She shook her head and headed toward the kitchen. Who knew what Stefan was up to? However, she didn’t believe he would do anything to screw with the well-oiled machine they had going. As she prepared for the evening guests, she thought about what Stefan had said and considered warning Creed. When Creed showed up for work with a bombshell of a woman, with legs from her throat to the floor, Shada decided he could suck it.
While Creed introduced the woman around, Shada moved to the back of the group. She caught Creed looking her way and spun on her heel to enter the kitchen. Who’s not jealous now? Shut up!
During preparation, gossip swirled around her. “You think she’s his new lover?” her junior cook asked the porter. He shrugged and widened his eyes with a pointed look at Shada. She turned away from both of them and pretended not to have heard.
So everyone knew she’d been sleeping with Creed. No one had treated her in a negative way because of it, except Tiffany, of course.
Was the woman a candidate to have Creed’s baby? He would choose a beautiful white woman. She hated how the bitterness rose but couldn’t help it. Her reaction said she had made the right decision to break it off with him. She wouldn’t have survived being involved with him while he was trying to get another woman pregnant. The whole scenario just pissed her off every time she thought about it.
Music from the baby grand started up in the main dining room, and Shada dropped what she was doing with an order to her commis to cover for her. She darted through the door and found Stefan sitting at the piano, his long, masculine fingers flying over the keys with expertise. A smooth jazz piece lit the air and transformed the atmosphere. His skill was impressive, especially since Creed had said Stefan taught himself to play the guitar to be like their dad. Did he teach himself the piano as well?
The drummer they had hired not long ago joined Stefan, and they played well together, as if they had been practicing. Creed appeared in the kitchen doorway and frowned at his brother.
Shada couldn’t help wandering over to him. “Did you recognize his playing?”
“No, someone told me.”
Creed didn’t look at her. He seemed to be debating whether to go over to chew Stefan out, but then his face cleared. For an instant, she caught a glimpse of the affection and favoritism both Creed and Damen showed Stefan. An instant later, his expression closed, and he peered down at her. Her heart had the nerve to skip a beat. Creed’s gaze locked on hers and then slid to her lips. She stilled, feeling like she’d been caught in the sights of some wild animal. One false move, and she was a goner.
“You didn’t meet—” he began.
She held up a hand. “You’re not that ignorant.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m not doing anything to hurt you, Shada.”
“As if you could,” she shot back and returned to the kitchen. He didn’t call after her, and that hurt too. A dawning realization came over her, but she refused to believe the truth of it.
The evening continued without incident. Stefan entertained all night with his playing, taking short breaks here and there at Creed’s insistence. At last, the staff was alone to clean up and do the prep work for the next day. Shada wondered where the blonde had gone, but no one said.
Music from the dining room caught her attention only because a deep baritone had joined in. “No way,” she whispered and left her task again. As before, Creed stood near the kitchen, arms folded while he listened to his brother sing.
“Wow,” she said, coming up beside him. “He’s got a great voice. I can see why he wanted to go pro. I mean he’d have had the women eating out of his hand.”
Creed made a rude noise, and she laughed. “Are you jealous?”
“Of?”
She shrugged and grinned.
Stefan finished the jazz piece he’d been playing and started a new song with a familiar soulful beat. “Come and join me, Damen.”
Damen glanced over at Creed, grinned, and abandoned the chairs he had been stacking. He pulled an electric guitar out from somewhere she hadn’t noticed and hooked it into speakers.
Shada slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She turned to Creed, about to burst. “Are they seriously singing the blues?”
Creed groaned. “Yes, they are.”
“I know that song. Oh my goodness, they actually sound like they know what they’re doing.”
The kitchen door opened, and every single staff member piled into the dining room to listen and watch as Stefan and Damen sang together. A few laughed and clapped their hands. Shada joined in. She couldn’t believe the Marquette brothers were both sexy and talented. Men must be weeping all over the globe.
