Power Couple

by Allison Hobbs

  Hmm. I wondered if the producers had had a change of heart and were going with Michelangelo, after all. But as I continued reading, I realized they hadn’t changed their minds. After Yancy’s appetizer critique, I was instructed to speak in complimentary terms regarding his entrée and dessert. Josh wanted me to tell Yancy that his ox tails were well-seasoned and that the broth was flavorful. His ice cream was to be described as a mouthful of yumminess that was beautifully presented and pleasing to the eyes. Oh, what a crock of shit!

  As far as my critique of Michelangelo’s entrée, I was expected to go in! Josh wanted me to speak to him in a scolding tone when I informed him of how disappointed I was in his presentation. I was instructed to make a face when I tasted his blackened shrimp and tell him that he went overboard with seasoning and should have streamlined the flavor profile. I was also supposed to complain that his cheese grits were mushy and heap on more criticism by telling him that the least successful thing on his plate was the mustard greens, which were overpowered by the onions and garlic.

  I continued reading the note and came to the conclusion that Josh was the cruelest and most sadistic fucking bitch I’d ever known. He didn’t simply want Michelangelo to be defeated; he wanted to annihilate the guy. I shook my head as I read his remarks regarding Michelangelo’s Key Lime Pie dessert: Say something about the overwhelming acidity of the limes and mention that the crust lacked crunch.

  For God’s sake! It was an outrage that the critique was written without the benefit of me or anyone else tasting either finalist’s food. It was downright criminal, yet I was helpless to do anything about it.

  But after this season, which was bound to be a huge success with all the drama that went down with some of the wacky contestants, I planned to renegotiate my contract and demand producer credit. Whether the show was nominated for an Emmy or not, I wanted full producer credit and lots more money. I didn’t want to be placated with a mere vanity credit, either. I planned to be an actively involved producer with my hands in everything from casting to selecting recipes.

  In the meantime, I had to suck it up and do as I was told. I observed my reflection in the mirror and then thanked my beauty team. I told them I needed a few moments of privacy before I went back on set.

  After Clayton, Robin, and Gina gathered their tools and left the dressing room, I looked in the mirror again and sighed. I was ashamed of the woman I had become. In a matter of minutes, I was going to look Michelangelo in the eyes and tell him that his delicious food sucked. If he believed me, my words had the potential of destroying his confidence and ruining his future in the culinary field.

  What price fame? I couldn’t stoop any lower in my marriage, and now I was throwing away any semblance of self-respect and pride I had in my career. If my mother and I were close, which we weren’t, I would ask her for advice. Being the success-driven woman that she was, she’d probably tell me to suck it up and do what I had to do to get ahead.

  Then I thought about Grandma Eula Mae. If she were still here, what would she think about my career decisions? There was no doubt in my mind that my grandmother, after taking all that shit off the police commissioner for so long, would tell me to stand up for myself and to protect the integrity of my show.

  Sorry, Grandma Eula Mae, but I don’t have your gumption, and I don’t have a choice in the matter.

  I popped an Advil. Chin up and determined to persevere, I walked out of the dressing room of the warehouse and returned to the lion’s den.

  CHAPTER 33

  Presented with Yancy’s appetizer, I took a very small bite. I chewed briefly and then quickly swallowed it down. Being a vegetarian, ingesting too much meat could cause me to hurl.

  I rattled off my rehearsed critique, telling him that his dish didn’t cut it. Yancy disagreed with my negative comments and didn’t mind telling me so. What a holier-than-thou creep!

  Michelangelo came forward and I took a spoonful of his Crab Bisque. “This is awesome. So creamy and smooth,” I raved.

  “Thank you, Cori. Thanks so much,” he said graciously.

  The entrées were next, and when I tasted Yancy’s dish, I couldn’t help making faces and going off script with disparaging comments. I hadn’t planned on busting on his dish, but his ox tails had too much heat and the broth was oily and unbearably salty.

