by Tina Martin
Gabrielle could feel her pain. And women thought it was easy being married to millionaires...
While it provided a comfortable lifestyle, a lot came with being the wife of a millionaire boss – especially with that of the Alexander men. Their drive – the sheer power of their unrelenting work ethic was infectious enough to rub off on their wives making it difficult for them to be stay-at-home, kept women when they wanted to pursue something with as equal determination as their spouses.
“Um…” Gabrielle said, reaching for something in response. Anything. “Okay, why not volunteer at one of Padma’s restaurants? Charity doesn’t waitress anymore since she’s busy at the school and I’m sure Padma could always use the help.”
“I do volunteer sometimes, but it’s not my thing. It’s Padma’s restaurant.”
“What is your thing Lalita?” Gabrielle took a sip of water, watching Lalita’s face ball up.
Lalita shrugged. “I don’t know.” She chuckled softly and added, “I really don’t. I just want to do something besides sit around the house and clean all day.”
Gabrielle repositioned Amryn, who was steadily reaching for her glass of water, then asked, “Why not take some time to figure out what it is you want to do, then approach Prasad with it? You know how these Alexander men operate. They like to plan. If you present Prasad with a plan, maybe he’d be more open to listen.”
Lalita nodded. “Maybe…guess the ball is back in my court, then, which means, it’s time for me to do some planning.”
Gabrielle saw the spark in Lalita’s eyes. The hope. “T.J., it’s time to go,” she said loud enough so T.J. could hear her from upstairs. Moments later, she heard him jogging down the stairs, quickly embracing her. “Okay, we have to get your jacket on, baby,” she told him. After she got Amryn situated in her car seat and wrapped snuggly in a pink blanket, she put on T.J.’s coat.
“I hope you think of something, Lalita.”
“Me, too,” she said.
Chapter 6
-*- Preston and Tamera -*-
Armed with her executive notebook and black leather Coach bag, Tamera stepped inside of Italia like she owned the place. She matched a black, knee-length Peplum dress that accentuated her small waist with a pair of black heels, simple enough yet elegant at the same time, especially with her short pixie haircut neatly curled. She enjoyed writing restaurant reviews as much as she enjoyed the new food she got to try every two weeks, but it seemed she had time to fit in more reviews than normal as of late. Still, she thoroughly enjoyed it since, these days, she was no longer working for Charlotte Magazine. She worked for herself now. Months after she launched her own business – Different Tastes Food Reviews – it quickly became a top Charlotte restaurant resource for foodies all across the city. If Tamera Alexander-Michaels didn’t like your restaurant, chances were you’d lose the business of the people who actually read her review of your restaurant. Good reviews equaled higher sales.
After being shown to a table, she sat down and absorbed the energy of the place. Red opened-globed lights hung from the ceiling of every table. Nice, she thought, taking out her notebook, writing a note concerning the décor and ambience of the place.
Review notes for Italia
-Eclectic/modern furniture with a romantic vibe
-Grade A/clean & tidy
-Quiet/a nice place for a date?
Hmm…what else?
The carpet was a dark cranberry color and while she wasn’t a fan of carpeted restaurant floors, she thought this one was well-maintained and clean. The tabletops were all black granite – maybe quartz. The chairs were also black and in the area where she was seated, there was a working fireplace. This restaurant was the perfect romantic setting for a date night which had her thinking about her boo. Preston. She couldn’t remember the last time they had an actual date night. Dinner at home didn’t count, especially if there were no candles involved and there wasn’t.
She sighed. Why couldn’t Preston have a normal job? She wanted to see him so badly, she pictured him sitting behind his desk, remembering the first time they’d met and how good he looked in a suit. He always looked handsome and downright dapper with his commanding presence and professional confidence. And—
“Well, if it isn’t Tamera Alexander-Michaels,” a dark-haired white man said in an Italian accent as he came to stand next to her table.
Tamera was so deep in thought, she didn’t notice the man approaching. That’s how much she missed her husband.
“Oh, hi. Yes. I’m Tamera. Do I know you?”
“Ciao. I’m Francesco Bianchi, the owner of this fine establishment. I take it you’re here to review Italia.”
Tamera smiled. “Yes, Mr. Bianchi. I am. I must say, the ambience in this place is magnificent.”
“Grazie. I’m glad it’s to your liking, madam.”
“Is it always this dead on Tuesday nights? For such an exclusive restaurant, I figured you’d be busy every night of the week.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Michaels. Italia stays busy but tonight is special. You’re our only guest.”
Tamera frowned. Only guest? Francesco must’ve gotten word she was coming today and decided to close the restaurant to the public just to concentrate on her and the food they would prepare. She shook her head. Unbelievable. The lengths people would go to for a good review…
Her temple pulsated. “You knew I was coming here tonight, didn’t you, so you closed the restaurant to the public to woo me?” Tamera asked testily, already gathering her things, preparing to leave because that’s not how she operated. All of her reviews would be fair. She would not compromise the integrity of her business for over-eager restaurant owners who tried to impress her.
