A Matter of Taste (Men of the Capital #2) (6 page)

BOOK: A Matter of Taste (Men of the Capital #2)
2.19Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

She hopped back into the realtor’s luxurious sedan and rode on to the next rat hole. The second one was dismal in a different way. There was glass in both windows
, but there were only two rooms.  A kitchenette was at one end of the living room/bedroom, and the dark brown bathroom with the busted sink had a standing shower draped with a cockeyed mildewy curtain. It looked like a crime scene. Living in her leased car was looking more and more inviting.

             
“Okay, go up in price again,” Annelise sighed.

             
“I did. This is two fifty over your original budget. Like it?”

             
“I get the feeling you’re enjoying this. What do I have to pay to live somewhere that isn’t scarier than where I grew up? My jerk ex-fiancé had the lease on the place we lived, so I had to move out. I got bad taste in men. That don’t mean I deserve to be murdered in a slum.”

             
“There are three deadbolts on the door. It’s a reasonably safe neighborhood.”

             
“Oh, yeah? How far off from here do you live?”

             
“About an hour in light traffic,” the woman said, straight-faced.

             
“That says it all. Fine. What do you have on Highland? It’s the street I used to live on with my ex.” She sighed.

             
“Get in the car.” They drove half an hour in stony silence and pulled up to the exact building Annelise had lived in with Roger. She winced but pulled herself upright, telling herself she had done no wrong and had every right to be there. Even if it meant seeing him every day and his parade of women going in and out. This was very bad for her mental state, she knew, but it was safe, it was cleaner. She even knew the super’s cell number. Like it or not, Annelise was moving home, to the same building she’d lived in for five years. It was just a home she had hoped never to see again.

Chapter
4

             

Annelise was having Joan in Legal go over her lease agreement before signing. It made her stomach hurt just to think about it, but it was the only thing she could afford that wasn’t horrific…and even it was a bit outside what she could reasonably pay for. No more chevron manicures or highlights in her future; no more acid-green patent flats just because they were on sale and cute, no more weekend trips to the outdoor market just to try new stuff. It was going to be ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches unless she kept the caterer on track and put out every fire between now and the party to get that bonus.

             
She was hastily redoing the bloom listing for the florist since Hannah had switched to a yellow color palate when a delivery showed up. She tried to wave them over to Shannon, who was scooping hummus into her mouth and looking at a Mini Boden catalog. The man persisted in standing at Annelise’s desk until she looked up with a determined scowl.

             
“Yes?” she asked through gritted teeth.

             
“Delivery for Annelise Hollingford. I was instructed to bring it directly to you. Where would you like it?”

             
“If it’s more crap for the party, the office down the hall, 2108, has been set aside for deliveries,” she said.

             
“It’s lunch.”

“I didn’t order lunch. I got me a Special K bar for later.” She scowled. The man shrugged and deposited two paper shopping bags beside her desk
, then walked out.

             
Before Annelise could turn back to her computer and get to work, Shannon had descended on the bags, drawn there irresistibly by the delectable scents.

             
“Stuffed grape leaves! Oh my god, Annelise, I want one!”

             
“Take them. I don’t care.”

             
“You don’t CARE? Aux Delices doesn’t do lunches, and that guy you humped sent you a special lunch. Now turn off that goddamned spreadsheet and eat,” Shannon huffed at her.

With the air of a martyr,
Annelise saved her document and started opening containers. An astounding variety assailed her: stuffed grape leaves, roast chicken with grapes and olives, and a pasta with olives and capers. Flatbread and tapenade. Annelise was scooping luscious bites into her mouth and making unabashed
yummy
noises before she knew it.

Two girls from down the hall in the executive VP’s office wandered in and sniffed, snitching samples and cooing over them.

“Where’d you order from?” Callie asked around a mouthful of pasta.

“She didn’t order. Desmond Blair sent her lunch.”

“Blair as in Aux Delices? You know him?” Callie squealed. “I have to show you this article.” She rushed back to her office and returned, brandishing the shiny new issue of the city magazine. “Check this out. First of all, full-length picture. He’s so hot, Annelise. He looks like a thug, but a cultured thug,” Callie said, as though thuggishness were a compliment.

