An Alpha's Desire

by Amarie Avant

  I huff. “Send me the address please.” This is not a date. No picking me up.

  “Sending it now.”

  Almost an hour later, I've been parked by the valet attendant and am sauntering into Asahi Shark. There are wall aquariums surrounding the place and dividing it into sections for each grill. My lips set. A damn hibachi grill! I love Japanese as much as the next chick, and the chef entertainment never gets old, but the environment is not conducive for a business meeting.

  “Hello, Desire,” the dreamiest voice calls from behind me. Daniel’s hand caresses against my bicep as he stands next to me.

  Damn, in an instant I’ve gotten an eye full of him. He’s no longer dressed in a tailored suit and he wears them like he was born for them. A close-fitting gray shirt is cuffed to reveal tanned, cut forearms. Jeans that splay across strong thighs and bring the eye to one shameful focal spot, taper down to black boots. I forced myself not to salivate at the thought of him fully dressed, seemingly somehow sexier than any other man nude. My eyes search out his, and I force mine to stay there. Then the allure is gone, and he's smiling. I swear this man is toying with me at my expense.

  Stop it Desirenda Taylor! Damn, that's just how mad I am at myself.

  “Hello, Mr. Rutledge.” I hold up my portfolio and lift an eyebrow. There’s an urgency about him. What is he looking for?

  “I appreciate your willingness to meet me here instead of Eve’s. Tomorrow, I have to return to Dallas but there is something that has to be done.” He glances around, and presses me against one of the aquarium walls.

  “You make it sound like life or death.” And exactly who are you looking for?

  “Shit,” he chortles almost to himself. “I'll be totally honest with you. It is damn near life or death. My little sister is my life, and I will kill her stupid boyfriend if…”

  “Your sister? You're the sole heir to the throne. Twenty-twenty and I think, Lifetime did an exposé on your family too. Are you sure you have a sister?” I bite my bottom lip. Is he really crazy?

  “My mother ended her life due to postpartum depression and a mixture of hate for my father. Nobody is aware of Juliet because she wasn't a favorite of Wentworth I and she sure isn’t a favorite of my grandfather either.” There are undertones of resentment geared toward the first Wentworth.

  “Uh…”

  “So, trust me, I have a kid sister. She's twenty years old. And every other instant, she's breaking hearts in her wake. But now it appears she's fallen in love.”

  “All right.” I try not to appear interested. What sort of cruel family alienates their blood? “Why are we here, though?”

  “She met a guy named Lee who is most likely here on a date. I didn't want to stand you up, seeing that your mind is very creative in its distrust for me. We will enjoy dinner. Profile later. And keep an eye out on the guy.”

  “What does he look like?” I ask.

  “Japanese. Short low crop hair. Early twenties.”

  “Daniel, show me a photo.” I glance at him sideways. “Me and my creative mind may insinuate on occasion but I'm confident I've hit the nail on the head. Now, I know good and well that you have his picture.” Probably had someone run his damn credit.

  He pulls his wallet out, toggles through the iPhone apps for the photo album, begrudgingly handing it over, and we start for the hostess.

  “Shit, he is hot,” I say.

  Daniel gives a hard glare at me before saying the guy’s name. The hostess makes all sorts of fuck faces with Daniel, already aware of just who he is. Though the place is crowded, she begins to escort us.

  I hand the phone back as we weave along the various stations. “Okay, well, would you rather break Juliet’s heart by telling her this fine specimen is a cheat? Or maybe Lee is out with friends?”

  “No, I'm not as pessimistic as you. Believe that. He received a text indicating he needed to be here this evening. Or she would tell. The girl’s name was Lulu. I can only presume it was his other girlfriend.” He adds, “Any other ideas, Desire?”

  I hold my hands up, palms out. “You just referred to me as a glass empty kinda chick. My only concern is, you have to be the messenger.”

  “I won't break my sister’s heart. You said a few minutes ago that I've acted like this is life or death. Jules is my life. And if he's fucking her over, his death will come soon.” Daniel shrugs, leading me to believe this is a normal conversation topic.

  I sink into the chair he has pushed out, the hair at the nape of my neck standing to attention.

