by Girard, Dara
"Is that all you can ever think of?"
"Just listen. Don't they say that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"
"And the way to a woman's heart is through his wallet. What's your point?"
"You could have recipes and blend them with narrative ideas about why certain foods are considered an aphrodisiac. Or what they mean in some myths or love stories. For couples who are married with kids, you could use recipes families can do together. You could call it Ingredients for Love, A Taste of Ecstasy, or Recipes for Romance."
Cassie chewed her lip, reluctantly impressed. "Damn, that's a good idea. Why didn't I think of it?"
"Because you're not a Henson yet."
She made a face.
They brainstormed for two hours, went to a movie as a break, then brainstormed some more. When Cassie thought she had enough information, she banished Drake from her place until the book was done.
* * *
The air was too humid. He hated summer, especially in the city. Give him the icy breath of winter, the chill of autumn. Why the hell did Cassie have to choose DC? He ran his fingers over the selection of flowers the little shop had to offer. He hadn't expected Henson to last so long. It made him wonder if Cassie was getting serious.
He had underestimated him, and that had been a mistake. Henson was cunning and could be charming even if his coarse edges showed most of the time. Plus he had a temper. The thought made him smile. It might come in handy.
He picked up a yellow rose and smelled it. Henson wouldn't get rid of him. He stroked the petal of the rose, then broke it off, crushing it between his thumb and forefinger. First, he had to do something about these.
* * *
It had only been a few days and Drake was feeling restless. When would Cassie call him? How long would it take to type up the book? He opened the door of the Blue Mango just as Pamela stormed out with the energy of a woman on a mission. He grabbed her arm as she passed him.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.
"That bastard left me a three-dollar tip!" She pointed to a well-dressed man stepping into a Mustang.
He tugged her inside the door. "Come on."
"No. I want to have a word with him. He's some hotshot lawyer who demanded everything, but did I complain? No. I was the most pleasant I've ever been and he spent a hundred and fifty dollars and gave me this lousy tip." She waved the money.
"Follow me." She wisely recognized the tone and followed without protest. He led her to the back office.
"Just ignore me," Eric said when they entered the room. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
Drake didn't spare him a glance. He pointed to a chair and Pamela sat. He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't ever do that again."
Her mouth fell open at his anger. "But I—"
"I know why you did it, that's why I'll give you another chance. But don't let me see you doing it again. Image is important and I can't have my staff chasing after customers that upset them."
"But he—"
"Gave you a lousy tip." Drake shrugged. "So what? Perhaps he's not a nice guy. You can't expect to be loved by everyone." He turned away. "Now get back to work."
Pamela pushed herself out of the chair, still shaking from an indignation she was trying to control. Drake watched her head for the door and he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Pamela, sit a minute."
She opened her mouth, then shut it and sat.
He took a deep breath and stared out the window. He wasn't used to explaining himself. He drummed his fingers on his leg and turned to her. "I'm impressed with your work."
Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
"I'm not flattering you," he added quickly. "I'm just stating a fact. You're punctual, diligent, and smart. An excellent asset to the staff. That's why I can't allow you to make the mistake you did today. Rude customers are part of our business. Trust me, I've had my share, but you must understand the power of networking." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "That lawyer is a bastard, but he knows a lot of other people who are great tippers and recommends this place highly. So we have to tolerate him. Do you understand?"
Pamela could only nod, stunned that he had complimented her let alone spoken to her at length.
Drake grew uncomfortable under her awed gaze. "Get to work," he said with a dismissive gesture.
She jumped to her feet "Thank you so much, Mr. Henson. You won't regret giving me another chance. I just love working here and I—"
"Good-bye, Pamela."
She smiled happily and darted out the door.
* * *
"What are you grinning about?" Cedric asked her as she made her way through the kitchen.
"Mr. Henson gave me a compliment."
He sprayed a dish. "So what?"
"It made me happy."
