A Matter of Taste (Men of the Capital #2)

by Cara Nelson

  The salsa club had deep red walls. Little gold tables formed a half circle around the edge of the gold and white-tiled dance floor. There was even a live band. Desmond Blair and a mango margarita were waiting for her at a table. She took a long drink of that sweet coolness and surveyed his appearance. A soft gray v-neck tee and black cargo pants showed his hard, muscled form and made him look faintly dangerous, like she was meeting a Navy SEAL for instead of a catering chef.

  “Did your day get any better?” Desmond asked.

  “Not until just now,” she said honestly.

  “I didn’t think you’d show up. I figured you’d overthink it.”

  “I tried. But the fact is, whether it’s smart or not, I wanted to come here with you. I wanted to see you, so here I am.” She downed the rest of her drink and felt herself start to uncoil, the tension loosening as she shimmied her shoulders a little to the music.

  “Have you ever learned how to salsa?”

  “No. I hope you know how so you can teach me. I only know the Macarena.” she offered him a bite of the sliced mango off the rim of her glass. His mouth closed around the succulent fruit and his lips brushed against her fingertips as he tasted it.

  “Sweet.” A waitress brought her another margarita and Annelise took a drink.

  She noticed fleetingly that this margarita was stronger than the last one, but she smiled and drank up. She had been so tense with all this engagement party nonsense on top of breaking up with Roger. She was overdue for an evening off just to let her hair down. Annelise took Desmond’s hand in hers, brushing her thumb across his knuckles and bringing a smile to his face.

  “Let’s dance,” she said, swinging her shoulders a little to the infectious music.

  Desmond stood up and drew her out onto the floor, where two other couples were dancing. It was early yet, and there wasn’t much of a crowd. Annelise felt clumsy, conspicuous. Des pulled her right up against him, hip to hip, and guided her movements, her body flowing against his as he held her tight. The dance was quick and her breath came fast. He whispered a seven count in her ear, his hands gripping her hips.

  Song after song flowed over them. More couples crowded the floor and Annelise pressed closer to Desmond, loving the fact that their bodies did the communicating and she never had to say a word. He twirled her under his arm and hauled her close again. She threw her head back and laughed aloud, shaking her hips more like a girl on top of a car on 80’s MTV than a ballroom dancer. The heat of his big hands traveled from her hips to her lower back, then slid down her backside as she ground against him, tossing her hair with abandon. Annelise felt blurry and free, writhing in his arms and pressing herself against the length of him. She slid her hands down his chest and across his stomach, wrapping her arms around his waist, her hands flat against his back to hold him tighter against her. She saw a bead of sweat snake down from his temple and obeyed the impulse to lean up and catch it. She flicked her tongue along his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin.

  “Mmmm,” she breathed by his ear. He turned and brushed his lips against hers, nipping and teasing her without giving her a real kiss. She grinned, parting her legs to admit his powerful thigh, rubbing against it in quick strokes. She ran her hands up and down his muscled chest and felt the dampness of his t-shirt, inhaled the clean male scent of his sweat from the exertion.

  “Take me home,” she whispered. He dropped money on the table for their bar tab, helped her find her purse, and tugged the hem of her dress down to a more decent level.

  In the cab, she was on him almost before the door closed, climbing onto his lap and kissing him deep and long. Des cradled her in his arms and kissed her, losing his head for a minute, even though he hadn’t had that much to drink. They broke apart long enough for her to give the driver her address.

  Kissing until they were breathless, they tumbled out of the cab, Des setting her on her feet. She wobbled on her heels, giggling uncharacteristically as he fished her keys out of her tiny spangled clutch.

  “Come upstairs with me.”

  Desmond felt the clench of desire but shook his head. She was, as his grandfather used to say, a bit the worse from the drink, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her, no matter how tempted he might be. Annelise Hollingford was an incredible temptation, strong and sweet and adorably coltish when she was unsteady on her stilettos. From the unconquerable expression she’d worn at his food business, he thought she was never vulnerable, but now he could see the truth. She looked almost appallingly young, nothing like the no-nonsense businesswoman who had railroaded him into a short-notice agreement and then turned down his advances.

