I voice all of my concerns to Denver—he stays with me the whole time on speakerphone, giving me directions. “Don’t worry about them,” he says smoothly. “Everything will be taken care of. I’m currently announcing my status to everyone online, and the vehicle will be spoken for. I will tell Gloria that I urgently needed it and told you to bring it to me at once.”
“What happened? Why was the car out there on the beach? Did you just leave it there so I could conveniently get it and come to you? How did you get where you are now? Where are you now, anyway?”
“I realize you have a lot of questions,” he says. “But they will all be answered in due time. It will all make more sense after we can see each other.”
“You just want to fuck me again,” I say, keeping my beaming smile silent. He doesn’t respond for a good minute.
“I was hoping that we could be together again, Miss Rogers, yes,” he says, fumbling like I’ve got him off guard. “But there are some other matters to sort out as well. Paperwork, for example.”
“Oh, right, the contract,” I say. I’m tired of hearing about this thing. “I’m not so sure I want to serve life like the rest of your girlfriends, let alone be together again.” For some reason I feel like mocking him is the only power I have right now. It’s childish, but it feels good. Just because I brought up sex doesn’t necessarily mean that I want it.
One should never assume, Denver, I think.
“Okay, that’s perfectly understandable,” he says. “I can see why you might be frustrated after this morning.”
“Frustrated? You don’t even know the half of how I feel. Used. Cheap. That’s just to start.”
“I’m sorry, Tara,” he whispers.
“By the way, you still didn’t tell me what happened,” I say. “Managed to slip by that one, Denny.”
Now his minute-long silence is unbearable. Maybe I’ve said too much—it wouldn’t be the first time the old Rogers mouth cost me a man. I don’t want it to cost me this man, though.
“There’s no excuse for what is going on. I know that. Maybe we should cease chitchat until you arrive. Would you prefer that? No communication at all?”
I must have hit a sore spot with him. Okay, he’s a talker, I note. Or does he just like to listen to the sound of his own voice? “Yeah, maybe we should just stop talking period,” I say. Why am I acting like this? It’s not like I’m going to stop driving to him, and if I were really upset or whatever it is that I’m revealing I’d turn right back around.
“Maybe that’s best,” Denver says. I didn’t expect him to agree with me!
“Look,” I say, trying to make up for lost minutes. “I’m just in a weird state of mind.”
“I understand,” he says. Nothing else. He’s really taking this seriously.
For the rest of the drive he tells me exact directions so that I can get to him, but nothing else. I tell him when I’m stopped by a red light or other traffic obstacles, but other than that it’s just quiet awkwardness. After an hour he’s guided me with little direction until I have to get off the exit for Simi Valley. I’ve only been this far northwest in passing, and have for years admired the beautiful dirt and stone of the light brown canyons, and greens of the mountains. California can be so lovely, which is something I often forget in the bustle of the city.
As I exit the freeway, Denver guides me down neighborhoods and around curvy turns, through a path of modern, out-of-my-price-range homes and finally I’m parked at the curb on a normal looking, urban street. This is the last place in the Golden State where I’d expect to find my sexy billionaire.
“You sure this is the place?” I ask, looking to my right at the old-fashioned house. It’s a diamond in the rough in this neighborhood, but still many, many steps down from the mansion I expected.
“I’m sure,” he says. “Nobody knows about this place. I bought it in secrecy, and as soon as you come inside you’ll be the only guest I’ve ever had here.”
Okay, so despite all the mixed feelings I’ve had today, that statement really makes me feel fuzzy inside. This man had better not break my heart, so help me.
I get out of the Benz and feel weird hitting the clicker to beep it locked. Walking up the stone pathway to this quaint, yet expensive, blue house, my heart beats faster than it did before I showed up to his mansion before the interview—even faster than before we made love last night. And that was record breaking.
Approaching the front door, I feel dumb because I’m not sure if I should knock. I mean, he’s expecting me, right? Probably staring at me right now through one of the windows. I exhale, realizing that I’m going to have to play along.
Knock. Knock. Knock. I do it slowly and deliberately, trying to message how irked I am through the sound of my hand against the door. Why isn’t he answering? I wait for about five minutes before trying the handle only to find that it has been unlocked this entire time.
I push the door forward and it’s so well oiled that it doesn’t creak at all. Inside his house I feel like I’m stepping into a different universe entirely—one where I would never expect a man like Denver to exist, or at least exist in my orbit. All of the furniture is throwback and the lighting is low with red and pink colored curtains creating a hazy glow all over the entire place. Also, the smell of lavender permeates the place. I shut the door behind me, locking it. Even though he left it open for me, locking all doors to keep myself safe is an old habit of mine.
“Denver, you can come out now,” I say. I’m not in the mood for games, I just want to see with my own eyes that everything is okay, that this whole morning has just been a wonderful mess of events. I can put everything in the back of my mind if I could just lay my eyes on him.
“There you are,” he says, even though I can’t locate him visually yet. “You’re just as stunning as ever.”