  Although I didn’t have the guts to literally poison the arrogant son of a bitch in the manner in which Grandma Eula Mae had done away with her enemy, I damn sure could cut Yancy down a peg or two with my poisonous tongue.

  Once again, Yancy didn’t take my criticism well. He made excuses and bickered with me. His ungracious behavior was not a good look for him.

  When Michelangelo stepped forward and I took a forkful of his food, my taste buds did the happy dance.

  “The shrimp is perfectly cooked. This dish is very well composed. I love the balance of the cheese and grits—the texture is spot on. And the sautéed mustard greens, oh my God, so good—what is that tangy note I’m getting?”

  “It’s apple cider vinegar,” he replied with a shy smile.

  His humbleness was such a stark contrast to the obnoxious preacher. There was no doubt in my mind that when the show aired, Michelangelo would be a fan favorite.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Josh lurking in the shadows. I could feel him glaring at me, and I wasn’t surprised when the director yelled, “Cut.”

  “A word, Cori,” Josh hissed, and then hustled me off set. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Telling the truth about Yancy’s food,” I replied sassily.

  “Are you nuts? Everything is in place for Yancy to win. You can’t take it upon yourself to change the plans.”

  “I don’t know how they choose winners on other cooking competitions, but I’m going to use integrity when I make my selection.”

  “You don’t make decisions. You do as you’re told.”

  “Not anymore. This is my show, bitch. So kiss my ass and deal with it!”

  “Do not fuck with me, Cori. I’ll have this show cancelled before I allow you to destroy a program that I created.”

  “Do what you gotta do, motherfucker, but I’m calling the shots at this finale. I’m going to rely on my palate and not your stupid notes to critique the food that I taste. So, go fuck yourself and get out of my way,” I hissed, giving him a hard shove.

  As I threw my head up and strutted away, I could feel Grandma Eula Mae smiling down on me.

  The dessert segment was next and Yancy’s peach ice cream was the bomb. Keeping it real, I told him it was the most delicious ice cream ever created on the show.

  But as tasty as his ice cream was, it couldn’t begin to compete with Michelangelo’s Key Lime Pie with little flecks of fresh lime mixed throughout the pie filling.

  Finally, it was time to announce the winner, and despite what was written on the card inside the envelope, I proclaimed on national TV that Michelangelo was the winner and no one could dispute my word!

  I could see Josh holed up in a corner, looking like he wanted to choke me out. I imagined that he was telepathically hurling all sorts of derogatory remarks at me.

  I laughed inwardly. To thine own self be true. Whatever the consequences of my actions, at least I’d be able to look in the mirror and say that I’d upheld my convictions.

  Confetti and balloons floated from the ceiling and the finalists’ family members seemingly came out of nowhere. Michelangelo’s mother and his two sisters ran out on the stage and engulfed him in a hug.

  Yancy had a devastated look on his face while his wife and children stood in the background sulking.

  Next, all the losing contestants, minus Angus, charged the stage, clapping enthusiastically and congratulating Michelangelo. I had no idea where they’d been hidden. Their presence was a big surprise to me.

  Ralphie was among them. Even though I�
��d secretly paid him off, my guilt over the way he’d been forced off the show prevented me from making eye contact with him.

  Since the network had the responsibility of keeping the name of the winner a secret until the show aired on TV, the celebration that followed was held within the confines of the studio. A DJ materialized and began setting up his equipment. The food was catered by the behind-the-scenes chefs and there was plenty of liquor to ensure a good time.

  I made my obligatory rounds, shaking hands with Michelangelo’s family, and I chatted briefly with Yancy’s wife and kids.

  I noticed that Josh and his cronies didn’t bother to hang around. They’d left right after the taping, and I didn’t intend to linger around, either. Leaving the festive atmosphere, I strode to my dressing room, intending to pack up and slip out the rear door. There was no point in expecting my driver to be waiting for me in the front of the building. Being on Josh’s hit list, I was certain he’d already canceled that amenity. I wondered in what other ways he planned to retaliate. He’d probably stop footing the bill for my assistant’s salary and expect me to pay Ellie out of pocket from now on.