  “I wish I could. Another night,” he promised himself aloud as he leaned in. Brushing back her hair with infinite tenderness, Desmond Blair gave her the kiss of a lifetime. She caught her breath as she saw that the streetlight was picking out flecks of gold in his eyes. He looked wolfish and dangerous as his strong arms came around her, hauling her against his broad chest. He took her mouth in a deep, slow kiss that left her hanging from his arms, practically liquid with desire. With a half smile, he unlocked the door, handed her back the keys, and left. She leaned against the doorframe, uncertain that her legs would obey a simple command after that performance.

  When the alarm woke her the next morning, she was face down on the cafeteria lady’s itchy couch, eyes burning from the makeup she forgot to remove, an underwire from her bra trying to shank her in the side. She knew as she ran for the bathroom that she’d had too much to drink. She knew she’d danced with Desmond Blair so suggestively she might have been accused of dry humping him in public. Head in her hands, she decided the misery of remembering her behavior was far worse than the fear that forgetfulness brought.

  She wished she could have a good old-fashioned drunken blackout instead of recalling all her indiscretions in lurid detail. She rinsed her mouth out with water and turned a cold shower on herself as penance, cleaning away the sweat and eyeliner but none of the shame. She remembered trying to get him to come upstairs so she could—what, ravish him on the cafeteria lady’s couch?

  Annelise put on her most severe suit, an unflattering polyester number in basic black, and a pair of flats, because she was atonement frumping. Maybe she’d see Desmond today. Her prison-matron appearance would telegraph to him her true character, a practical woman of integrity, not a hot tamale who couldn’t hold her tequila.

  At the office, she was two cups of coffee into the RSVP spreadsheet when Shannon asked her what was wrong.

  “You’re not ranting about some idiot who cut you off in traffic. You’re not griping that the copier is jammed and how the repair guy is probably on crack because he never fixes the machine right. Did you have a nice time?”

  “No.”

  “Monosyllables. Hmm. Never a good sign. What’s up?”

  “I got wasted and humped him.”

  “Uh. Okay, did he seem to enjoy it?” Shannon asked uncertainly.

  “Well he didn’t shove me off him or anything, but it was a skanky display. I own that. I just don’t know how I’ll face the guy. I mean, I showed him a good time and all, but he probably got the wrong idea about me.”

  “Now how would humping him give him the wrong idea?” Shannon teased.

  “He’s gonna think I’ll put out.”

  “Didn’t you already?”

  “No. Of course not. Because he turned me down,” she said miserably. “What if he quits and won’t cater the party because I’m such a ho? I’m no better than those hookers Roger was with.”

  “I object to that statement as patently false. You humped this guy for free.”

  “You’re not comforting me. If you can’t be at least a little reassuring, you better go eat some chips or something, because this shit ain’t helping. I made a fool of myself. I may have screwed up my job because I got shitfaced and he’s hot. Now help me.”

  “I’m not sure anyone can help with this situation. Haven’t you ever had the walk of shame before?”

>   “I been with Roger for almost six years. No. Just him. I still can’t believe that’s over. Not that I want him back. I hope his dick turns green and falls right off. That’s beside the point. I thought I was gonna marry my childhood sweetheart, only man I’d ever been with. It’s confusing, wanting this new guy and feeling like I’m cheating on Roger.” She dropped her head into her hands despondently.

  “Roger doesn’t deserve your loyalty, honey.” Shannon patted her shoulder.

  “I know,” she mumbled from behind her hands.

  “So don’t waste it on him. Look, just call the caterer, say you’re sorry for getting drunk, and ask him out again. You need a fling to help you get over Roger. Get your mind off the long term by having fun right now.”

  “I’ve never had a fling. I’m not a fling kind of girl. I’m not judging, I just know myself. I’ll get attached to him, and when we break up it’ll be ugly,” Annelise whined.