I turn to my side and see him standing at the foot of a stairwell. It’s old wood, shined wood with white paint beneath each step and a white railing. “As stunning as always?” I ask. I look at my phone to add to the joke. “You’ve known me like, what, five days now?”
“Point taken,” he says. “I just mean that when I look at you sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe, and it’s been like that since I walked into your restaurant.”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same way. He casually leans against the railing, wearing old beat up jeans and a plain, worn black tee shirt. The blue of his eyes penetrates me through the haze of the room, as if calling me closer. Damn you, Billionaire Blue Eyes, I think, slowly taking my first step toward him.
“Tell me everything,” I say. With my senses overwhelmed by his seductive interior, I imagine myself getting thrown onto his bed, taken for hours. You’ll get to that, Tara, I assure myself. But first this man has some explaining to do.
“Tell me everything,” I say. “Start with where you went last night and don’t leave out a single detail.”
Even though I want to keep moving forward until I’m within his arms reach so that he can pull my top off, I stop in the center of the room. I have to show him that I’m strong, and I can’t allow myself to indulge in pleasures if there is something going on beneath the surface here that could endanger me.
“You deserve that,” he says, his eyes fixed on the floor at his bare feet. “Come to the kitchen. Allow me to pour you a drink. I won’t leave out a single detail.”
Without turning to look at me, he takes the two steps down to my level, turns, and exits down a corridor where I’m assuming the kitchen is. I wonder if he’s hungry, because I’m starving. Maybe to ease the tension I’ll cook us both some breakfast while we drink and he tells me his story. He’d better have some decent herbs and spices in this place. If not, I’ll have to change that.
*****
“I had to leave after we were together because there was an essential business matter that I needed to attend to. Before leaving, I made sure that you were asleep, of course. I held you in my arms until you fell asleep, and k
issed you on your forehead approximately seven times before releasing you, reluctantly, from my arms.
“You were amazing last night, Tara. What I experienced with you is something that’s been buried in me, something I’ve never been able to share with anyone. I hope you can understand something like that. I have fantasized, dreamed, imagined of being with a woman like you, but last night you made all of that a reality.
“And I don’t mean just a woman of color—a woman with the thick, adventurous, prideful and yet vulnerable soul that you have. I saw it in you when you were sitting on the stairwell smoking that disgusting cigarette. I wanted you right then. I hope you felt it as strongly as I did.
“However, you must know that my business is important to me. It is something that I have to prioritize, even though I don’t always want to. My life depends on the success of PaeroTech more than you might understand. This is why when someone like you walks into my life, it is insane of me to jeopardize everything just for a night with you.
“I need it to be more than one night, Tara. And I tried to tell that to you. I meant it. Some words I can’t say. I don’t know how. Intellectually, I can make billions—emotionally, I’m not so sure. When I get a text in the middle of the night that my business might fold beneath me, I have to drop what I’m doing. No matter what. Even if I’m with the woman that I’m madly in love with.
“What I found out when I got to the office was terrible news, that one of my close friends and partners, Martin O’Leary, stole some very valuable software that was supposed to go live this week so that he could start his own company. The software was initially his idea, and he didn’t like the route that I took with it, and now it could cost me everything.
“I trusted a lot to this man, only for him to turn around and stab me in the back. He used my name and success to fund his project and now that he has what he needs, not only is my investment gone, but also my future. And now let me answer two of your questions from earlier with one answer.
“You asked me about Danielle, my previous chef, and how she was poisoned. Danielle was a close friend, as well. She was the only chef I ever had. And to answer the heart aching inside you: no, I was never with her. I was never with any of my employees, even Jill, who is in love with me. They are all in love with me, Tara, but I didn’t want it to be that way. I hired them professionally, and they work professionally. Yes, I have a strong rapport with them because I need them and depend on them. But you are the first woman I have been intimate with in years. I know you may not think it, but to a man like me that means a lot.
“I know that in your head you’re doubting every word I say. Just let the wine course through you. What you’re cooking smells delicious. I prepared for your arrival by stopping at the farmers’ market. You know that I love my eggs scrambled white with spinach and I’ve never even told you.”
One hand on the pan, one hand on the spatula, Denver stands behind me, placing his soft lips to my neck with a quiet pucker. I’ve waited for this for so long. Touch me, baby, I think.
“You were saying, about your friend?” I ask. I don’t want him to get too far off topic, and I need to know what happened to this woman. Taking his lips away, I hear him sip from the wine glass. He opened a bottle of chilled Sonoma Coast chardonnay, which is perfect for this hot California morning.
“I made the mistake of letting our friendship become too known, and it was used against me. You asked me if I was kidnapped, I assume one of the girls told you about what happened with Olecki. Yes, he’s in prison now, but they could never confirm that he poisoned Danielle. I hired the best investigators in the city and nothing came up. The case is still open, Tara, and it haunts me every day. But does that mean that I cannot love, or move forward? I don’t want you to feel threatened, but at the same time I’m afraid to let you get too close to me. I don’t know what could happen.
