by Cara Nelson
“That’s what it is. You peddle appetizers, no matter how French your name is.” Annelise managed to marshal her feistiness enough to retort, even under the duress of his seductive glare.
“Do you suppose that being rude is going to get you an appointment?” His voice was low and buttery, completely devoid of the haughtiness in the receptionist’s cultured chirp that riled her.
“No. I assume that being the appointed agent of a prominent billionaire will get me an appointment. Further, that being rude will stop you from trying to push me around.”
Annelise stood up straighter, trying to get an extra half-inch of height from her five-foot-three and finding herself wishing she’d worn some heels. As it was, her chin was jutting in the air stubbornly and she had, as her granny would say, got her back up over something. Some intangible quality about Desmond Blair unnerved her, put her off balance. It could have been the fact that she was still raw from her breakup and she felt oddly threatened by her instant attraction for him.
Or maybe it was the chip on her shoulder left over from growing up in a rotten part of town, the chip that seemed to enlarge when she was faced with the entitlement complexes of the rich and self-important. Possibly, just possibly, it was the fact that she wanted to bite his shoulder. Well, to be truthful, she’d take his shirt off first, which was an entirely separate problem…and Annelise realized that he was speaking and she had paid absolutely no attention to one single word that came out of his mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“I said that I have no need of your business. My clients provide me with ample free publicity. Consequently, it isn’t actually necessary to my prosperity that I take every high profile, high maintenance event that turns up at my door without an appointment and proceeds to press the buzzer ten times.”
“Nine.” Annelise felt that she was losing ground with him.
“Not counting the first time you buzzed.” Desmond countered. “What was your name again?”
“Annelise Hollingford. I’m the personal assistant to Jasper Cates, chief executive officer of Cates Corporation.” She produced a vellum business card, which he took, stroking the edge of it slightly in a way that made her bite her lip.
“Desmond Blair. Food business,” he said, offering her a glossy black card with his name embossed in matte gray. Annelise fingered the slick finish and decided he was overcompensating.
“My employer’s highly anticipated engagement party is being touted as the social event of the season. No expense has been spared. The event is in three weeks.”
“Three weeks? Not possible,” he said dismissively, still blocking her passage into the hall, his rather magnificent shoulders nearly filling the doorway.
“Nineteen days, if you want precision. According to Kathleen, you had a cancellation that weekend. Now, that was phone-Kathleen who, might I say, is much more accommodating than door-buzzer-Kathleen, who is something of an appointment Nazi.”
“Even so, that timetable is insufficient to prepare a menu and special order any artisanal ingredients—“
“The bride couldn’t boil an egg and the groom lives on kale shakes. I sincerely doubt either party knows much about the food business. They want it to look fancy and for all the guests to think it was fabulous. Now, the groom has a thing about some kind of fancy mushrooms he saw on a documentary. I’ll spare you the details, but they’re hot pink.”
“Lobster mushrooms. Only nineteen days to prepare a menu for seventeen hundred guests at an outdoor venue,” he said thoughtfully.
“It would be quite the challenge. If you pull that off, it would be an achievement. Everyone would talk about it, how you did the impossible.” She warmed to the idea. “Having to pull it together on short notice would shake things up for you. Keep it from getting dull at the top.”
“It’s never dull on top,” Desmond Blair promised, his voice just husky enough to make even Annelise’s cynical eyes widen.
Flustered, Annelise dropped her eyes to his business card and a plan began to take shape in her mind. Annelise pulled out her phone, her chevron nails quickly clicking in the number listed on his posh, dark business card. Seconds later, the phone in his pocket chimed to life. He answered it, staring straight in her eyes.
“Aux Delices. This is Desmond.” His voice was low, confidential.
“Desmond, this is Annelise Hollingford. I’m calling to inquire about your availability to cater an event for my employer. I’d like to schedule an appointment to discuss an upcoming engagement gala.” She smiled slyly.
“Annelise, may I call you that? Annelise, we’re quite booked up at the moment. Perhaps I could refer you to the food business down at the intersection. They sell chicken by the bucket.”
“Perhaps I should mention that my employer is Jasper Cates, one of the most respected and discerning business figures in the recovering economy,” Annelise shot back.
“Perhaps I should mention that I don’t give a shit who you work for. I just want your personal number,” he said, his voice low.
“You have it.” She plucked her business card from his pocket boldly and presented it to him again, indicating the digits at the bottom.
“I might have a little time in, perhaps, five minutes.” He wavered with a grin, flashing white teeth and a knockout smile that took him instantly from brooding bad boy to George Clooney-level stratospheric hotness and charm. Annelise literally had to grip the doorframe to keep from swaying on her weak knees from the tidal wave of attraction that struck her.
“I’ll just press the buzzer.” She leaned past him and pushed the button again. When Kathleen’s exasperated voice said, “Yes?” they both dissolved into laughter.
Desmond reached out and pressed his thumb to the screen of her phone, ending the call. He had only touched her phone, but somehow, Annelise felt it down to her toes. He had the nerve to smile at her, as if he knew the effect he was having and enjoyed it. Cocky bastard, she thought indulgently.
Desmond Blair finally stepped aside and admitted her to an immaculate black and white tiled entry. A vast round mahogany table was topped with an elaborate centerpiece of tropical fruit in an antique silver urn. She was tempted to drop her messenger bag on the table and take a piece, but didn’t. She followed Desmond, admiring his muscular back and butt as she watched him climb stairs. Once, she was concentrating on his flexing so hard that she stumbled and missed a stair. He’d cast an amused look over his shoulder and she almost blushed. Annelise Hollingford hadn’t blushed since she was in the seventh grade.
Excerpt from ‘A Matter of Taste’ Book 2 of Men of the Capital Series
Table of Contents
The Doctor’s Damsel
Dedications
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
