He slid back the doors to a walk-in closet. Recessed lights illuminated the efficiently organized space. Laundered shirts in every hue occupied three shelves above slanted shelves for shoes ranging from patent leather dress to leather slip-ons. Suit and sports jackets were arranged according to color, as were slacks and trousers. Her gaze lingered on silk ties too numerous to count.
Lance extended his free hand. “Take your pick.”
Easing her hand from his gentle grasp, Dina walked over to the suits in shades of brown. She needed to select a suit that would complement his shirt with the white collar and his silk tie dotted with minute chocolate-brown-and-white checks.
Her fingers touched jacket after jacket until she turned and smiled at Lance. “This one would look better on you.” She’d chosen one in a warm henna-brown.
He took the jacket off the rod and held it up close to his face. It was perfect for his coloring. Her smile was dazzling. “It looks wonderful.”
“What do I do with the suit I’m wearing?”
“Give it to a men’s shelter.”
A smile spread across Lance’s face at the same time a bell chimed throughout the apartment. His smile vanished quickly. “That’s the concierge.” He walked out of the closet and pressed a button on the wall in the bedroom. “Yes,” he said into the small speaker. “Yes, thank you. Your driver’s here,” he said to Dina, who’d followed him. These were the times he regretted—having to leave her. She took a deep breath, causing his gaze to linger on the roundness of her breasts under her blouse.
“I’d better get my things and leave or I’ll be late.”
“Call me and let me know how it went.”
She nodded. “I’ll call you when I get back to the motel.”
“You don’t have a cell phone?”
“No,” Dina said, lying yet again. She couldn’t call Lance from her cell phone because her grandmother’s name would come up on the display, and she didn’t want to have to explain Dora Jenkins.
“Don’t leave yet,” Lance said cryptically as he left the bedroom, Adina in pursuit. He retrieved a cell phone and punched in a series of numbers. Picking up a charger, he handed both to her. “Use this one. I just programmed in the numbers where you can contact me.”
“What will you use?”
He smiled a thin-lipped smile. “I have another one.”
Her eyebrows lifted questioningly. “Are you sure you don’t need it?”
“Take it, Dina.” Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. “Good luck with your interview.”
Resting a hand on his smooth cheek, Dina rose to tiptoe and kissed him. “Thanks for everything.”
“Call me, Dina.”
She stared up him. “I will.”
Cupping her elbow, Lance walked her to the door, where she picked up her bag and purse. He stood with her in the elevator as it descended to the lobby; when the driver took her bag and escorted her to the car, he rode the elevator back to his apartment, closing the door softly behind him.
He’d spent almost twenty-four uninterrupted hours with Dina Gordon, and still it wasn’t enough.
CHAPTER 25
Sybil Cumberland stood in the doorway to her private office, waiting for Dina Gordon. I’m going to hire her as sure as my name is Sybil Bernadette Johnson-Cumberland, she thought.
A knowing smile found its way across Sybil’s face with Dina’s approach. She didn’t know what it was about the young woman who’d arrived—on time—for her interview, but instinctively Sybil knew she’d hit the mother lode. Her male clients would love Dina.
Maybe it was her sexy slightly bow-legged walk, her perfect legs in a pair of high-heel pumps, her tiny curvy body or the too beautiful exotic-looking face, but she knew adding the petite woman to her staff would impact the business appreciably. Whether it was food, decor, centerpieces or waitstaff, it all came down to one thing: presentation.
Everything had to be dramatic, eye-appealing, and there was no doubt that Dina Gordon was eye candy of the finest quality. Now, if she could present as well as she looked, then SJC Catering will have hit the jackpot.
Extending her hand, Sybil gave Dina a warm smile. “Hello, Dina, I’m Sybil Cumberland.”
Dina returned the chef’s smile with a friendly one of her own. She took her hand. She didn’t know what to expect or how a female chef was suppose to look because all those on the Food Network ranged from stick-thin to full and curvy. Sybil wore a black tunic over a pair of black pin-striped pants. She broke up the somber color with a pair of bright yellow leather clogs. Her hair, pulled off her face in a ponytail, was so blue-black it looked dyed. The light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose was the only color in her bare face. With a little makeup and a new do, Sybil Cumberland was certain to garner her share of male attention.
“Dina Gordon.”
Sybil’s smile vanished quickly as she eased her fingers from Dina’s firm grip. Dina’s voice was low, smoky, belying her age. She remembered her mother’s voice, which was low enough for her to be mistaken for a man because of a two-pack-a-day cigarette habit. Her mother smoked and her father drank excessively—addictions she abhorred.
“Have you had dinner, Dina? I hope you don’t mind if I call you Dina. I deal with enough formality when conferring with my clients.”
Dina hesitated, staring at Sybil Cumberland in confusion. She’d come to interview for a position, not eat. “No, I don’t mind. And, no, I haven’t,” she said truthfully. Lance had offered to prepare lunch for her, but she’d been too anxious to eat.
“What would you like?”
“What are my choices?”
Sybil’s face was impassive. Dina’s query told her a lot about her. She was cautious. “You can have fish, chicken, beef, lamb or pork.”