“If I trust anyone in the world, it’s the women I hire to surround me. Danielle kept many of my secrets and protected me in ways I can’t even begin to explain. Maybe with a little more wine and a few miles away from the coast I’ll tell you. But already, you’ve begun to develop secrets of your own and we’ve known each other less than a week. I realize that, but I also know that I’ve never felt this way for a woman, and that must mean that this is true love.
“So here I am, Tara. I keep this place in Simi so that I can hide away sometimes. I have an empire. But I also am starting to lose everything. Do you think it’s worth fighting for? Or should I run away? I’m not expecting you to answer these questions, I just want to let you know the conflicts going through my mind. I could run away with you right now and we could live comfortably and never look back.
“Or we can stay and clean the pallet with my company, and with you by my side I know that I can make the necessary changes to put my life in the right direction. Listen to me. I should learn to hold my tongue more.
“But I can’t hide my feelings, Tara. I know this is it. You were put into my life for a reason.”
Now that breakfast is finished, plated up, and on the kitchen table, one half of me wants to eat because I’m starving, and the other half has lost its appetite and wants to get into another bottle of chardonnay because Denver is starting to get really deep.
“It looks amazing,” he said. “You’re the best. Seriously.”
A simple compliment like that can make a girl’s day, and the best part is I don’t think he realizes that it makes me want him so bad. “You have another bottle of this stuff, right?” I ask
He smiles wide. “Bottles and bottles,” he says. He pulls out the chair for me before going into the other room to get more chardonnay. I take this as an opportunity to breathe in and appreciate my life, even though I have no idea what is in store for me with this crazy dilemma. The smell of my omelets with oregano, spinach, and parmesan lingers in the air. The walls in the place are painted a casual maroon, which would look horrid in any other place. But here it feels like the kind of place I want to cook in forever. The center-stove island is only an added bonus.
Denver returns with our glasses both full. “Do you mind if we just enjoy this?” he asks. “I’ve been looking forward to dining with you all morning, and to know that you prepared this meal is like a spiritual experience for me.”
Although this is what I’ve wanted someone to say about my food my entire life, I didn’t expect it now and am thankful for my dark cheeks, otherwise he’d know I was blushing hard.
He takes his first bite, closes his eyes, and chews while he breathes in. While he swallows he stares right at me. “Thank you,” he says. “This is marvelous,” he adds, taking a sniff of the chardonnay before sipping his glass. Knowing that he’s pleased, I take a bite hastily. Just my luck in his next bite he’ll get an eggshell, so I have to make sure my food is absolutely good. At the same time, the chef in me always hesitates so that I can offer mine to whom I’m feeding in case something is wrong with the food.
I’m a damn good chef, but nobody’s perfect.
***
Surprisingly, we finish breakfast and the one left over portion while getting into a third bottle. I’m pretty buzzed, but the food and toast helps absorb everything. With my stomach full of food and wine, I’m about ready for a nap. Denver sits back with his hands resting on his belly, nodding at me. There’s nothing like knowing that you satisfied your man’s hunger.
“Wow,” he says. “I have no idea what to do next. Normally I don’t have time to actually sit down and enjoy my food. On a regular day I would have had to be back at work thirty minutes ago. It was just enough food. Not too much. And the flavor.”
“It’s the peanut oil,” I say, remembering that when we met I served a similar omelet to his colleague with a peanut allergy. He smiles, fondly remembering the moment.
“That was hilarious,” he says. “You should have seen your face when you ran into the room.”
I remember being completely embarrassed and in all actuality I probably looked like a fool. Bu
t if he saw something good in that, then there is definitely a lot more to this man than most.
“I felt so dumb,” I admit.
“You should never feel like that around me, Tara,” he says, standing up and walking over to my side of the table. “Would you like to come upstairs and relax with me for a little while? I just want to enjoy the morning and afternoon for as long as we have it.”
Looking up to him from my seat at the table, with his hand extended to me, I decide that I’m going to spend the rest of my life in this quaint Simi Valley house. Okay, maybe that’s an overstatement. But as I put my hand in his, and admire the yin yang of our collision, I let him guide me to the stairs where I clutch him tight with every step.
*****
The upstairs of the house has four bedrooms and two bathrooms, one in the master bedroom. Why he would need so many rooms, I wouldn’t know. My only assumption is there is room enough for his “employees” if they need to stay.
Don’t think negatively, Tara, I tell myself. It’s only going to ruin this perfect moment. Denver’s hand still in mine, he takes me to the room farthest down the corridor. The upstairs walls are painted a dark, forest green. Looking into each bedroom I pass, I see that they all have their own color schemes. The room Denver takes me to is themed with the color purple—so many shades of it, but primarily dark, almost black.
“I like it in here because it’s easy on the eyes,” he says. I see that the curtains and shades are drawn so that barely any light enters the room. “Would you like to lie down with me for a little while?”
The room is simple—a chair, couch, television, lounge area with table, and one large, cushiony bed. Realizing that this is the innermost and central room of the house, one could also make a lot of noise without being heard outside. That could come in handy.
In Time to Love Page 114