  “I'm just kidding, Desire. You placed yourself in this situation by painting such a sordid picture of me. But I'm sure those documentaries you've watched, and drooled over me while watching, included mystery as my family is by nature very secretive.”

  “I have never drooled,” I argue. The warm gray twinkle in his eyes tells me he is aware of otherwise. He sits beside me and I can't help but wonder more about Juliet. Are the family dynamics that the typical ‘son’ receives all the favor while the daughter receives the scraps? Something tells me that the universal notion of elation over having a son didn’t rain on her parade.

  After a while, the heated grill is sizzling. We have been joined by a party of four at the station that sits eight, so there’s an extra seat separating us from another double date. However, Daniel is the life of the party—one of them is celebrating a birthday. On various instances, this evening, our waitress has told a few eager women not to take pictures of Daniel.

  “We are some lucky s-o-b’s, man.” The blond guy next to me nudges his head as another chick from the station across from us aims her cell phone. The bright flash in our direction is a telltale sign that Daniel is a major celebrity in so many eyes.

  “You lucky?” Daniel arches an eyebrow. “It’s your birthday. Desire and I are glad to be here celebrating it with you.”

  “Any words of wisdom for the big three-oh?” the man’s wife asks.

  “Let’s see. I’ve been in my thirties for a while now.” Daniel rubs his hands together. “Another era has passed, but youth has no age, my friend. Live life to the fullest.”

  They all cheer.

  Daniel leans close to me, his breath kissing my earlobe. “Yeah, it’s rude to ask your age, but I can’t tell. Do you have thirty words of wisdom?”

  “Nah.” I shake my head with a smile. “Though, I doubt anyone would be interested. They all seem to feed off everything you say. This August, I’ll be thirty.”

  “Damn, I had assumed you were mid-twenties at most, yet that beautiful mouth…” his eyes linger on my lips until the birthday guy next to me ushers Daniel and I back into the fold. They’re a tad drunk. The feel-good tipsy mellowness has overcome me, though I’ve only sipped on hot tea. I notice that Daniel hasn’t ordered any of the much praised saki or any other alcoholic beverages. He has this way about him. Shit, I can recall all the Moscato and Stella Rosa I’ve drank to obtain a sense of belonging in crowds with Lauren or my college buddies.

  He has this innate charisma. No additional substance necessary.

  The chef before us has medals around his neck, and a white chef hat that he’s tossed a raw egg into without breaking the shell. Miso soup is set before us while he chops aromatics at top speed.

  “You’re enjoying yourself?” Daniel asks, unable to differentiate between our individual spaces. I can’t complain because he is so warm and his chest is hard against the side of my shoulder.

  My gaze is locked on a stack of onions in the shape of a volcano. This shit never gets old. Though, some portion of me is in fear of turning to look at Daniel who cannot be entertained at this moment. At least not by the chef. “Mesmerizing,”

  “You said it,” he murmurs, gaze sliding down my warm brown skin.

  “Whoaaaa!” Daniel chimes in as we all applaud the chef for a trick he’s done a thousand times over. The warmth is gone but the entire area radiates with heat and a spark that only Daniel can ignite.

  The redhead stops on the sid
e of our station, ass flat as an ironing board as she toots it in Daniel’s direction. Daniel scoots close to me. “Des, Perfect time for a photo bomb.”

  I'm laughing and making a funny face before I realize he has given me a nickname. The redhead struts away after a few clicks and a glare at me which Daniel has no problem returning.

  I chuckle. “You were probably the class clown at school. We should have told her to tag you on Twitter with that.”

  “Damn.” He snaps his finger. “Class clown? I fucking wish. I was home schooled.”

  The chef gathers our attention by offering to toss shrimp into our mouth.

  “Give me a sec, will ya?” Daniel scoots his chair back. The chef and he are in sync. “You need a Dodger arm for this,” he jokes at the chef who has no problem issuing a smart, witty retort.

  “No baseball, I Bruce Lee.”

  He becomes center of the restaurant now, ten yards away from the table, and almost backs into the chef at the station behind us who also has stopped chopping to be entertained. Everyone applauds as he catches the grilled shrimp in his mouth. My nether regions quiver at how his beautiful, thick lips begin to chew.

