damn picky. Stop dating stuffed shirts with no personality. I don’t care if they are white, black, brown or orange. Okay, maybe not orange, but you know what I mean. Stop it with the empty suit because they’re appropriate. Sometimes inappropriate is fun.”

  “And sometimes it can clean out your apartment and attempt to steal your identity!”

  Tiana’s smile dimmed a bit, but not all the way. “Right. I forgot about that. Sorry, girl.” She sipped more wine. “But guess what, date a graphic artist, programmer, painter, novelist, professional tennis player. They are all appropriate, but not so boring your coochie starts shooting dust.”

  Talia choked on her wine and laughed until tears ran down her face. “I cannot believe you just said that, Tiana.”

  Tiana gave a mock innocent look. “What? I’m just speaking the truth. When was the last time you had a memorable orgasm? With a man?”

  Talia sighed because she knew, almost to the date. “Jordan.” Her ex-fiancé was an ass, but between the sheets they couldn’t be beat.

  Tiana whistled low and long. “Damn, woman, we need to get you some good lovin’ and I do mean immediately.”

  “So you must be the two ladies keeping my nana over there entertained?” He pointed to the two older women sitting across from them. They waved with knowing grins.

  “That would be us,” Talia groaned. “Talia Mathers.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Mathers, I’m Giovanni—”

  “Tucci! Oh my god, how the hell are you, Gio?” Tiana stood, her voice rising in excitement before she wrapped her body around him.

  Talia watched, amused, the man’s bewildered and then excited face. Must be another of Tiana’s lovers, she thought jealously. The man was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. With shaggy black hair that just brushed the collar of his chef’s whites, sharp cheekbones and full lips all highlighted by a gorgeous olive skin tone. His eyes were either green or brown, maybe both, changing with every move he made. Tall, well built with a deep rich voice. Giovanni Tucci was hands down the sexiest man she’d ever seen in real life.

  “I take it you know each other?” Talia hoped didn’t sound jealous. Because she wasn’t.

  “I went to school with this guy. Of course he was all knees and elbows and hair back then.” Tiana turned to Gio. “You grew up real nice, Gio.”

  “So did you, Tiana.”

  Talia heard affection but not attraction. Interesting.

  “It’s a miracle we made it to these ripe old ages, so I’d say we both did alright.”

  “Yeah,” she said, seemingly lost deep in thought. “So, ladies, the menu is on me tonight. I see you already have appetizers, but I’m making something special for you, if that’s all right?”

  Talia smiled. “You’re the chef.”

  “That’s exactly what I like to hear.” He winked at her. “If you don’t mind, I’ll join you later and we can talk.”

  “Sounds great. I’m looking forward to it,” Talia said a little too brightly. Her stomach was clenched tight and a small bead of sweat made its way between her breasts. This man was wreaking havoc on her body, her nerves.

  Gio chuckled. “Me, too. I love to feed a beautiful woman.” His deep voice practically purred the words.

  “Guess I’m just chopped liver,” Tiana murmured.

  “Don’t be that way, Ti. You’ve always been beautiful but you’re you.”

  Tiana’s chocolate eyes widened in acknowledged. “I see,” she told him and winked, enjoying his playful laughter as he disappeared into the kitchen. “Looks like you have an admirer. Guess I should’ve added chef to the list of appropriate men.”

  Talia shook her head. “Been there, done that, pawned the engagement ring as proof.” Her ex almost husband had been a chef. A cheating, womanizing chef who thought his behavior should be excused because he was a culinary genius. “I’m here to interview Mr. Tucci and then review his restaurant, Tiana. Don’t get any ideas.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Chapter Two

  Giovanni had heard a lot of things about Talia Mathers. She was talented, kind, fair, generous with praise, eager to chat with chefs and she had an impressive knowledge of the culinary arts. What no one, not even the tiny photo of her on the Arts & Leisure Magazine website said, was that she was absolutely stunning. She was petite all over; he guessed she was barely five feet tall.

  Her most stunning feature was those intense amber eyes. They were elliptical and sucked you right in before you even realized what was happening. He’d been too shocked by those gorgeous eyes, flawless skin and full lips to notice his old childhood friend, Tiana, was her dinner companion. He hadn’t seen Tiana in ages and while he was happy to see her, it brought up feelings he really didn’t want to explore. The person he was back then, Gio, was nothing like the man he was today.

  He knew what people said about him, about his family. Mob. The word was bandied about the restaurant with the same regularity as Chianti or pesto, but always in hushed whispers just in case it was true. Unfortunately for Gio, it was true. And what’s worse, he had been a part of it for years. A big part, but that was firmly in his past, despite his uncle’s urging. His past made it difficult to find the right kind of woman to settle down with, but that’s what he wanted. He was sick of mob groupies, sleeping with him to say they’d fucked a mobster. Then there were the foodie groupies who would lie down and spread their legs with just the smallest mention of homemade pate, tomato gravy and hand-rolled pasta. They took food love to another level, and he was done with those types too. Which, honestly, left a man who worked fourteen-hour days with very little options.

  Until Talia. She had an interest in food, but the only heat he saw in her eyes was due to her intense appraisal of his physical attributes. He smiled thinking of the way those amber eye
s scanned the length of him. Several times. Maybe if he wasn’t so jaded and cynical, he would have blushed at her blatant appreciation. Instead, he’d felt turned on. Incredibly turned on.

  “Chef, the bruschetta is ready for Mathers.”

  The voice of his youngest prep cook pulled him from his deep thoughts. "Thanks, Marco. Start on the walnut pesto next.” Giovanni turned his attention to the carbonara spoon he was working on. It was just a bite, but it contained all the right flavors for a satisfying tease. He knew Talia would love it, based on her obvious love of Italian cuisine. It made him wonder, did she realize how her love of Italian food shone through her writing? “Remember, people, I’ll be dining with Talia, so I expect every dish to be as perfect as though she were reviewing us tonight.”

  “Wait, she’s not?” asked Penny, his stalwart sous chef.

  “Nope. Tonight is just to get the interview started.” He’d been pleasantly surprised when she told him she wanted to do a lengthy profile of him as a man and a chef, plus a review. “She’ll probably pop in unexpectedly for the review meal.”

  Penny groaned. “I just hope she doesn’t show up in the middle of a dinner or lunch rush. Why critics love doing that, I’ll never know.”

  “How a kitchen behaves at their busiest speaks volumes about regular service.” He’d repeated that line so many times in the five years since he opened The Family Table that the staff was tired of hearing it.

  “That makes sense, Chef,” added Marco. He was a newbie and eager to learn everything Giovanni wanted to teach him.

  “Suck up,” Penny said and stuck her tongue out at the young prep cook.

  Marco blushed but tilted his head defiantly. “I always wondered why they came when it was so hectic, knowing their presence would make it worse. Now I know.” He gave her a smug smile and stuck his tongue out.

  “All right, you two, don’t make me give you freezer time.” He chuckled when the kitchen quickly went silent. Although neither Penny nor Marco had owned up to it, most of the kitchen recognized their little dance. “How are the appetizers looking?” he asked, scanning the line for each item. He added a dollop of aioli here and a splash of balsamic cream there, wiping each plate down until the presentation was perfect. “Looks great.” He turned to Penny. “Three of everything. Hot, beautiful and delicious. Got it?”