by Zuri Day
“That’s one of the reasons I called, Tiffany. I’ve been thinking about how wrong I’ve treated you, how instead of waiting for you to make the first move in patching up our relationship, I should have been the one doing it. I’m the adult, you’re the child, but I was the one acting immature.”
Tiffany silently agreed with everything her father said. He had acted immature and selfish, like someone else she knew.
“Tiffany, you still there?”
“Yes, Dad.”
The awkward silence continued, but Keith suppressed his discomfort. He was determined to make things right with Tiffany, especially after what he’d witnessed the past weekend when he’d attended the wedding of his partner’s daughter. As he walked her down the aisle, it was obvious the two adored each other. His partner, Tim, looked so proud. It was a feeling Keith realized he might not ever get to experience if he didn’t take action. “Baby girl, it’s time for me to fix things. Make amends. How long has it been since I’ve seen you?”
Four years, ten months, thirteen days… “It’s been a minute. About five years,” she added.
“That long? No, couldn’t be.” Keith sighed audibly. “I’m so sorry, Tiffany. I feel like such a knuckle-head. But the fact of the matter is, you’re grown, with your own mind, goals, and dreams. I think that’s been the problem in our relationship. I didn’t want to accept that you’re your own woman. There’s some other things I need to say to you, but I want to do it face-to-face.”
Tiffany navigated the streets of LA in stunned silence. Was it possible that she could finally have the father/daughter relationship she’d always wanted?
“I was wondering if you’d like to take a vacation, just the two of us. We could go wherever you want, stay a few days. Get to know each other again and make up for the time we lost.”
How do I get back a childhood, and all the times I needed you, but you weren’t there? But for the first time, her father was trying to reach out to her. She decided to reach back. “Okay.” The word was barely audible.
“Huh, pumpkin?”
Tiffany cleared her throat. “That would be…okay.” Then she remembered her grueling schedule. With the hotel officially opening next week and the restaurant waiting list almost three months out, Chef Wang had warned them: no vacations for anyone in the foreseeable future. “Oh no, Dad, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s work. See, the hotel opens next week and we’re going to get slammed. There’s no way I’ll be able to get time off for months.”
“Surely you can get a three-day weekend, Tiffany.”
“Weekends are our busiest time, Dad.”
“I don’t like it, Tiffany. Sounds like they’re working you like a slave, probably over a hot stove, griddle, or whatever you cook on. Baby, I could line up a nice management job for you—”
“Dad…”
“All right, all right, I’ll let it go. But I can’t help but to think what an excellent manager you’d make in my company. Probably triple what you’re making now. At KJB, the sky would be the limit. I’d groom you to take over when I retire.”
“Ha! Like that will ever happen. For you, work is like breathing.”
“You’re probably right. But for sure, you’d be my right-hand daughter.”
Tears sprang to her eyes at his words. For a split second, she considered it. If nothing else, working side by side would definitely give her more time with her father. But the world of finance was his world, not hers. Keith loved to crunch numbers. She’d rather crunch a carrot. “Do you think you could maybe come to LA?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I don’t know. We’ll see. Tiff, I need to take this call. It’s one of my managers.”
And there it was; the moment of camaraderie was over. Now it was back to business as usual.
“Bye, Dad.”
“Wait, Tiffany?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll try and get to LA soon.”
“Yeah, okay.” This time it was her headset that beeped. “I have to go, too, Dad. Hello?”
“How’s my brown sugar? Can I come over and taste some of your sweetness?”
“I don’t know, Nick,” Tiffany replied. “Will you be using the same fork that Angelica used to feed you?”
Tiffany’s unexpected comment, and the venom with which she spoke it, sat Nick straight up in his office chair. “You saw me in the restaurant?”
“I work there, remember?”
“Of course, Tiffany. I just didn’t see you, that’s all.”
“Well, you were rather busy.”
Nick leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “Having lunch, baby, that’s all.”
“And were your hands broke?”
