“That’s probably the kindest thing anyone I know has said about her.”
“Really? I mean, I can’t claim to know anything at all about her after one interaction, but she didn’t seem that bad. Sure, she’s a little reserved, and maybe not the type to wear her emotions on her sleeves, but—”
He cuts me off with, “Diane Worthington doesn’t have emotions.” He smiles and that dimple sends me reeling again. “But you know what? The last thing I want to do right now is spend the few remaining minutes of my lunch hour talking about anything or anyone but you.”
I hear the unfamiliar girlish giggle I let out. Jeez, that was me? I swear to God I’ve never sounded that way. I don’t want to admit that just the look he gives me has caused my cheeks to heat up and butterflies to fill my lower belly.
“So, you’re Dahlia’s friend. What are you, roommates? Or do you go to the same college?”
“Both actually. Good guess.”
“I figured you couldn’t be from the same town. Your accent sounds more local.”
“You’re right. I grew up less than an hour’s drive from here. I’m from New Jersey.”
“Nice. And you’re a chef?”
“Assistant Chef, yes. Just starting out, but graduating soon.”
Dylan opens his mouth to reply, but Dahlia pops her head in the kitchen. Why is she more upset now than earlier? I thought for sure Jackson would win her over by this point. She tells me she’s leaving and wants me to lock up. It’s no trouble at all, being left to my own devices in as lovely a place as this. Especially with the present company.
But then Dahlia’s date comes in. He’s not any happier either.
“Hey, time to go, Dylan,” Jackson mutters and adds, “Nice meeting you, Emily.”
“Same here,” I answer.
Dylan pops another appetizer into his mouth and gives Jackson a nod. “Sure. I’ll be a minute. Meet me out at the elevator.” He finishes the bite of food and turns to me. “That’s my cue.”
“Sounds good. Nice meeting you, Dylan. Thanks for the tips.”
“Anytime. So, I was thinking, as both our friends are getting to know each other, it might be a good idea for us to do the same. Starting with drinks sometime? Or dinner?”
“Sound good,” I say, but then I start to connect the other dots. “Although well, you’re related to my potential client. That may not be the best idea.”
“Trust me, your working with Diane will likely never intersect with my life.”
“It kinda did last night at the gala.”
“That was different. I was there for a good cause. Besides, most of her social life relates to her work as a lawyer.”
“I’m not sure… Can I think about it and let you know?” Pulling out my phone from my apron, I unlock the screen then hand it to him. “Put your number in here.” His face shows a bit of disappointment so I add, “I’ll call or text no matter what.”
“Sure.” He takes a little longer entering something into my phone and find out why when his smartphone buzzes on the countertop. A look at my own screen shows me the text he’s sent to himself from my phone.
On top of adding his number to my contact list as Dylan ‘Your Friendly Neighborhood Taste Tester’ Worthington, his text message presumably from me to him reads,
Dylan: Hi gorgeous. It’s me, Emily. I can’t wait to meet you for drinks.
“Smart move, getting my number while you’re at it,” I tell him, unable to keep a straight face.”
“Smart is pretty much my m.o.,” Jackson shouts his name from the front door, reminding him they have a meeting to attend. “Gotta go, but I’ll be in touch.”
“Later.”
I’m glad he didn’t ask me out again while he was standing so close.
It probably would’ve been a ‘yes.’
Seven
Dylan
The drive back to the office comes to an abrupt stop when a call comes in from Jackson’s older brother, Jace. He’s an emotional wreck, barely making sense as he belts out some serious accusations about our partner, Gerald’s alleged role in his and Jackson’s mother’s passing. I’m anxious to know what’s going on. Jackson insists that he needs to deal with it alone. He also orders me to let him use my car to meet his brother.
On any other typical day, my answer to that demand would be hell no. Some men like shoes. Some are into clothes or designer watches. Some like collecting shit like art or stamps. For me, it’s cars. Fast, expensive, sporty vehicles are my hobby, and every one of them is an extension of myself.
But this situation sounds like an emergency. Lucky for Jace and Jackson, best friends still have a narrow margin above my automotive babies.
After Jackson speeds off up the street, I look around for taxis. Every one of them passes with a fare in the back. Looks like I’m taking a walk for the rest of my lunch. While stretching my legs, my mind is on Emily. She was intriguing last night, but now that I met her, I know it’s way more than a passing curiosity. The chemistry between us is off the charts. I was this close to kissing her while she fed me the sauce. Now that I know the attraction is mutual, I can’t wait to get a taste.
Fifteen or twenty blocks lay ahead of me before I’ll make it back to the office. I tell myself it’s probably way too soon to call her, but fuck it. I’m completely going off-book with Emily.
I send her a text.
Me: Hi. Thanks again for the food.
Emily: Hi Dylan. You’re welcome. I was about to message you back.
Me: Yeah? About what?
Emily: To say thanks.
Me: I prefer being thanked in person. Over drinks, when it’s coming from someone like you.
Emily: Is Brooklyn too far out of your comfort zone?
Me: Not at all. How does eight sound?
Emily: That works.