  “Now her,” he tells the chef, placing a hand on my shoulder. Does he feel the spark? Every time he touches me, my supple skin sparks with electricity.

  I shake my head.

  “If she doesn't catch it, I'll dive in for it.” He whispers the last part to me while glancing at my breasts. “Fuck, I had to go there. Des, don't count it against me.”

  I shake my head and lean forward. The confidence I've always had, which I pride myself in, skyrockets. “Let's do this.”

  The shrimp dives in my direction and plops against my cheek, leaving a small glob of seasonings and light oil before falling into my soup. Although I am the laughing stock, I rub the linen napkin over my jaw and say, “I don't mind if you dig.”

  He laughs. It's a perfect laugh, reminding me how uptight I am and how I haven't laughed in ages—aside from my hair stylist who is a riot.

  The laughter on my lips pauses as I glance behind the chef. It's Lee. Must be.

  Daniel catches my gaze. The handsome Japanese guy who stands no more than five-foot-five becomes a milky shade of white, when he was already very pale to begin with. He holds a bucket in both hands and wears a black button-up, slacks, and black tennis shoes. A cleaning spray bottle is hanging out of the bucket and there is a cup towel in his back pocket.

  Seconds pass, then he walks around the station to us.

  Lee’s actions become stilted. He holds out his hand, then rubs his apron before holding it out again. “Daniel, I didn't expect to…”

  Oh, my god, Lee isn’t a cheat… He is the help! The embarrassed help. My jaw sets rigidly. For almost thirty minutes, I have lived to laugh, forgetting my association to Daniel is under the guise that I’m helping him plan an event to celebrate his new line of jets. Now the truth is on my face just as sure as Lee’s cheeks are red with embarrassment. He is a bus boy. And he is embarrassed about it.

  They shake hands.

  “What a coincidence,” Daniel says. The man exudes ambition. Handsome Lee and everyone else who came out tonight to dine in their best attire, pale in his wake. Every move Wentworth Daniel Rutledge makes is fluid, confident, sharp. He is a fucking wolf, a glorious wolf who smiles at his prey.

  He then introduces me as his “friend.” I'm too embarrassed on behalf of Lee to utter more than a simple greeting. The birthday group is no longer rowdy. They sense the tension too. Lee mentions that this is his uncle’s restaurant. His sister, Lulu, and most of his family works here too. He stutters his explanation, only to stop speaking awkwardly.

  “Well, I’ve got stations to wipe down.” Lee gingerly holds up the bucket, bites his bottom lip, awaiting his cue to run away.

  My lungs burst for fresh air when he makes an about face.

  “Okay, I'm a man. I admit my assessment was incorrect,” Daniel mumbles in a pacifying voice while we reclaim our seats.

  How did I allow Daniel in my head? My guard was down, next to nonexistent. I've heard of the effect celebrities have on people. How mesmerizing they are. Coupled with his ability to motivate people, I determine not to be too hard on myself for this blunder.

  Humph, I recall just where minorities fit in your life.

  By now, the chef has begun to divide the orders. Lobster is on the center of my plate, and the chattiness dies down as people eat. Daniel attempts to engage me in conversation. I wheedle him toward talk of the portfolio which hasn't been touched all evening.

  “I have a few ideas of how you'll have an extravagant, exclusive party on your jets,” I begin. So, with business on my mind, we eat and the dialogue. And though skewed, the conversation eventually picks up in a more structured regard. Then, just like that, the evening comes to an end.

  While waiting for the valet attendant, Daniel plants himself before me. “What did I do wrong?” he asks.

  “Nothing. Really.” I play the fool. His mannerisms are not my concern. People are different. The environment he grew up is different than the one I did. So why bother with my opinions?

  My car zips to the curb. I search his questioning gaze, and say, “I'll see you in two weeks?”

  “Yes.” He follows me as I get into the car.

  “I will have a full outline of ideas and vendors for you by then. Thank you for dinner, Daniel,” My tone is lush but indicates our night has come to an end.

