Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Do you ever think about anything besides my cooking?”
“Oh, baby,” I said with a grin. “You know what else of yours I think about…”
She dropped her look, her cheeks immediately flushing like tomatoes ripe on the vine. “I made you chicken fricassee. It’s a French stew.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“It’s in the fridge downstairs,” she said. “Take a shower, and I’ll have it ready for you.”
“Wow, it’s nice having a wife.”
She smirked as she headed for the door. “Be back soon.”
I took a quick shower and scrubbed my hair dry with a towel before I pulled on a clean pair of shorts and walked into the dining room.
She had the bowl of stew on the table, the steam rising to the ceiling. She sat quietly, still looking tired but relaxed.
I sat across from her. “Go to bed, baby. You don’t need to stay up with me.”
“I want to see if you like it.”
I scooped my spoon in the creamy stew and took a bite, immediately tasting the culmination of several flavors that blended together without overpowering the dish. The chicken was tender. As with all the things she cooked, it was a delicacy. “It’s delicious like everything else you make.”
“Really? I was thinking of having this on the winter menu.”
“And I would order it.”
She smiled. “You aren’t just saying that?”
“No. If it sucked, I would tell you.”
“Really?” she asked, her eyebrow cocked.
“Yes.”
“You would look me in the face and tell me it sucked?”
“I would say it nicer than that, but yes.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I want your restaurant to be a success. I wouldn’t let you make a fool out of yourself. But that doesn’t matter because this shit is good and you have a gift in the kitchen.” I took another bite then wiped my mouth with the napkin. “And the bedroom.”
“That’s awfully generous since I don’t do much in the bedroom.”
“Being sexy is your contribution.” I continued to eat, arms on the table, feeling the cold fade away as the warmth filled my stomach.
She watched me eat in silence. “So, did the Colombians agree to come back?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”
“You said you wanted out.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”
When I took another bite, I took my time getting it down, trying to decide how to play this. “They said they weren’t interested in continuing a partnership. But Theo thinks they’ll change their minds.”
“Why would they change their minds?”
“Because they’ll realize they can’t substitute us with another client or several clients. We move far more product than anyone else, and they fucking know it. And they can’t take this territory themselves or partner with someone who can take this territory. After they bleed so much money, they’ll come running back.”
She gave a slight nod in agreement. “They need you more than you need them.”
“Should have just left it alone.”
“Men get greedy.”
“They get stupid is more like it.” I ate from the bowl until there was nothing left. It was warm and delicious, far better than anything my chef could make and better than anything I could order at a local restaurant. It shocked me that she had no professional training, that her approach to cooking was so natural and organic. No pun intended. “We should start looking around for a spot for the restaurant. Location is everything.”
“I was thinking close to the market. People get hungry after they do their shopping.”
“Then we’ll start there,” I said. “But first, let’s go to bed. I need to thank you for the dinner you made me.”
The flush moved into her cheeks again, but a smile was there too. “It’s late. Let’s go to sleep—”
“No, I want some dessert.” I rose from the chair and came around the table to grab her. “Something sweet.” I scooped her into my arms and lifted her from the chair to carry her to the bedroom. “Something pretty…”
It was almost dark when I arrived at Dante’s property.
It was one of the darkest days of the year, so the light was gone just shy of five o’ clock, and it was fitting for the occasion because anytime I was in this man’s presence it felt like a nightmare. I was escorted into the parlor but not offered a refreshment, treated like an enemy rather than an ally who had saved his life.
He entered a moment later and took the seat across from me, the displeasure pulsing in his eyes like a flickering lightbulb. His arms were on the armrests, and he crossed his legs like he was a stuffy museum curator. “Have the Colombians reached out?”
“I’m not here to talk about business.”
“Then what are you here to talk about?”
“You know what.” There was one thing that connected us now. Or, I should say, one person who connected us. “I love Scarlett, and she knows I do because I told her.” I’d told her when I should have told her sooner. Instead of playing it cool because it was too soon in the relationship to drop the L-bomb, I should have just straightened my spine and spoken my mind. “But she won’t say it back…and I know why.”