Grill Me, Baby

by Sophia Knightly

  “Be still.” She switched her attention to his towel-covered buttocks and smacked them with malicious vengeance.

  “Hey, what kind of a massage is this?”

  “Slavic. Tell me about gimmick,” she demanded, the trace of her distinct American accent suddenly surfacing.

  What the hell, might as well tell her and gauge her reaction, he thought, biting back a chuckle. There was no way she would want to steal his idea or copy it anyway. Not proper Maki.

  “My show will be called Grill Me, Baby.”

  “That is your gimmick?” she asked in a dismissive tone. “Eh!”

  “Not all of it. I’m going to pick one lucky lady from an all-female audience and romance her with my magnificent cooking.”

  She gave a cynical snort. “I do not like this Grill Me, Baby!”

  “Why? It’s genius. The women will love it…that I know.”

  “Sounds lame.” The little spy’s fake accent was back, thicker than ever. “Is that all you have?”

  “No, that’s not all,” he growled. “I am going to whip my opponent’s lily white ass!”

  Michaela’s elbow landed sharply between his shoulder blades and dug in.

  “Oof, cut that out.”

  “Maybe she wins.”

  “No way. She doesn’t stand a chance. Good thing she’s hot, because the spoils go to the victor, eh?”

  Michaela added her other elbow and intensified the pressure mercilessly.

  “Stop that,” he roared.

  “Ees good for you.”

  Paolo was sorely tempted to turn over and pull her on top of him when he heard approaching footsteps.

  “Sorry I’m late, Paolo. What’s going on here?” Lisa asked in a bewildered tone.

  Michaela mumbled a hasty good-bye and ran out the room. Paolo’s chest began to rumble when Lisa hurriedly said, “Hold on, Paolo. I’ll be right back.”

  Paolo could only nod his head. If he uttered a sound, he would start guffawing and then they would all know he was on to Maki’s tricks.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I know what Paolo’s ‘gimmick’ is,” Michaela crowed triumphantly. Aunt Magda and Tiffany were gathered around the dining room table.

  “How did you find out? I thought he was keeping it top secret,” Tiffany said.

  “He doesn’t know that I know.” Michaela still couldn’t believe that she’d pulled off the outrageous trick on Paolo without him catching on. Thank God, Lisa had been a loyal ally, and hadn’t let on that Michaela was masquerading as Irina.

  “How is that possible?” Aunt Magda asked.

  A giggle escaped Michaela, prompting her to take a sip of ice tea instead of elaborating.

  “That was a guilty giggle if I’ve ever heard one.” Aunt Magda’s eyes brimmed with curiosity. “I want to hear the story. And please don’t leave anything out!”

  “It’s no big deal, really.” Michaela tapped her pen against a yellow notepad and tried to look nonchalant, but the image of Paolo receiving her wrathful massage, big and bare except for the tiny towel over his taut butt, made her squirm in her seat and nearly sent her into a gale of giggles. It served him right for all the rude, chauvinistic comments he had made about her. She almost strangled him when he blithely said, “I’m going to whip my opponent’s lily white ass”. Unfortunately, he was a little too well acquainted with her ass…

  “So what’s his gimmick?” Tiffany prodded. “Dish already!”

  “The Latin lover plans on having an all-female audience. He will choose one lucky lady—his words, not mine.” Michaela rolled her eyes. “And plans to romance her on air with his magnificent cooking. His words, not mine again.”

  “That’s the gimmick?” Tiffany asked. “Anything else?”

  “His segment will be called Grill Me, Baby.”

  Aunt Magda nodded. “It’s catchy. I’ll give him that. Unfortunately, I like it,” she admitted, looking a bit guilty.

  “Me too,” Tiffany said. “You have to admit it, Mic, sex sells.”

  “That man oozes sex,” Aunt Magda cooed shamelessly, her powdered cheeks flushing bright pink. She fanned herself and took a sip of iced tea. “Goodness, gracious me. He is positively swoon-worthy!”

  Paolo didn’t just ooze sex; he was hot sex—uninhibited, forbidden sex and Michaela hadn’t been able to get that last night at her apartment out of her head since. “Hey, who are you rooting for anyway?” she demanded, glancing from one to the other.

