by C. C. Koen
“Uh . . .” Mr. Stone narrowed his eyes at Matt and clamped a hand on his shoulder. His flushed face resembled the cherry red that often tinted joggers’ cheeks. “Buddy, you didn’t tell me Maggie would be here. Thought you said this was a business lunch.” He waved a folder and tossed it on the table.
Matt’s grin flashed toward her and then to his friend. “You do realize she’s cooking, right?”
Just then Mr. Stone’s gaze drifted across her chest, becoming transfixed for a while on the crisscrossed fork, spoon, and knife emblem at her left breast and then darted up to her face. If possible, his skin reddened even more as he dropped onto the wooden stool, an impact that scraped the chair back a few inches, rocking him into Matt’s shoulder.
“Let’s order. I’m starved.” An elbow shot given to his buddy, Matt knocked Mr. Stone’s bent arm off the edge of the table and pointed to the menu. “Pick something, fast. I need to get to dessert before it’s all gone.”
Using a similar mocking tone like Matt had earlier, Mr. Stone scanned the room while he spoke. “You realize we’re in a restaurant that has loads of food.”
She got a chuckle out of the amusing banter. Normally, she and Kat rubbed each other the wrong way. It was good to see the ribbing happening to someone else for a change.
“No, smart ass. Maggie’s extra special, sweet treat. There’s a limited amount.”
The menu forgotten and dropped onto the table, Mr. Stone set his chin in his hand and repositioned his arm where it had been before Matt knocked it down. In a seductive murmur he asked, “What sinful goodies do you have for me, Maggie?” Extended across the counter, his hand cupped hers from underneath and gripped it like a beggar pleading for anything and everything she could give.
She yanked her fist away, and it smacked against her thigh as she jolted back several steps to escape the heat, ramming right into Antonio. He picked up the same arm, pried her fingers apart, and inspected her uninjured palm. “You okay?” His other hand settled on her hip as he stood behind her. She hadn’t answered or looked at her superior. Instead her eyes wouldn’t move away from Mr. Stone’s, which kept darting between her and Antonio.
“I don’t see anything.” Antonio brushed his thumb along a line in the center, skimming a vein on her wrist too. Tickles raced across her skin and up her arm, but the zing had nothing to do with his touch. The electrical charge in the air came from Mr. Stone. As if in some out-of- body experience or mist-filled dream, she became super aware of his every move. Slow and reserved, yet full of raw energy, he eased up from his chair, rounded the counter and strutted over to them. Antonio’s hold at her hip stiffened, yet he didn’t let go. Instead his body pressed closer and straightened behind her, an apparent protective mode.
Veins in Mr. Stone’s neck stood out as he leaned into them, coming inches from Antonio’s face. Clanging dishes and silverware, shouted calls for service, and a full house of patrons talking over one another didn’t disguise the whispered threat he launched. “Hands off.”
Antonio raised both arms but didn’t move away from her backside. “Ease up, buddy.”
“Okay, okay, we’re all good here.” Matt threw an arm over Mr. Stone’s shoulder, jerked his chin at Antonio and flicked a quick glance at her before mumbling something in his friend’s ear she couldn’t make out. Whatever he said did the trick, and both returned to their seats, skimming the menu as though nothing had happened.
“You have tickets piling up, Maggie. Get to them,” Antonio reminded and took off for the main kitchen.
Several minutes later, she filled their orders. Matt and Mr. Stone dove into the braised short ribs she delivered to them. Her typical ease in the kitchen switched to uneven dicing, shaky cutting that almost sliced a couple fingers off, and jerky tossing, causing bits and pieces to fly out of the pan and into the flames on the gas stove. Unsettled, her upset stomach flared and heat from the oven made it feel like she had a hundred four temperature. In the middle of a busy lunch service, she tried to concentrate on each order and ignore, for the most part, the two men devouring their meals at the table over her shoulder. It wasn’t common for her to be so rude. She just couldn’t get what she needed done correctly if she spent one more moment with him. Any time those hazel eyes shot in her direction, they pierced her.
