His Just Desserts (2 page)

“Hi, Isaiah. It’s been a while.” Sean Whitcomb flashed his pretty white teeth. The same rakish grin that had once made Isaiah’s heart melt. But he hadn’t been smiling when he’d broken Isaiah’s heart by walking out of his life.

“Not long enough.” He resisted the urge to punch something. He wouldn’t repeat the same mistake he’d made six months ago when Sean brought clients in for a late lunch. He’d have been fine if his ex-lover hadn’t acted as if nothing had happened, as if he’d never hurt him. But the other man’s infuriating laissez-faire attitude led to Isaiah decking him in front of a room full of customers. He’d been lucky to keep his job. It still galled him that only Sean’s insistence he’d deserved the punch prevented his firing. But he wasn’t going to thank the bastard for that. “Is everything okay with the food?”

Sean stood and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Of course it is. I wouldn’t expect anything less than perfection—”

“Good.” He turned on his heel to head back to the kitchen. He hadn’t gotten more than three steps when tanned fingers wrapped around his bicep, drawing him to a halt.

“Please, Isaiah…baby.”

The raspy plea sent more than anger through him. It also roused a desire he’d thought dead long ago, which pissed him off more. “I’m not your baby anymore! I stopped being that the moment you decided you wanted big city lights and a job more than you wanted me. I asked you to wait. You didn’t.” He shrugged free. “Now if there’s nothing requiring my attention regarding your meal, I’m needed in the kitchen.”

“Wait!”

Sean’s plea irritated him. He spun around, scowling.

“I need to talk to you. Please meet me after your shift is over. I’m willing to wait here all night, if I have to.”

“It’s not happening, dude. I don’t trust you anymore.”

As he turned away, Isaiah thought he might have seen a flare of sadness in his ex’s eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

“Fine.” Sean pulled a slim silver case about the size of a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Flicking it open, he tugged out a buff-colored business card embossed with his name, telephone number, and email address. Taking a pen from Kaeli, he scrawled a number on the back. “My cell number. Just call me, if you won’t meet with me. I have a proposition for you. One which will make you some quick cash. Are you still saving for that house you wanted? This would add to your nest egg.”

Suspicion filled him. “What would I have to do to add to it? I’m no damned whore,” he spat out. “I’m a three-star chef.”

The other man held his hands up. “And that’s why I want to talk to you. I need your cooking skills.”

Isaiah weighed his options. He and Berta were close to having enough money for the down payment on a nice house in West Des Moines. Could he afford to turn down the offer? Probably not, but could he work for the man he’d sworn to hate for the rest of his life? He didn’t want to think about the fact he still found him attractive. He grumbled but took the card without touching him. “I’ll call you later.”

A relieved expression crossed Sean’s too-handsome face.

Isaiah had to force himself to not give in. He was still the black kid from the wrong side of the tracks with a crack-whore mother who’d abandoned him—the man who hadn’t been good enough in the past. “But don’t get your hopes up because if this isn’t on the up and up, you’re gonna wish you never came back in here.” Shoving the card into his pocket, he strode back to the kitchen. He didn’t have time to worry about what his ex wanted, or why he’d sought him out again. He had a crowded dinner service to run.

Wearing a path between the fireplace mantel and the couch, Sean eyed the clock like a mortal enemy. Nearing eleven, each tick crept by in slow-motion until he wanted to scream. Of course, checking it every ten minutes didn’t help. Nonlia’s closed at nine but still his phone hadn’t rung. He hadn’t been this nervous since he’d gone in to take his bar exam. Flopping down on the recliner, he tossed an arm over his eyes and faced the fact he might not be able to convince Isaiah to talk to him, let alone cook for him. If he thought hitting something would help, he’d have gone a few rounds with the heavy bag in his home gym.

I’ve got less than three days to come up with a meal and some type of relationship to present to the partners or the promotion will go to Donnie
. And if that happened, he’d be out a job soon enough, or he’d quit.
It’s bad enough working for one bigoted fool, let alone two.
In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if Donnie and Tlotzin sided against Nico. He couldn’t let that happen—his own job notwithstanding.
Nico’s too good a friend and boss for me to give up without a fight. I’ll just convince Isaiah to help me
.