“Tiffany. You’re angry, and you should be. I’m sorry about the other night, neglecting you when my phone rang.”
“No need to apologize, Nick. I’ve experienced a lifetime of neglect.”
“Don’t judge every man by your father’s yardstick, Tiffany.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” Tiffany fired back, forgetting she was talking to the man who authorized her paycheck. “And don’t presume to know about my life, or my father!”
“Well, let me tell you what I do know,” Nick countered, his voice stern before turning soft, seductive. “I know that what we shared the other night was magical. I felt it, and I know you did too.”
Tiffany’s heart constricted. She had experienced the magic. But it was over. “This isn’t going to work, Nick. I have a rule of not mixing business with pleasure and have learned from recent experience that it’s one not to be broken. I love working at Taste, and plan to stay and learn as much from Chef Wang as I can. My earlier reaction was uncalled for. Who you dine with is none of my business.”
She’s more hurt than angry, although a lot of both. But anyone who knew Dominique Rollins knew he never backed down from a challenge. He simply changed tactics, and proceeded.
“Angelica came to the office because she’d seen my name in a magazine. She’d heard about Chef Wang from one of my partners, Bastion Price, and wanted to check out his skills. When I tried the pasta, I was sure you’d made it. I wanted her to taste the work of LA’s finest sous chef. That’s what you saw.”
“Like I said, Nick, it’s none of my business. You dated her a long time. She’s beautiful. It’s not hard to figure out why you’re still in love with her.”
“We were together a long time. And while I’ll always love her, Tiffany, I’m not in love with her.”
Tiffany snorted. “Same difference.”
What on earth is wrong with this girl? I know I screwed up but… Nick’s brow furrowed as his awareness heightened. No, there’s something more.
“Tiffany, is seeing Angelica today the only thing that’s bothering you? You nearly took my head off when you answered.”
One thing Tiffany liked about Nick was that he was sensitive, and acted like he genuinely cared about her. “No, something else happened.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“I talked to my dad. For the first time in a year.”
“I’ll meet you wherever you want.”
Tiffany knew just the thing that would make her feel better, and exactly where she wanted to meet Nick—his home, his master suite, his bed. But from now on, Tiffany intended to think with her head, not her heart. Business first.
“Thanks, Nick. I’m really okay. Just tired. I just want to go home.”
“I can meet you there. Let me love you, Tiffany, help ease the pain, and make up for the hurt I caused you.”
Every fiber of her body urged her to say yes, as memories of how she’d felt beneath him crashed into her wall of resolve. It would feel so good! How can I say no to what I want so badly?
And then Tiffany thought of the conversation she’d just had with her dad—the man who’d showed her what a workaholic looked like—and she knew how she would do it, how she would resist that which she craved so deeply.
With three simple words. “No, Nick. Goodbye.”
21
It was Labor Day weekend, the official opening for Hotel Le Sol. It had enjoyed a soft opening one week earlier, and select guests had enjoyed the hotel’s ambience, spa, professionally equipped gym, and other facilities. But today was when Taste would open its doors. Nick was nervous, but could hardly wait.
Inside, the kitchen was a zoo. Chef Wang barked orders as the kitchen staff chopped, diced, sliced, seared, and stirred. From the moment the first order was taken until the last dessert was served, there was not a spare second. For ten hours straight, the cooks toiled over their assigned tasks, turning out perfection in dish after dish. At the end of the night, which was actually two in the morning, Chef Wang had given Tiffany a brief head nod as she stumbled out of the kitchen. She was too tired to smile, or to join the rest of the kitchen crew for a celebratory cocktail.
“You’re gonna miss out,” Roger said, after her initial refusal. “We’re going to a fancy schmancy place—”
“I don’t care if you’re going to the moon,” Tiffany interrupted. “All I want is my bed.”