  “You!” Aunt Magda and Tiffany cried in unison.

  “Good, let’s keep it that way,” Michaela said. The doorbell suddenly rang, startling the three of them.

  “That must be Willow,” Aunt Magda said. “I told her we were brainstorming over how to help you win.”

  Michaela rushed to the door and opened it with a welcoming smile. She was always delighted to see Aunt Willow.

  “I came as soon as I heard you needed my help.” Aunt Willow deposited a kiss on Michaela’s cheek. “The moment that Magda called, I downed my ginkgo and a few other mind boosters with my herbal tea. I’m full of ideas. They are flowing through my head as we speak.”

  “Good! I’m certainly in need of them.” Michaela gave her a hug. “Come in. Tiff and Aunt Magda are already here.”

  Aunt Willow glided to the table, radiating serenity. “Hello, my dears.” She greeted Tiffany and Aunt Magda with a kiss on the cheek before taking a seat at the table.

  “You look amazing.” Tiffany gave her Aunt Willow an admiring once-over. It was true. Few women at sixty-three wore their hair, straight, all gray and shoulder-length with such panache, but Willow’s hair was just as silky and thick as in her younger days. Her eyes were a clear, radiant blue, just like Tiffany’s. Had to be her organic diet. Whenever Willow entered a room, people visibly relaxed. She claimed psychic abilities. Maybe that was what drew people to her, even total strangers. That and her ability to connect on a deeper, emotional level than most.

  “All right, ladies, what have we got?” Aunt Willow asked.

  While Tiffany filled Aunt Willow in on Paolo’s gimmick, Michaela fixed a cup of her aunt’s favorite white tea. She placed it on a tray and added a tin of her light version of French macarons that she planned to feature on her show. She set the cup in front of Aunt Willow and noticed her eyes were closed and she remained silent.

  “Yoo hoo, earth to Willow.” Aunt Magda glanced heavenward with a shake of her sleek auburn bob. The contrast between the two women was staggering and what made them unique. Aunt Magda, slim and stylish, wore a periwinkle blue tunic top, black legging capris, and jeweled black patent leather flats. Like Tiffany, Aunt Magda adored fashion, hair and makeup and used it to her advantage. The two of them made an ideal shopping team, always finding the best bargain for their buck, yet looking current and stylish.

  Aunt Willow, ever the flower child, wore a flowing tangerine caftan with multi-colored macramé bangles and fringed tan leather sandals. “I was trying to tap into Paolo’s macho spirit, Magda. I was almost there, but now you ruined it,” she said with a sigh.

  “I didn’t ruin anything,” Aunt Magda replied. “You looked like you were in a trance. Have you been puffing on the wacky weed again?”

  “No! I would never drive a car under the influence,” Willow protested with wounded dignity. “Magda, really, that was quite unnecessary.”

  Before Magda could respond, Michaela quickly said, “Here, have one of these.” She opened the tin and set it in front of her two aunts—appealing to their sweet tooth to end the bickering.

  Aunt Willow selected a lavender-colored macaron. Sporting two mood rings on her un-manicured hand, she twirled it from side to side and inspected every angle. “What is this beautiful confection?”

  “It’s a lavender-infused love bite. The center is Valrhona chocolate.” Just like the color of Paolo’s
eyes, Michaela thought privately. Stop it, she told herself sternly. What was she doing thinking dreamy thoughts about Paolo when their job today was to find a better gimmick?

  Aunt Magda quirked her perfectly waxed eyebrows and gave Michaela a surprised look. “Did you say love bite?” She picked a coral one and giggled as she studied it. “I like the name, the play on words. It’s deliciously naughty. What’s this one made of?”

  “Passion fruit with Armagnac-fig filling.”

  Aunt Magda popped it in her mouth and sighed dreamily after she swallowed. “Such sinful delicacies. They’re positively decadent. I could devour the whole box. Actually, I could inhale it.”

  “Thanks, I’m planning on…” The doorbell rang again interrupting Michaela. “Who can that be?” she wondered aloud.

  “Paolo?” Tiffany grinned mischievously.

