***
83 miles away, in an extraordinary residence sitting on 10 acres of land, dawn light had triumphed. An oceanfront estate, regarded by many as the finest in all of the Hamptons, stood like a silent sentinel. A series of decks and patios led to the red dunes and onto a private, sandy beach. Two custom-made swimming pools and a sunken all-weather tennis court were invisible from the highway, hidden by strategically hedged lawns.
Inside the master’s bedroom, a double king-sized bed dominated the space, while glass windows leading to the patio provided an unobstructed view of the ocean and the ceaseless waves. A solitary figure stood on the patio, unmindful of the chilly wind on his naked body. Security cameras that were manned on an 8-hour basis guaranteed complete privacy. The security personnel were paid well to understand that discretion was a value topping the list of their job requirements.
The master of the house stared out into the ocean, the breeze gently ruffling his hair. He missed the long mane he used to have but admitted that this current look added character to his personality. It was a concession he made to the committee - one of many.
Hunter Blackwell was a man who answered to no one, except to his dad, whom he idolized. Blackwell Senior was a self-made man who hardly finished high school, but possessed a keen sense of perception that made everything he touched turn into gold. With an initial investment of $100, he made his first big profit and earned half a million in the stock market. He then decided to try his luck in a stock-trading firm with an investment career, and proceeded to quintuple his net worth as he adhered to a philosophy of long-term value investing. His next move then caught his associates by surprise when he invested all of his wealth into the mining sector. That bold move made him one of the richest men in America under the age of 40.
His only son and heir, Hunter, took over the reins of the family fortune after finishing a Masters in Finance from Harvard University. The business acumen of the old man was passed on to the equally brilliant son who took risks that lesser mortals would never even consider. Hunter diversified into electronics, shipping, real estate, hotel industry and other businesses.
Money can buy you material happiness. But only in serving people can you ever experience true self –fulfillment.
The memory of that mantra that his dad used to say was especially more poignant today while Hunter stared out into the blue beyond. As a young boy, when his dad would bring him to school, they passed by tenement houses and saw other boys his age out in the streets.
“Why aren’t they in school, dad?”
“I guess school doesn’t work for them, son.”
“Why?’
“Maybe just being out on the street makes them happy.”
“School makes them sad?”
“Maybe. Or they find school boring.”
“When I grow up I will make school exciting for everyone so that every kid will want to go.”
The old man looked fondly at the solemn boy and replied, “Yes, you do that son.”
Running for senator was the beginning of Hunter’s journey towards self-fulfillment. He had a vision of the change he wanted. But it wasn’t easy, he realized that now.
Last night, he had to summon every ounce of restraint not to tell all of them to go to hell. He wanted to walk out of the meeting and shut the door in their faces. But he exercised even more restraint on his temper because he wanted that nomination more than anything else in the world.
Hunter knew they meant well. To the world, he was the epitome of confidence and cockiness. He exuded power because he had earned it. But deep inside, he was sensitive when it came to his private life, even if that side of him was constant fodder for gossip by the media. A string of celebrity girlfriends, wild partying, his luxurious homes, fleet of cars, even his Gulfstream jet – they all made the news.
He wondered what the old stiffs would think, seeing him stand boldly naked on the patio of his home.
Or the blond sleeping on his bed? Shit.
He couldn’t even remember her name. A tinge of disgust sprouted in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t give a fuck what they thought. The juvenile side of him blamed them for the presence of the blonde in his bed.
Last night, he needed to release the frustration that had sprung out of him after being told to change his lifestyle and settle down…if he wanted to run for senator.
That was the reason he stopped by the bar on his way home. Their eyes met as he ordered his whiskey and the rest of the night was predictable from that time on.
Hunter sighed.
Normally, sex managed to invigorate him, made him feel alive and ready to meet any challenge. But now he felt like he was just a ball of energy, waiting to explode.
Maybe the old men were right. He needed to change something in his life. After all, random sex with strange women only confirmed what the council thought. And what could be more random than not even remembering the name of the girl he had just slept with hours before?
He crept back silently into the room, not wanting to rouse the sleeping girl. His team would know what to do when she woke up. He pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped both feet into a pair of sneakers. Pulling a white shirt from the pile in his closet, he grabbed the key of the Audi and tiptoed out of the room.
***
The morning breeze felt good on his face. It cleared the cobwebs of frustration stemming from his memory of the council’s rebuff. He inhaled stubbornly. It was an obstacle he would conquer his own way.
He stepped on the pedal and sensed the car obey his every command. Being in control was more like it. He relished the sensation. The hum of the powerful engine was like a balm that soothed his soul. He had no particular destination in mind, just a strong urge to get away. He had no idea how long he was driving until he recognized the familiar landmarks of Queens.
Hunter glanced at his watch; It was much too early to find a decent place to have breakfast. He waited for the traffic light to turn green and turned left on the next block. He saw that most of the stores were still closed but quickly noticed a window sign decal that said Eats Well Café and almost passed it. Hunter reversed the car and backed up slowly, certain that the door to the café was ajar.