Whenever she got near him, his enticing sandalwood, lavender, and berries cologne wafted up her nose and caused her heart to thrum as if each scent pulsed through her veins, surged through the left and right ventricles, and flooded the rest of her organs.
At last, the time had come for their dessert, leaving her with no choice but to pay them a visit. She set two small plates with three pieces of Russian Torte on each in front of Matt and Mr. Stone. Instead of returning to her station, her feet remained glued to the wood floor. His opinion didn’t matter. It shouldn’t, she told herself. Yet she stayed and waited as Mr. Stone picked one up and inspected the layers.
“Meringue.” He shot a glance her way, waiting for confirmation.
She nodded.
“The orange stuff—tangerines, peaches, what?”
“Apricots,” she corrected.
“Nuts on the bottom? Please tell me they’re not prunes.”
Unable to contain her laughter, it rushed out, relieving some of the strain that had twisted her up earlier. “Oh, Mr. Stone, if I were a cruel person, I’d lie and tell you they’re the sweetest, most delectable plums, handpicked and dried especially for you.” The tease caught her by surprise. It sounded sensual in her ears and must have registered with him too, because his eyebrow rose to his hairline, challenging her.
As soon as her taunt had been uttered, his tongue darted out and slicked up the side of the four-tier, decadent morsel. “Mmm.” He murmured multiple times, along with a deep rumble along his throat and Adam’s apple. The side of his mouth curved up, right before he opened wide and plopped the entire thing inside. His cheek bulged from the fullness, and he hummed through each chomp. Those honey brown eyes with sparks of winter green, a shade that transformed depending on the lighting, remained stuck to her as he savored each bite.
“Rick, is that you?” A svelte, dressed-to-the-nines woman rested her hand on his shoulder and ducked down, brushing a kiss on his cheek and remaining on that spot a lot longer than a simple hello.
Mr. Stone rose from his seat, his lips dropping into a frown.
Maggie glanced toward Matt, but he just continued to eat, shoving the last piece in his mouth and removing the two from his friend’s plate, putting them on his own. He pressed a finger up to his lips in a silent “shh” and instead of being ashamed, he shrugged his shoulders and continued to gulp them down.
“I was wondering when we could get together again.” The hussy pressed a hand onto Mr. Stone’s chest, right on his heart, while the other cupped his cheek, swiping a thumb along the stubble. The fake blond bombshell stepped closer, not leaving a centimeter between them. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time. I’ve missed you.”
Mr. Stone grabbed her wrist and pushed her arm away from his face, returning it to her side. He scooted his chair with the backs of his legs and took several steps away from her. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Aw, Rick, don’t be like that.” She leaned up and uttered something in his ear.
He dropped his neck back and stared at the ceiling, drawing in several deep breaths. Then he twisted toward Matt and squinted at the empty plates. “Let’s go.” Mr. Stone shoved the chair under the table so hard, water splashed out of the glasses and a fork fell toward the floor.
Maggie dove to catch it but missed, her hand brushing along Mr. Stone’s thigh. “Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed at how close her fingers had come to his zipper.
Miss High and Mighty cast a perturbed glare at her and stepped into her personal space, squaring off. “Not quick enough. He loves fast and hard. Trust me, you wouldn’t be able to handle him.” She crossed her arms, unwilling to back down, and not the least uncomfortable that so
me of the customers nearby overhead her inappropriate announcement.
Clamping his large hand around the big mouth’s arm, Mr. Stone tugged, and then pushed her around tables and out the door.
“I guess I’ll take care of the check then.” Matt came up alongside Maggie. “Everything was fantastic. If there’s any dessert left over, bring me some when you come to work later.” He patted his stomach again. “I didn’t get enough. Don’t be so stingy next time. I want at least a dozen of those.”
She heard him but didn’t look his way much. Instead her eyes kept gravitating outside to the couple arguing on the sidewalk. Mr. Stone paced, then stopped to say something, and darted back and forth again. The shameless woman threw her arm out to halt him, flapping her gums and yelling whatever. Anytime the door opened from people going in and out, she could hear the remnants of the determined woman screeching.
