by C. C. Koen
“Julia, nice to see you.” Rick bent down and brushed his lips against her cheek, taking the seat next to her. “Grandfather.” Rick acknowledged him with a nod.
“Your granddaddy, the sweet man he is, invited me to join you both this evening. I was just telling him I hadn’t heard from you in a while. I hoped to see you at the Crystal Ball last weekend, but you weren’t there.” She swept her thumb along the top of his hand and squeezed it. “It’s been too long, Rick. I’ve missed you.” Her purring, seductive tone relayed the underlying message loud and clear.
His grandfather cleared his throat, and Julia fluttered her eyelashes at Horatio. “Mr. Stone, you must get Rick to take some time off. I’d love to have him go sailing on my daddy’s yacht for a few weeks. We could venture down to the Caribbean just the two of us. Doesn’t that sound fabulous?”
“Funny you should mention that. Grandfather was in the office today reminding me I don’t work hard enough. So the answer is no. I won’t have time to accompany you.”
Her pout couldn’t have been more disingenuous. Her plump, ruby-coated lips might delight some men, but Rick refused to encourage her. She got plenty of that from Grandfather, who’d selected her as a prime candidate and beat his ear to marry her. Another thing to dog him about, adding to the never-ending list of dos and don’ts. Sometimes though, he had no choice in spending time with her. Like tonight.
The waiter interrupted, brought drinks and took orders. Endless chatter from Julia about charity events droned on for hours. When they left the restaurant, and Rick said good night to her, it had passed ten o’clock.
“Rick.” His grandfather stood with him at the valet, waiting for their vehicles. “You need to put a ring on her finger, boy.”
Rick shuffled the coins in his pocket and didn’t bother to respond.
“Hard-headed fool you are,” Grandfather grumbled. “Someone is going to snatch her up.” The old man stared at him square in the eye. “You listenin’ to me?”
The fists at Rick’s side clamped open and closed, and his grinding teeth kept him from saying what he really wanted to. The persistent man refused to let up or stay the hell out of his life. Rick turned thirty-one last month, yet Grandfather treated him like an eighteen-year-old still learning the ropes of business and life. Out of respect for his dad, he put up with his inane rants and battering.
“I’m not getting married. Not now, not ever. So get that through your thick head.”
“Her daddy wants it. I want it, and you’ll do as I say. The merger of their company with ours will take it beyond any in the world. The board and investors want the union. It’s best for both sides.”
“I told you before, the merger is one thing. Julia is another and isn’t happening.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You’ll destroy the business and your future, all to be a stubborn jackass.”
The valet whipped Rick’s car into the lot and slammed on the brakes. After setting a tip in the young man’s hand, Rick leaned an arm on the hood and eyeballed his grandfather. “The business is mine and has been for some time. I haven’t sunk it yet. As for the board, we’re looking at all options, and decisions will be made in the best interest of the entire company. Not for one person, but for everyone. The employees are the reason it’s a success. I’m not making snap judgments just because you think it’ll be good for you.”
Grandfather stood at the other side of the car, his arms stretched across the top, hands clasped together. “I have a huge investment and stake in it. It’s my money too.”
“You don’t have controlling interest. Dad put me in charge for good reason, and I do it for him. It’s his legacy, and I’ll be sure we stay on top. I won’t have you interfering in that.”
“Did you look at the reports?”
Rick sat in the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. At the click of a button, he opened the passenger side window, and his grandfather ducked his head inside.
“The margins are damn good. You need me to explain the percentages to you? Let me know. Otherwise, I’ll see you at the next board meeting. Good night, Grandfather.” With two fingers at his temple, he saluted him and peeled out of the parking lot.
Some people eat when they’re stressed, or when they have problems to forget; others choose alcohol or drugs. Rick worked tension out of his system with sex and lots of it. He didn’t normally go to a bar. He didn’t have to. The women in his black book were plentiful, but he didn’t want any of them tonight. Nothing familiar. He needed something or someone different, a change of pace.
