When six thirty rolled around, Michaela exited through the side door and crossed the black and white marble floor toward the reception area. She passed the white leather couches and long glass coffee tables in the lavender and mint scented waiting area and approached the reception area.
“Has a Chef Santos called for me?” she asked Francine, the spa receptionist.
Francine looked up from her computer screen. “You mean Paolo?” she inquired, as if she knew him personally.
“Yes.” Michaela was not surprised by the sly smile on the flashy blonde’s face.
“Nope, he hasn’t called. You want me to text him?” Francine pursed her glossy, bubble gum pink lips. Her protuberant implants strained the neckline of a hot pink, stretch camisole.
So, Francine had his cell…somehow that didn’t surprise her either. “That won’t be necessary,” Michaela said in a brisk tone.
Francine returned to the computer screen, rudely dismissing Michaela.
Michaela stepped behind her and noticed she was IMing someone called ConMan69.
“ConMan69?” Michaela asked.
Unfazed, Francine glanced up at Michaela. “I don’t usually IM when I’m at work.”
“Glad to hear it. Please buzz me as soon as Chef Santos comes in or calls.”
“Sure,” Francine said distractedly as she ended her chat with ConMan.
Michaela couldn’t understand how Francine took her job at the luxury spa for granted. It was a privilege to work for someone as fine as Amy Merkle, the spa director and Michaela’s longtime friend.
When she returned to the kitchen, Michaela called Ristorante Bella Luna. “This is Michaela, the chef at Sublime. May I speak with Paolo Santos?” she asked when the maître d’ answered.
“Paolo isn’t here. Would you like to speak with Gil, the sous chef?”
“No, thank you.” Michaela hung up and paced the kitchen. It was already a quarter to seven. Why hadn’t Paolo called to tell her that he would be late? It was a three-minute drive by car, at most, between the spa and Ristorante Bella Luna. She would have to cook the mahi soon, since it was resting in a key-lime marinade.
With mounting impatience, she began preparing the mahi without him. Another fifteen minutes passed and Michaela started pacing again. He was already an hour late. She had a sinking feeling he was going to stand her up. Even if his pregnant lover had complicated things for him last night, Paolo had had all day to let Michaela know about it. They could have made other arrangements. It was inconsiderate of him not to call.
A wicked thought crossed her mind as she stabbed a shallot with relish. Slowly and ever so thoroughly, she imagined slathering the swaggering Casanova with a habanero chili concoction, skewering him like a shish kebab, and roasting him over red-hot coals.
Chapter Five
Paolo shifted the parcel in his arms and rang Michaela’s apartment doorbell a second time. Why wasn’t she answering the door? She had to be home by now; her apartment on Biscayne Bay wasn’t far from the Flamingo Island ferry. He knocked on the door. When she still didn’t answer, he put the bag on the floor and leaned against the wall. If he knew Michaela, she would be arriving soon and she wouldn’t be happy with the change in plans. She probably thought the worst of him after yesterday, but it couldn’t be helped. He had been up most of the night trying to reason with Claudia.
Michaela arrived a few moments later, carrying her briefcase and a large take-out bag from Sublime. “What are you doing here? Didn’t we agree to meet at the spa?” Her elegant nose tilted skyward as she narrowed glittering aquamarine eyes at him. One lock of copper hair lay against her cheek, having escaped the confines of her immaculate French twist.
“Hola, Maki.” Paolo clasped her slim shoulders and greeted her with a kiss on each cheek and then tucked the silken strand behind her ear.
“Stop that.” She balanced the bag on her hip as she shoved her key in the lock.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
She gave him a blistering look. “I don’t appreciate being stood up, especially after I’ve worked a twelve-hour day.”
“You do look a little tired. Here, let me get that for you.” Paolo took the bag from her arm.
“No, I can…oh, all right.” Michaela’s lush lips flattened into a tight line as she fumbled with the lock.
“I ran late because I had to put out a few fires.”
