by Nona Wesley
Shit. Well, why not? She had the prerogative to confide in friends or family if needed. Sun had to wonder, though, if this woman though he was bragging about his conquest with great machismo.
He edged closer to Chet and bumped his shoulder. “Whatever you order, get it to go,” his whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
Without another word, and with Dee protesting all the way, he rounded the counter and breached the employees’ only area, looking for Diahann.
Chapter Five
“Hello.”
Diahann swallowed hard and willed the composure needed to face Sun—yes, that was his name, if she recalled. Same as on the menu. She felt silly that her body responded like that of a horny teenager. Nerves fluttered in her stomach and her pulse pumped double-time. She prayed her cheeks hadn’t flushed on seeing him; she was a professional businesswoman for crying out loud! How could she possibly want to melt at the sight of this man.
She sighed to herself, biting her lip. Never mind her austere exterior, beneath the tailored suits and no-nonsense demeanor beat the heart of a woman desiring passion in her life. Sun delivered plenty last night, and amazing though it was she knew a relationship with him couldn’t happen.
He broke in before she could speak. “I just wanted you to know my coming here was purely coincidental,” he said. “I don’t know this area of town very well, and I had no idea you ran this place. So don’t think I’m stalking you or anything.”
“I co-own it, actually, with other members of my family, but thank you for clarifying everything.” She kept her tone polite and her gaze fixed on a spot beyond him, into the dining area. His friend continued to flirt with Dee, who showed no signs of resisting. Lord, what the man must think of her whole clan…
Boy, delivery boy, she corrected herself. A mere wage slave, what standing did he have in the community?
As she stood with the intent of showing him out of the office, he blocked the doorway with his body, raising his arms to brace the threshold. The move pulled his t-shirt tighter over his chest and she tried not to envision his bare chest, or remember the smooth glide of his skin against hers.
“Having said that, however, I was wondering,” he said, and she swore she noticed his lower lip tremble, “if you would be interested in having dinner with me sometime. I mean, no strings, I just would be interested in getting to know you better.”
Better than you had last night? She had to admit he looked cute as he asked, with shy sincerity softening his angular features and dark brown eyes. His black hair seemed wavier than before, and those arms…oh, any other time—maybe an alternate universe where she could cast away all apprehensions and live for the moment—she’d be happy to let them envelop her and stroke her body to ecstatic heights.
“Uh…”
“Sun,” he said quickly.
“Yes, I knew that.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t…that is, I don’t think that would be a good idea. You see, I’m pretty busy with running the shop, and it’s rare that I get a night where I don’t have to take work home with me.”
“I can understand that completely. I’m in the restaurant business, too.”
“Yes, true.” She nodded. “If you were in a managerial position, though, you’d really understand how pressed for time I am.”
His smile faded. “Right. I see.” Watching his eyes cloud over, she realized he did get the message.
“Sorry to have bothered you.” With a slight nod, he backed out of the office, grabbed his friend, and left the shop. She got as far as the entranceway into the dining area when Dee turned to her.
“I take it we’re not calling out for dinner tonight.”
Diahann rolled her eyes.
* * * *
“Uh, buddy, I didn’t pay for this.” Chet held up his dewy paper cup.
“I’ll get it later, don’t worry.” Sun kept his focus on the vacant storefront across the lot, where a Lexus now parked beside Chet’s car. “I know the owner.”
“Cool.” Chet slurped hard on the straw, leaving Sun to assume he’d ordered a milkshake.
Yes, he knew the owner well. He knew what buttons to push to make her moan, the softness of her skin against his, and that in their brief time together it seemed as though she’d never enjoyed anything more.
He knew her ambitions, too. She wanted to succeed in business and life in general, and apparently not even the promise of mind-blowing sex could replace the need for a companion on her level. He was nearly there, getting ready to expand Rising Sun, but she only saw him as some punk delivery boy. He needed to think fast to change her perception of him if he ever stood a chance at being with her again. He doubted just saying he owned Rising Sun would do—she’d think him a liar.