“Catch ya later, Mags.” Matt strolled in front of her and blocked the view, waving over his shoulder.
She raised her hand, mimicking him, but he didn’t see her. “Bye,” she called. “Thank you.” Her voice rose above the noisy chatter. A peace sign shot up above his head, causing her to giggle.
After paying the check, Matt exited the restaurant just as Mr. Stone hailed a cab and assisted the woman into it. He ducked his head inside and stayed there a bit before closing the door and pounding on top. The taxi took off.
Mr. Stone’s eagle eyes locked on her exact position. Shivers rolled through her. Not the bad kind, the good. Too good.
“Service, Maggie.” Antonio’s shout jolted her and helped get her priorities readjusted.
She rushed to her station, filling the single order remaining in the machine as service wound down. A glance over her shoulder showed both men were gone.
A red leaf salad, Charcuterie Plate, Escargot, and Le Gourmet burger kept her hands busy, while she gave herself a stiff talking to: you have responsibilities, tons on your plate, men are trouble, you don’t need another problem added to the list.
Just forget him.
“AND YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE a Casanova? How the hell did you get that title after that fuck up?” Matt’s jab was punctuated with a hard smack on Rick’s shoulder as they walked toward the office building.
“The last time I had anything to do with Lisa was at least six months ago. Believe me, I wasn’t goin’ there again. She wails through her whole orgasm. It’s so high pitched you’d swear a car’s brakes locked up. The screeching doesn’t stop until the coming ends in a head-on collision. My eardrums are thanking me. I swear they burst the last time. That got old as soon as it happened. How the hell anyone could put up with that on a regular basis I have no idea.” During his rant, his story picked up pace, hoping to lay it out as quickly as possible and end the conversation once and for all.
“I wasn’t talking about her, shithead. No wonder you were the college dodge ball champ four years running. You duck and run better than anybody. I don’t ever remember you getting hit until now.”
Ticked off, Rick reeled around and let his best friend have it. “Are you on a sugar high? Because you’re talkin’ stupid.” Turning his back on him, he took a few steps and then bolted around, pointing his finger at Matt’s chest. “Don’t get me confused with you.” He got nose to nose, ensuring Matt heard his message loud and clear over the honking horns and traffic. “I’m sick and tired of everyone telling me what the hell I’m supposed to do with my life. You can take that shit you’re spouting and shove it up your ass.” He swung his arm in the general direction of the restaurant and snarled out his parting protest. “She’s nothing to me.” When he said it, his gaze flicked away from Matt’s knowing stare while the denial escaped his mouth. “No kids. No women with kids. And definitely not a woman who is obviously running from something or someone. Now, take your advice and give it to somebody who gives a damn.”
As Rick took off at a sprint, Matt shouted, “I’ll see you Sunday. Lizbeth and Harley’s birthday party.”
Rick extended his hand in an acknowledging and consenting wave. Even pissed off, he would never miss such an occasion. He might not want that lifestyle for himself, but he loved Matt and his family. Regardless of the bullshit his buddy rode him about, he’d never let a few disagreements come between them. They’d pledged the same fraternity their second semester and hit it off from the start. Rooming together helped, but they were also a lot alike. As bad as Rick might be, Matt had been a hell of a lot worse when it came to one-night stands, which kept their dorm room quite active. The routine continued until the end of senior year when Matt met Sophia at a party. His partner in crime fell hard, certain he’d met “the one.”
Married a year after graduation, Rick had been Matt’s best man, celebrating the special occasion and each one ever since. Whenever he had a few hours to spare, he spent it with them. The twins turned six this weekend, and Grace, a pudgy little thing just a few months old, didn’t do much more than sleep, eat, and vomit. A few times when he’d been burping her, she got him good, spurting disgusting, yellow slime down his back. Once, so much spit came out of her, it seeped into his pants and boxers. Yeah, if that wasn’t enough to tell him kids were a pain in the ass, that event would have convinced him for sure. The best part though, when he said goodbye, he didn’t have to deal with glitter being sprinkled in his hair, his nails being painted neon yellow, princess tiaras thrown on his head, and kiddie tea parties again until weeks later, or as soon as he could fit in another visit.