She was the only person he knew who could continuously be in a good mood. She always had a smile or a friendly word for him as she headed to her duties, leaving the sweet smell of her perfume as a reminder. "You're always happy," he grumbled.
"And you're always a sourpuss."
Cedric set the plate down. "Sourpuss? I didn't know normal people used words like that."
"See what you learn when you crawl out of the gutter?"
Instead of taking offense, he grinned. "I didn't crawl, baby, I leaped."
Pamela straightened his collar. She had an odd habit of doing that; he didn't mind. "Yeah, I know." She laughed as she pushed through the doors and Cedric found himself whistling.
Later that day, Drake and Eric went to the Red Hut. When Drake saw his manager, Patrick, he knew the day would not go smoothly. Patrick had that look in his eyes.
"This is my best idea yet," he announced, eagerly approaching them.
Drake silently groaned.
Patrick took his silence as a cue to begin. "Because Tuesdays are our slow days, why don't we close the kitchen and restaurant and advertise dancing to Motown hits?"
"No."
Patrick's face fell. "Why not? We could have different groups come and perform."
"You're forgetting about our Tuesday night dinner patrons. They are our most loyal group and it would be foolish to lose them. We need to be consistent. If people want to dance they can go to a club."
"We could become a supper club."
Drake glanced around the room, ready to end the discussion. "No."
"You're always shooting down my ideas," he said bitterly. "You didn't want me to hire Lesage when we both know he is one of the best chefs around. He's been on TV, in movies and magazines."
Drake looked at him, fighting a battle with his patience. "I explained to you that I didn't want a prima donna with knives cooking in my kitchen."
Patrick tapped a pen against his palm. "You know the owner of Martin's likes my work and my ideas. He asked me if I'd like to work for him."
"I see." Drake nodded. It was to be expected. "Well, I can't make up your mind for you."
Patrick turned. "I think it's already been made up."
Drake sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "However, I'd hate to see you go."
He glanced over his shoulder, unconvinced.
"You're a strong manager, you keep up staff morale, you're creative and full of ideas."
"Ideas that you constantly reject," he said with resentment.
Drake rubbed the back of his neck, trying to choose his words carefully. "Because they don't fit the place doesn't mean they're not good. You just need to focus. Think about what would make the Red Hut more successful by building on what initially made it a success. If you had a house, you don't need to knock it down and start all over again. You think of changes. You see its strong points and build from there. I think you're on the right track by focusing on our slow Tuesday night. How would you improve that without losing our loyal customers?"
Patrick thought a moment. "What about a dinner club?"
Drake folded his arms and th
ought for a moment. "Put the idea together and present it to me."
Patrick slapped him on the arm, triumphant "Looks like you're stuck with me."
"Hmm. Keep up the good work."
Patrick grinned and walked away. Eric stared at his brother.
"What?" Drake asked, annoyed.
"Do you have any extra compliments up your sleeve? I'm beginning to feel undervalued."
Drake walked toward the kitchen.
"First Pamela, now Patrick," Eric said in disbelief. "Are you starting a new trend? Actual civility?"
"Shut up."
"You've changed. I know it's Cassie's influence. No one else could work such a miracle. It's nice to see."
Drake pushed through the kitchen doors. "If you don't shut up, you won't be able to."
Eric adjusted his glasses and did.
* * *
Three weeks of self-imposed exile, except for one presentation, and she was finished. Done. Completed. All before schedule. With artistic flourish Cassie hit the Save icon and made up a little cheer. She sat back, exhausted but exhilarated. Her reputation was saved. She stretched the kinks out of her back and neck and mentally patted herself on the back for a job well done.
She turned the ringer back on her telephone and checked her voice mail messages—the usual from Adriana, one from Kevin and Glen, then two strange delayed hang-ups where she could hear breathing. She erased the messages, wondering what to do next. She glanced down at her shabby T-shirt and jeans and thought a shower would suffice, but first she had a call to make.
