by Zuri Day
Stella lifted her glass. “To the sexiest, most successful, smartest women in the borough. My girls.”
They touched glasses.
“And to Cara finding a man to shake the cobwebs,” Vivian added.
Cara nearly choked. “Very funny.” She sipped her wine. She hummed with pleasure. “This is good.” She lifted the bottle and noted the brand.
“Speaking of good,” Stella said, “how is the realty business going?”
Cara relaxed a bit in her seat. “I can’t complain. Things were pretty tight for a while, but the market is coming back. Business is excellent.”
“I’ll be curious to see how the city continues to develop when the new mayor comes in,” Vivian said. “Prices are running folks out of Brooklyn. And with a professor’s salary like mine, there are not a lot of options if you want to move.”
“Hmm, true. The last mayor was all about the moneymakers, which made it very hard for the average worker to find and maintain decent housing. Affordable housing is an oxymoron. Brooklyn is quickly becoming the new Manhattan.” Cara finished off her glass of wine. “It’s getting more difficult to find apartment rentals that fit a working-class budget.”
“That’s true, but it’s good for your bottom line,” Stella said.
It was a reality that she’d had to come to terms with and she still battled with it on a moral level. Sure, it was great that she was able to land the big deals and as a result live a comfortable life. But there were days when it was hard to look herself in the mirror. It wasn’t that long ago that she was struggling and living from paycheck to paycheck in an apartment that wasn’t much bigger than a breadbox. Now, she’d become one of the very people that she’d railed against.
“I thought you might like to try this hors d’oeuvre. Fresh fruit bruschetta,” Chef Davis said, appearing at their table as if summoned from a dream. He placed the tray on the center of the table. “Mascarpone cheese, honey, strawberries, mango, and kiwi on baguettes.” His gaze leisurely strolled across Cara.
Her cheeks heated and she found it hard to swallow.
Stella reached for one of the sweet treats. She took a bite and her eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy. “Oh, my . . .”
Vivian followed suit and was equally as pleased with the burst of flavor.
“Try one,” he said to Cara. “I would love to hear your reaction.”
Cara’s hand shook ever so slightly. She took one and lifted it to her mouth.
He followed her every move: the way her fingers wrapped around the delicacy and brought it to her mouth, the way her lips parted, her tongue peeked out, and her mouth enveloped the first bite. His eyes darkened with pleasure at the spark that lit her eyes when the mixture of fruit popped in her mouth.
She chewed slowly, concentrating on not choking with him staring at her as if he wanted to take her into his mouth. Oh lawd, that image in her head sent a shot of electricity right between her legs. She shifted slightly in her chair and managed to swallow. “Very good,” she finally said.
“Enjoy,” he said, and walked away with the dangerous grace of a panther.
“Boxers or briefs?” Stella said under her breath as she watched him leave.
Stella and Vivian turned to Cara with arched expressions.
“Why are you asking me?”
“’Cause clearly, girl, he wants you to find out,” Vivian said.
Stella snatched up another baguette and tipped it Cara’s direction. “And when you do, we want to know.”
“Not happening,” Cara said.
“Me thinkest she protests too much,” Vivian teased.
“More wine?” Cara asked to distract her soon-tobe ex friends from keeping her at the center of the discussion. She lifted the bottle and topped off their glasses.
The discussion shifted to the winners of the NAACP awards and the latest episodes of Scandal and Being Mary Jane. Both of the lead characters were known for helping everyone else even as their own personal lives were tumbling down around them. Vivian and Stella agreed that it was hard being a woman who was highly successful in her career and still have a successful relationship.
“I don’t see why we can’t have it all,” Vivian said.
“Exactly. Men do it all the time.”
Cara sighed. “I think you can have it all.” She did once upon a time. But she also knew that she would never risk going back down that road again. The risk of heartache was too great. The only person she wanted to depend on for her happiness and well-being was herself.
They both turned to Cara in shock.
