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

by Cara Nelson

  “I don’t believe in all that love and commitment bullshit, Des. And if I sleep with you again, I’ll be in even worse shape, even farther gone—don’t you ask me to stay here with you. You deserve some woman who can’t take her eyes off you, not one who wants to leave.”

  “You don’t want to leave. Don’t you think I see that?” he said, his voice hard, unrelenting.

  “Please,” she said, beseeching. She knew she was weakening under the persuasion of his gaze.

  He kissed her again and she clung to him, kissing him back, tears streaming down her face as he took over, removing every stitch of clothing, laying her back on a sofa and joining her there. He brushed her hair back tenderly and kissed his way down her neck, his lips catching her nipple and making her tighten and arch beneath him as he made his way down. When he set his mouth to her, she screamed, a high keening sound that grew louder with her release until she was trembling in his arms, kissing him again and again. She lay on his chest, her hands exploring every inch of his body as he whispered to her.

  “I’m never letting you go, Annelise.”

  “Remember when you took me dancing?” She grinned naughtily.

  “Vividly.”

  She rose up above him, rocking her hips suggestively in imitation of the dance, pressing his thigh between her legs and letting him feel how wet she was, how much she wanted him. She pulled him up to sit on the couch and moved onto his lap, rocking her hips down over him, enveloping him, her body undulating against his, clutching him tight. Their rhythm built and they shattered together, the salt of his sweat on her tongue as she kissed him. He kept her there for hours, until they had to stop, had to get a drink of water and find their clothes. Even then he pressed her against the refrigerator door, kissing her, his fingers questing up her skirt. Shaken, she left him making chocolates at the counter, trying to seduce her with a taste.

  Chapter 7

  At work, she kept breaking into a smile, reminding herself to be stern and take no nonsense, but it was difficult. Shannon teased her unmercifully and Callie came down the hall begging for details.

  “There ain’t a thing going on. I told you. Now get back to work, you lazy women,” she groused, trying to subdue a smile. A delivery man arrived with a box for her. When she opened it, a half dozen hand-rolled truffles lay in ruffled paper cups with a note that said, “Hot sweets for my firecracker.” The office girls started talking trash about her immediately. She popped a fiery ancho chile infused dark chocolate truffle and tried to ignore them. They really were intolerable to work with sometimes.

  “Firecracker? So did you make the earth move?” Callie teased. Annelise took a page from the Jasper Cates manual of avoidance and trained her eyes on her computer monitor stubbornly, refusing to respond to their puerile innuendos.

  “I think she set the world on fire for him,” Shannon corrected. “That must have been some great sex. Did you go to his place or just do it in the kitchen?”

  “You’re pregnant, Shannon, shame on you. Talk in front of your baby like that.” Annelise shook her head.

  “Hello? You have to have sex to get pregnant. I’m hardly the Virgin Mary, Annelise. I want details. He’s hot.”

  “Apparently so is she, if you check out those truffles.” Callie snatched one and crooned over the first bit. “You must’ve done something right.”

  “I told y’all that Roger didn’t cheat on me because I had no skills.” She preened a little and ate another chocolate, figuring she’d need to keep up her energy.

  Sadly Delia, the florist, was sapping that energy slowly away. Hannah’s daffodil epiphany hadn’t set well with the ‘botanical artist’, who was all geared up for hyacinth blue accented with white. Daffodils were too simple, kitschy, unworkable. Their stems were too supple and they had to be wired. They were too hard to get, too difficult to keep spry and fresh, and nothing went well with them except stock due to their bugle shape. Lilies were distracting, ranunculus too closed-off. The woman was possibly Hannah’s neurotic soulmate.

  The annoyance of trying to balance Delia’s impossibilities with Hannah’s nonnegotiables was the only alloy to her happiness. She had resisted inviting Des to her new digs and parading him past her ex’s door. She figured that was evidence of maturity on her part. She spent nights in his apartment, all black and gray with clean lines and smooth uncluttered surfaces, tangled in his black satin sheets. He woke her once at three in the morning with slices of a ripe white peach, feeding it to her and licking the drops of juice from her chin, making love to her, sticky and sweet. She returned to her own place to change every morning, to shower and put on her best professional demeanor, to hide away the giggling girl with her first taste of love.