The blare of “Welcome to the Jungle” as his cell phone rang sent him scrambling out of the recliner for the vibrating device on the stand next him. Anxious to use his silver tongue to persuade Isaiah, his heart plummeted.
N. Gronberg
flashed across the display. Tempted to not answer it, he almost set it back on the table, but his conscience got the better of him.
What if it’s business, Whitcomb?
He hit the call button and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey, Nico, what’s up?”

“Sean, I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I need to talk to you about this dinner thing.” The frustration in the man’s voice mimicked his own. “If I had any choice in the matter, you’d have the partnership in the bag, but Dhanajit came up with this cockamamie scheme, and of course Tlotzin went along with it. It’s the only way Donnie would have a chance in hell at the promotion. His wife is a damned fine cook.”

He kicked his feet out in front of him then tilted his head back. “I know. Her eggrolls are to die for. Donnie is one lucky man to have nabbed a girl straight from the islands who can cook like a dream.”

“No shit. I’m not sure how the bastard even met someone from the Philippines.” His boss chuckled. “But regardless, I’m going to vote for you, even if you give us canned ravioli and frozen garlic bread. I think the partnership should be based on merit.
Not
how well your mate cooks. I argued with Dhanajit about this, but of course in the end, I was overruled.” A heavy exhale echoed through the phone. “I’m afraid, however, it’s still going to leave you in a bit of a jam.”

Irritated with the whole situation, Sean dropped his feet, stood up, and resumed pacing. “I know. Filbeck will side with his nephew. It won’t matter if I somehow manage to create a masterpiece.”

“Right, which will leave the voting tied. It will be Dhanajit you have to convince. So you have to come up with something which will rock his taste buds, but also show him what you keep hidden behind your professional façade. Remind him you’re more than just a young, ambitious man he took under his wing. Use the connection you forged when he found out about your upbringing. He lost his family, spent time in the foster system. He remembers what it’s like to be an orphan. Just remind him you haven’t forgotten. Don’t be afraid to fight dirty because Donnie won’t be.” Nico paused. “I don’t want to lose one of the best lawyers I know because of this bullshit.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Sean rolled his shoulders, stopping in front of the living room window. “I should play on the foster card, even if it smacks of desperation on my part, because lord knows I can’t cook.”

“So find a man. Show the old coot you’re building a new family, just like he did. How many grandkids does he have now?”

He thought about all the smiling faces in the new family pictures Dhanajit showed him. “Nine or ten, at last count.”

“Right. Who do you think is going to better understand why family is so important to him? Donnie, who is always out for number one, or you who play big brother to how many foster kids? Hell, if need be, invite some of them over.”

Turning away from the night skyline, Sean shook his head. “No. I won’t use the kids that way. They are innocent. I’ll find a man.”

“Where? You haven’t dated in nearly two years.”

“Aw, give me a break. It’s not easy to find time with my schedule. Besides, I haven’t found a man I care about enough to go through the fracas that coming out publicly would mean.”

Nico’s laughter filtered through the phone. “Don’t give me that bullshit about you can’t find a man. You’re still hung up on your old flame from that hick town you grew up in. The one who moved up here and now cooks over at that Czech place on Army Post Road. I say you go begging for his forgiveness.”

His hackles went up. “Who said I want his forgiveness?”

“You! So suck it up like a man. Tell him that you were wrong to leave him, but you can’t live without your heart anymore, and you’ll give him anything if he’ll take you back.”

Closing his eyes, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Damn you, Nico. I never should’ve accepted those damn screwdrivers you made the last time we got together. You got my ass drunk and tormented me until I spilled my secrets.”

“Pbbfftt. Like hell I did. You spilled of your own accord. Now, do the right thing. Get him back. I expect to meet the man who has ruined you for all others.”

Sean wanted to beat his head against something. “You may be asking the impossible this time, Nico. How the hell am I going to convince him to take me back if I can’t get him to pick up the phone and call me?”

“There are ways. I’ve seen you in the courtroom. You’re a persuasive man. One who doesn’t lack charm. The day you can’t convince your man you may have screwed up and need a second chance is the day I run naked down Interstate 80.”