God, how he wanted that second chance. Yes, the sex had been incredible, but when he was in her office he sensed her confidence and building passion. They shared so much in common, being minority restaurateurs—constantly working to succeed, sacrificing personal desires. Seeing her, however, inspired him to achieve balance between work and play. Even if they didn’t build a sexual relationship from their one encounter, they could certainly benefit from each other as friends.
Heh. What was he thinking? He wanted much more than friendship.
Bill Rayburn, his commercial real estate agent, lowered his cell phone from his ear and waved Sun closer. “Hey, sorry for being late. Got hung up in a meeting and couldn’t exit gracefully. So…” He pulled out a key. “Ready for the grand tour?”
Sun took Bill’s other hand, extended toward him, and shook hard. “Sure. Just need to get back to the store to help Mimi out.” He watched Bill unlock the door and passed through as the agent held the door. He regarded the deep dining space before him and the service counter to the left, and drifted toward the kitchen. “Looks even bigger when you’re inside,” he said. He could already envision how this second Rising Sun would look with red Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling, fresh wallpaper, and new vinyl upholstered on the booths.
He glanced at Bill. Chet drifted around in the background, sipping his shake and studying the wall. “This is within the price range we discussed?” he asked. “Seems almost too big for what I had in mind.”
“Sun, you can afford it, trust me. These storefronts are going at a great price now given the economy.” Bill gestured toward the panel windows at the surrounding shops. “You put your restaurant here and it’ll give this place a nice shot in the arm.”
Sun didn’t expect to carry the whole plaza, not with more established retailers in the area. He moved closer to the window, smiling at the back of the MMMarshall’s building. “Well, I do like our neighbors,” he said. “We were just at the ice cream shop, it’s nice.”
A pause, then a rough grunt alerted Sun to Bill’s sudden mood change. “What?” he asked. If the agent knew something that might affect his investment, he would find out now before writing a check.
“Well,” Bill began with a sigh, “word on the street is that MMMarshall’s won’t be around much longer. They took a hit in the last quarter. Not many people buying ice cream when they’re saving their money. Damn shame, too, since that place has been around forever.”
Chet came forward with a loud slurp that echoed through the vacant space. “Yet you’re so convinced people’ll come for Chinese buffet instead?”
Sun pursed his lips to keep from laughing as Bill tap-danced around the question. “Well, people will always have to eat,” Bill said. “Buffets are pretty economical, more so than ice cream, which isn’t really a meal. That’s become more of a luxury these days.”
“You don’t have to convince us, Bill.” Sun held up a hand. He didn’t need the agent sweating over a lost commission. “How about I stop by your office later this week and we can talk more?” He turned back to look at the ice cream parlor. “I have some questions about the rest of the area, too.”
Chapter Six
Glad to finally come home, Diahann kicked her heels off in the foyer and padd
ed to the couch. She had no appetite for dinner or anything else, yet once she lay across the cushions and crossed her ankles any desire to get up for a glass of wine to wash the away the day faded. Depression and frustration sapped her strength—after Sun and his friend left, she’d counted only three other customers. She ended up sending Dee home early.
She closed her eyes, willing back the tears. At the height of their success, people packed the booths at MMMarshall’s. Rarely did silence reign in the shop—customers often fed the jukebox and lively chatter bounced off the walls. As a child she couldn’t think of anywhere else she wanted to stay. When her father ran the shop she’d park on a stool, enrapt by the stories of his regular customers and envisioning the images they evoked of sock hoppers and flower children playing pinball and grooving to Elvis, the Beatles…whoever topped the charts.
As she grew, tastes turned toward Michael Jackson and Madonna, then the Spice Girls and Beyonce and back again. One thing didn’t change: the demand for MMMarshall’s decadent ice cream concoctions.