Her fingers trembled with anticipation as she dialed Drake's number. She was eager to hear his voice again.
"Hello?" a decidedly female voice answered.
Cassie paused, a hot pain shooting through her heart. She took a deep breath, catching hold of her thoughts. Perhaps she'd dialed the wrong number. "I'm sorry, I was trying to reach Drake Henson."
"He's not in. May I take a message?"
Her first instinct was to decline, hang up, and forget Drake had ever entered her life. Her mind repeated Timothy's betrayal like a film reel in Technicolor, carrying all the emotions with it. She had just finished The Fear of Ridicule only to discover she was the biggest fool of all. Timothy had said she hadn't been there for him. Would Drake use the same excuse? If he had someone else, she wanted to know. "Just tell him that Cassie called."
"Cassie!" the woman cried as if she were hearing from an old friend. "It's so good to hear from you. Drake's told me you're working on a book."
"Yes, it's completed now," Cassie admitted proudly.
"Congratulations. Hey, why don't you come over and we can celebrate with a strawberry smoothie?"
"All right," she said, catching the woman's enthusiasm.
"Okay, see you in a while." She hung up before Cassie could ask her name. It had to be his sister, she guessed. She must have changed her opinion about her. The one in the bookstore was less than flattering. Of course meeting his sister presented a small dilemma—what to wear. She picked up one of her "hope" dresses, a yellow satin-cotton mix. She had bought it on a buying binge when she'd promised herself to lose weight. She hadn't been able to wear it yet. She shoved it to the back of the closet with the rest and chose a maroon shirt and jeans.
An hour later she was riding the elevator to Drake's condo, with her manuscript in the bag, trying to perfect the smile she would use, wondering what Drake had told his sister and if she would prove to be a shock.
The door was already open when Cassie reached the floor. She was embraced by a petite woman with big eyes and a full grin. She felt like a gigantic blob next to her.
"Come in, come in," the little elf said, pulling Cassie inside with a remarkably strong grip. "It's so good to finally meet you."
Thank God she didn't recognize her from the bookstore. "And you as well, Jackie."
Her smile took up her face. "So he has talked about us. I'm glad." Jackie turned and headed for the kitchen, but continued talking. "He rarely shares anything about us for some reason, so you must be someone special. Sit, sit. This won't take long."
Cassie sat and watched Jackie toss a bowl of strawberries, milk, and ice cubes in a blender, then turn it on. Later, she poured the mixture into two long-stemmed glasses and garnished it with green leaves. She had the same quick efficiency her brother had.
"Delicious!" Cassie said, after taking a sip.
Jackie straddled the chair, her eyes flashing with impish delight. "I'm glad you like it. I was mad at you for a long time, but how can I hate a woman who makes my brother so happy?" She rested her chin in her hands. "It will be nice to have a sister." She grimaced at her own indelicacy. "Forgive me. I sometimes talk before I think."
Cassie nodded in understanding. Unfortunately, once the topic had been introduced Jackie wouldn't leave it.
"But if he did ask you to marry him, you'd say yes, right?"
"I'm not sure I'm the right one for him."
"You make him happy and few people can do that. Case closed."
She was a woman with the guile of a child. Cassie found herself being honest. "I had a bad first marriage so I'm not eager to rush to the altar again."
"No wonder. The word 'altar' always has me thinking of some sort of sacrifice. That's all right. We can have the wedding here." She changed the topic before Cassie could argue. "Drake's been busy at the Red Hut. It's going to be featured in the Washingtonian magazine." Cassie shared her surprise and the conversation followed that innocuous track until they heard a key in the lock. Jackie leaped out of her seat and whispered, "Stay here" before she left.
"I got you some-ting," Drake said, greeting his sister in a playful tone.
"I got you some-ting too and I bet mine's betta dan yours," Jackie teased, glad that Cassie had arrived when she did. Only she would notice the drawn look in his eyes despite the genuine smile.