Me: Awesome. Text me the address. I’ll be there.
Emily: Will do. See you then.
I slide my phone back into my pocket. Having to hand over my car and walk back to work is long forgotten. A taxi pulls up to the curb a few feet ahead of me and lets off a passenger. Good timing. I jump in and give him the address to my condo apartment.
This midday diversion can turn into some real fun with the sexy chef.
But more than that, I’m going to need a car for tonight.
Eight
Emily
My mood is upbeat from Dylan’s text after he and Jackson leave. I almost can’t believe I agreed to drinks with him. Dating hasn’t been my thing for a slew of reasons. My studies and all the part-time jobs I’ve held take up all my time, for starters. Travel time eats into my day too. Cooking, practicing existing culinary creations and testing new recipes eat into the rest of my time. I spend countless hours in the kitchen. Also, the gaping wound in my chest from losing Joy has put a damper on my ability to open myself to dating. I don’t just have a wall up. My walls have walls. Or that’s what Rose tells me.
I’m on the fence about going out with Dylan, but he’s made it way past where any other guy has gotten to. Even if I end up turning down drinks, I want to pat myself on the back for making such progress.
I finish up my practice dishes alone. Well, I’m not alone. Dahlia’s three temporary fur babies sit a few feet from me, waiting and probably hoping to be fed the leftovers. From what I’ve heard about their unique eating habits, I won’t risk feeding them. Dahlia can take the chance later on. When the kitchen is as clean and orderly as the way I met it, I place the last of the food in the kitchen for Dahlia to snack on later and take the dogs upstairs to their doggie room. A few minutes later, I’ve locked up and handed over the keys to the reception desk on the main floor.
My phone buzzes again while I’m taking the short walk back to Columbia U. It’s Dahlia.
Dahlia: Everything okay? Sorry I had to leave.
Me: Sure. All good. I just left and yes, the dogs are upstairs.
Dahlia: Great! Thanks. Nice talk with Jackson’s friend?
Me: May
be. His mom is that new client from last night. Weird coincidence, huh?
Dahlia: Small world, but not really.
Me: He asked me out.
Dahlia: That’s awesome. Are you gonna say yes?
Me: I already did, but you know we’re on shaky ground here.
Dahlia: Yep. It’s a big step for you. Hope it turns out better than me and Jackson.
Me: Oh no. Sorry. You sure you don’t want to give it time?
Dahlia: No, but we’ll see. Anyway, I’m going to a lecture. Ttys.
Me: Later, Dahl
As I weigh whether or not to see Dylan again, there’s a new voicemail messages on my phone. A quick check shows me it’s the number on Diane Worthington’s business card. The message is from her secretary at the office, informing me that Mrs. Worthington has some availability over lunch in two days. She wants me to prepare the samples at her condo, which is where the event will be held, not her main house. Before hanging up, the person leaving the message adds that Diane wanted to thank me for my professionalism at the gala. I can’t help but think there’s a subtle message in there for me.
Something Grams used to say comes to mind.
Never shit where you eat.
I’ve got lots to lose, not just with him being friends with Dahlia’s date, but more because he’s my client’s son. This catering gig can turn end up earning me close to six thousand dollars after food costs. I can use really use that cash. That’d be one big dent into my student loans.
It’s drinks with Dylan. Nothing too heavy. And we’re meeting in my side of town. The seedy Irish pub down the street would be ideal. There’s always a bit of a crowd in there. It won’t be too intimate. Not with soccer or some sports match blaring over the TV screens at the bar.
I just hope I can say no if he tries to take things further than just drinks.
I’m a sucker for a sexy geek who wants seconds.
Nine
Dylan
My afternoon at work turns into a long, busy evening and ends a lot later than planned. A quick change at the office is all I can manage if I want to be on time for drinks with Emily. Heading out at seven, with the traffic, I make it to the address with only a minute or two to spare. On finding a parking spot close by, I text Emily to let her know I’m outside and she replies that she’s on her way out.
But, the second Emily sits in the passenger seat of my LaFerrari Aperta I find out she can’t do drinks anymore.
Or won’t.
I undo my seatbelt and turn to look at her. She’s wearing a cute wrap top with black slack and has her long blonder hair pinned up. There’s a hint of makeup on her face. From all the signs, she seems dressed to go out with me. So why won’t she?
“Any reason for the change of heart?
She looks up at me, clearly apologetic from that shy, sheepish expression in those big blue eyes of hers. “I’m really sorry. It’s nothing personal. I gave it some thought and came to the conclusion that it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”
“You mean with Diane? Look, I told you earlier. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“I appreciate that you feel that way. Really, I do. And I hope you can also respect my decision.” She reaches her hand across the center console and rests her hand on mine. The one resting on my knee at the moment. It’s not a handshake. To me, there’s more to it than a parting touch. “No hard feelings?”
“Poor choice of words,” I confess. My eyes move from her face to where her hand is practically inches from my groin. But she’s blowing me off nicely. I can’t hold it against her. “Sure. I get it.”
“Sorry I made you come all this way.”