“Hey, Creed,” Stefan shouted above the music.
Shada glanced at Creed, whose face had turned to stone. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, and when she had pulled herself together, she leaned closer to him. “Aren’t you going to sing?”
His jaw worked, but he said nothing. Stefan kept signaling to him, and a few others picked up on it and began spurring Creed to get out there. Shada recalled the time Creed told her they sang for their food on the streets of New York. From his telling, she had assumed they sounded a mess, and people gave them money because they were cute teenage boys. Stefan and Damen’s voices blended well, and they picked up on each other’s cues with ease. Of course, they weren’t perfect, but that added to their charm. Then there was Creed, who, judging by the flare of his nostrils and the arrogant fire in his eyes, wouldn’t be caught dead singing with his brothers at his age.
Shada touched Creed’s arm and smirked. “I guess you’re scared.”
His eyes blazed. “I’m not afraid.”
She shrugged. “Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re all scared of something, and I mean, maybe you’re not as good as they are. This is your restaurant. Sure, it’s after hours, and all the guests are gone. But these people cheering your brothers on are your staff, and you can’t look bad in front of them.”
He grumbled, and then a hand snaked out and drew her closer to him. She gasped and tried to get away. He held on. The man turned the tables on her.
“Creed, stop. Everyone will—”
“Come home with me tonight, and I’ll sing.”
She did her best to straighten so her nipple—which had pebbled from the second she came into contact with his chest—wouldn’t be apparent to him. “My pussy is not for trade.”
His stubborn gaze challenged her.
“I thought we weren’t doing that anymore.”
“Says you.”
The words you’ve already found somebody new hovered on her lips, but she wouldn’t stoop to speaking them aloud.
“Not a good idea, Creed.” She felt her resistance crumbling and hated that she was being a bad example to all women, even if they didn’t know her or the situation.
“Tonight,” he said.
In other words, he wanted her once more. Damn, how many times had they slept together with the intention of making it the last time? She hadn’t let him touch her for three weeks now, and her body cried out for mercy. Maybe he had been getting fulfillment all along, never missing a beat when he replaced her with the leggy chick.
She turned back to watch Stefan and Damen. “Maybe I’ll go up there and sing myself.”
Creed was smart enough to know she tried to use reverse psychology on him, but she’d also issued a challenge of her own. She stepped just ahead of him and cheered with more enthusiasm, acting as if she would continue toward the front, but Creed’s hands came around her waist, and he set her aside. He weaved through the tables, and her excitement leaped a hundred feet higher when she saw him walk up to stand beside Damen. Although there was a slight pink to his cheeks, he stood tall and exuded sexiness. From the moment Creed opened his mouth, Stefan lowered the volume of his playing, and both brothers stopped singing to give Creed the lead. Several of the young women screamed at Creed’s soulful tones, and Shada put a hand to her chest. Creed wasn’t a better singer t
han Stefan, but he was damn good.
As he sang about love lost and misunderstood, he scanned the crowd. His gaze lit on her and held. Her heart stuttered to a stop and then kick-started with a vengeance. Tempted to pant, she breathed deeply and couldn’t look away from him. A couple more songs, and the brothers called it a night. Shada added her compliments to those of the workers swarming around the brothers and then escaped to the kitchen. She kept her distance from Creed for the rest of the night and then hightailed it out of there when he entered his office. Yes, she acted like a scared rabbit, but damn it, at least she didn’t give in to him. That was the important thing, and she concentrated on recalling every detail of the impromptu concert—for Marisa’s sake, of course.
Chapter Twelve
What were you thinking, Creed?”
Creed grumbled and stared at the words swimming before his eyes. “Fuck off, Damen.”
His brother parked on the edge of his desk. “What was her name? Gwendolyn?”
Creed swore. “Madeline.”
Damen frowned. “Not a fan.”
“Shut the hell up!”
