Creed (The Marquette Family Book One)

by Lockwood, Tressie

  Creed pushed his hands into his pockets. “The floor in the main hall. It can’t stay like that, Damen, and you know it. If someone were to catch their foot…”

  Damen groaned. “You’re right.”

  Creed glanced at Stefan. “We don’t fix floors. Understood?”

  Stefan caved. “Okay, we can get workmen in for that.”

  “And a few other things.”

  “But we’ll stay and oversee it,” Stefan insisted.

  “Whatever.” Creed saw the way his brother bounced on his heels and knew Stefan hadn’t revealed all of his plan.

  “How cool would it be to have the Marquettes serving?”

  Creed stared. “Are you insane, Stefan?”

  “Damen’s already agreed.”

  “Bullied into it, more like,” Damen said.

  “I’m not serving tables.” Creed folded his arms over his chest.

  “I already have your uniform.” Stefan winked, reminding Creed of someone else with the same overeager attitude.

  “Do you want me serving fools, Stefan, and lose my temper?”

  Both his brothers paled.

  “We might be out of business in a week,” Daman said.

  Creed bristled.

  “Okay, okay,” Stefan conceded. “You can be the manager. Keep all of us on point. Oh, wait, you already do that. Boring.”

  Creed started to respond to this second dig at his personality and general usefulness, when they were interrupted.

  “Hello, I called from the door, but no one answered.” A young woman with long, flowing blond hair and beautiful blue eyes gave them a wave. “I’m supposed to start here today, waitressing.”

  Both Damen and Stefan darted forward to take her hand, and Creed took his time joining them. He did appreciate the beauty, but he switched his mind into work mode. Might as well get started and at least try to rein in his brothers while he was at it.

  Chapter Three

  Shada held up a blouse and frowned at it. “Sis, are you sure about this one? I think it shrank in the wash the last time.”

  Her foster sister, Marisa, turned to examine the top. With tiny buttons that ran from the bottom hem to the top hem at the front, it had once been cute. The Victorian-style ruffles at the neck and the short bell sleeves always gave Marisa a look of having escaped from the past, and Shada loved the blouse on her.

  “How can you tell?” Marisa asked. “It’s a belly shirt.”

  “Yeah, but it shouldn’t be so short your boobs hang out the bottom.”

  Marisa chuckled and then coughed, making Shada worry. Shada tried to keep her sister cheerful, but half the time she ended up regretting making Marisa laugh, especially when it turned into an exhausting coughing fit.

  “Are you okay?” Shada dropped the blouse and rushed to her sister. She gently rubbed her back.

  Marisa waved her off. “I’m fine. Stop worrying. I let you pack for me, didn’t I?”

  Shada smirked and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you let me. I’m throwing this thing out. We can buy new clothes.”

  Marisa had gone back to her reading, but at Shada’s words, she looked up with a frown. “We shouldn’t spend the money we don’t have too quickly. Let’s wait until we get down there and get settled.”

  “Why does that sound like you expect me to get fired?”

  “No way, Shada. Anyone who tastes the deliciousness of your food couldn’t help but hire you. You even tried to kill Creed Marquette, and he still wants to employ you.”

  Shada burst out laughing. “Damn, do you have to rub it in? I feel like crap about it as it is. But, girl, you should have seen his—”

  “Ah!” Marisa held up a hand, her pale cheeks going pink. “I dreamed about it the whole night after you told me. All I could imagine was…well, never mind. I don’t need a repeat of it. No one but Shada Howard could have stripped a man naked and then saved his life.”

  “I didn’t strip him. Although I could have, because he was yummy.”

  Marisa blinked at her. “I wonder what my book has to say about that.”

  “Don’t you dare psychoanalyze me, Marisa. This was not some Freudian slip.”

  “Freud would disagree.”

  “I don’t want to hear from him, and that’s final.” Shada suppressed a grin and got back to packing Marisa’s things. “I’m so excited! Can you imagine? He hired me as the chef at his restaurant? Me? It’s a dream come true. I’ve always been fighting to get recognized, and one mistake gets me here. I call that fate, not Freud!”