She reached her car and slumped inside. The only thing on her mind was a hot shower and a soft mattress. Tomorrow would demand a repeat performance. Tiffany wondered where she’d find the energy. Her phone vibrated. She ignored it. But just before she started the car, she changed her mind and read her text messages. There were three. The first was from Joy, wishing her good luck. The second one, from Nick:
I know your feet hurt, and that you’re tired. I’ve got something to make you feel better. Come over now.
Anger and irritation quickly replaced Tiffany’s exhaustion. “Who does this asshole think he is?” She had absolutely no intention of dignifying his presumptive message with a response. Didn’t he hear her when she said their little tryst was over? What part of professional relationship didn’t he understand? When she saw that the third message was also from Nick, she almost ignored it. But curiosity won out. She opened the text message, and poised her thumb over the Delete button.
In case you think coming over NOW is optional, or personal, it isn’t. This is strictly business, and your appearance is mandatory. If you choose to ignore this message tonight, then don’t bother showing up at Taste in the morning.
Just as her blood started to boil, Tiffany remembered Roger’s comment. So this is the fancy schmancy place he was talking about. Nick decided to throw a little get together for the kitchen crew. “How nice.” Even though this statement was said sarcastically, Tiffany actually admired Nick’s kind gesture. He knew how hard they’d worked, and how common it was for crews to share a drink, even after pulling long, hard shifts. “So why didn’t you just say that, Nick Rollins?” Tiffany asked aloud as she started the car and shifted into drive. Probably just to piss me off, she reasoned.
Less than ten minutes later, Tiffany pulled into Nick’s spacious driveway. She yawned, the sleepiness that anger had pushed away now coming back full force. But only for a moment. As soon as Tiffany stepped out of her car, she was on full alert again. What’s wrong with this picture? There was only one other car in the driveway. And it wasn’t Nick’s. His is probably in the garage. So who was the other guest?
There was only one way to find out. Tiffany steeled herself against the range of emotions she knew would come upon seeing Nick in his home setting, and marched toward the front door. She’d barely rung the doorbell when a strange man opened the door and greeted her.
“Ms. Matthews,” the man said, bowing low. “It is my pleasure to meet you.”
Tiffany frowned. “Where’s Nick?”
The stranger, a slight, dark-skinned man with a wiry build, shock of black hair and angular face, offered a wisp of a smile. “Come.” He bowed again, and opened the door wider as he stepped aside.
Tiffany cautiously stepped inside the door. She immediately detected an odor that wasn’t food. “Where’s Nick?” she asked again.
“He’s not here. My name is Picchu, and I am a masseur. He has employed my services for your pleasure and well-being. Please, right this way.”
Tiffany’s mind whirled as she followed the man down an unfamiliar hallway. They’d walked the opposite direction from Nick’s master suite to a set of guest rooms. The scent she’d smelled in the foyer grew stronger as they came to the end of the hall. Her eyes widened when they entered the room.
The setting was like a fairyland, with dozens of white, pink, and green candles covering every inch of available space. New Age music mixed with the smoke that wafted from oil burners placed on a long table—the source of the floral, earthy aroma. Also on this table were a variety of smooth stones, several bottles of oil, and several large, fluffy white towels.
“What’s all this?” she whispered.
“Please. I will give you a moment. Remove your clothes, and your jewelry. Lie on the table and cover yourself with a towel. When I return, I’ll explain.”
Moments later, Tiffany felt as if she’d died and gone to heaven. In between Picchu’s firm kneading, gentle prodding, and light tapping, he informed her that he was from Peru, and had been a masseur and spiritual healer for twenty years. The blend of flowers and spices, he explained, served to relax, while stimulating the soul toward peace and positive expectation. The heated rocks he placed on various points of her back, stomach and legs were Basalt stones, designed to aid blood circulation while eliminating pain and stress. If Picchu said more, Tiffany didn’t remember. She fell asleep on the massage table and woke up with a start—in Nick’s bed.