“Why are you so grumpy this morning?” Damen reached for the empty bottle on the edge of the desk. “Did you polish off all of this? No wonder you’re being an ass. Bet that head feels good, huh?”
Creed had been trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the cotton on his tongue. Leave it to Damen to be in the mood to rib him today, when he could kill anything that moved. A few nights ago, Shada had run out on him, and she wouldn’t answer his calls. He’d gotten the message through Damen that she was taking time off. He had never met an employee in the years he and his brothers had run their corporation who flouted authority more than Shada. Yet he had put up with it. Why?
Because I…
He clamped down on his thoughts and ran a hand over his face. “Why the hell did she call you to tell you she wasn’t coming in and not me?”
Damen grinned. “We were discussing Melody, not Shada.”
“Madeline!” Creed groaned at the loudness of his own voice. “Look, you know I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I’m thirty-five. I want a child.”
“Don’t worry. You don’t have eggs to go bad. You’re good to maybe ninety.”
Creed stared at his brother. Despite his foul mood, he wanted to laugh. He cracked a smile, and Damen slapped a hand on his shoulder, sending an explosion through his head. All humor fled.
“That’s better,” Damen said, oblivious to his pain or perhaps unsympathetic. “So you grabbed some woman off the street and asked her to let you fuck her to get her pregnant. She said yes, and Shada’s the one that’s screwed. Well, so to speak.”
“I didn’t screw Shada. We’re not… We didn’t agree on the terms I set.”
“Terms you set? Whoa, my big brother is a prick. I always knew it.”
“Damen,” he warned.
“Just trying to understand why you’re drowning yourself in a bottle. You don’t drink, Creed.”
“I’ve tried it before.”
“Yeah, once. I’m surprised you’re not under the table, but then this is only wine.”
Damen’s worry started to seep through. Damen and Shada had talked about fear the night he and his brothers sang, but the one thing he did fear more than any other was becoming like his dad. Damen and Stefan knew that about him and never tried to get him to let go and drink with them. Neither, as far as he knew, had a problem, but the three of them understood the risks.
“So why now?” Damen continued.
“Don’t try getting inside my head, Damen. Let it go. I gave in to what you and Stefan wanted. You should be happy.”
“This isn’t about the restaurant. Even if you won’t admit it, you’re happier here in New Orleans, Creed. Maybe we weren’t meant for the corporate life.”
Creed scowled. “You want to give the money back now?”
“I didn’t say that. I remember those nights when—”
“Yeah.” Creed didn’t want to revisit the past.
“We’re not doing too bad, and Stefan’s got an idea for—”
“No!”
Damen chuckled. He raised his hands as if in defense. “I was going to say for a foundation, somewhere to dump our money where we can do good for kids that are in the situation we were in.”
Creed admitted this wasn’t a bad idea, but he wouldn’t yet accept that the corporate life wasn’t for them. He did like the restaurant business, maybe even loved it, with its hectic pace and constant challenges. They gave him a rush in a way. At least he never found himself fighting to keep his eyes open in meetings with pompous blowhards. Not in New Orleans.
“And you’ve got to admit she makes it fun for you.”
“There is no she,” he snapped.
“Not if you’re going to cheat on her.”
“Fuck, Damen, I told you she’s not my woman.” He recalled the times he had asserted Shada was his, and he shoved the papers on his desk away from him. Maybe he should go over there and demand she speak to him. No, he couldn’t do that. Shada drove him insane. He wanted to wash his hands of her and move forward with his plan. Yet he also wanted to spank her for running away from him, along with a few other things. No, it’s more than that... He surged to his feet, cutting off the thought.
His brother smirked at him. “Why are you so pissed off?”
“I’m always pissed off. When have you known me not to be?”
“When Shada’s making you smile.”
“Fuck Shada!”