The jazz music the band played helped mellow him some, but he craved more than that. A glass of whiskey warmed his throat as he took the first gulp. His fingers drummed on the glass tabletop and kept beat with the tune. He scanned the candlelit tables of the semi-crowded club. A little hole in the wall, Salsalito, north of the city and not far from home, had been a favorite of his for years. Which made it an ideal choice to relax and check out the scenery. Quite a few women, all shapes and sizes, adorned the space with their beauty. Many of them had men at their side; a few did not. Seated across the room in a corner, a blond with spiky hair cut short to the scalp glanced his way a few times, but other than that she didn’t seem interested. She wouldn’t be a typical choice, not that he had a type. However, she looked like what he desired tonight: a little rough around the edges. The cropped leather vest forced her tiny breasts above the lapels, and the fringe on her cut-to-the-crotch miniskirt pulled a man’s eyes to her long legs.
Yeah, she’d do fine. He needed hard core and rough tonight. The repressed beast building inside him had to be forced out before he exploded, and the best way for him to do that remained locked in his sight. While he chugged the rest of his drink, he signaled the waitress to bring him another, and took the next step to remedy his situation.
“Hi.” He sat in the seat across from her, extending his hand. “Rick. You are?”
“Busy.” She leaned her back against the paneled wall and scanned the room like he wasn’t sitting there, a few feet from her face.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Bug off.” She still hadn’t bothered to look at him.
Listed as America’s most eligible bachelor, he hadn’t received that title for just one reason. His success running a Fortune 500 corporation and his legendary never-give-up attitude had weighed heavily in the ranking. This woman didn’t realize the king of stubborn sat right at her fingertips. If he pursued a woman, his skills melted her panties off every single time. Not one rejection. Although, since they chased after him, those charms might be a little rusty. He knew what he had to do though. It wouldn’t take long before he had her right where he wanted.
The empty beer bottle in front of her gave him the opportunity he needed. He waved at the waitress who had stopped at his vacated seat, scanning the tables and searching for him. When she caught sight of him, she brought over his drink, and he ordered the silent lady another of the same brand.
“You got a hearin’ problem, man?” She glared at him and jerked her chin at the waitress.
“Having a drink is all. Thought I’d share.”
She snorted and surveyed the crowd again, which had gotten more congested since he arrived.
He eased his back along the adjacent wall and took a sip from his glass. “You looking for someone? I come here a lot. Maybe I could help.”
“I don’t have time for BS. Why don’t you hike it back to where you came from and hit on that chick two tables behind where you were sittin’? She’s there all alone, and I’m sure she’d help you with what you’re looking for.”
He tilted his head back and let the laughter rip. She had him pegged damn well. When he settled himself, he shouted over the music, “What’s your name?”
“Kat.” Her smirk showed two dimples, and the mischievous glint in her eyes softened her appearance some, a stark contrast to the heavy black and purple makeup around them.
“Well, Kat, touché
.” He raised the drink as a toast and sucked down a huge gulp.
The waitress came back to the table with her beer. Kat pulled out a thin wallet, removing a twenty. His fingers clipped the bill to the table. “My treat.”
She shrugged and swiped the bottle from the waitress’s tray. From under his fingers, Kat slid the money out and tucked it into her billfold. A picture inside stared at him, a face he wouldn’t soon forget. He snatched it from her grasp.
“Hey.” She leapt across the table at the same time he lunged far right and out of her reach, his arm extended to stop her.
“Why do you have this picture?” He tapped it with his thumb.
She frowned and sat down slowly. “You know her?”
“I met her last week.”
Her head tilted, and she narrowed her eyes. “You Stone?”
He chuckled at her stunned face, thin black eyebrows pitched high and mouth slackened. “Heard of me, have you?” He eased closer to the table and laid the wallet between them. She yanked it away, tucking it into a pocket.
“Unbelievable. You sure know how to make an impression, don’t you?”
He smirked. I have many tricks.
“She hasn’t stopped talking about you.”