Thanking the heavens for his luck, Hunter parked the car and stepped out into the sidewalk. The café was small by city standards, but it was open and that was all that mattered. He entered and was immediately assailed by the smell of freshly baked bread.
A girl was standing by the counter with her back towards him. Her arms were moving vigorously, like she was doing a weird exercise, until he noticed that she was working on kneading some dough.
“Ahem, excuse me,” Hunter cleared his throat.
No response. Was she deaf?
Then suddenly, for some strange reason, she rolled her hips from side to side. Hunter was taken aback until he noticed the earbuds. She was dancing to some music that only she could hear. Then she giggled.
Hunter smiled to himself. He didn’t want to frighten her. Besides, it was pleasantly stimulating, almost erotic, the way she moved her body. He couldn’t see the rest of her face but he approved of the dark hair that cascaded to a wide shoulder and sloped down to a narrow waistline. And the sound of her soft laughter was melodious to hear.
***
Noelle swayed lightly to the music in her ears. Kenny G on saxophone never failed to brighten up her spirits. The stirring sound of the metal wind instrument came through the earbuds in clear melodic tones. If Noelle were to decide who in the world she could marry, Kenny G would definitely top the list. She could lose herself while listening to his music that always seemed to evoke sentimental memories of a time when loving came easily.
Noelle would be the first to admit that when it came to love, she sucked big time. Her first experience with love was not only traumatic but she considered herself lucky to have come out of it physically unscathed. The only good thing that came out of that experience was her son, Nikko. However, the emotional scars that remained sin
ce then had always stopped her from having another relationship.
She kneaded the dough, working it between her fingers as Kenny G blasted away in her ears. In her mind, sax and baking made strange bedfellows that always seemed to work. She swayed her hips to the sound; her body moving sinuously while she giggled at the image in her head.
An hour more to go until opening and this dough was the last of its batch so Noelle was pleased. The rest of the batch was inside the oven and she knew, with relief, that she wouldn’t run out of bread today.
Satisfied that the dough was ready, she poured extra-virgin olive oil into a baking pan and spread it all over the bottom. She then transferred the dough mix into the pan, before sprinkling anise and nuts on top. Grabbing the pan, she turned around, intent on heading for the oven.
She froze in her tracks and stifled a scream. The earbuds popped out of her ears. A man was watching her, slouched by the counter, one side of his hips resting by the wall, elbow leaning casually against the counter. He broke into a grin upon seeing the look of shock on her face.
The synapses inside Noelle’s brain went into overdrive as it processed information about the stranger.
First, he didn’t mean her any harm. She was certain of that, even if his presence reduced her to being a mute plastic dummy. And that smile. It was calculated to revive anyone in a coma. Or send one into suspended animation, exactly the state she was in now.
Second, the eyes were a darker shade of blue and almost cerulean, like the shallow part of the ocean. And right now, the look was sardonic, consistent with the smile that was almost mocking.
Third, the hair was a neutral hue of darker brown. It was styled in a comb over, long on top and shorter at the sides, hinting at a classic look or a version that would appeal to whatever job he was in. Noelle didn't really care. She knew that she just wanted to run a hand through those luscious locks.
Fourth, he was well built. The thin V-necked tee shirt wasn’t enough to hide the hint of a six-pack on that wide torso. A sprinkling of chest hair was visible from the V. Despite the fog in her brain, Noelle wondered if the chest hair followed a natural course and narrowed down to a “happy trail.”
Fifth, he had long lean legs clad in faded jeans that ended perfectly just below the ankle and continued on to white sneakers with knots tied in a hip street style.
He was perfect…
And gorgeous…
And was walking towards her.
“Hello, my name is Hunter and I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“How did you…” Noelle glanced at the door and realized it was open.
I must have left it open when I brought Miranda inside earlier.
She looked at him and realized that he had extended his hand in greeting. She rubbed the back of her palms on the seat of her pants and reached out to shake the proffered hand. He had a warm and firm clasp.
Noelle knew she had to take full control of her senses. She looked down on her baking pan and realized that her bread dough was starting to form air pockets.
"Uhm, I think you better pop that into the oven before it’s completely ruined," the man said in a honeyed voice, although Noelle recognized a hint of mockery in the words.
“Of-of course. Err, please take a seat. You can sit anywhere. It doesn’t matter. We’re not really opened yet. But since you’re here…”
Noelle hurried to the oven, grateful for the chance to regain her composure. She realized she was babbling. She felt like someone with an IQ of about 25 or lower. She was flustered and excited and shy all at the same time.
Noelle Mancini, get a grip. What did he say his name was? Hunter? Even his name was perfect. He could hunt me in my dreams and I wouldn’t mind...
Noelle stood in front of the oven brushing an imaginary stray hair away from her face. She was glad she hadn't bothered to put on the hairnet snood, the one that made her look like a granny sitting on the porch watching the day go by.
Then a thought struck her.
“OH GOD! What if he was from the Safety and Food Sanitation Bureau? He could report her for not following regulations on food preparation.” Noelle thought in horror.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Those are thin balding old men wearing spectacles over hook-like noses. This one is a dreamboat.”