  Marisa smiled, but Shada noted the dark rings starting to form around her sister’s eyes. She needed her rest, and Shada intended to insist she hit the sack earlier than usual because of their flight in the morning. A three-hour plane ride would wear Marisa out, even if she napped while they flew. Shada had made sure to take care of every detail, including having their things shipped down, unpacked, and placed in their new apartment before they arrived. Because he was offering a job in another state, Creed had given her an advance for relocation. Already, the man was shaping up to be a fantastic boss, better than all the others she’d had. They had embarrassing history, but if he could get past it, so could she. I definitely will, for the salary he’s offering.

  “New Orleans, Marisa,” she chirped. “We’re going to be living in the world-famous French Quarter. I can’t wait!”

  “Me either,” Marisa agreed. Then she sighed. “Are you sure, Shada? You had just gotten that new job, and your boss liked you.”

  “Don’t be negative, sis.”

  “I’m just saying it was a bird in hand.”

  “One I got for my butt.”

  Marisa blinked at her. Her sis knew nothing of having too much junk in the trunk or the temptations it could provide for the male population. Marisa had been rail-thin and sickly all her life. The diagnosis of cystic fibrosis came late, and the disease grew severe in adulthood. Her health aside, Marisa was a pretty redhead with no ass. Shada adored her just as she was.

  “He liked my ass too much,” Shada said. “Come to think of it, before all the crazy happened, I’m pretty sure Creed’s gaze strayed to my boobs a few times.”

  Marisa seemed annoyed at her words. “Are you sure it’s not all in your head? After all, your response to them looking is what gets you in trouble a lot of times.”

  Shada held up a finger to emphasize her point. “No, the fact that these men don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves is what gets them slapped. Get it straight.”

  “And cursed out.”

  Shada rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  After they left the talk of men and jobs behind, Shada encouraged her sister to get into bed, and she took the rest of the items she needed to her own room to finish packing. Early the next day, a mover was coming to gather the items she had packed, and they were heading to the airport. She had elected to take a flight later than first thing, because Marisa needed a lot of extra time waking up and getting ready. Mentally, Shada went over all she needed to do regarding transferring Marisa to a new doctor and hospital for her regular care. Shada was pretty sure she had arranged everything and gotten the paperwork in order, but she liked to triple check.

  As she taped the last box, Shada recalled the experience with Creed. Her stomach clenched at what had almost happened. The thought that she might have killed him still weighed on her mind. Entering foster care at thirteen because her parents were killed and then having Marisa become sick to the point of living on disability, Shada didn’t take this type of thing lightly. Hell, she was trained in lifesaving techniques, for Pete’s sake. She had been credits away from becoming a registered nurse when she realized her real passion and became a chef. Thanks to the ever-psychoanalyzing Ms. Marisa, who had accused her of becoming a nurse only out of a misguided sense of responsibility, she’d faced the truth of her real love—food.

  Shada shook her head, smiling. She loved Marisa more than anyone, and she wouldn’t go anywhere without her. Her sister had been willi
ng to move at the drop of a hat, all because of Shada’s excitement.

  This will be fine, won’t it? she wondered for the millionth time. Sure, she could be impulsive, and that’s what had gotten her in trouble when her old boss refused to let her try some of her own dishes on the hotel guests. The move had been foolish, dangerous, and it could have landed her in serious hot water, beyond just getting fired. Why did she have to act without thinking sometimes? Tunnel vision was what Marisa called it, and a temper, anger that came from the feeling that so often life wasn’t fair. Shada tended to fly in the face of it to forge her own way. So far, she had fallen flat on her face more often than not.

  “This time it’s going to be different,” she muttered and caressed the job-offer letter from Creed. “I’m going to prove myself to him and the people of New Orleans. I’m the best damn chef out there!”

  She chuckled and headed in to take a shower. Tomorrow was a big day and the beginning of a new life.