His smile vanished, and his eyes snapped to the singer. The woman’s soulful voice sang about taking chances, causing his skin to tingle. All of a sudden, the air in the club thickened, and it became difficult to breathe. “How do you know her?” He didn’t think she heard him since his choked question got drowned out by the crescendo finish.
“She’s my niece. They live with me.” Her reply mimicked his tone. He heard her loud and clear though because the tune had ended and the band took a break. What timing.
His gaze shifted to the head-banger type that couldn’t be Maggie’s sister. They were opposite in height, skin tone, hair color, eyes, everything. Something about Kat’s attitude, though, reminded him of her niece. “Cece’s quite precocious.” This time he grinned a little.
“Ah, she used her subtle charm on you too, huh?”
He coughed into his hand, suppressing another laugh. “Subtle?”
She tipped her bottle up to him. “I think you might know a little about that yourself, Stone. A technique you do well.”
He threw a fifty down on the table and stood, chugging the rest of his drink. “Enjoy your night.” When he walked away he thought he heard her mutter, “You met your match, bud. Two of 'em.”
Anger and pent-up frustration drove him to pound into the raven-haired, nameless woman. Her cheek pressed onto his glass dining room table, his fist grinding into the middle of her bare back. Eyes closed, his face pointed up at the ceiling, he filled her sex and the condom. A release that even a few seconds later, hadn’t satisfied him in the least.
After he yanked his pants up, he tossed the rubber in the trash and strode toward the door, his dress shirt flapping at his sides. He took in her seductive getting-dressed scene, a slow, methodical snap of twenty-some buttons that lined the entire front of her shimmery pink dress. Loud clanking heels sounded like thunder as she stomped across the wood floor. “That’s it?” Her frown should have pained him but it didn’t. Every woman he had sex with tried to use her wiles and connive her way into his heart. In most instances, they made it as far as his living room, and none were invited to his bed.
He tilted his chin toward her parked car, behind his in the driveway.
“You suck, you know that?” She rammed her shoulder into his on the way out and took off down the stairs of his brownstone.
After he slammed the door, he shoved his aching forehead against the cold steel surface. Yeah, he sucked and a whole slew of other things. The walls closing in on him, he shucked off his pants and shirt, flew up the stairs two at a time, and headed straight for the shower. Scalding hot water pounded down on his taut muscles, a dozen showerheads directed at strategic spots and hitting key points on his neck, shoulders, arms, and thighs. Almost like he had a personal masseuse behind him, driving knuckles into every nerve. His arms spread-eagle along the tile wall, he widened his legs the same distance apart, rolling his shoulders backward then forward, over and over again, trying to relieve the tension. Most days, sex made him loose, not more frustrated.
Unwanted fantasies kept him revved up, an auburn beauty stuck in his head. The black-haired siren he’d used as a replacement already forgotten. Fire flared in his stomach and other parts of his anatomy. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t need to look down. His angry erection rubbed along his thigh as he shifted to the right and left, trying to get the jet stream to hit him where it hurt most, and hopefully beat the damn thing into submission.
Disgusted with himself, he shut off the water and toweled down in quick swipes. Semi-dry, he headed toward his bed, a bright yellow figure pulling him to the nightstand. The duck, and everything it embodied, mocked him. Yanking the drawer open, he tossed the irregular, ragged shape inside.
Out of sight, out of mind.
He rolled onto the mattress, threw the covers up to his chest, and an arm over his eyes. The darkness hadn’t helped a damn bit. Flashes of his new acquaintances bounced around in his head like a riptide about to suck him into the depths of a boundless sea: Maggie, the freckle-faced bombshell; and Cece, the bubbly, rambunctious preschooler.
Caught in his torrential thoughts, he spun onto his side, punching the pillow and tossing his weary head from one bumpy spot to another in a lame attempt to settle down. Forcing his brain to count sheep, repeat algebraic equations, and the Chinese alphabet he picked up traveling overseas, through it all, his mind games betrayed him and failed miserably.