  The show had wrapped, but instead of feeling jubilant, I felt off center. I’d jeopardized my career over my convictions, and now I had to face the consequences. I bit my lower lip, terrified of what the future held for me. Then I had a sudden epiphany. The show was called, Cookin’ with Cori, so how the hell could Josh replace me?

  The answer to that question quickly flashed in my mind, and I realized that I was doomed. Josh was such a vindictive little twit, he’d figure out a way to get rid of me while keeping the show running with a series of guest-hosts. Even worse, he’d probably stick that thirsty Azaria Fierro in my place. He was so far up her ass, I had the impression that he wanted to be her.

  My agent had his work cut out for him in finding me suitable work. I’d turned down being the brand ambassador of an up-and-coming knife company, but now I was reconsidering that decision. If I didn’t secure a number of endorsement deals, I could end having to earn a living by holding cooking classes at a community center. Oh, the shame!

  At least my husband’s career was secure, I told myself as I lethargically threw a few of my personal items in a tote bag. Ellie could pick up the rest of my belongings at the Chelsea studio tomorrow.

  The moment I picked up my phone and called a car service, it seemed that the wrap party got extremely loud and the noise filtered into my dressing room. The music was pumping so loud and their voices were so boisterous, I could barely hear the person I was speaking to at the car service, and she could hardly hear me. I had to practically scream out the address of the warehouse as well as my instructions to have the car pick me up at the rear entrance.

  I was stressed and my head started pounding, again. I took another Advil, but it didn’t alleviate the pain. I had an hour to wait for the car, but unable to deal with the noise from the party, I decided to go outside and get some fresh air.

  I slipped out the back door and heard it lock behind me. Damn! Locked out, I looked around my environment. The rear area was more rundown than the front and there was nowhere to sit except for a few stray cinder blocks. I considered leaning against the structure, but it looked filthy, and would surely stain my pants suit.

  I thought about pounding on the door to get back inside but realized it would be a waste of time—no one would hear me. As if my life wasn’t fucked enough, I was forced to stand in heels for an hour.

  Suddenly, I heard the doorknob jangle, and I whirled around. To my surprise, Michelangelo was standing in the doorway, looking like a winner.

  “Hey, congrats, again,” I said, breaking into a genuine smile.

  “Thanks. It doesn’t seem real, yet.” He looked at me oddly. “What are you doing out here in the dark? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine—waiting for my ride.”

  “I needed to get away from the noise for a moment. Mind if I join you while you wait?”

  “Sure, I love your company,” I said sincerely.

  He unlocked the door from the inside, making sure he didn’t get locked out, and then stood next to me.

  “You look troubled. Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  “Couldn’t be better. But enough about me, what are you going to do with the prize money…open a restaurant?” I asked, merely making small talk.

  “I had planned to use the money to open a restaurant in my dad’s honor, but now that it’s a reality, I realize that a hundred thousand won’t go very far in the restaurant world. To do what I intended, I’d need more backing. Maybe a partner. I may use the money to travel. Learn the food culture in places like Africa, Asia, and Spain. That kind of education is invaluable.”

  “Traipsing around the world sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “It would be more fun if you were joining me,” he said solemnly.

  “Don’t start, Michel. You know how complicated my life is.”

  “Yeah, so why don’t you let me make it uncomplicated?” He swiveled me around, forcing me to face him—to see the hunger that filled his eyes. He looped his arms around me, pulling me close with a possessiveness that I was too weary—too beaten down to fight. The chemistry between us was undeniable. Simply giving in to the heat seemed easier than continuing to fight a battle I couldn’t win, and so I melted into him without protest.

  His kiss was intense. Aggressive. His tongue invaded my mouth like a conquering army. Feeling his hard dick pressed into my groin, my body undulated against him.

  His hand slid down to my crotch, which he discovered was moist. Breaking the kiss, he looked at me and smirked. His expression told me he wasn’t at all surprised that my pussy was dripping with anticipation.