“Mrs. Michaels, I can assure you that—” the owner began but was interrupted by another voice, a familiar one that said, “Actually, I knew you were coming and decided to shut the place down so we could have some time alone.”
Tamera’s mouth fell open and she turned around so fast, she nearly got whiplash at the sound of Preston’s voice. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There he was standing there in a black suit that matched her dress, holding a single red rose.
She still couldn’t find words.
He smiled at her before sending the owner away to give them privacy. He undid the button of his suit jacket, taking a seat in a chair across from her.
A look of wonderment came over Tamera’s face as she stared across the table at her husband. She hadn’t seen him leave this morning and didn’t expect to see him again until tomorrow morning since she was usually asleep whenever he got home but now – good Lord, right now – he was sitting across from her looking well-groomed, well-dressed and delectable. She should give the restaurant a riveting review just because of this…
“This is for you,” he said, handing her the rose finally.
She didn’t reach for it. Neither hand moved. She was in a trance. Temporarily immobilized.
He quirked up his lips and laid the rose on the table in front of her instead. When her eyes followed the rose, he nudged her chin up with his index finger so she’d connect her eyes, dilated pupils and all, with his eyes. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she responded, grimacing slightly, still trying to understand how he was able to pull this off.
“You look speechless,” he told her.
“I’m more shocked than anything else. I’m thinking about pinching myself.”
“Go for it,” he told her. He smiled, revealing a flawless one that matched everything else about him.
With narrowed eyes, she asked, “What are you doing here, Preston?”
“Having dinner with my wife.”
She blushed. “Well, that much is obvious.”
“Are you blushing?”
“No,” she said, feeling her cheeks tighten, so she knew they were blush-red, hubby edition.
“You are. Will you look at that? I still got it,” he said, bringing his hands to a steeple like he was in some heavy nego
tiations at a business meeting of some sort – those crystal cufflinks twinkling beneath the light hovering above their table.
“How did you know I’d be here?”
“Because I make it a point to know everything about you, Tamera Michaels.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You do?”
“Everything.”
She held his gaze until a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “You must’ve overheard me say I would be at Italia. Had to. Well, unless you have a GPS tracker on my phone or something.”
“You don’t need to know my sources. You’re my wife. I should know everything about you. With that being said, no, I haven’t tapped your phone and I don’t follow your every move. I trust you. Implicitly.”
“So, how’d you know I would be here?”
Preston leaned back in his chair and thought about giving her his source – how at night when he arrived home, he’d go into her office and read her reviews. He always read her reviews. He’d told her that once before and since his work schedule was more demanding lately, she probably thought he’d ceased reading them. But he hadn’t. And while he was in her office already, he’d glanced at her desk calendar where he saw the restaurant Italia scribbled in for today’s date. Planning everything after that had been a breeze. “I just knew. I’ll leave it at that.”
“And you somehow convinced the owner to give you the place for the night?”
“For the right price, you can convince anyone to do just about anything.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right, and I told him I wanted this place for us tonight.”
“Jeez. I don’t want to know how much you paid him to pull this off.”
“Money’s no object,” he said, and what’s crazy is, he hadn’t said it in a bragging way. It was in a matter-of-factly kind of way. In an I-got-it-like-that kinda way. “By the way, you can order whatever you want on the menu.”
“You are something else,” Tamera said. She was surprised by his gesture, impressed even, but shutting down a restaurant for one night wasn’t going to make up for the months he’d been buried with work. But she couldn’t say this now and wreck the flow of what would prove to be a romantic evening, could she? No, she couldn’t. She wanted to, but dang, the man knew how to come correct.
“Anything for my baby,” he said, just as their waiter brought over a bottle of champagne and two flutes, pouring some for the both of them. They’d also ordered food. Tamera had decided on the lasagna and salad before she arrived, so that’s what she went with. Preston ordered the same and added an appetizer – mussels in a white wine, lemon butter sauce.
Tamera watched him operate, thinking she was a lucky woman to have a man like Preston. His five o’clock shadow was growing in nicely. His suit was as crisp as the shirt he had on underneath it. Even his cufflinks seemed to have an extra bit of bling. She looked at his left hand – at the wedding band there – the ring signaling that he was hers. That he wanted to be hers even though he had other loyalties. Things she deemed more important to him since that’s where he spent most of his time. That’s what she wanted more than anything – his time – and not just a fancy dinner once in a while. Dinner at home more than two miserable times a week would be nice, as well as curling up on the couch to a movie or the ten o’clock news for that matter. She’d be okay with them taking showers together, going for walks – things people who’d been married for less than a year still did since their love was newish. As time passed, those activities usually fell away, she knew, but she didn’t expect that after only a few months in. He was already pushing her to the side to make room for more important matters.
Now, he wanted to be all chivalrous and romantic. How was she supposed to bring it up now? Or was the best course of action to continue pretending she wasn’t bothered by it and enjoy herself at Italia with her dashingly good-looking husband? She’d finally had him all to herself. She didn’t want to ruin it with a slew of whiny complaints.
“How was your day, Tamera?”