  * * * *

  Shada stepped inside the restaurant and breathed in the atmosphere of the place. Jazz music played overhead. She had expected a sea of tables and chairs with pristine white tablecloths and fancy settings, all waiting for patrons. Instead, the tables were missing, and there were spots on the floor where someone had obviously been making repairs. A runway had been taped off to indicate where one could step safely. She navigated it, hearing voices in the back. When she reached double doors with round porthole-like windows, she knew she had arrived at her kitchen. She pushed her way inside. A thrill raced through her system at the sight of the gigantic commercial refrigerators, the stoves, the unbelievable counter space. She assumed the additional doors to her right led to the pantry and maybe a walk-in freezer. The hotel restaurant had been fancy, but Marquette’s just felt better.

  A man in glasses stood leaning against the counter, eating a plate of food. He spoke with another man, and Shada could have sworn they were twins. Big builds, dark hair. She couldn’t see the color of their eyes, but something about them put her in mind of Creed.

  “Hello,” she called.

  Both men stopped talking to face her. The one in glasses seemed to perk up. He set his plate down on the counter and scooted over to her. “Hello, you are…?”

  He took her hand and held it, not even shaking it but trapping her in his grasp. The intensity in his gaze made her blink as he studied her face. Shada was aware of how sexy he was, and he smelled delicious, but physically, she didn’t respond. This man seemed like a knock-off of Creed, and she almost laughed thinking about it.

  “I’m Shada Howard. Are you Creed’s brother?”

  Before he could answer, the other man moved forward and knocked his brother away. “Don’t mind him, Shada. That’s Damen, and I’m Stefan. Yes, we’re Creed’s brothers. Welcome to New Orleans and Marquette’s. Did you have a good flight down?”

  She somehow retrieved her hand. So the middle brother was a flirt. Good to know. “Yes, it was great. Thanks. I can’t believe how different this city feels from New York. I’ve never been anywhere, so this is exciting for me.”

  “Then I hope you’ll come to love it as my brother and I have,” Stefan said. “We’ve traveled many places around the world, but we found we haven’t wanted to leave since we got here.”

  “Has nothing at all to do with the money pit, I guess.”

  All three of them spun around at the voice, and this time, Shada’s heart seemed to jump into her throat. She hadn’t seen him since he interviewed her. The entire process had been so fast, her head had spun and she’d accepted his offer before she knew it.

  She studied Creed as he approached them from a section she hadn’t noticed, with further passages and doorways. Offices and other storage rooms, she assumed. No, Creed and his brothers weren’t twins, at least not the identical sort. The one with glasses had sharper features, a narrower jaw. The one with blond tips appeared softer but not unmanly. Creed had been cut from steel, his nose almost hawkish, as if he had broken it before. She imagined the firm lips formed into a frown more often than not, but they still made her want to kiss them.

  When he drew up to her, his natural male scent, devoid of cologne, filled her nostrils. Had she thought a moment ago Damen smelled good? Creed overwhelmed her senses and weakened her knees. Her heart hammered to the point that she worried he and the others would notice.

  Get a grip, Shada. He’s your boss.

  “Good to see you again, Creed. Thank you again for giving me this chance. I won’t let you down.”

  “Likewise. I’m sure you won’t.”

  A couple of other people entered the room, but Shada was so keyed up, she barely heard their names. No matter. She would learn who everyone was soon enough. Creed gave her the royal tour, and they ended it back in the kitchen. Someone had opened a window, and a breeze blew in. She caught the strains of funk music playing somewhere in the distance and the ding of a trolley.

  “This place is incredible!” she blurted, and the others laughed. Feeling Creed’s eyes on her, she spun toward the walk-in freezer and pulled it open. “Where do you keep the fresh foods?”

  Creed joined her, passing too close behind. She thought she felt heat from his body. He gestured to the door next to the freezer. “Over here, there’s plenty of storage, all compartmentalized. Canned goods and…”

  She opened the door, and then wrinkled her nose, horror washing over her. “Wait, is that canned green beans? Are you kidding me? No way. Not happening. My kitchen isn’t serving canned vegetables! I’ll go through my selections for the menu and decide what I want and then write up a list for someone to do the shopping. There’s got to be a grocer in the area that provides fresh produce.”