“Scuze me, ‘Miss I don’t need a man,’” Stella said.
“It’s not that I don’t need or want a man. I need and want the right man. If you have the right man, then you can work it out. But at this stage in my life, a man in not on my agenda.”
“It’s been five years,” Stella said softly.
“And it still hurts. Not as much as it once did. . . . I’m still not ready . . . as I keep telling you two . . . but one day . . .”
“She lives!” Stella teased.
Cara playfully tossed her cloth napkin at her friend, then caught herself staring as Chef Davis approached with two waiters in tow. Her pulse leaped in her throat.
The waiters artfully placed the dishes on the table while Chef Davis described in delicious detail what they would be experiencing.
“And you did this all for us?” Stella asked.
“Yes, the chef’s special for special guests.” He looked from one to the other, stopping at Cara a bit longer. He drew in a breath. “Enjoy your meal, ladies.”
“Thank you,” they murmured.
As promised, the meal was to die for. The girls barely spoke as they hummed in delight making quick work of their dinner.
Without asking, a waiter appeared, cleared the table, and returned shortly with crystal goblets of sorbet.
While they finished off their dessert, Chef Davis returned. “How was dinner?”
“Absolutely incredible,” Vivian said.
“Would you care for an after-dinner espresso or more wine?”
They looked at each other. Vivian and Stella declined.
“And you . . . Ms. . . . ?” He directed his question at Cara.
“Holiday.”
“Ms. Holiday.”
“Nothing for me. Thank you. Everything was wonderful.”
“Do you live or work in the area?”
Cara swallowed. “I own a real-estate agency in Brooklyn Heights.”
“Really? Do you have a card? I’m in the market for a new place,” he said, not really sure where that had come from.
Cara blinked several times and finally dug in her purse for a business card. She handed it to him and the tips of his fingers grazed hers. She nearly yelped. “Business or residential?”
“Um, residential.”
“Give me a call. I’m sure I can find you something.”
“I’ll do that.” He looked from one to the other. “It was my pleasure, ladies. I hope you’ll come back again.”
“We certainly will,” Stella said.
“Good night. Oh, and dinner is on the house.” He smiled, dipped his head slightly, and strolled away, leaving them with their mouths hanging open in surprise.
“Cara,” Stella warned as they walked out of the restaurant, “if you don’t snatch up that fine specimen of a man, you are a pure fool.”
“Yeah, girl,” Vivian added. “He was totally into you. Maybe he’s Mr. Right.”
Cara slid her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Her fingertips still tingled from when he’d touched her, and the warmth that she’d felt in the center of her being the moment she’d laid eyes on him was still simmering.
“Both of you need glasses.” She kissed Stella’s cheek and then Vivian’s. “Get home safely,” she added, and waved as they each walked off in opposite directions.
Cara had plans to take a hot bath and curl up in bed with a good book until she fell asleep. But all she could
think about as the water sluiced over her body was what it would feel like to have Chef Davis’s skilled hands massage the muscles of her body, knead her aching breasts, and tease the pulse that beat like a heart between her legs. And as much as she tried to concentrate on the words on the page, the only thing she kept seeing was his smile and the dangerous light in his eyes. It was a long night and when she finally dozed off, her last thought was if and when was he going to call.
Chapter 2
“Busy night,” Brad Newell, the restaurant manager, said to Mitch while they tallied up the night’s receipts and prepared for business the following day. Brad and Mitch had worked together from Mitch’s early days of restaurant ownership in D.C. When Mitch opened Downtown 2, it was without a second thought that he made Brad the restaurant manager.
“That is was. Busy is a good thing,” he added with a chuckle.
“I see you rolled out the carpet for that trio of lovely ladies.”
Mitch glanced up from the receipts in front of him. “I hate having to pull rank, but in this case . . .” His eyes sparked with mirth.
“Which one caught your eye?” He tied up the tablecloths and stuffed them in a plastic bag to be picked up in the morning for the laundry.