Dina glanced at the chef’s hands. She wasn’t wearing any rings. “I’d like the fish, Ms. Cumberland.”
“Will grilled red snapper do?” Sybil asked.
Dina nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
Sybil extended her hand. “Please come with me.”
Dina followed Sybil down a narrow hallway to a set of double doors and into an enormous gleaming stainless-steel industrial kitchen. Pots, pans and cooking utensils hung from overhead racks, while steam from a tall pot on a stove top filled the space with a mouthwatering aroma. A tall black man stood at a large double sink, spraying water from a retractable hose over a colander filled with spinach leaves.
Adina had never been interviewed, so she didn’t know what to expect. Were all potential bosses as informal as Sybil Cumberland? Did she treat all applicants the same by offering to feed them? Or was she being tested? She waited while Sybil whispered something to the man; he nodded in agreement.
Sybil returned to Dina. “We’ll eat and talk over there.” She pointed to an alcove at the opposite end of the kitchen with a round table and four chairs.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m interviewing you in the kitchen,” Sybil said once they were seated.
Dina gave her a direct look. “Yes, I am. I’ve never been interviewed in a kitchen. No, let me correct that—I’ve never been on an interview before.”
A flicker of one black eyebrow was the only indication of Sybil’s response to the younger woman’s disclosure. “I interview all applicants in the kitchen because I want them to see up close and personal what they’re going to have to deal with. The kitchen is the heartbeat of every restaurant and catering business. It’s hot and it’s noisy. There are chefs screaming at one another, waitstaff and busboys. You’ll have to be on your toes at all times. In other words, don’t bother to come in if you don’t intend to bring your A game. Do I make myself understood?”
Dina nodded. “I understand.”
Sybil flashed what could pass for a smile. “It’s against the law to ask you your age, but I’m going to do it anyway. How old are you, Dina?”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“You’re twenty-seven and you don’t have any work expe
rience?”
“Yes, I’ve worked, but not at a traditional job.”
“What I can ask is if you’ve ever been convicted of a felony?”
A smile stole its way across Dina’s face. “No convictions and no arrests.”
Sybil gave Dina a long, penetrating stare. “I’m going to need you to complete an application for employment. If what you put down is proven to be false, then I can and will let you go without warning.”
Some basic instinct for self-preservation seized Dina. There was no way she could fast-talk or con Sybil Cumberland into hiring her. She had to be straight or get up and walk out.
“I need a job, Ms. Cumberland. I also need an apartment, a legal address so I can apply for a social security card and a driver’s license. I’m currently living in a motel in Irvington, and although it’s not the Waldorf-Astoria, the room rate is eating away my savings. I have no experience working in a restaurant, but I’m a quick learner and I work well with other people. You don’t have to worry about me being late, because I’m always on time. I don’t smoke or drink, so you—”
“Enough, Dina,” Sybil said, cutting off her passionate plea. “I’d go to church if I wanted to hear a sermon.” The brown color in the hazel eyes disappeared, leaving them a cold, frosty green. “Is that your hair or are you wearing a piece?” she asked, knowing she’d startled Dina when her eyes widened.
Dina touched the coil of hair she’d secured with pins on the nape of her neck. “It’s mine.”
Sybil nodded. “Good. When you come to work, I want you to wear it down and in a ponytail. The first time I see you with a matronly bun, you’re out. I’m going to hire you to check coats because right now I have nothing else.”
Biting down on her lower lip to still its trembling, Dina whispered a silent prayer of thanks. “But it’s almost the summer, Ms. Cumberland. Will people still need coat check?”
Sybil’s small mouth tightened into a hard line. “Do you or don’t you want to work, Dina? Don’t forget that you’re meeting with me today because I’m doing it as a favor for Karla King.”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, I do want to work for you.”
The seconds ticked off as the two women regarded each other. Dina was the first to drop her gaze. Sybil’s glare softened noticeably. “Now that we’ve resolved that misunderstanding, I’ll give you some background on SJC Catering.”
CHAPTER 26
Sybil sat at the desk in her office, cradling the telephone between her chin and shoulder, waiting for a break in the connection. “This is Karla,” said the familiar female voice through the earpiece.
“Where are you, Karla?” She could hardly make out what she was saying because of a clacking background sound.
“I’m on the train. It’s just pulling into High Bridge. Give me a minute to get to the parking lot.”
Sybil didn’t envy Karla, who drove her car to the High Bridge station, parked, then got on the train for a two-and-a-half-hour ride to Trenton. The reason she’d urged Cory to relocate from Plainsboro to West Orange was the commute. At first he’d resisted, but he’d eventually relented.
“Sybil, I’m back. What’s up?”
“I hired her.”
“Thanks.”
“No, Karla, thank you.”
“Did she tell you that she has no experience?”
Sybil nodded although Karla couldn’t see her. “Yes. That’s okay because, as a diamond in the rough, I can train her to suit my needs.”
“I’m glad you could help her. I hope you and Cory haven’t made plans for the Fourth, because Ronald and I are hosting a cookout.”
“Count us in.”
“Don’t forget to bring a swimsuit.”