That last comment has me questioning her rationale for bailing on me at the last minute. I mean, she’s dressed to go out, possibly with me. Can this be a kneejerk reaction? Last minute nerves or something? There’s no chance in hell that I’ll reach out to her after this, so I figure I’ll ask what’s really behind her snap decision.
“Just to satisfy my analytical mind, you have my number still, right?”
She nods. “Yes. Why?”
“Did you change your mind in the last few minutes?”
“Not really.”
“Well, if you knew you weren’t up for drinks anymore, why’d you let me come across town to pick you up? A text or phone call would’ve been fine.”
“You’re right, but someone wise once told me it’s best to look a person in the eye when delivering bad news.”
“I can respect that explanation. You have a lot more courage than a lot of people out there.”
“Thanks.”
“And are you sure you’re not up for even one drink? A chat at a coffee shop or a walk or something?”
“Pretty sure. Why do you ask?”
I drop my eyes to my knee where her hand is still curled up into mine. That’s not the body language I’d expect from someone who’s about to end a first date before it even starts.
Her smile becomes more playful. Her eyes seem to brighten, even though the only source of light around the car is the streetlight on the other side of the road. “I never said I didn’t want to have drinks. Look, I’m sure you can tell there’s this energy between us…attraction, chemistry, a spark…whatever you want to call it. I meant it when I said it’s not personal. It’s just business. Sorry, I just can’t.”
“Listen. When’s this shindig you’ll be catering for Diane?”
She catches onto where I’m going with this and giggles a little. “In a few weeks. I’m also scheduled to meet her for lunch in a few days to have her try out the dishes I’ve got planned.”
“And it’s a one-time deal?”
“Yes.”
“That’s fair. How about you work the gig, and give me a shout after it’s all done.”
“One-time deals can turn into repeat business, you know? But sure. I’ll text you sometime.”
I turn my wrist and clasp her hand into mine. “Deal.”
“Thanks for under—” she starts, but that chemistry she was talking about just now, it’s way too powerful for me to ignore. Impulse and instinct take over. My other hand quickly lifts to her shoulder, and I pull her in close covering her mouth with mine for a firm kiss I didn’t plan out. I part the seam of her lips with my tongue and invade her mouth, our teeth clashing as we follow our base urges.
The sound of her clipped breath, that moan she lets out as I take her mouth, they all tell me she wants what I offered. And when her hands grip my biceps and pull me closer I know without a doubt. The kiss is rougher than usual, more demanding, more urgent than any other time I’ve planted one on a woman. And it’s probably because this may be the first and last one with her, though I have my doubts, considering she’s admitted to feeling our mutual attraction.
The insistent honking of a nearby car horn pulls me back to reality. I straighten from the kiss. An affected Emily leans back in her chair, her breathing raspy and full of need.
“Wow,” she breathes out and runs slender fingers over her lips. They’re a bit swollen, and her lipstick is smeared, mostly all gone now. Her hands reach up and nervously tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ears. “That was unexpected.”
“I wanted to do that since the second I saw you last night,” I admit. “I should let you go now before…before things get personal.”
She reaches for her car door and pulls her bag over one shoulder. “You’re probably right.”
“Let me walk you up to your place.”
She shakes her head and looks over at me, one foot already out the door. “That’s probably not the best idea. But thanks for offering. I’ll be fine.”
“All right.”
“Enjoy your night, Dylan. Have a safe ride home.”
She makes it in through the front doors of her walk-up apartment building, and after a minute, I drive off. After that kiss, we’re fooling ourselves to think there won’t be an encore before a few days are up, let alone a few weeks.
Emily
I can’t shake the memory of Dylan’s kiss a couple of nights ago, but I have to. The truth is I’m closing in on the start of my career. Not every graduate finds a job after they’re done school. And not every employment situation pans out. My part-time job with Blair can become something big, but I learned a long time ago that starting something that’s all mine can be better.
It’s strange. My mother wasn’t an entrepreneur. Neither was grams. Still, somewhere along the way, I must have picked up the entrepreneurial bug. I want to eventually work for myself. To me, it means the shot Diane Worthington gave me is worth a whole lot more. Just like many of my college culinary professors teach, a food professional’s career thrives on word of mouth. On happy taste buds and satisfied bellies. Who knows what doors this gig can open.
And for that reason, as hot as Dylan’s kiss was, I need to stay away for at least a while. At least until after today’s lunch meeting to show Mrs. Worthington what I have in mind for appetizers for her event. And after the event. Maybe longer. It all depends on where this goes.
I enter the upscale Central Park West condo building and announce myself to the concierge. And to think I believed the penthouse where Dahlia’s pet sitting was ritzy. This building looks brand new, decked out in glass and chrome, with granite floors and massive crystal chandeliers almost everywhere.
The concierge gives me directions to park Blair’s catering van in an underground visitor parking spot, plus a code I can use from that level to buzz myself into the elevator that’ll take me to Diane Worthington’s condo unit. She asked me to meet her here as this is the location she’ll use to host her event. If this place is her second home, I can only imagine what her actual mansion is like.
The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef: Seduction and Sin, Book 4 Page 4