  Shada waited for an answer with her hands on her hips. When Creed had moved to show her the pantry, the others had fallen into conversation among themselves, but at her speech, everyone fell silent. She looked at their faces and noted a couple of pink cheeks. What had she said wrong?

  “Uh, Shada—” Stefan began.

  “My office,” Creed interrupted and took her elbow to guide her from the kitchen. The tightness in his tone brooked no argument, and her stomach tied into knots. She followed him down a short hallway and into an office that looked like it was straight from the eighteen hundreds, except it included a big-screen Mac computer, a printer, and other modern equipment. Creed shut the door. “I think you have the wrong impression.”

  She glared at him. “If you want to run a restaurant that skimps on quality food, you’re making a big mistake, Creed. This place is beautiful. You can see the history when you walk through the doors. If you serve crap, the customers will disappear. Please think about it.”

  He leaned on his desk and crossed one ankle over the other. “That’s not the problem.”

  “Then what is? I—” She clamped her teeth together. “I’m doing it again, huh? Running my mouth, voicing my opinion and criticizing those in charge. I’m sorry. I tend to do that, always acting like… oh, never mind.”

  He gazed at her, and she wondered what ran through his head. At least he didn’t appear angry at her. “I don’t mind you voicing your opinion.”

  “Just watch the way I say it?” She had trouble keeping the grin hidden, but Creed didn’t smile back.

  “No, say it any way you like.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I hired you knowing you’re outspoken, Shada. Remember, I know firsthand.”

  She groaned. “Don’t remind me. Our meeting wasn’t a good first impression.”

  He coughed. “Let’s not bring that up.”

  Shada almost laughed, realizing he didn’t like remembering his weakness, but then she recalled what she’d had to do. Damn, this was the first day, and she had been intimate with her boss. Her fingertips had touched his cock as she tucked it inside his pants and zipped him up. She couldn’t help it. He’d been so weak and shaking so hard. At the time, guilt, shame, and fear arrested her, but now that wasn’t an e
xcuse. Her pussy clenched at the thought that behind the slacks he wore today was a very perfect specimen of manhood.

  Stop, stop stop! Get it out of your head, Shada!

  “I’m sorry if my letter wasn’t clear,” Creed was saying.

  She mentally shook herself to focus on his words. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not the head chef at Marquette’s, Shada. Rene is.”

  Shada stared at him. Her throat dried, and where her heart had been pounding because of the powerful attraction to Creed a moment ago, it seemed to have stopped now. “W-who is Rene?”

  Then she recalled the man she had been introduced to, the tall, lanky man with stringy hair tied back in a ponytail. She remembered the snapping hazel eyes at her polite but distracted response to meeting him. In essence, this man, Rene, was her boss, with the power to fire her. She wasn’t in charge of the kitchen. In fact, with everyone there, including Rene, she had declared what would and wouldn’t happen regarding the menus.

  Shada sagged against the door, her breathing becoming ragged. “Oh, goodness. I can’t believe it. I’m so embarrassed.” She bent over, whimpering.

  Creed darted to her side and laid a hand on her back. “Breathe. It’s not as bad as it seems.”

  He made it worse with his kindness. “It is!” She moved away from him. “I basically insulted my boss. Chefs are artists—they’re notorious for being sensitive. I thought this was going to be a better experience, but here I am chewing my foot again!”

  Amusement lit his gaze. “You’ll recover.”

  “This isn’t funny, Creed.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  She frowned at him. “Are you laughing at me as payback because of what happened before? That’s real professional.”

  “Don’t bring that up.”

  “No, because you didn’t look too good then.”

  He stepped up to her, towering above her five-foot-four-inch height. “I looked my best, actually.”

  An image of him stark naked flashed in her mind. She had to agree but scrambled for a comeback. What the heck was she doing standing here arguing with him in the first place? Creed laughing at her had pissed her off, and she wanted to get him back. All she could think of was touching him again when he was well. The smirk on the arrogant bastard’s face said he knew it too.