Something fractured in his mind. He stormed toward the door, wrenched it open, and slammed it behind him as he left. Nausea assailed Creed as he left Marquette’s and took to the streets. Making his point had cost him, and all he wanted was his bed, but lying at home alone hadn’t done him any good when he was there. He’d lain awake most of the night for the last two days, unable to sleep. She wouldn’t leave his thoughts, and worse, he worried about her. Would she leave the restaurant to go work for another? Would she take a new lover? He had no right to wonder. He knew that, because he hadn’t been fair to her. Never in his life had he cheated on a woman, and he didn’t feel like his proposal to her was cheating. He’d been up front and given her a choice, but it was still selfish. He acknowledged that. Yet he couldn’t see himself giving up the idea of having a baby.
They weren’t meant for each other. The truth stared him in the face, but he had a hard time accepting it.
“Maybe I’ve had my way too long, and I don’t know how to handle it now.” He ignored the looks he got from others walking along in the early morning. One couldn’t say he always got his way, when Damen and Stefan made a daily habit of defying his wishes. In fact, he began to think they looked for ways to thwart him. As he considered Marquette’s and now this idea of starting a foundation, he wondered if perhaps he’d been living a lie all along. He might be just some guy trapped by his past, and his brothers the ones who drew him out. “And Shada.”
Creed swore. There she was, popping into his head again. He stopped walking and looked to his left. Thick white columns lined the walk and supported the overhanging roof above. To his right, green doors with long windows allowed him to see into the famous café he had visited many times during his stay in New Orleans. Café du Monde was known for its beignets and café au lait, and Creed had enjoyed the puffy fried dough with piles of powdered sugar on top coupled with the hot coffee that was half milk. He’d propositioned Rene to try the treat for Marquette’s and had been told one couldn’t improve on perfection. Shada, he recalled, had laughed at him, and then, when he grumbled about dealing with arrogant chefs, she had promised to create something unique to Marquette’s. He swore. There she was again in his head. When his cell phone rang, he welcomed the interruption, at least until Shada’s name flashed on the screen.
Creed battled between letting her call go to voicemail and finding out what she’d been doing all this time since she had finally decided to call him. A desire to hear
her voice outweighed his anger, and he answered. “Shada, perhaps you forgot you have a job to do.”
“Creed.”
The anguish in her tone tore through him. “What is it, baby?”
“She’s gone. She’s gone.”
Her sobs ripped him apart. He didn’t need the details. All he needed was to find her and take her into his arms.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
For a few moments, she couldn’t answer, and he paced with the phone pressed into his ear until it hurt. At last, she mumbled, “Home.”
“Don’t move. I’ll be there.”
The apartment Shada shared with her sister was within walking distance of Marquette’s, but Creed had covered a lot of ground in the opposite direction when he left the restaurant. He doubled his speed and considered getting public transportation, but thought better of it. Pent-up frustration and worry gave him enough energy to get to Shada under his own steam. Besides, he needed to get his blood pumping and to work out his hangover so he could concentrate on her.
While he walked, Creed searched with his phone’s browser for the name of the management company where Shada lived. From that info, he obtained the phone number and dialed them. A woman with a heavy accent came on the line, but living in this city for the time he had, he understood her without a problem.
“This is Creed Marquette. I need someone to meet me at Unit Three on St. Philip to let me into the apartment.”
“Are you the tenant, sir?”
“No, I’m her employer. I will be there in—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Marquette. If your name isn’t on the lease, we can’t let you in without the tenant’s written consent.”
His patience snapped. “Listen, Shada Howard, the tenant, is in a…precarious state right now. I’m not sure she’s in the frame of mind to answer the door. So I want someone there to let me in, just in case. If that person wants to come inside with me to ensure I’m not about to commit foul play, that’s fine. However, I will enter that apartment, with your assistance or without.”
“Mr. Marquette, it don’ matta what you say. Ah cane’t let you in.” The angrier she grew, the thicker her accent, and he had to concentrate to understand. “Now if you’re going to threaten us in this way, I will have to call the police.”
Creed (The Marquette Family Book One) Page 12