A ringing phone is what had awakened her. Tiffany threw back the covers, puzzled yet thankful to see that she was wearing a long, cotton nightgown. “Nick?” she called out, even though his side of the bed was unruffled. She’d obviously slept alone. Where is he?
Her phone had stopped ringing but now rang again. This time Tiffany reached for the BlackBerry, which had been conveniently placed on the nightstand beside her. She eyed the clock also sitting on the stand and breathed a sigh of relief. It was only nine o’clock and she wasn’t due at work until ten. Her sleep had been so deep and uninterrupted, however, she felt she’d slept ten hours instead of five.
Tiffany glanced at the Caller ID. “Hello, Nick.”
“Good morning, brown sugar, how’d you sleep?”
“Like a baby. You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble, but I appreciate it.”
“It was no trouble, but my pleasure. Picchu has been my masseur for years—”
“He’s amazing.”
“I knew you’d think so, which is why I had to pull the boss card in my texts earlier. Forgive me?”
“Where are you?” As soon as the question was out, Tiffany wished she could take it back. Where Nick spent the night was of no concern to her.
“At the hotel, where I spent the night. I wanted to experience what our guests enjoy. But I wish I were there. With you.”
“Nick, listen—”
“Shh. I know. But what you think doesn’t stop how a brothah feels about you.” Nick paused. When he spoke again, his tone was professional. “You did great work last night, Tiffany. The guests raved and the LA Times gave us a good review. The kitchen should be proud.”
“Thanks, Nick,” Tiffany responded, already missing his flirtatious tone. But it was for the best.
“You’re welcome, Tiffany. I’ll see you later. At work.”
“Right. At work. Goodbye.”
Tiffany walked through the dressing room on the way to the master bath and was surprised yet again. Her uniform had been washed, and hung pressed and ready on an end hanger. Her shoes were beneath it, shiny and clean. Who washed my clothes? Picchu? Is that who clothed me and put me to bed? This thought brought only mild embarrassment. Something about the masseur’s almost divine countenance separated him from the average man. She doubted he’d had an untoward thought at seeing her body, if he’d even looked at all.
Nick had thought of everything, had had her pampered
like a princess. With all their similarities, Keith Bronson had never treated Tiffany like this. What if Nick really is my prince? Tiffany shrugged, knowing the answer to that question. Last night may have felt like a dream but today, in the real world, life was not a fairy tale.
22
By the time Monday after Labor Day rolled around, Tiffany was beyond tired. She hadn’t had a day off in two weeks, and what little time she should have been sleeping was spent tossing and turning with thoughts of Nick. She’d only seen him twice since opening night and Picchu’s massage. The first time he was talking to Chef. He’d looked up and smiled. The second time was after a bathroom break, when she encountered a group of important-looking men standing in the hallway that led to the kitchen. Nick was among them, listening to another man. He looked up as she muttered an “excuse me,” before passing, but didn’t acknowledge her. His focus zoomed right back in on the man who was speaking. All business, like she wanted.
I don’t want to think about him. Tiffany reached for the stereo knob just as her phone rang. “Hey chick.”
“Hey yourself. You’d better not tell me your butt is still at home.”
“Okay, so I won’t tell you.”
“Tiffany Alana!”
“Joy Lynn! Ha! Chill out, girl, I’m on my way.”
“You’d better be. You know what they say about all work and no play…”
“Yeah, well, my name ain’t Jack.”
“It ain’t Jill either. And you might not be going up the hill with a pail, but you’re still in the kitchen fetching water.”
“Joy…you are ig-no-rant, you hear me?” Tiffany said, laughing.
“You know I’ve got a screw loose. Girl, Randall’s been calling me for the past five minutes. Let me go in there and see what he wants.”
“Later.” Tiffany continued smiling as she hung up the phone, thankful that she had a friend like Joy. She thought about Joy and Randall’s relationship, how it seemed to come so natural, how they’d gelled from the beginning. The opposite appeared to be true for Tiffany, where finding love was like finding a needle in the proverbial haystack.