  “You can’t leave it the way it is, with you drunk and, um, affectionate. You have to talk to him.”

  “Can’t I just pretend it never happened?”

  “No. You cannot.”

  “You must be one hard-ass mom,” Annelise said admiringly with a nod. “You don’t give nobody a break.”

  “Any one of my kids ever gets loaded and humps somebody on a first date, they’re gonna think hard-ass,” Shannon said. That got a snort from Annelise, which was progress, compared to the whining.

  “I can’t call him. I have an appointment to look at some shitty apartments tonight.”

  “Ooh, sounds super. Can I come?”

  “No, I don’t want no drama of your pregnant ass getting mugged in these neighborhoods.”

  “I thought you were getting the major bonus. Why not find a nice place?”

  “I’m not counting on that bonus. I’ve lost my edge. I’m not making decisions with my head right now, apparently so I might as well kiss that fifty k goodbye.”

  “FIFTY K?” Shannon gasped. “You said FIVE.”

  “Shhh. Hush, woman!” Annelise hissed. “It’s fifty, okay. I didn’t want you having those Braxton-Hicks things ‘cause you freaked out.”

  “Fifty? I’ll hump the guy for ten!”

  “Shannon, you’re pregnant. You’re married.”

  “For ten thousand dollars, my husband would hold my coat while I humped the caterer,” Shannon said sagely.

  * * *

  “Obviously, the cardboard can be replaced with glass by the buyer.” The realtor indicated the broken window dismissively.

  “What about the toilet?”

  “You can get one at Home Depot. They even have Saturday classes. You could put it in yourself.”

  “I don’t want to live someplace where there’s just a PVC pipe coming up through the floor. I want a real toilet. I don’t want to put in my own toilet. I paid thirty-five dollars for this manicure. You think I want to install a toilet on my own?”

  “I assumed if you were looking in this neighborhood, you probably couldn’t pay a plumber,” the realtor admitted fastidiously.

  “I can afford this place. I can even afford a plumber.”

  “So you need to look in a better area of the city.”

  “I may lose my good job. I done some stupid shit recently, and I can’t count on the income.”

  “Oh. Come look at the kitchen, then. It’s not pretty, but some Lysol will go a long away, I think,” the woman tried to sound optimistic, but the fact that she was clutching a can of pepper spray didn’t lend a lot of confidence to the statement.

  Annelise congratulated herself for not screaming aloud when she saw the cockroaches, but she did flee to the hallway.

  “Forget it. I am not living in this hole. Take me somewhere else.”

  “There’s no place better at your price point,” the realtor warned.

  “Raise the bar about another hundred and fifty a month.”

  “That’ll get you a real toilet. Not much else.”

  “How much for no roaches and glass in the window?” Annelise winced.

  “Double it.”

  “Crap. This city is a money pit.”

  “Yes, it’s how I make my living. The commission is fabulous.”

  “Even on a rat hole like this?”

  “Well, if you consider the turnover and leasing or selling it again and again because no one can stand it for long, yeah there’s a profit to be made.” She shrugged.

  Annelise decided not to judge the realtor’s integrity, since she was extorting a massive bonus from her boss if she had the stomach to face the caterer. One look around that apartment, and embarrassment seemed a lot more appealing.

  She hopped back into the realtor’s luxurious sedan and rode on to the next rat hole. The second one was dismal in a different way. There was glass in both windows, but there were only two rooms. A kitchenette was at one end of the living room/bedroom, and the dark brown bathroom with the busted sink had a standing shower draped with a cockeyed mildewy curtain. It looked like a crime scene. Living in her leased car was looking more and more inviting.

  “Okay, go up in price again,” Annelise sighed.

  “I did. This is two fifty over your original budget. Like it?”

  “I get the feeling you’re enjoying this. What do I have to pay to live somewhere that isn’t scarier than where I grew up? My jerk ex-fiancé had the lease on the place we lived, so I had to move out. I got bad taste in men. That don’t mean I deserve to be murdered in a slum.”