  Michelangelo lowered his mouth to my ear, brushing it lightly with his lips. “You know you want me as much as I want you. Am I lying?”

  I didn’t respond.

  Taking my silence as consent, he backed me into the grubby exterior of the warehouse. The idea of protecting my Carolina Herrera pants suit was the last thing on my mind.

  I closed my eyes and tilted my head back in surrender. While his lips grazed my bared throat, his fingers busied themselves, unbuttoning my jacket and deftly unhooking my bra. He cupped both breasts with his warm hands, and I shivered with delight. Dipping his head to suckle, his tongue danced across the nipple of my right breast, rapidly bringing it to a sharp point. I felt his thumb graze the left nipple, drawing slow deliberate circles around it. I moaned and clutched his jacket in both fists as he went back and forth, teasing each nipple in turn, firing darts of pleasure throughout my entire system. One hand pulled away from the sumptuous mounds of my breasts and meandered downward, caressing my thigh, moving slowly toward my hip, and then around to the front of my pants.

  Expert fingers unhooked the clasp as I stood trembling before him. His hot hands palmed my ass and then, his fingertips traveled around my waist before wandering to my tummy. He slowly dragged his fingers downward, leaving a line of fire in their wake. They journeyed lower and lower, and then grazed across the velvet texture of my inner lips. I spread my legs, giving his adventurous fingers access to my heated interior. One finger, then two, slid in and out of me gently, but with insistence, until slick, leaking moisture revealed that I was ready for him.

  Momentarily insane, I didn’t care that we were outside—exposed. I mumbled how badly I needed him as I grabbed his waistband and freed his dick. Freed from confinement, the full length of his shaft speared toward me. My hand closed around its wide girth and I aimed the helmeted head toward my throbbing clit.

  Michelangelo bent his knees a little as he drove himself deep inside me.

  I wanted more of him. No, I wanted all of him, and so I pulled one leg out my designer pants, allowing the expensive fabric to drag the dirty ground. With newfound freedom, I propped my foot on a tall stack of cinder blocks to give
Michelangelo more access. He anchored me with his arms wrapped around my waist and then proceeded to work his concrete manhood inside me.

  He was hunched over and I met his thrust by standing on the tiptoe of one foot while the sole of the other was planted on the top cinder block. The gentle, yet persistent fuck that Michelangelo had begun, soon morphed into a furiously intense coupling.

  My mind drifted a bit above the frenzy, wondering how we must have looked. With me splayed open and straining to meet his height and him bent low as he thrust into me, we must have looked like contortionists from Cirque du Soleil as we slow-fucked in such an awkward position.

  Strangely, our awkward position made it easy for him to reach my spot. With every stroke, my stomach spasmed and I drew air in desperate gasps. As I climaxed, the only way to keep the volume of my voice down was to bite my lip so hard that I tasted blood.

  Michelangelo came shortly after I did. Groaning my name, his body shuddered violently, but he didn’t let me go. In that spinning vortex of ecstasy we had created, he remained an anchor, holding me tightly.

  CHAPTER 34

  Maverick returned from Brazil with a sun-bronzed hue to his brown skin. Not only did he look exceptionally handsome, but he was also in great spirits. I assumed his cheerful disposition was the result of his slutty adventures in Brazil. Fucking his brains out for seven days straight did for Maverick what a week-long spa retreat did for the average person. I wondered if the hookers in Brazil had put up with his penchant for biting, or was that something only Russian whores were into?

  After spending three nights of passionate sex with Michelangelo, I was feeling pretty good, my damn self. Now that Michelangelo had decided to travel the world, he could appreciate not being tied down with one person, and our “friends with benefits” situation was much more appealing to him, now.

  For the next few weeks, the two of us were scheduled to do a press junket, which required overnight stays in some instances—like our upcoming photo shoot in Hawaii for Bon Appétit magazine. We were being flown to beautiful Waikiki to be photographed on the beach with a spread of delectable Southern cuisine.