“You seem to have a lot of fires in your life.” She stared pointedly at the iPhone in his pocket. “You could have called me, or doesn’t that work?”
“It works. I did call, but you’d already left the spa.”
“By then you were more than an hour late!” She lifted her chin. “How did you know where I live?”
“Francie told me.”
“The receptionist gave you my address?” Michaela’s hand stilled on the doorknob as she stared up at him with an incredulous look.
Paolo nodded. “What’s the big deal?”
“Francine knows she’s not supposed to give out my personal information to strangers,” she huffed. “I’m going to set her straight first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not a stranger,” he stated calmly. “Francie and I are friends. When she mentioned you were expecting me, I explained we had a date tonight.”
Michaela gave him a daunting look. “This is not a date.”
“You’re right, it isn’t,” he said. Truth was he’d had no intention of meeting her at the spa restaurant. Having her cook a meal for him in her home was far more appealing. If the bossy redhead even suspected he had purposely ignored her plan to meet at the spa, she would have his head on a platter. He gave a contrite shrug. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting and changed the plans on you. Let’s try to get along and cook now.”
“Not tonight. I’m tired and I want to turn in early. What time can you meet tomorrow?”
“Hey, not so fast. It’s only seven thirty.” He gave her his most persuasive smile. “May I come in? I promise not to waste your time.”
She stared at him as if mulling over her best course of action. Finally, she turned the doorknob and opened the door. “I’ll only let you in if we stay on track.”
“We will,” he promised.
“Come in then,” she said over her shoulder as she walked ahead of him.
Paolo lifted his parcel from the floor with his free arm and followed her, happily noticing the saucy sway of her bottom under the chef’s tunic. Although her figure was slimmer than what he preferred in a woman, his appreciative gaze glided over her toned legs, from her trim calves beneath the knee-length skirt down to her ankles. He wanted to reach out and stroke her bare legs. It gave him a jolt of pure pleasure to imagine how soft they would feel.
When they reached the kitchen, Paolo placed the bags on the counter.
“What did you bring?” she asked, eyeing the bags.
“A few surprises.”
“You’re just full of them aren’t you?”
“Of course,” he said cheerfully as he retrieved a bottle of wine from the bag. “Sit down and let me pour us a glass of Chardonnay.”
“The wine opener is in the drawer in front of you and the glasses are above your head on the wooden rack—where your neck belongs.”
Paolo burst out laughing, not a reaction Michaela expected, from the look of surprise on her face.
“I’ll be right back. I have to check on my baby.” Without elaborating further, she headed toward her bedroom.
Baby? Paolo stared at her retreating back in shock. Michaela couldn’t possibly be so blasé about a baby! Maybe that’s why she was giving him the cold shoulder. If she was a single mother, he had better explain about Claudia ASAP!
Paolo contemplated how he would broach the subject while he waited for Michaela. She was probably saying good-bye to the nanny, but it was odd she hadn’t said anythi
ng to him earlier about having a child. He unpacked the prosciutto-wrapped melon balls he had brought for her and placed them on a plate. He took a small bouquet of wildflowers out of the bag he’d brought and found a crystal vase in one of the cabinets. After filling it with water and the flowers, Paolo set it on the dining room table.
He had just finished setting the melon balls on the coffee table when Michaela returned wearing a white tank top, black yoga pants and flip-flop sandals.
She gestured to the dining table on her way to the kitchen. “You brought flowers? Thanks.”
“My pleasure. Where’s your baby?” Paolo asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her empty arms.
“You’ll meet him in a second. I have to feed him.” Michaela reached into the fridge and pulled out a small Tupperware container. Paolo followed her into the living room where she opened the sliding glass door and stepped out on the balcony.
“¡Hola, Mami!” a wisecracking voice called out.
Surprised, Paolo turned toward the source to find a colorful parrot watching him with its head cocked to the side.