One sheep, two sheep, three sheep—duck.
y + 9 = 13, 2n = 12—34, 24, 36.
诶= a, 比= b—Cecily + Max.
TWO PLATES OF SMOKED SALMON and pistachio truffle pâté were placed on the tray. Maggie wiped the blood orange sauce off the edges, ensuring perfection before delivery. She nodded to the waiter, and he served the patrons their meals. Curriculum lunch sessions at Le Gourmet brought a huge smile to her face. A designated time for culinary students to showcase their skills. Although she had little input about what would be prepared, the instructors expected the students to create their own specialty entree or dessert. A dozen master chefs tasted the samples, and if up to their standards, added a select few to the menu for a week.
Her mother’s Russian Torte made the cut as a featured dessert. When Antonio, her supervisor, told her she got the seal of approval, she about peed her pants. Even though the school focused on international cuisine, she didn’t know whether the worldly experts would accept a homemade recipe. Her family had taught her everything about ethnic-inspired cooking and baking, compliments of her grandfather’s Greek heritage and her grandmother’s Russian background. The earliest memories she could recall were of her toddling along at her mother’s side, mimicking her actions in the kitchen at home and at her grandparents’ restaurant. Mama would pick up her and Kat from school, drive them into Houston to Stavros’s, a four-thousand-square-foot dining establishment and catering service, and after they filled their tummies and finished homework, assumed their roles as little helpers. Kat couldn’t care less and often goofed off, hunkering down behind the register building towers out of wrapped silverware or shredding menus to paper mache glasses and mugs. But Maggie delighted in the grown-up atmosphere and took her job seriously. Over the years, the complexity increased from setting orders on trays when she was in kindergarten, to dressing Greek salads throughout her primary grades, and then assisting Mama with layering nuts and fillo for baklava and other desserts at the intermediate stage, until she advanced to chef alongside Baba and Pappous. She never stopped until she left town. Those moments were some of the best of her life. She’d cherish them forever. And now that she lived so far away, she kept her mom and grandparents close in thought with every recipe she prepared, each meal she set on a plate, and every dessert she lovingly whipped up.
“Hey, Maggie, ho
w’s it going?”
With the temperature switched to medium, she added the duck breast skin side down to sear, then turned around to greet the familiar voice. Matt sat at one of the five chef’s tables, a two-person marble-top bar situated alongside the students’ stainless steel prep station, promising personalized attention. Designated for the apprentices whose recipes were featured, the primo spots were in high demand and often required reservations. “Well, boss man, decided to take me up on the invite, huh?”
“Oh, Mags, you know I have a weakness for that torte. When you told me it’d be on the menu, I couldn’t resist.” He patted his flat stomach. “It’s all your fault I gained an extra five pounds too. My wife doesn’t mind though. She said the extra cushioning is nice when she lays her head there.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right. There isn’t an ounce of fat on you. Sophia told me you’re a workout fiend, running five miles a day, and she has to drag you out of your home gym every night.”
He chuckled and unwrapped the bundled silverware, setting the napkin on his lap. She placed a menu in front of him, and he tilted his head to the empty stool to his left. “Can I have another of those? A business associate is joining me.”
“Sure.” After she set another down, she picked up the next ticket and prepared several more dishes. Matt asked her a few questions as she chopped and diced, sautéed and flipped, and plated a service for four. Wiping her brow with her sleeve, she reached up for a clean pan and almost dropped it as an exasperated male voice snapped from behind her.
“This place is packed. Why’d you pick it?”
Lodged in her brain for several weeks now, Mr. Stone’s guttural tenor replayed in her daydreams and in her sleep. She inched around performing a mental countdown from ten to zero, which helped cool her off when Cece pushed her buttons, and by some miracle she hoped would work in this instance too.
A steel gray oxford, no tie, and slim-fit pants with the same sheen as his button-down vest produced an unnatural reaction. Her tongue rolled to the roof of her mouth and withheld the groan his arousing professional attire and fresh-air scent planted in her head.