  Time and again, she thought she had circumvented Delia’s obstacles, finding a wholesaler who promised pert daffodils on the day of the party, finding the exact gauge of florist wire that Delia claimed was both necessary and wholly unobtainable. Annelise wondered if she herself shouldn’t plant some damn flowers now so they’d be available for the wedding…she couldn’t count on Delia to do her own job. She’d assigned the woman her own ringtone, ‘Cruella DeVil’, and she was filled with dread every time it sounded. She wanted to cover her ears, hide under her desk, because it was always bad news, a new doomsday to avert.

  If only Hannah hadn’t insisted that hiring a wedding planner was too snooty. As if devoting Annelise’s entire job to the party wasn’t equally elitist—she hated parties. Well, she didn’t hate all parties, obviously, but this one was another ring in hell. She was certain that hell itself was filled with daffodils, with racks and racks of seemingly identical fabrics for rental linens.

  The day of the tenth dawned, a Thursday, and Annelise was keyed up with anticipation and the feeling of impending doom that a deadline always brought out in her. She brushed off Desmond’s suggestions that she come home early, assuring him that she had to go wage her own Thermopylae with Delia.

  “If you need backup, call me,” he offered.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m good at my job,” she said, slightly offended.

  An hour into the altercation with Delia, she was ready to punch the woman in the head. She actually weighed the criminal consequences of striking her just for the satisfaction of it.

  “There is no actual way that these arrangements can be done in time for the event. The sourcing was too complex; the specifications changed halfway through the job.”

  “You signed a contract eight weeks ago. If you don’t provide the flowers, complete and on time, Cates Corporation is prepared to sue your incompetent ass for damages, including the cost of hiring a replacement at the last minute. In addition to that, I will be posting a profile on OKCupid featuring your promotional photo and a bio about your proclivity for BDSM. Now get your skinny ass in that cooler and start picking daffodils,” Annelise raged.

  She’d tried being sympathetic and offering solutions. Now it was threat time. The blonde’s pout darkened.

  “Don’t you dare threaten me, you stupid little secretary!” she squeaked. “My artistry is unparalleled. You changed the flowers.”

  “You signed a rider that allowed for accommodation of any necessary alterations as long as they were in place within three weeks of the date. We adjusted cost accordingly. You got no moral high ground here.”

  “If you want shabby yellow flowers done in haste, go elsewhere. I require the time and materials to create memorable botanical arrangements. Daffodils are simply not the sort of medium I work with.”

  “Funny, I thought you worked with FLOWERS.” Annelise thundered.

  “I will call security if you don’t clear out. There is nothing to discuss. I cannot work under these conditions!” The woman had the gall to burst into tears. Annelise thought seriously about shoving her into the plant cooler and locking her in. Instead she stomped out and called Des.

  “Consider this 911. I can’t work with this woman. She’s insane.”

  “Are you at the shop?”


  “Yes.”

  “Has there been bloodshed? Do I need to bring a body bag and some Clorox?”

  “Not yet, but hurry.”

  “I know how to deal with these people. She thinks she’s a delicate artist. Don’t sweat it.”

  Within ten minutes, Des had arrived and found Annelise chain smoking on the curb.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” he remarked.

  “I just started. The liquor store was closed, but Cheap Smokes was still open.” She shrugged and sucked in a lungful of nicotine.

  “It’s better this way. If you’d gotten your hands on a bottle of tequila, you’d be humping Delia by now, and I don’t think she’s open to that.” He smirked. “Come on in.” He held the door for her. Delia was still crying hysterically.

  “Delia, darling,” he said smoothly. She looked up.

  “D-Desmond Blair?”

  “I’m working on the engagement party, too. It’s the biggest event of the year. It’s been crazy, all the menu changes, but it’s an opportunity not to be missed. It’ll be written up everywhere, not just local media.”