Diahann rubbed her forehead. That had changed, however. While the customers in her parents’ day showed up even in the lean times, their descendants didn’t possess the same loyalty and desire to patronize a local institution. Why make the drive across town and pass a dozen chain shops? Why indulge in a fattening scoop of butter pecan when the quickie mart around the corner had a fat free, frozen yogurt dispenser?
She needed a distraction from her troubles, and once again television offered nothing. Between her problems with Wayne, which she had yet to confront, and the prospect of closing the store, it seemed she’d find no respite beyond recalling the memory of gorgeous Sun in her bed.
Damn. Why did she brush him off like that? She knew the answer, of course: the sex, while incredible, couldn’t sustain a relationship. What would happen once they dressed? What could they possibly talk about?
If you’d gone out with him like he asked, maybe you’d find out, scolded her conscience, which she silenced by fiercely shaking her head. Too soon to be thinking about relationships, anyway, she decided, at least until she formally ended things with Wayne. Even if she did want an occasional roll in the sack, she couldn’t lead on a guy like Sun who clearly wanted more.
The doorbell’s chime rattled her thoughts, and she groaned. She really didn’t want to deal with a passing evangelist or kid selling magazines right now, and figured if she stayed put the visitor would get the message and try Mrs. Hong next door.
After a second chime, the tone dissolved into a small storm of fists against the door. “Diahann, get your ass over here and let me in!” Dee shouted from outside.
“Damn.” Diahann rolled off the sofa and in four long strides had her hand curled around the handle. With one strong yank she opened her home to reveal her sister holding a wide, flat box, a blue cap with the corresponding pizzeria’s logo pulled over her eyes.
“Delivery, baby,” she drawled in a low voice. Diahann had half a mind to slam the door in her face, but she was standing and hungry, and obviously she didn’t have to cook.
“Come on, it’s funny,” Dee chided as Diahann moved to let her pass. “These days we need a good laugh.”
“I’m happy you’re able to find one at my expense.” Diahann followed her sister into the kitchen and retrieved plates and wineglasses. The aroma of salty pepperoni and tart, sun-dried tomatoes wafted upward and she inhaled with appreciation. At least Dee had ordered her favorite toppings. “Kind of hard to be merry when you barely broke even today.”
“It’s a weekday, they’ve always been slow.” Dee helped herself to a large slice. “Don’t sweat it. We’ve always managed before.”
Diahann wished for her sister’s confidence. Given that weekdays outnumbered weekends, the shop surely couldn’t handle more slow days. She selected a thinner sliver of pizza and reached for the glass nearest her, which Dee had filled with white wine. “I saw Bob Rayburn hanging around today, after you left,” she said. “He didn’t come in, though.”
“Like he would have bought anything, the sorry ass,” Dee muttered and frowned. Dee easily shared Diahann’s dislike for the real estate agent who seemed intent on convincing their father to sell their property while they could still drum up interest in it.
“Well, he didn’t bug me. Guess he didn’t see Dad’s car and assumed it wasn’t worth trying.” Three bites into her piece of pizza, she reached the crust and dropped it on her plate. “If he expended half the energy filling the rest of the strip he wouldn’t have to worry about a commission from the sale of MMMarshall’s.”
“I wouldn’t worry. Dad is smart enough to see through Bob Rayburn. If he does decide to sell, and he won’t, he’ll go through somebody who isn’t as greasy as our kitchen traps.”
“Amen.”
Before Diahann could reach for seconds, the doorbell chimed again. “Who could that be?” she wondered aloud, and eyed Dee with an arched brow.
“Don’t look at me,” Dee muttered. “I didn’t call for anymore suitors. In fact, I had a pretty good prospect earlier today if Jackie Chan hadn’t dragged him away.”
“If you have any sense, you’ll start ordering out at a higher class kind of place.” Diahann rounded the counter toward the foyer.
“Hey, they came to us,” Dee reminded her. “They recognize class.”