Mitch rested his forearms on the bar top. “That obvious?”
“Uh, yeah. When was the last time that you opened up the chef’s table if it wasn’t for a pre-arranged party?”
Mitch snorted a laugh. “If you must know, she was the one in the pale gray suit, wild curly hair, and those incredible lips,” he added, his thoughts drifting off to reimagine Cara Holiday.
“Did you get her number?”
Mitch tapped the top pocket of his shirt. “Business card. She’s in real estate.”
“You gonna call her?”
“This is going to sound totally juvenile, but I told her that I was in the market for a new place.”
“Say what?” He chuckled. “Why in the world did you say that?”
“For some reason my brain went blank and that was the first thing that came to mind.”
Brad shook his head in amusement. “Well, you’re not moving, so what are you gonna tell this woman?”
“I don’t know. Guess I’ll figure it out when the time comes.”
“So you do plan to call her?”
Mitch flicked his brows. “I think so.”
Brad loaded the laundry onto a cart. “She must be something special to get your attention. It’s been awhile . . . since Marie.”
Mitch’s gaze momentarily drifted off. Marie Collins had been a fixture in his life for two years. But she wanted something that he was not prepared to give—forever. He’d been content with the way things were between them: casual sex, date nights, and good conversation. He’d thought that her finally putting an end to their relationship would have shaken him, but it didn’t. He knew himself. His focus was building his business and securing his future. Settling down was not on his list of things to do. He understood that at that time in his life he was not the man for Marie, and they parted relatively amicably. That was more than two years ago. He’d dated multiple women since then, but none lasted more than a few dates, which was fine with him—until tonight. There was something about Cara that stirred him deep inside, woke him up as if he’d been in a deep sleep.
“And with good reason,” Mitch finally responded. “You know me. I’m not the settling-down kind. At least not now.”
“The right woman can easily change all of that. Trust me, there’s nothing like coming home at night to a good woman. I speak from experience, my brother. When it hits you, you’re done.” He laughed.
“You and Fay are a special case. She got you whipped.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” he joked.
“Apparently not.”
“Well, the only thing I have to say is if the lightning bolt hit you with this woman, at least give it a chance. Don’t do like you usually do.”
“Meaning?”
“Hit it and quit it. That’s what I mean.”
“Aw, man, come on, I’m not that bad.”
Brad gave him the side-eye. “If you say so.” Mitch finished up with the receipts and put the cash in a bag for the bank deposit.
“You want to take the deposit, or you want me to drop if off on my way home?”
“I can do it. You go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Cool. I’ll lock up in back.”
“Thanks. Say hello to Fay for me.”
“Will do. You know she wants you to come for dinner. She has some friend or the other she wants you to meet.”
Mitch chuckled. “Doesn’t she always.”
“My lovely wife’s goal is to hook up and marry up all of my bachelor friends. You’re one of the last holdouts.”
“If I have my way, I intend to stay a holdout—but don’t tell Fay!”
“Your secret is safe with me,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest. “Later, man.” He headed to the back to lock up.
“Later.”
Mitch locked the registers, checked the kitchen, and set the alarm before leaving. On his ride over to the bank he couldn’t shake off what his friend Brad had said. Brad knew him better than anyone. He knew how he rolled and his philosophy about getting involved. Coming home to a good woman? He couldn’t see himself in that picture. He’d never lived with a woman. He liked his space and his freedom. Yet, there was something about Cara Holiday. Could he come home to her every day? He shook his head in dismissal. He was getting way ahead of himself. The woman barely looked at him the entire night, and any woman who looked like her and was as successful as she appeared to be probably had a man or two.
He made the bank drop and drove on to his condo in the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn. When he entered his two-bedroom upscale apartment, which he always regarded as his haven, his place to regroup and unwind, it felt oddly hollow. The awareness unsettled him even as he tried to shake it off.