  “I sure hope not!” Michaela said, hurrying to the door.

  Michaela peeked through the peephole and for a fleeting moment, she wished she could turn her visitors away. Anxiety churned in her stomach at the prospect of letting her parents in, but she couldn’t exactly exclude them when the rest of the clan was here. It wouldn’t be kind. And in truth, she was curious as to why they had shown up…together. This was a first. She hadn’t seen her parents together in a long time. Well, they had been at the taping, but they’d been sitting far apart from each other.

  The moment Michaela opened the door, her parents strode into the apartment with the same purposeful vigor they unleashed in courtroom litigation. She was surprised. These days they barely communicated with each other, except through one of their daughters.

  Dressed to the nines in a fitted, charcoal-colored silk suit and a Tahitian gray pearl earring and choker set, Mom imperiously confronted Tiffany, Magda and Willow. “Why wasn’t I included in this family discussion?” she asked. Accusation and something akin to hurt clouded her keen blue eyes.

  “What about me? Aren’t I part of this family too?” Dad asked, looking dapper in a dark blue Armani suit. His neatly trimmed goatee was a new addition. “Magda, you did right to call us. After all, we are Michaela’s parents,” he boomed in his deep, courtroom voice.

  “Isn’t it ironic that last week both of you were ready to disown Mic after the show and now you’re pledging family loyalty?” Tiffany gave him an accusing look. “What’s going on, Pop?”

  “Don’t be disrespectful. We heard Michaela’s been given another chance. But she still needs to beat that shady Latin chef, right?” Mom asked.

  “Paolo is not shady.” Even if he was her teasing tormentor and formidable competition, Michaela felt compelled to defend him. “He’s just full of himself and determined to win. I need to come up with a gimmick that’s better than his.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard,” Mom said with her usual abundance of self-confidence.

  “We’d better get cracking,” Aunt Magda said.

  “Do you know what you’re up against? What is his gimmick?” Mom’s face was a picture of tough ambition as she focused on a worthy new cause—her oldest daughter.

  As soon as Michaela finished filling Mom and Dad in on Paolo’s gimmick, the room began to buzz with advice, given in rapid-fire succession, as each family member tried to outshine and out shout the other. When the cacophony escalated to an ear-splitting pitch, Michaela covered her ears and was tempted to ask them all to leave. But she kind of liked the fact that her whole family was united for her cause. It was a welcome change to the usual criticism doled out by her parents.

  “Hey, everybody. Shut up and listen up. I’ve got it!” Tiffany cried out, getting their undivided attention at once. Her blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed pink with excitement. “I have the perfect idea. You can’t say no until you’ve heard me out, Mic.”

  “I’ll be the one to decide that, Tiff. What is it?” Michaela cast a wary eye on her wily little sis. Tiffany’s ideas were legendary in the Willoughby household. Like when she’d finagled the neighborhood boys who owned cars to give her rides to school so she wouldn’t have to take the school bus…and she was only eleven. And when she’d set up a lemonade stand spiked with the vodka she’d “borrowed” from their parents’ liquor cabinet.

  Tiffany took a dramatic breath and looked around the room as she commanded center stage. She grinned broadly, obviously thrilled with her plan and enjoying all their attention. “Here it is in a nutshell. You invite only male viewers to enter a contest and then…”

  “But that’s copying Paolo,” Michaela cut in.

  “Who cares? War is war. Don’t get hung up on the tactics, just the outcome.”

  “No, I’d rather come up with something else. Keep in mind we’re running out of time.”

  “That’s why you should hear me out before you start objecting. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Michaela agreed reluctantly.

  “The guys will be invited to email or Twitter you with a personal message about how they got into shape after battling weight gain,” Tiffany said. “Then the winner is invited on the show and you pamper him with a special, healthy meal. And you wear that hot red dress I bought you!” She snapped her fingers and made a dismissive gesture. “Giada, move over and let Mic take over.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Michaela said, stifling a groan. “That puts me in the same category as Paolo and—”

  “No it doesn’t,” Aunt Magda said. “I like Tiffany’s idea.”