  “There are three deadbolts on the door. It’s a reasonably safe neighborhood.”

  “Oh, yeah? How far off from here do you live?”

  “About an hour in light traffic,” the woman said, straight-faced.

  “That says it all. Fine. What do you have on Highland? It’s the street I used to live on with my ex.” She sighed.

  “Get in the car.” They drove half an hour in stony silence and pulled up to the exact building Annelise had lived in with Roger. She winced but pulled herself upright, telling herself she had done no wrong and had every right to be there. Even if it meant seeing him every day and his parade of women going in and out. This was very bad for her mental state, she knew, but it was safe, it was cleaner. She even knew the super’s cell number. Like it or not, Annelise was moving home, to the same building she’d lived in for five years. It was just a home she had hoped never to see again.

  Chapter 4

  Annelise was having Joan in Legal go over her lease agreement before signing. It made her stomach hurt just to think about it, but it was the only thing she could afford that wasn’t horrific…and even it was a bit outside what she could reasonably pay for. No more chevron manicures or highlights in her future; no more acid-green patent flats just because they were on sale and cute, no more weekend trips to the outdoor market just to try new stuff. It was going to be ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches unless she kept the caterer on track and put out every fire between now and the party to get that bonus.

  She was hastily redoing the bloom listing for the florist since Hannah had switched to a yellow color palate when a delivery showed up. She tried to wave them over to Shannon, who was scooping hummus into her mouth and looking at a Mini Boden catalog. The man persisted in standing at Annelise’s desk until she looked up with a determined scowl.

  “Yes?” she asked through gritted teeth.

  “Delivery for Annelise Hollingford. I was instructed to bring it directly to you. Where would you like it?”

  “If it’s more crap for the party, the office down the hall, 2108, has been set aside for deliveries,” she said.

  “It’s lunch.”

  “I didn’t order lunch. I got me a Special K bar for later.” She scowled. The man shrugged and deposited two paper shopping bags beside her desk, then walked out.

  Before Annelise could turn back to her computer and get to work, Shannon had descended on the bags, drawn there irresistibly by the delectable scents.

  “Stuffed grape leaves! Oh
my god, Annelise, I want one!”

  “Take them. I don’t care.”

  “You don’t CARE? Aux Delices doesn’t do lunches, and that guy you humped sent you a special lunch. Now turn off that goddamned spreadsheet and eat,” Shannon huffed at her.

  With the air of a martyr, Annelise saved her document and started opening containers. An astounding variety assailed her: stuffed grape leaves, roast chicken with grapes and olives, and a pasta with olives and capers. Flatbread and tapenade. Annelise was scooping luscious bites into her mouth and making unabashed yummy noises before she knew it.

  Two girls from down the hall in the executive VP’s office wandered in and sniffed, snitching samples and cooing over them.

  “Where’d you order from?” Callie asked around a mouthful of pasta.

  “She didn’t order. Desmond Blair sent her lunch.”

  “Blair as in Aux Delices? You know him?” Callie squealed. “I have to show you this article.” She rushed back to her office and returned, brandishing the shiny new issue of the city magazine. “Check this out. First of all, full-length picture. He’s so hot, Annelise. He looks like a thug, but a cultured thug,” Callie said, as though thuggishness were a compliment.

  Annelise scanned the article, thinking it was just another worshipful PR piece about his fabulous culinary masterpieces. Quickly, she realized there was more to it. Desmond Blair was starting a charitable foundation, a program to bring cooking classes and food service sanitation certification programs to community centers and after school programs in the city.

  “There are kids out there who need the opportunity to see what they can create, to get a taste of a better life,” He was quoted as saying.

  Annelise was torn between feeling a newfound respect for him and just swooning from the sheer heroic yumminess of the fact that he was reaching out to help the less fortunate. It seemed bizarrely unfair that someone as gorgeous and talented as he should also be generous and compassionate. He was too good to be true, she reminded herself, trying to reinforce her defenses as they melted like chocolate.