by Alice Bello
~*~
Walking into Caulderon’s, Lucy felt more than good, she felt fabulous. She hadn’t felt pretty in a very long time, and now she felt absolutely beautiful. No. She felt stunning and gorgeous, and she knew without a doubt that every head in the restaurant was turning to look at her.
She felt the self-confidence return to her step. She suddenly felt powerful.
Luvici stopped at the maître d’s podium, and after only a moment’s pause to take in Luvici, the host’s face turned warm and inviting as he beckoned them into the restaurant.
The place seemed larger to Lucy, now. Even though she’d only been here once, she’d taken it all in with an air of entitlement. Now, she knew that your life could be changed, leveled to dirt and mud—and special sauce—so now she was taking everything in with much more care, savoring the moment.
But something in Lucy decided she didn’t like the way she was feeling. An expensive dress, a quickie salon experience and getting to enter a high priced eatery weren’t things she had ever imagined she would be thankful for.
What’s wrong with me?
Luckily, Lucy didn’t have time to ponder this. In seconds the host had shown them to what was most certainly the best table in the house. Center stage, two waiters and two assistant waiters stood like sentinels, waiting to act on their customer’s every command and wish.
Okay, this is nice, Lucy thought as one of the wait staff pulled out her seat and then gently pushed it in once she sat down.
Lucy was so taken with this formality that she almost didn’t notice the two men who had stood to greet her. They were still standing, looking down on her with matching looks of mild irritation.
Lucy shot up out of her chair, and thankfully didn’t knock anything over in her haste.
“I’m so sorry,” Lucy said, suddenly feeling clumsy and rude—though she wasn’t quite sure why.
The older man spoke, extending his hand, “Not at all.” It was creepy phone guy, a.k.a Mr. Enoch. “I’m afraid I should be more… flexible. Regrettably, I’m old and set in my ways. Please forgive me, Miss Hart.”
Okay, his voice may still be kind of creepy. She took his rather warm hand, but he really couldn’t be any more handsome and ingratiating. She could well imagine him holding court with royalty, and she was sure he and Shirley would get along perfectly.
She smiled to herself just thinking of Shirley chatting him up on her bus. The idea was preposterous.
Mr. Enoch released her hand, giving her a tiny dip of his silver haired head in salute. Then he turned to the other man at the table.
Wow! Lucy thought, looking up into his handsome, dark featured face. Dark chocolate brown eyes you could get lost in. His lips were kissably thick, with just a touch of pink. And his bone structure was perfect; Prince charming in the flesh. Not to mention how his suit was tailored to hug his lithe body to utter perfection. The chocolate and caramel in the suit only accentuated his dark skin and hair.
Oh, and his eyes—drowning deep. Can’t get over those eyes.
But then she noticed the look on the handsome younger man’s face. It was a look she’d never seen coming from a man. Usually men looked at her with admiration and longing. She was used to that. But this guy, he looked at her with clear disdain. Lucy had never had a perfect stranger look at her with such pure contempt.
“This is my nephew, Gabriel Enoch,” Mr. Enoch said, introducing them. “Gabriel, this is Lucy Hart.”
Lucy beamed her brightest smile at him, thinking that maybe he was uncertain of her, or that he was just shy. She offered him her hand.
He looked at it as if he didn’t know if her hand was clean enough to touch. Obsessive Compulsive disorder? There were no less than six kids in her old school who had extreme cases of the illness. She almost sighed with empathy. Those kids were a mess, and miserable as all get out.
But then Gabriel Enoch reached out and took her hand. He was hot. Not as in visually appealing, which he was. His hand, his flesh, was hot to the touch. He shook her hand and then suddenly let it go, looking at his own hand as if it had been infected or something.
“She won’t work,” he said to Dante Enoch.
“Gabriel?” The lawyer’s voice was smooth as silk, but there was irritation there too.
“It won’t work. She’s so…” He was glaring at Lucy with loathing.
“She’s beautiful,” Dante tried to finish for his nephew.
“Shallow and greedy, I’d say.”
Luvici cut in. “She comes from a good family. That is what you were looking for.”
“Not that good,” Gabriel said. “Not if she’d do this for money.”
Both lawyers stood there with shocked expressions on their faces. Gabriel turned to Dante. “I’m sorry, Uncle, but I have things I need to take care of.”