Gee. How was my day? He hasn’t asked me that ‘in person’ in forever. I’m not sure I know how to respond. Tamera picked up her glass instead and took a gulp of champagne. Why was she this nervous with her own husband?
“Tamera?”
“Yes?” She looked up, holding his intense eye contact.
“How was your day?”
“Oh. It was okay,” she simply said, purposely keeping her answer brief.
“What’d you do?” he probed further, his eyes tracing her red-tinted lips.
She couldn’t help but think if he was asking because he was genuinely interested, or just trying to fuel up a conversation with them. Reluctantly, she answered by saying, “I worked on an article, ran some errands, straightened up around the house a lil’ bit. What about you, Preston? How was your day?”
“The day was good. Productive. The team finished a few major articles.”
“That’s…wonderful.”
“It is,” he concurred. He took a sip of champagne while never breaking his gaze with her. Lowering his glass, he said, “With those articles finished, it gives me more free time.”
“More free time,” she said, playing with the stem of the rose he’d given her. “So, in other words, now you have time for me.”
Her words jolted him because he knew exactly what she meant and why she felt that way. He cleared his throat and responded, “I always have time for you.”
She shook her head. “Um…not really, but whatever. We don’t have to go into details about time or lack thereof. Besides, we’re here, it’s romantic…there’s fire…let’s just eat.”
His expression grew somber. “We’re not just here to eat, sweetheart. I know we need to talk, Tamera. I know you’re frustrated with me. To be honest with you, I’m frustrated with myself.”
“How so?” Tamera asked, glancing at her notebook. For a split second, it crossed her mind to take notes about this so-called, frustration. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.
“Because as your husband—” he began, but stopped abruptly when he noticed she wasn’t looking at him. He reached across the table and tilted her chin up for the second time this evening. “As your husband, it’s never my intention to make you feel like there’s anything in my life that’s more important than you. Admittedly, I’ve done that, and I’m sorry.”
Tamera closed her eyes, absorbing his apology and feeling happy that he understood her feelings. It’s like he was reading her mind. She opened her eyes after successfully forcing away the little bit of wetness that threatened to ruin her mascara.
“Here is your appetizer. The cook insisted upon making two of these appetizer samplers so enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Preston told their waiter.
“I’ll be back with your salads shortly.”
When the waiter walked away, Preston stared at Tamera in a longing, loving way, taking in her emotions – feelings he’d caused and not good ones. She was on the verge of tears and that alone stabbed him in the heart.
He picked up a mussel and said, “Try it.”
It wasn’t something she’d order and he knew that. Still, she sampled it and nodded, telling him how much she wasn’t a fan of the texture but appreciated the flavor, immediately wondering if it was good because of the way the chef cooked it or because this was just the way mussels tasted.
“I’ve never known you to be a woman of few words,” he told her.
“About the mussels?” Tamera asked, glancing at the dish.
“No. About me. Talk to me about what I just said concerning my work.”
“Oh. We’re back to that. I thought we were just going to let that go. Now, that you’ve apologized, what else is there left to say?”
“Whatever you’ve been holding inside. My apology isn’t a way of cutting you off. I want to hear what you have to say.”
Tamera took a sip of water, getting her thoughts together. She set her glass on the table, look
ed up at him, immediately thrown off base by his exceptionally good looks, but somewhat stayed the course by saying, “I—um—I’ve been keeping myself so busy lately only because you’ve been busy. My goal is to do only one restaurant review every two weeks, but this week alone I booked two because I knew I would be home alone and I didn’t want to be home alone. Again. Tonight. I wanted you there with me. So many nights I’ve wanted you with me, Preston. Needed you,” she added, and her voice wavering.
He nodded, grimacing at the hurt he could hear in her voice.
“I don’t like the amount of time we spend together,” she continued. “You’re hardly ever home and when you are home, you’re focused on what to do next to keep the magazine running. When will the focus be on us? On getting to know and learn each other? I know you work hard and so do I, but gosh, Preston—you deserve a break. A life outside of Charlotte Recreational and I deserve a husband who’d be willing to push everything else to the side for me.”
He nodded while saying, “You’re absolutely right. I can’t dispute anything you’re saying. You’re right. A man—a real man—has no problem admitting when he’s wrong, and I’ve wronged you. Tonight is the first of many steps to make it better.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
Preston picked up his champagne glass from the table, raised it and said, “To new beginnings.”
Tamera followed suit and raised her glass. “To new beginnings.”
They both drank champagne and then the salads were served.
Tamera looked at it. Analyzed it. She had a thing about having a good salad. And this one had lettuce, tomatoes, red onions, cucumbers, peppers and croutons – drizzled with a rich, house Italian dressing. Looked delicious. The restaurant would certainly get good marks for their salad. “I had planned on reviewing this restaurant. You don’t mind if I still take notes, do you?”
“Not at all. Do whatever you have to do.”
Tamera picked up the pen and tapped on the notebook. “It almost seems wrong to review it now. They’re probably being extra nice and making sure the food is extra good since Preston Michaels bought the place for the night.”