“Should I bring anything?” Sybil asked.
“Please don’t. Come and relax.”
She chatted with Karla for another few minutes, circling July fourth on her planner, then rang off. Tension knotted her stomach; she pressed a hand to her middle. Reaching into a drawer, she took out a bottle of antacids and placed two under her tongue.
Leaning back in her chair, Sybil closed her eyes, waiting for the antacids to counter the buildup of acid churning in her belly. She’d done it again—she’d skipped breakfast and lunch. And eating more than twenty hours after her last meal always played havoc with her digestive system.
She opened her eyes, picked up a marker and wrote in bold black letters: Do Not Skip Meals! on a Post-it.
The reason she’d met with Dina Gordon was because one of her elite clients had canceled on her earlier that morning. What had left her in a foul mood was that she’d rearranged her schedule to accommodate him. Her annoyance had surfaced during the interview, but Dina had appeared oblivious to it or chosen not to take notice of her mercurial moods. Her gaze shifted to the application bearing Dina’s name. She’d filled in Pending on the lines for her address and social security number.
Sybil had hired two of Karla’s special clients in the past, and with surprising results. One had become her best waiter and the other was now a first-year culinary student. What Dina didn’t know was that she was going to be put to the test—and if she passed, then her reward would be incalculable.
Fifteen minutes later Sybil rang the kitchen to inform her assistant that she was leaving. She would return the following morning to prepare a banquet for a fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration. The couple’s initial guest list had gone from fifty-eight to seventy-two, prompting Sybil to move the party from the first-to the second-floor ballroom.
She changed into a pair of well-washed jeans, a tank top and a pair of comfortable running shoes. Locking the door to her private office, Sybil headed out to the parking lot. Slipping behind the wheel of her late-model Toyota Sequoia, she drove out of the lot, taking a local road. It was a longer route, but there was no reason to rush home. Cory was working late, and she would probably be in bed by the time he returned home.
Sybil pressed a button on the device attached to her truck’s visor. Her heart stopped, then started up again in a runaway pounding when she saw her husband’s car parked in its usual spot in the two-car garage. What was he doing home so early? The most horrific thoughts swirled around in her head as she got out of the vehicle and raced into the house. A soft beeping sound reminded her that she’d forgotten to lower the garage door. Her fingers touched a pad and the door lowered automatically.
Setting her handbag down on a table in the dramatic two-story foyer, she headed for the family room. There were two places where she was certain to find Cory whenever he came home: the family room or the bedroom.
The reason Sybil had fallen in love with the nearly completed house in the exclusive gated community was the two-story foyer and family room. The thirty-four-hundred-square-foot high ranch had four bedrooms, three and a half baths, a two-car garage, a kitchen island with a nook, a formal dining room and a master suite with corner soaking tub and Jack-and-Jill bath suite.
The house, like her business, had become a great source of joy for Sybil. Her childhood yearnings to be perfect in bed, in the kitchen and in her career were manifested the day she and Cory closed on the West Orange property.
She found her husband sprawled across a sunny-yellow leather chaise, asleep, while images flickered on the large flat-screen mounted on the opposite wall. He wore a white T-shirt and a pair of threadbare jeans that she should’ve discarded years ago yet hadn’t because Cory claimed they were his favorite pair. Her gaze lingered on his slender, athletic body. Light from a floor lamp bathed his composed face in a soft, flattering glow.
Leaning over, she touched his shoulder. His skin was cool under the cotton fabric. He came awake immediately, staring at her with a startled expression freezing his features until he recognized her face. “What are you doing here?”
Sybil leaned closer and kissed his forehead. “I live here.”
Reaching up, Cory pulled his wife down to sit on his lap. “You know what I mean. I thought you were working late tonight.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, Sybil rested her head on Cory’s shoulder. He smelled of soap and clean laundry. “My client canceled at the last minute.”
What she couldn’t tell him was that the aborted liaison was only supposed to consist of a party of two: she and the client. Whenever she donned a black latex bodysuit and concealed her face behind a black mask to wield a whip better than Halle Berry’s Catwoman, she was no longer Sybil, but Delectable the dominatrix.
“I remember you telling me that you were also working late tonight, darling.”
Cory closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I can’t test the new aeronautical software until the programmers work out a few bugs.” The company where he worked as a quality-assurance manager had been awarded a military government contract to write an aeronautical software program for a sophisticated spy drone.
“What do you do now?” Sybil asked.
“Sit around doing nothing or take some of my vacation days before I lose them.”
He glanced down to find Sybil staring up at him. “Can I interest you to take a few days off and hang out with me?”
Sybil wrinkled her nose. “Cory, you know this is my busiest season.”
His lids came down over his soulful-looking eyes. “When is it not your busy season, Sybil? Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day and let’s not forget Memorial Day through Christmas again. I’m the only married guy at work who doesn’t take a vacation with his wife.”
“That’s because they all have children.”
“Ah, children,” he drawled facetiously, “those wonderful little creatures that make a house a home.” After four years of marriage he was more than ready to become a father.
“I thought we agreed to wait until we celebrated our fifth anniversary,” Sybil said in a soft, but lethal tone.
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