Noelle took a deep breath and gathered her resolve. She stole a glance in his direction. He had taken a seat by the window and seemed intent on his cell phone. She sighed with relief. It was enough time. She strolled casually back to the counter and donned an apron, one that had a long strap that went all the way to the back and front again, then tied it into a ribbon. She used to think it cute. Now it just looked rather silly.
Grabbing her restaurant order form, she casually strolled back to where he sat, snatching a menu along the way.
“Would you like some time to study the menu?”
He took it from her hand, flashing another deadly smile. He glanced at it, placed it down on the table, and then said, “Why don’t you decide for me? I’ll have coffee. Anything that’s brewing will be fine.”
“I-I serve Italian Sausage Heroes with peppers and onions, Fig and Prosciutto, Honey bourbon chicken, turkey apple-butter and Arugula grilled cheese, but if you want something lighter, there’s tuna and….”
“Do you serve them on bread that you personally baked?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then any of those mentioned sounds great.”
He did something then that surprised her. He reached out and touched her face. Noelle’s skin tingled as his knuckle caressed her chin.
“Flour.” He announced simply.
Noelle was disappointed and embarrassed. Darn dough. She turned her back when he suddenly called out, “You know what would be even better?”
“A glass of juice?” She asked.
He smiled and replied, “No…if you tell me your name and join me while I eat.”
Then it struck her.
Hunter was flirting with her. The idea wasn't so bad. To tell the truth, it elated her, made her feel good inside. She hadn't been out on a date in God-knows-how-long. The café and Nikko consumed all her hours.
The fact that he seemed interested enough to ask that she choose his food and chat with him while he ate bolstered her confidence. Her poise went up a notch as she went about preparing his order, making sure the salad greens were fresh. A slice of tomato and some cucumbers made the final touches. She poured some freshly brewed coffee into a tall mug and joined him again.
“You still haven’t told me your name.” He asked putting his phone in his back pocket.
“It’s Noelle. Noelle Mancini.”
“Mancini? Portuguese? Italian?”
"My dad is Italian. I was born in Italy. My mom was Afro-American. "
“Have you visited Italy since?”
“I-No. My mom brought me to America when I was 2 years old and I have not been back since.”
“That sucks,” he muttered.
“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Noelle muttered back, remembering the dilemma regarding the working permit and her immigration status.
“You own this place?”
Noelle sighed deeply and answered, “Yes.”
“Married? Single?” Hunter asked curiously.
“I swore off on marriage years ago. But I do have a son, Nikko. So, yes. Single.”
Noelle realized his questions bordered on the personal but admittedly, she felt no qualms about sharing that aspect of her life.
He gave her a quizzical look.
“How can someone as beautiful as you elude marriage?”
He was staring at her candidly. She hoped there were no more flour smudges on her face. Then she realized he was waiting for a reply.
"Marriage is not all that it's hyped to be. First, you need to have a boyfriend. And if that boyfriend turns out to be an asshole, you just thank your lucky stars that you didn't make that walk down the aisle.”
“You’re a wise woman, Noelle Mancini.”
Hunter inhaled deeply and replied, “Yes I am.”
Her heart wanted to burst out into a jubilant rendition of the “Hallelujah Song…”
“And I plan to stay that way.”
… and then plummeted down to the floor.
“ Why’s that?” asked Noelle.
“I have come to realize that my value as a person is in tandem with my bank account. I’ll need both my finger and toes to count the number of times an attractive woman ‘ran into me by accident’, only to discover that she’s actually done extensive research where I normally hang out, what my favorite food is, who my friends are. You get the picture?”
“ Not all women are the same, Hunter. You’ve just been unlucky ” Noelle added with an assuring smile. “Take your time. It’s not like women will go out of style anytime soon. You don’t have to rush into marriage.” Noelle advised innocently.
“Not if some people had their way," Hunter muttered darkly.
Noelle thought that was a strange remark, but decided not to question any further as she noticed Hunter looking away.
“You work around here?” Noelle veered the subject wisely
“Yes, I work over at the Blackwell Building on 5th Avenue,” Hunter replied.
Noelle was familiar with the address. It was an impressive 60-storey structure of steel and glass with an iconic courtyard that housed some of the finest culinary dining experiences in the entire city. The inhabitants of that building were technocrats, bankers, engineers and accountants dressed in three-piece suits and expensive leather shoes. He wasn’t dressed that way at all.
Noelle’s curiosity stirred. Did he work in one of the restaurants and heard about her secret recipes? In her little world, Noelle was famous for substituting herb and spice with exotic seasonings that made her sandwiches unique. She had labored long and hard for those recipes. Next to her son Nikko, the recipes were her treasured possessions.
Noelle’s Mr. Brain had every intention of proving that he had dominance over her Mrs. Heart. Maybe this man was spying on her? That could explain the reason why he asked her to choose the food to serve him for his meal.
Her Greek Protector ( A Billionaire Second Chance Romance) Page 18