"Here you are, you little nuisance." He handed her a box. She lifted the lid and inside sat a glass figurine of a deer among purple tissue paper. She could add it to her collection. She kissed him soundly on the cheek. "Oh, thank you." She grabbed his arm. "I have a surprise for you."
He easily disengaged from her grip. "Mi haffi shower first."
"But—"
"It can wait. If it's something that will spoil, put it in the fridge." He patted her on the head. "Don't screw up your face like that, I won't be long."
* * *
"I'm sorry," Jackie said to Cassie, falling into a seat. "He decided to take a shower first."
"That's okay."
Jackie rested her chin in her hand, drumming her fingers against her cheek when suddenly the impish expression entered her eyes again. She surged to her feet. "I'm leaving. Wait for him."
She grabbed her things from the couch and pushed Cassie in the direction of the bedroom. She waved a quick good-bye and dashed out the door.
Not knowing what else to do, Cassie entered Drake's bedroom. It greeted her with a comfortable familiarity, its large mahogany bed and dark-accented furniture unchanged, but the flood of emotions that swept around her was anything but familiar. She was too afraid to try and understand them. She sat on the bed and ran her fingers over the shirt he had casually thrown across the bed. Her head snapped up when the bathroom door opened.
Chapter 12
A cloud of steam drifted out, curling around the air in the room. Drake emerged like a magician appearing from a cloud of smoke.
"Jackie, I'll be ready for your surprise in a minute," he called.
He didn't see her since he was drying his face with a hand towel. A large blue towel clung around his waist, while his body still wet from the shower had streams of water sliding over the contours of his chest. Cassie chewed on her lip, fighting the urge to jump on him.
He tossed the rag away and glanced up. Startled amber eyes collided with her own. "Tell me I'm not dreaming," he said. He'd meant to sound casual, but it came out husky.
She laughed breathlessly. "You're not dreaming."
<
br /> He leaped on the bed like a skilled jungle cat bouncing on his prey, and gathered her close. "Yes, you are real," he whispered, his hands exploring every part of her.
"You're getting me wet."
"I like you wet." He tugged her panties down and explored the liquid heat between her legs. "Especially when you're ready for me."
"I'm ready," she breathed, burying her head against his throat, eager to have him inside her.
"I should make you wait."
She nipped on the soft, sensitive part of his ear. "You wouldn't dare."
He traced an S pattern from her neck to her stomach. "Are there dire consequences for that?"
"Yes." She yanked off his towel, feeling the hardness of his erection against her thigh. She wiggled suggestively against him.
"I don't think I'll risk it." He rolled on a condom, then entered her with the enthusiasm of a novice deep-sea diver looking for a lost world.
Cassie's nails bit into his back.
"Careful, woman, or you'll leave me with scars."
"That's okay, then everyone will know who you belong to."
His lips hovered above hers. "They already do."
He kissed her. She tasted of strawberries and smelled like vanilla. He held her close, his heart pounding in his ears. Twice she whispered his name, but no other words were spoken. Their bodies speaking for their hearts. When it was over, they lay still as if any movement would shatter their joy and reveal that everything had only been a dream. Outside they heard a squirrel race up a tree and a pigeon land on a branch rustling its leaves.
"I never want to do that again," Drake said with feeling, his head buried in the pillow.
Amazed, Cassie lifted herself on her elbow and stared down at him. "I thought it was pretty good."
"I don't mean the sex." He turned on his back and rested an arm over his eyes. "I mean being away from you. I missed you." He suddenly scowled. "And it was annoying." It was also frightening. He wasn't sure if she was keeping him at arm's length for another reason besides the book, but he didn't want to seem untrusting. Or appear like the type of man that didn't give a woman space to be a professional in her own right. But it had been hard not seeing her or hearing from her. He felt as if a vital organ had been ripped from him, causing an aching gap. It felt too much like how his father had expressed losing his mother. It was ridiculous of course. He was nothing like his father. Fortunately, he didn't have to worry anymore. She was here.