  Delia shook her head. “It’s too much pressure.”

  “You can do it. I saw what you did with the orchids…that swan topiary was a show stopper at the Kellenham gala.”

  Annelise tried not to laugh. This broad was buying his softsoap routine.

  “That swan took me eleven hours. I got no sleep,” she recalled, her voice tinged with persecution and pride.

  “This is bigger. More exposure. You know why they wanted you…you’re the best.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “I—I can do it. I can call in my niece to help. The shop assistants can come back in—” she said hopefully.

  “I can’t wait to see it. I don’t usually spend much time out on the floor, but I’ll check out your flowers at the party. I know they’ll be superb.” He bent to kiss her hand. Delia smiled a watery smile and nodded her assent.

  “I’ll do it. I—I’m sorry about getting so upset. I just take my art so personally! If there’s any delay, I’ll drop 20% off the total cost,” she promised.

  After suitable displays of gratitude, Annelise dragged Desmond out of the flower shop and kissed him wholeheartedly.

  “You were brilliant!”

  “Thanks for noticing. Now come on home.”

  “I don’t live there, Des. I’m going to my place tonight. I need to rest up. I’ll be out at Greenwich readying the venue tomorrow and the next day.”

  “All the more reason to make tonight count,” he said persuasively, but she was adamant.

  Chapter 8

  The Greenwich Estate was a lavish refurbished mansion from the nineteenth century, with a sweeping horseshoe drive framing the fountain and tall columns flanking the double doors. It looked like something from a fairy tale, and Annelise was there to make sure that fairy tale came to life.

  She had dropped her duffel bag at a motel, where she hoped to get a few hours sleep later on. She went in to inspect the progress. The cleaning crew was done, and the lighting and sound men were setting up. She had a clipboard and lists upon lists to check off. After inspecting the cleanliness of the venue and finding it suitably immaculate, she moved on to making sure the set up was going according to the layout she’d specified. A sheer marquee canopied the lawn beyond the stone terrace, creating shade and shelter for the dance floor. Apricot and gold luminarias would light the path from the tables on the terrace to the dancing. A chandelier was being rigged inside the tent, and tall braces of candles would ring the terrace to give a warm light.

  The food stations would be inside, and their lighting was being set up as well. She inspected the rental china and linens, checked off item after item on her list. She threatened a man who tried to use electrical tape to secure a cord on the parquet floors and made the stationer who printed the programs cry because the vellum was supposed to be cream and it was clearly buff. It would be redone by the next day.

  By ten at night, Annelise was counting cloth napkins and shaking her head. They were forty-eight daffodil linen napkins short of the order. No one would take her calls this late, and it was an emergency. She’d been well and truly infected by Hannah’s crisis mentality at last. She fired off a contemptuous email to her vendor and glanced up as she saw the reflection of headlights cut across the wall opposite the windows. She was eating takeout pizza on the floor, sifting through her lists and sorting out her priorities for the next day. When Des came in, she scrambled to her feet and ran to him. He dropped his bags of food and caught her in his arms.

  “I need forty-eight napkins,” she said.

  “How about some coq au vin and the profiteroles I have packed in dry ice?”

  She nodded excitedly, rubbing her stiff neck and grinning at him. “Will you come to the party with me?”

  “Of course I’ll be at the party. I’m working.”

  “You’re overseeing. That’s not the same as being a guest. I got an invite and I can bring a date. Be my date?”

  He kissed her. “I accept.” He dished out food and set them a picnic on one of the daffodil tablecloths.

  “What if we spill?” Annelise hesitated.

  “They always send extras,” he said knowingly.

  “Not always. I’m short on napkins.” she mused, tasting the mellow, savory coq au vin. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “No. I’m just your date,” he said, settling her so she could lean back against him while she ate.

  “I can’t believe you came all the way out here.”

  “I had to come out here in the morning anyway to set up. What’s a few hours when I can be with you?”

  “You’re too good to be true,” she said, a little worry creeping into her teasing tone.