  He places his hands on the roof of the car. There will be no escape. “You clammed up when I introduced you to Lee.”

  “I didn't.”

  The cock of his head tells me he will not repeat himself.

  “All right, I might have. But did I say another asshole statement to you? No, I did not. So why feel slighted?”

  “Because we connected. Before Lee, we connected. You and I had something. Do not deny it. Talk to me.”

  Damn right we had a thing. It involved me at the end of your string. I glance onto the busy curb swarming with guests. Some have Japanese to-go cartons and some don't but, are all waiting to proceed to their next evening activity. “There are people—”

  “Let them wait,” he orders through gritted teeth.

  “Yeah, well, I have the faint idea that you won't allow this to be a quick conversation. So, no, Mr. Controller. Meet me at the coffee shop a few blocks down.”

  “I'll follow you,” he replies as a loud roar sounds behind us. His luxury car is behind mine.

  Ten minutes later, we have both parked at the edge of a Starbucks parking lot. For after ten pm, the place is crowded. Daniel comes to my car door and opens it. Chivalry, which I never knew survived, is reminding me that this mere act is on my “marriageable list.” I've been on too many damn dates where I’ve been relegated to opening my own damn door. This is a mannerism I crave.

  “Look, Daniel.” I get out of the car and begin to give him the spiel about him being different than me. There could never be an us. “We had a good night. I was caught up in the rapture of y—of the night. But the environment was all fun, entertainment, when we were supposed to have dinner and have your upcoming event be the focal point of discussion.”

  “I had to look out for my sister’s welfare. So, I assumed the guy was a douche bag.”

  This doesn't need to be the topic of conversation. Just Elite Events, jets, and celebration.

  I shrug. “And that's perfectly fine. I understand how you came to such a conclusion. Maybe Lulu threatened her brother because he spends more time with his girlfriend than helping out in Asahi Shark?”

  Daniel thumbs his eyebrow in thought. Damn, he looks so ambitious doing so. I can just imagine him troubleshooting billion dollar issues while rubbing at the scar on his eyebrow. He then says, “You think I am indifferent to Lee because of his job, don't you?”

  “Did I say that?” I ask, just as he shakes his head.

  “Nope, but I hit the nail on the head. We both know I'm no racist, and no you di
dn't say it, but I read you well, Ms. Taylor. You believe I judge him for his occupation.”

  I must work on my poker face. “I'll be honest. You're close. It's not about racism. It's…it's about who you surround yourself with and employ…” I pause to remove my emotions from my tone, “and really, I have no right to give a damn because I work for you, Daniel. I've already asked for us to keep this strictly business, so the current convo is already headed down the wrong road. This being said—”

  “The nanny I always referred to as Mama as a child—I still do—is black. Yes, my parents and grandparents employed upward of probably ninety-percent African Americans when I was a child.” I place my hand on my hip, but there's no stopping him. “But my team is say, roughly a quarter black, twenty-percent Hispanic, and thirty-percent Asian. Does that level out the numbers for you?”

  “I'm not having this discussion with you, Daniel. I attempted to explain to you where my head is at...” Damn, now I sound racist.

  “Juliet has had a boyfriend of every shade you can imagine,” he continues, and my hands fly to the heavens. He won’t let this go. “I also said that Jules has never been so close to any of them. You agreed when I told you about the text message. We both thought he was a cheater. I'd be damned if I allow any man regardless of wealth, status, race, creed, any fucking thing, to treat her wrong.”

  “You have a point, Daniel, which is why I’m sorry. This entire night just went left-field. So, let's keep this strictly business.”

  “I don't need apologies.” He steps closer to me. “I need you to acknowledge how you feel about me.”

  My throat clamps shut.

  He presses against me. “There's something about you that I desire, Des.”

  “I'm not easy.” Why must I hate this man? He is so damn tall, so damn fine, he smells as sweet as heaven and is alluring as hell all wrapped in one tantalizing bow.

  There is no space between us. It's a warm night, but my body is scorching. His chest is pressed against my breasts, my stomach is in knots; those stupid knots tighten and restrict and it's a feeling I haven't had since graduate school, damn it. It's not right!