Yep. Diahann sighed inwardly. If only Sun worked on the same level as she. She’d have definitely ordered in tonight.
Opening her door, all thoughts of lower class folks and slimeball real estate agents amplified when the king of them all smiled at her from the threshold, bearing a bouquet of red roses.
“Surprise, baby,” Wayne said.
* * * *
“Try this.”
Mimi slid a dish bearing a slice of chocolate frosted layer cake toward her brother, but Sun hadn’t the appetite for it, or anything else. The pang of Diahann’s gentle but absolute rejection ate a hole in his stomach, and not even the soda he nursed in between phone orders helped ease the pain. How easy it could have been to just admit he wasn’t a delivery boy, but a restaurateur like herself, but would she have believed it?
He glanced at the cake, then at his sister, leaning an elbow on the small work table by the counter, where they sat. “I thought you were going to make mung bean buns.”
Mimi shrugged. “I wanted something I could look forward to eating at the end of the day. Hard to get excited about bean paste,” she said. “I’ve sold four slices of this cake today as opposed to the whole tray of wife cakes in the cooler. People want what they recognize.”
Sun leaned to one side to confirm her theory. The desserts they kept in cling wrap in the drink cooler numbered high where the authentic Chinese pastries were concerned. He saw one wedge of chocolate cake and half a cherry pie remaining, and as he watched Mimi’s hopeful reaction to his first bite of the dessert he realized where his sister’s true desires lay.
Though soured emotions roiled in his gut, he had to admit that Mimi did well with the cake. Moist and rich, each bite melted on his tongue and coaxed him into another and another, until he was clumping crumbs together with his fork for one final taste.
“I was thinking, if you get that new place I’d like to have a look,” Mimi said. “I had an idea, since cupcakes are all the rage now I could make those to sell. That way I could make different flavors, place a small fortune cookie on top of each one for a little ethnic touch.” She smiled. “They would be easier to store than a whole cake that might go bad.”
“I wish I had enough to send you to that chef’s academy,” Sun said. Assuming Rising Sun succeeded, he could do that in the future. For now, though, the larger kitchen would have to suffice to build her baking skills. Of course, the more she improved the greater the risk of losing Mimi to an upscale restaurant in need of a pastry artist. She deserved it, though.
“There’s nothing school can teach me that I can’t learn by doing, and I have plenty here to help.” Mimi patted his hand, which stil
l clutched the fork. “I can see you hated it.”
Sun looked down at the scrapings of chocolate frosting and offered her a sheepish grin. “Mimi, what would you say if I told you I was reconsidering buying the new place?”
“I’d ask what her name is.”
His gaze shot upward to look at her. She appraised him with a smirk. “You want to hang onto to the money so you can treat some lady right, eh? Not buying a second restaurant gives you less work so you can be with her.”
“I want to invest it elsewhere, in a place that could benefit you and me.” And the lady I want to treat right. “I’ll need to do some research first. Hand me my BlackBerry? It’s on the counter.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me her name. I’ll figure it out eventually, though.” Mimi retrieved the PDA and Sun did a quick phone search, finding the number he wanted. The party answered on the second ring and Sun introduced himself.
“Is there someplace we can meet to discuss some business?” he asked.
* * * *
The corners of Wayne’s smile fell slightly and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking around the immediate area surrounding Diahann’s duplex. “Baby,” he cajoled, “you gonna let me in?”
Diahann had closed the space between the jamb and the door, gripping the inside knob so tightly her knuckles ached. She calculated how quickly Wayne could have come from Charlotte to Virginia Beach—a plane ride would accomplish it. She wondered if his wife slipped about the phone call from Myra of Chez Madeleine, and that prompted this sudden exercise in damage control.
“I’m not your baby, Wayne.” The words came out cool as ice, so much she felt the temperature drop within her. “I’m also not your wife. I understand that job’s been taken.”