Nope, he didn’t need any of that insanity.
Board meetings took three to four hours. A new goal of Rick’s had been to keep them as brief as possible. He just set a record, finishing in under two. At least he’d done something good today.
“What the hell are you doing?” Grandfather’s shout echoed in the conference room.
He peeked over his shoulder expecting to see him there. When he didn’t, he walked into the hallway. Behind his secretary’s desk and sitting in her chair—Cece, spinning in circles. Did anyone pay attention to where that kid went? Where the heck was Maggie?
“Quit that right now, young lady,” Grandfather demanded while Cece continued to turn even faster.
By the time Rick came up behind him, Grandfather’s arm had shot out to catch the whirling chair. His did too but latched onto the old man. “Leave her alone. I’ll take care of this.”
“Another example of why this place is falling apart. If this kind of thing goes on when I’m here, I can only imagine what happens when I’m not.”
“Max,” Cece repeated with each swing around until she came to a gradual stop. He could’ve sworn her face turned yellow then green as projectile vomit spewed out of her mouth, down his pant legs, and onto Grandfather’s custom-made Italian loafers. Bent over, she held her stomach as never-ending chunk-filled, watery globs flew out.
Stunned silence, except for the retching, happened first. Then more chaos.
“Shit.” Kat rushed to Cece, scooped her up and over to a trash can, ignoring the splattered mess on Cece’s overalls and the gook that now stuck to Kat’s Westlake shirt.
“Take that wretched little—”
Rick held up his arm, cutting Grandfather off. His glare communicated he’d better not say any more. For once the grouch listened and turned tail, shaking his left and then right shoe, grumbling on his way out about the business being in the gutter by year’s end.
Before Kat could whisk her niece away, he ducked down to get a good look at Cece. He set his hand on her back, rubbing up and down. “How you feeling?” Brushing a lock of red hair out of her eyes, he swiped his thumb along her flushed cheek.
“My tummy hurts.”
“Yeah? Mine would too if I spun like that.”
Cece reached up, her hand coming to rest under his chin. “I take care a ya.”
The stab to his heart caused the air in his lungs to gush out and blow across her face, flitting tiny, sweaty curls back and forth and clinging along her temple.
“I’d better get her in the bathroom and cleaned up.” Kat walked around him, carrying Cece toward the Westlake office.
With her fingers pressed to her thumb, Cece’s duckbill-shaped goodbye and chubby-cheeked smile over Kat’s shoulders kept him at his secretary’s desk unable to move until she disappeared.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Collins said behind him.
He looked at the lumpy globs on the carpeted floor.
“I’ll get something to clean that up,” Mrs. Collins chimed, not showing the least upset about the mess sprayed around her desk.
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
A pat on his shoulder pulled his attention to his secretary. “I can do it. This could take a while. Besides, you have a meeting in an hour.” She pointed to his pant leg. “And you need to get cleaned up too.”
Since he didn’t have time to rush home to change and often needed to be ready for any occasion, a walk-in closet in his office, which he’d stocked with professional and casual wear, came in handy. A bathroom with a shower in his suite also made it easy to get refreshed at the last minute.
Unwilling to have Mrs. Collins take care of something that had nothing to do with her job, he went hunting for paper towels and garbage bags stored in the break room. When he returned with his hands full, Mrs. Collins was already on her knees with gloves up to her elbows and a bucket at her side. The ammonia hit him. “Whoa, that stinks.” After setting the supplies on the spotless half of her desk, he grabbed her arm, stopping her from doing any more cleanup.
“More than vomit?” she mocked, pinching his bicep. “I told you to leave it.”
“When do I ever listen?” he countered, pecking her on the temple.
She dropped the rag in the pail and faced him, her eyes softening. “You’re a good boy. Don’t worry about your grandfather. He wants the best for you and doesn’t know how to communicate it as well as your dad.”