Maybe some music would take the emptiness out of the air. He turned on his stereo and popped in some of his favorite CDs. The soothing notes of Rachelle Ferrell soon floated through the air, but it did no good to fill that gap that had suddenly opened inside of him.
He went into his bedroom and began to get undressed. He emptied the pockets of his slacks and put the contents on top of his dresser. He took off his shirt and was about to toss it in the hamper when he noticed the tip of the business card poking out from the pocket. He took out the card. CARA HOLIDAY. CH REALTY. WE FIND WHAT YOU NEED. Her office number was below.
Mitch studied the card for a moment. He ran his thumb across the raised phone number and the CH logo. Cara Holiday. What do I need, Cara Holiday?
“I told you he wasn’t interested,” Cara huffed as she jogged alongside Stella. They rounded the track in Fort Greene Park for the second time, part of their Saturday-morning routine.
“It’s only been a couple of weeks. Besides”—she wiped her brow with a small hand towel—“if he’s in the market for a new place, there’s no one better to find it for him than you. I’m actually planning on a doing a piece on his restaurant.”
Cara’s jog stuttered a bit. “What? Did you say his restaurant?”
“Yep,” she breathed. “Not only is he the chef, he’s the owner and the owner of their flagship restaurant in D.C. We’re doing an exposé on the changing Downtown area and all of the new businesses cropping up. I haven’t gotten his approval yet, but the restaurant is on the list.”
They approached their stopping point.
“I was thinking that I’d love to get your take on the changes as well.”
“Me?”
They slowed to a stop, breathing heavy.
Cara’s thoughts ran in a half dozen directions at once, unable to settle on anything solid.
“Yeah, I think it would be perfect.” She bent at the waist and rested her palms on her knees. Slowly, she straightened and bent from side to side. “You have your pulse on the ebb and flow of who’s
buying, where they’re buying, and how it all impacts the community.” She blew out a breath. “Besides, you’ll get a chance to see Mr. TDH again.” She grinned conspiratorially.
Cara rolled her eyes in feigned annoyance when, in reality, she bubbled with excitement, but she refused to give Stella the satisfaction of letting her know. If she did, she would never hear the end of it. And she certainly wasn’t ready to admit that she hadn’t been able to get Chef Mitchell Davis out of her mind. Each time she closed her eyes at night, he was there, smiling at her, touching her. During the day, in the middle of a deal, thoughts of him would leap into her head, startling her with its force. She’d tried to rid her mind and her body’s want of him. She’d failed. Now this.
“There’s no guarantee that he would agree,” Cara said, even as she hoped that he did.
“He will. What businessman worth their investment would turn down an opportunity to showcase their business on national television?”
“Well, I guess you can keep me posted. You know I’m crazy busy. I’ll have to see what my schedule is like,” she said with indifference.
Stella glanced at her friend from the corner of her eye and smiled to herself. As hard as Cara tried to remain behind her façade of disinterest, she was so transparent.
“Will do. I’m hoping to get it set up next week. My assistant is making the call on Monday.”
Cara’s heart fluttered.
They walked toward the park exit.
“Wanna grab a bite?” Stella asked.
“Hmm, no. I think I’ll head home. Why don’t you come by with me? I can rustle us up something . . . and you can, uh, tell me more about this thing you’re planning.
Stella bit back a smile. “Sure, sounds good.”
Cara and Stella walked into Cara’s loft apartment. It was a space right out of Architectural Digest. All of the chrome finishings were contemporary, while the structure of the space still maintained its original integrity from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, plank wood floors, and pillars that Cara had artfully used to designate specific areas of the space: the kitchen and living room and her in-home office area. The one wall that she did build was for her bedroom at the far end of the space. Her view looked out toward the Brooklyn Bridge and the skyline of Manhattan beyond. At night the twinkling lights were akin to witnessing a fairy tale. Her other big splurge was her spa bathroom, complete with a jet tub, double vanities, a massive glass shower with six different jets and heated floors all done in shades of soft aqua tiles, and, of course, central heat and air throughout the loft.