“Hola, Baby,” Michaela cooed as she reached inside the cage. She took it out and crooned silly endearments as she gently stroked the parrot’s feathers. Paolo had never seen this tender side of her and he liked it—a lot.
“How’s my little love? Are you hungry?” Her face glowed with affection as she carefully fed the parrot small bits of cut-up apples.
“Be careful, he might bite you,” Paolo warned, eyeing the bird’s large, black beak suspiciously.
“Nah, Baby would never do that, would you?” she cooed. “Macaws are very gentle. They’re also smart and sociable. And this one is good company, aren’t you, Baby?” She kissed the top of Baby’s head.
“Kiss me, baby,” the bird crowed.
“Do you have any other pets?”
“I wish I did, but with my schedule I can only handle caring for Baby. What about you?”
“No pets. I’d like to have a dog, but not with my work hours.”
“My aunt gave me Baby this year for my thirtieth birthday. It’s typical of her off-beat humor. Aunt Willow is the black sheep of the family, but she’s my favorite aunt.”
“Why is she your favorite?”
“She always went to bat for me when I was little and wanted to cook, even though my parents disapproved. Whenever I went to her house, we would bake cookies or make pretty cakes.”
“Why didn’t your parents want you to cook?” Paolo asked, bewildered.
“They discouraged me from eating sweets.” She looked uneasy. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter now. Aunt Willow is a bit kooky, which drives my parents crazy. They frown on her free lifestyle.”
“Why?”
“Because Aunt Willow still lives in the sixties. She owns a small gift shop in Coconut Grove where she sells homemade candles, incense and stuff like that. Sometimes she has mysterious tasting brownies…”
Paolo chuckled. “I’d like to meet her. She sounds like a character.”
“She is—a loveable one.” Michaela fed Baby a meaty walnut. “Isn’t that yummy?”
“¿Quién es tu papi?” the macaw cackled. “¿Quién es tu papi?”
Paolo grinned. “He just said ‘who’s your daddy’ in Spanish. Who taught him?”
“My aunt’s Cuban boyfriend, Manny. Aunt Willow raised Baby from when he was a baby, and hence the name.”
“Ah, I get it.” Paolo’s index finger stroked the parrot from its red crown to its green and blue tail. “Nice feathers,” he said, admiring the big bird’s magnificent plumage.
“Mueve la colita, así, así, así,” the parrot sang out.
Paolo burst out laughing. “Your parrot just said, ‘Shake your booty’ in Spanish.”
Michaela smiled. “Okay, enough, Baby. Time for beddy-bye.” She put the bird back in the cage and covered it with a blue cloth. “Buenas noches, Baby.”
“Buenas noches, Mamacita,” the macaw called back.
They headed back to the living room and when they reached the sofa, Paolo turned to Michaela with a smile. “Sit, relax and enjoy,” he said, motioning toward the glasses of chilled wine and the honeydew melon balls covered in prosciutto he had placed on her coffee table.
She gestured toward the appetizers. “What’s all this?”
“A little something I brought from the restaurant.”
“Thank you.” She helped herself to a melon ball, and then took a long sip of wine. “I usually don’t drink much during the week and last night I might have overindulged.” Paolo felt like pulling her into his arms and telling her not to be so tough on herself. “Good thing I had a few glasses, given what I saw before leaving.”
“Let me explain,” Paolo began, noting the censure in her voice. He heaved a deep sigh. “It’s a delicate family matter.”
“I’ll say,” Michaela mumbled.
“It’s not what you think—”
“It’s really none of my business,” she said, looking away.
Paolo stood behind Michaela and rested his hands on her delicate shoulders. “Your neck is all bunched up. Let me ease out some of these knots and then we’ll talk.”
She edged forward, dislodging his touch. “Please don’t do that. I, I…have to get started cooking.” Damn, she was as skittish as a wet kitten.
Paolo dropped his hands to his sides. “How about I cook for you and you put your feet up?”
“No, thanks. You can join me if you like,” she said between bites of the melon.