  “No. I’m the best there’s ever been,” he said slyly, kissing her again.

  Soon the profiteroles were melting on a plate. Annelise lay back on a pile of perfectly pressed daffodil tablecloths and pulled Desmond down on top of her, hands pressing into his shoulders as he moved above her. She thought much more fondly of the color yellow than she had in recent weeks. He wrapped her legs around his hips, stroking into her. She felt all her tension melt away under his touch. Whatever happened the next day, she’d have Des by her side.

  * * *

  In the early morning hours, they drove to her motel and slept in a real bed. She woke to his kisses and had to drag herself away from him to go to the venue. Everything happened swiftly. She barely had time to stop by the kitchen to say hello to her lover before she went back to the motel to dress. Hannah, in a fit of remorse over her indecision during the whole process, had given Annelise a gift card to a nice shop to get herself a dress for the party.

  Despite her malicious urge to find something in daffodil yellow just out of spite, she’d chosen a deep coral cocktail dress, fit and flared with a short ruffle, making it perfect for salsa dancing. She pinned up her hair, put on her eyeliner, and hurried back to the venue as fast as her silver shoes would carry her to the car. She was going to miss that car when the party was over.

  At five, the photographer took shots of the couple by the koi pond and Annelise checked that off her list with satisfaction. By six, the tall urns of daffodils were in place, bright and airy in composition. By seven, guests were trickling in, admiring the luminarias, the harpist, and the air of otherworldliness they had achieved. The crowd was vast, the food sublime. Though she was busy keeping everything running smoothly, Annelise sampled the prosciutto-wrapped figs and stopped by the noodle station for a spicy bite of the curry that Hannah swore she survived by for years.

  Right before the dancing commenced, Desmond Blair appeared at her elbow in a tux, making her jaw drop in appreciation. Annelise was aware that the man looked good in black, but the tailoring of the suit set off his broad shoulders and narrow hips. She smiled before checking the time and slipping away to speak to the lighting men. The toasts were starting, and Hannah’s sister was notoriously unpredictable. Fort
unately, Becca kept it simple and everyone clapped politely.

  The lights inside the marquee went dark and the projector came on. Lighting up the side of the elegant white tent, the thousand-plus guests saw a projection of a photograph and heard the audio loop begin to roll. For weeks, Annelise had collaborated with Hannah on this project, a romantic tribute that would dazzle the crowd and both please and embarrass her boss. This was the big moment. The production began with slides of the candid photos Annelise had taken—a picture of Hannah at work in her tiny recording studio narrating a PowerPoint; Jasper staring at his computer; Hannah eating Singapore noodles directly from the carton; Jasper staring at his computer. The fifth picture of him transfixed by his computer screen drew a gentle chuckle from his employees, who knew that impervious posture so well. These were followed by a few pictures taken straight from the society pages of the couple at charitable galas and one at a movie premiere, showcasing the glamour of the photogenic pair.

  Professional engagement photos took over as pictures of Hannah and Jasper’s romance filled the side of the tent. Guests oohed as a recording of the bride’s voice narrated their story from an awkward confrontation in the Blake Bar to a proposal at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Annelise glanced over at her boss and his fiancée whispering and pointing at the projection, their heads together like lovebirds. She knew it was a success. Annelise had written the outline herself, since Hannah insisted she was only a mockingbird, not a script writer. When the PowerPoint wound up with a track of the bride singing a Nina Simone number a capella, the crowd leapt to their feet and applauded as the couple kissed. It was a complete triumph.

  The lights were cued, the projector turned off, and Jasper and Hannah rushed over to Annelise.

  “That was brilliant. You’ve outdone yourself, Miss Hollingford,” Jasper said stiffly.

  “Thank you for everything, Annelise. I know I’ve been a trial, but you’re a total star.” Hannah kissed her cheek as Annelise beamed. “And the food, Mr. Blair. It’s magnificent,” she added, acknowledging Desmond, who was happy to let Annelise have a moment in the spotlight. He squeezed Annelise’s hand.