Annelise
scanned the article, thinking it was just another worshipful PR piece about his fabulous culinary masterpieces. Quickly, she realized there was more to it. Desmond Blair was starting a charitable foundation, a program to bring cooking classes and food service sanitation certification programs to community centers and after school programs in the city.

“There are kids out there who need the opportunity to see what they can create, to get a taste of a better life
,” He was quoted as saying.

Annelise
was torn between feeling a newfound respect for him and just swooning from the sheer heroic yumminess of the fact that he was reaching out to help the less fortunate. It seemed bizarrely unfair that someone as gorgeous and talented as he should also be generous and compassionate. He was too good to be true, she reminded herself, trying to reinforce her defenses as they melted like chocolate.

Speaking of chocolate, there, packed in dry ice and cushioned in impossibly complex containers, were fine chocolate bowls of fresh berries for dessert. Wafer thin and delicate, the chocolate bowls had a dark sheen to their surface
. She bit her lip imagining the deftness of his hands as he had shaped them with his fingers. Just the thought of it made her want to run downstairs to her car and drive to Aux Delices, but she reminded herself that men were no damn good. She pulled up an old picture of Roger on her phone as Exhibit A.

All the while Shannon chattered with Callie and Pam about how sexy and impressive Desmond was and how she should go for it with him. Shannon actually called him “
dishy”, and they all giggled. They had just about talked Annelise around to calling him when Jasper buzzed her to come to his office. She slunk in, wondering if somehow her drunken antics had ended up on YouTube. She gritted her teeth and thought miserably of the apartment without a toilet.

“Miss
Hollingford,” he began, not looking up from his computer screen. Instead of huffing in annoyance until he looked at her, Annelise decided to let his rudeness go just this once in hope of keeping her job.

“Yes
,” she said carefully.

“I’ve surveyed the menu
, and the appetizers sound disgusting.”

“You drink kale. Wha
t’s more disgusting than that?”

“The Asian noodle station is fine
, but the mashed potatoes in a cocktail glass…that sounds wrong and repulsive. I don’t want potatoes in drinking glasses. Change it.”

“If you don’t want to eat potatoes out of a glass, skip that station. The presentation is very cutting edge. I’ve researched this stuff
, and they get awards for their tablescapes. Trust me.”

“No. No potatoes in cocktail glasses. In fact, no potatoes at all. Noodles are enough carbs. I’m not trying to kill my business associates with high glycemic foods. Do something with asparagus.”

“Everyone likes potatoes. A lot of people hate asparagus. It’s stupid to eliminate potatoes entirely.”

“I’m spending five figures on the food, not counting wine and the bar.
I can afford to be stupid. Call the guy and tell him no potatoes,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

Annelise
texted Desmond to request an appointment about the menu change. She figured she could thank him for lunch and apologize for her loathsome behavior while demanding that all potatoes be stricken from the menu. She drove to his shop and rang the buzzer. This time she was admitted without any obstruction from Kathleen. The kitchen was bustling, so Des ushered her into his office, which was small and cluttered.

“Thank you for lunch. It was really spectacular
,” she said tightly.

“You’re welcome. Was that painful? Giving me a compliment?”
he teased. “Because you look like you sat on a tack.”

“No. I’m just embarrassed.”

“About what?”

“Humping you
,” she blurted out. “Also, my boss hates potatoes.”

“You didn’t exactly hump me.”

“I didn’t exactly NOT hump you,” she said miserably.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks. Jasper Cates is squicked out by potatoes in cocktail glasses, so he wants you to eradicate all potatoes and extraneous carbs from the menu.”

“We already agreed on the menu. I special
-ordered ingredients.”

“I
’m sorry. I’m sure you can bill him for them. He’s not cheap, he’s just an asshole,” she said apologetically. Desmond laughed aloud.

“You don’t pull any punches.”

“I read an article about you,” she said almost shyly.

“Did you look me up online?” He preened.

“No. A girl in my office showed me a story about your charity. It’s—nice. I grew up in a place where that kind of thing could have helped.”

“So did
I,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the edge of his desk.

“I doubt that. Where I lived, I had to dodge the pimps by the time I was ten.”

“I grew up in south Chicago, Annelise. I learned to cook in a soup kitchen thanks to the juvenile justice system. I was, you might say, a guest of the state.” Her jaw dropped.

“You went to
juvi?”

“No, I got community service. I should have gone to
juvi, probably.” He shrugged.