“I’m looking forward to it.” He kept his tone pleasant. As soon as they ate, he’d explain about Claudia.
“Don’t get excited. It will be something simple, not the meal I planned on making earlier. When you didn’t show up, I gave it to Lisa.”
Puzzled, he studied her. “If you were starving, why didn’t you eat too?”
Michaela gave him a disgruntled look. “If I’d eaten while I was mad at you, I would have ended up with a stomachache.”
He shrugged. “Oh, too bad.” Nothing gave him a stomachache.
Paolo turned his attention to Maki’s elegantly appointed apartment where everything was immaculate, neat and organized. Ivory walls, adorned by abstract watercolor paintings surrounded her cream-colored silk sofa and loveseat. Her feminine touches were everywhere, from the candles, to the fluffy pillows on her sofa, to the blooming orchids on the glass side tables.
“You’re very neat.”
“I like things to be tidy and in their place,” she stated, as if warning him not to be messy.
Paolo suddenly wanted to muss her up, rattle her composure and kiss her senseless. “I can see that. Have you lived here long?”
“About three years.” Michaela rose from the couch. “Excuse me, but I have to cook something or I’m going to pass out.” She sailed into her kitchen.
Paolo followed her there. “Let me give you a hand, querida. Two chefs are quicker than one.”
“No, thanks. I’m doing the cooking tonight.”
His mouth twitched. It was obvious that she didn’t like being told what to do. No sir, she was more comfortable issuing orders. One thing was for sure—she would need an attitude adjustment before they taped the show. For now, he would bide his time and pretend to go along. But once they were in front of the camera, he would take the lead.
Michaela felt restless as Paolo’s broad-shouldered physique invaded her personal space. Did he have to be so tall and imposing and ooze so much testosterone? She took a measured step away from him, but he moved in closer until she could feel the tiny, soft hairs on her forearm graze the skin of his hard muscled arm. A spurt of excitement raised goosebumps on her skin. She steeled herself against it by downing a large gulp of wine. Things were getting off to a wrong start and her treacherous body was reacting to him. She replayed the image of Pao
lo’s beautiful, pregnant girlfriend crying in his arms. Paolo is a cad, she told herself sternly. She would do best to boot the horny devil’s pointed tail out of her kitchen.
She set the wineglass down. “I’d rather work alone, if you don’t mind. Please go back to the living room.”
Paolo looked chagrinned. “Maki, I sense a lot of animosity from you. If you must know…the pregnant girl you saw last night is my little sister Claudia.”
“Your sister? Really?” She hadn’t expected to hear that excuse. “But she’s blonde,” she blurted out.
“So what? My sister Mafalda is blonde too, like my father was.”
“Oh.” She suddenly felt ridiculous. Of course there were blonde Argentines. She had jumped to all kinds of terrible conclusions about Paolo without having the facts.
“Claudia is driving me crazy.” A muscle ticked in Paolo’s jaw and his voice sounded strained. “No matter how much I try to reason with her, she refuses to make up with her husband.”
Michaela studied Paolo. His eyes looked sincere and caring. “Why?”
“It’s complicated. Claudia is a newlywed. She should have never gotten married so young. She was only nineteen when they eloped. I wish I had been there to stop her, but now that they’re having a baby, she needs to forgive her husband for taking a job so far away. The baby deserves to have a father!”
Michaela remained silent. She did not want to open that can of worms. The less she knew about Paolo’s personal life, the better, especially since his concern for his sister was an appealing trait. What he’d said about a baby deserving to have a father had also pleased her. But she didn’t want to dwell on Paolo’s good qualities at the moment, especially when the earnestness in his dark eyes was drawing her in.
“I should have kept closer tabs on Claudia. Whenever we talked, she said things were going great and that she’d visit Miami when she and Bobby could get away. I had no idea she was alone and pregnant.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it,” she said.
Paolo rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, well…there’s nothing I can do about it now. Call me when you’re ready.”
Grill Me, Baby Page 5