  “Me too,” Aunt Willow chimed in. “It sounds like ‘The Biggest Loser’ combined with those Kathi Lee Today Show segments, ‘Everyone’s Got a Story’. People love an inspirational story.”

  “Well, I have to agree with my sisters on this.” Mom nodded. “The premise works, Michaela. You can create a low-calorie meal to satisfy the contestant.”

  “And end it with decadent love bites,” Tiffany added, her blue eyes alight with mischief.

  “Decadent love bites?” Dad repeated, looking appalled. Hearing her burst of giggles, his blustery reaction seemed to amuse Tiffany to no end. Nothing made her happier than to shock her family, especially their stuffy dad. “Really, Tiffany. That’s pushing it!” He gave her an admonishing look. “You are out of control, young lady.”

  Everyone but her parents laughed along with Tiffany. “Don’t worry, Pop, Mic’s love bites are tempting, but harmless.” Tiffany offered him the open tin of pastel-colored macarons. “Here, have one.”

  “You call those love bites?” Mom arched an eyebrow at Tiffany. “Did you come up with the salacious name?”

  “It was my idea. I came up with it, Mom,” Michaela said.

  “Taste one,” Tiffany urged. “They’re Mic’s take on a French macaron and they are amazing.”

  “Oh my God, a light bulb just went off in my head!” Aunt Willow turned to Dad. “Lawrence, do you know how we can get an 800 number? We can make it 1-800-luv-bite and make it l-u-v instead of the usual way,” she said, spelling out the letters. “The contestants can either call in with their story or visit a website called luvbite.com and leave a message!”

  “We can do a Facebook page too!” Aunt Magda added eagerly.

  “Whose show will be filmed first?” Tiffany asked.

  “Paolo’s will be filmed in the morning. Mine will follow right after.”

  “Lawrence, our daughter is in dire need of our help,” Mom announced.

  “That sounds a bit dramatic,” Michaela said.

  Mom ignored Michaela’s objection as she pressed Dad. “Why don’t you call in a few favors and get Michaela some press in the Miami Herald and on the radio?”

  “I was already planning to offer help, Sylvia,” Dad replied, giving her a look of reproach.

  “Good, then I’ll take care of getting the 1-800 number set up,” Mom said.

  “Now the question is, what should she call her segment?” Aunt Magda asked.

 
“Uhhh, we need to brainstorm that one.” Tiffany tapped her temple.

  Aunt Magda’s face lit up. “I know. How about The Pleasure Palate?”

  “Mmmm, hmmmm.” Tiffany giggled. “Love it and so will the men.”

  Dad cast a stern eye toward Tiffany. “I’m not happy about the name or the concept. It sounds sleazy.”

  “I agree with Dad. I don’t want to put myself out there like that,” Michaela said.

  Tiffany waved a dismissive hand at her. “Oh, please, don’t be miss-ish. You want to win, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but…” Michaela said.

  “No butts, unless it’s yours sheathed in that little red dress.” Tiffany’s blue eyes twinkled as she let out a hoot of laughter.

  Michaela rolled her eyes, but she had to admit it was nice to see her family rallying behind her as a unified force. She was most surprised by her parents, who usually couldn’t stand being in each other’s company, let alone holding a civil conversation. Today, they seemed to have bonded over helping her. There was nothing like two proud, competitive lawyers hell-bent on winning.

  “Alrighty then. I’ll set up the website and record the message. All you have to do is give me a good headshot of you. Better yet, make it a full body shot.” Tiffany chortled. “In a string bikini.”

  “Now I know you’re kidding,” Michaela said. “Forget it.”

  “I was kidding about the bikini, but serious about the rest. Aunt Magda, you’re the social media diva. Can you somehow post a message on the Internet dating sites about Mic’s show?”

  Aunt Magda beamed. “Absolutely! I’ll see what I can do.”

  “What can I do to help?” Aunt Willow asked.

  “You can help Michaela choose the winner,” Tiffany said.

  Aunt Willow looked inordinately pleased. “I would love to.”

  “Hello? People, I haven’t agreed to any of this,” Michaela protested. “I’m not sold on the idea. It feels like I’m pimping myself.”