“I never got caught. Did you steal stuff?”

“I stole shit and tagged it.”

“Gang?”
she said with awe.

“Nah. Stupid white kid who wanted to be
a thug.” He chuckled and she touched his arm tentatively.

“That’s really awesome. What you’re doing for the kids. Maybe they won’t turn out like us.”

“I don’t know. I think we turned out pretty well.”

“I live on the cafeteria
lady’s couch, Des.”

“What?”

“I’m homeless. I dumped my fiancé when he gave me an STD from all his hookers and he kicked me out. I’m couch surfing. It’s humiliating!” She wailed. He stifled a laugh.

“You can surf my couch anytime you want.”

“That isn’t what I meant. I mean I looked at an apartment last night that’s in my price range, and it had cardboard instead of glass in the windows, and there wasn’t a toilet!” Desmond took her in his arms and hugged her. It was surprisingly tender, and sympathetic and Annelise was horrified to find her eyes stinging with tears.

“It’ll be ok
ay. You’ll find a place that—does have a toilet. I promise.”

“I did. It’s in the same building as my ex.”

“You don’t want to live in that building. You’ll see him and what he’s up to…” Desmond trailed off.

“It’s that or no toilet.”

“There’s got to be a middle ground between the ex and no toilet.”

“The working class neighborhoods are mostly co-ops
, and I can’t afford to buy. The rentals are all family units with three bedrooms, and I can’t afford that either!”

She let herself rest her cheek against his shoulder for just a moment and felt oddly comforted.
Desmond Blair had great shoulders. She’d known that from looking. Up close and personal, even closer than she’d been on the dance floor, his arms and shoulders were substantial, felt sheltering. Annelise was used to feeling powerful, capable. Being homeless made her feel small and vulnerable. His embrace made her feel vulnerable in a much better way, like she was worth protecting.

“So this guy cheated on you
,” he said softly, resting his chin on top of her head comfortably.

“Yeah. With hookers. I knew something was up
, and he wasn’t talking, so I hacked his email. It was bad. I was with him since I was seventeen. I never thought he’d need to go to a hooker—” she broke off, feeling she’d said too much.

“It isn’t because you weren’t enough. It’s because he wasn’t. It sounds like a male insecurity thing.”

“Really? I thought maybe I was just that bad in bed. I mean, I read Cosmo, so I know I was doing it right, but he ain’t going out looking for some ass to rent if he’s happy at home, is all I’m saying.”

“He’s a fool
,” Des said. He kissed her very gently, warmth stealing along her skin as he held her.

“I know he was a fool. I just know that I was too
,” she said quietly, almost in disbelief.

“No, you were trusting and, from the sound of it, he was all you knew of a relationship. It’s for the best. Something better will come along.”

“You sound like my granny.”

“Is your granny brilliant and wise?”

“My granny’s an ex-stripper, so she knows some shit.” He laughed again.

“I think I’d love to meet your family
,” he said suddenly.

“Is it customary? To meet the family of your clients’ secretaries?”
she teased, pulling back from him, reminding herself that just because he felt sorry for her didn’t mean he wanted more.

“No. I hadn’t thought to go in a professional capacity.”

“I’d like to—can I buy you a cup of coffee?” she asked, surprising both of them.

“I only drink my own coffee. No one else’s espresso is strong enough.” He grinned.

“I bet it took a lot of caffeine to build a business like this.”

“You’d win that bet. I’m hooked.”

He led her through the busy kitchen, the frantic preparations parting like the Red Sea to let him pass, to a shiny copper espresso machine that looked complicated and huge. He pulled levers and twisted valves. Soon, steam bellowed forth and two perfect espressos were born in miniscule white china cups. She touched the scalding liquid to her lips, its bitterness and strength reviving her. She reached out and took his hand in hers.

“For six years
, I loved him and thought I had myself a real man, but I was completely wrong. I can’t trust myself anymore.”

BOOK: A Matter of Taste (Men of the Capital #2)
2.19Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Through the Veil by Shiloh Walker
Joseph M. Marshall III by The Journey of Crazy Horse a Lakota History
Black notice by Patricia Cornwell
Amazing Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman
All Fall Down by Sally Nicholls
Act of God by Eric Kotani, John Maddox Roberts
Snared by Norris, Kris