Sean flopped back down on the couch and chuckled at the absurdity of his friend’s boast. “Yeah, it should be easy. If I can get Isaiah in the same room with me for more than ten minutes without ending up on the receiving end of his left hook.”

“Well, maybe now he’s gotten the anger out of the way, it won’t be as bad.”

Tossing his arm over his eyes, he sighed. “You’re assuming he’s over it. I know him. He can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.”

“It’s been, what? Ten years? Surely he’s over it by now.”

Letting his arm drop back to his side, he stared at the ceiling. “I’ll try, but if my ass lands in jail for stalking, you’d better come bail me out.”

“Consider it done. Now I have a hot toddy and an even hotter man waiting for me. Just remember what I told you about groveling. It works. All of us make mistakes, and I’m sure your man will forgive you—with the right incentive. I hear blow jobs are quite effective.”

Shaking his head at the muffled chuckles in the background, Sean wondered if he would end up as lucky as Nico. “I think Kell agrees with me. You think sex is the cure for everything.”

His boss laughed. “Of course it is.”

***

The clock struck midnight, and though he should be in bed, Isaiah continued to stare at the crinkled card lying on the table in front of him. It didn’t matter that in less than six hours he’d be haggling with the vendors. Instead of catching some Zs, he sat in the kitchen, wrestling with himself about calling the man who’d blown his world apart when he left him behind.

Why can’t I make a decision and stick to it? I’m worse than pathetic. I actually fished the damned card out of the trash. What is it about Sean that makes me forget everything? I’m smart enough not to let him hurt me again
.

“You know staring at that card isn’t going to satisfy your curiosity, ’Saiah. Just call the man and find out what he wants.” Berta walked over to the fridge in her nightgown and jerked him out of his thoughts. She pulled out a bottle of juice then joined him at the kitchen table. “What can it hurt? If you don’t like what he has to say, just tell him to fuck off and hang up.” She lifted the juice to her mouth and took a long drink.

“It’s not that easy, B. I know me. I have absolutely no immunity to his charm. None. Zip. Zilch. He just has to smile at me, and I turn into mush. I’ll do anything he wants just for the chance to jump his bones.” He dropped his head onto his folded arms. “And it wouldn’t be so bad, but I can’t trust that I don’t still have feelings for him. Ones he’ll exploit to his own ends.” He shook his head. “Nope, I can’t risk it. I have a weak spot for that white boy, which is why I need to stay away from him. I barely survived Hurricane Sean the last time we tangled.”

Setting the bottle down, she smacked him on top of the head. He reared up in surprise. “What did you do that for?”

“If you’re going to sit here and let fear win, you deserve that and more. Why tear yourself up fighting what you want? That sounds like an idiotic move on your part. If I were you, I’d make him pay for every ounce of pain he caused. I’d ride that tight little white ass raw until he begged for mercy. Exorcise him until you don’t remember what you found so attractive about him.”

Inside the loose pajama pants he wore, his cock began to fill. He shot her a dirty look. “Behave, B.”

She shrugged, tossing her braid over her shoulder. Her lips quirked. “Why? When it’s so fun to be bad?” She stood, taking her drink with her. “I know you. If you don’t, you’re gonna play the ‘what if’ game, until I want to choke you. So save me the hassle of knocking some sense into you later. Just call the fool. Hear what he has to say. Decide then if you want to tell him to go to hell, or extract your pound of flesh. Either way, quit belly-aching. I’m headed to bed. Unlike you, I need my beauty sleep.” She wandered out of the room.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re a real bitch, Berta?” he called after her. In response, she flipped him off then disappeared into her room. He sighed when the door clicked shut. After staring at the card for a few more minutes, he gave up, reached for the phone, and dialed the number on the back. Drumming his fingers on the table, he tried to keep calm. It wasn’t easy with his blood racing as it always did when he thought of his ex. He should be too old for this nonsense, but try telling that to his hungry body.

“Hello?”

The deep baritone caused more nerve endings to jump, and he found himself unable to speak past the sudden tightness in his throat.