Lucy knew she should have been hurt. Any other girl in the world would have been pushed to tears by the words that fell from Gabriel Enoch’s lips. But she wasn’t like any of those girls. She’d already had every kind of degradation visited upon her in the last six months. She needed this, no matter what kind of jerk she had to work with.
Lucy blocked his escape by walking up to him and laying one of her freshly manicured hands on his chest. The gesture was intimate, as was the smile that she knew would bring out her dimples. This made Gabriel gulp, which was good. It meant she had his full attention.
“I might be shallow and greedy, and I may be the sort of girl that would do…” she gave him a slow, dismissive up and down look, “this for money. But you need this just as much as I do.”
He scoffed.
“Come on, Gabe…” His eyes flashed angrily at Lucy nicknaming him. Interesting. “What is it anyways?”
“What is what?”
Lucy noted how his irritated tone suddenly shot down in volume.
“Well, from your lack of an accent, I’d say you don’t need a fiancée for immigration purposes, so this all has to do with the object of your affections.”
Gabriel scowled, anger glowing in his gaze.
“So what’s the what? Is your family racist or something, so you can’t bring your non-Anglo Saxon girlfriend home to meet the folks? Or…” Lucy laughed and rolled her eyes. “I get it. I get it.” She sat down and took a sip of the ice cold bubbling water that sat at her place setting. “I’m going to be your beard.”
“You’re going to be his what?” Dante looked completely confused.
“His beard,” Lucy answered. She looked up into Gabriel’s scorching gaze. “So you’re gay and you don’t want your family to know. Well, I wouldn’t have guessed. Course, it’s hard to tell nowadays.”
“I’m not gay,” Gabriel said flatly.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but I think trying to hide that kind of thing from your folks isn’t good for you.”
Gabriel looked taken aback.
“I mean, stress like that can ruin your complexion. Not to mention put lines on your face before their time.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Gabriel shook his head and Lucy saw that his fists were balled up. “I’m not gay. But there’s nothing wrong with being so.” He shot her through with his eyes. “Only low people still find homosexuality something to hate or be embarrassed about.”
Whoa… this guy is serious as a heart attack, Lucy smiled. More interesting. And kind of likable, if you ignore the whole “low people” barb.
But, Lucy peered up at Gabriel Enoch’s exasperated face, I like yanking his chain.
“So, Gabe… then your family’s a bunch of bigots?”
The look on Gabriel’s face turned downright scary. He bent down, one of his fists on the table, lowering his face to mere inches from Lucy’s. “My family is none of your goddamn business.”
Lucy felt a stab of fear. But instead of leaning away from him, she leaned toward him, her smile still in place but her
eyes turning cold. That wonderful annoyed heat was building in her head again. It was such a relief, how that feeling seemed to clear her head and make her calm. Well, calm wasn’t quite the word for it.
Determined maybe? That heat seemed to let her see where she was supposed to go, what she wanted, and what she needed to do to get it.
“Then my family and my motives are none of your goddamn business either. And I’m not a prostitute, so quit looking at me like I am!”
A smile flickered across his lips. There was something, suddenly, passing through the air between them. Something sinister or simply a trick of hormones, whatever it was made Lucy’s toes curl and the back of her neck tingle.
He smells so good…
But he is such a jerk!
The heat evaporated from Gabriel’s expression as he straightened to his full height. He was smiling and shaking his head. Lucy didn’t like his smile. She liked him better when she was pissing him off.
“She’ll do,” he told his uncle, and then he nodded to Lucy as he started to walk away.
“Gabriel?” Dante said. “Where are you going? There is much to discuss.”
Gabriel spoke as he walked to the door: “You know the terms we need. I’m certain you can handle things from here.”
And with that Gabriel Enoch was gone out the front door, disappearing into the bright Californian daylight.
Luvici sat down and pawed through the menu. Dante turned and looked at Lucy. She couldn’t stop smiling. Had she passed the test? What came next? She was seeing the sparkling diamond at the end of her journey again. And this time, it was twice as big as before.
Dante sat down, shaking his head and then looked up at his lunch guests with a weary look in his eyes. That look extinguished when Luvici called out an order for a bottle of Chateau Margaux 1995, and an appetizer of oysters.
“Very well, Francis.” Luvici glared at Dante, but didn’t say anything back. “Shall we order? Then we can talk business?”
“Fine by me.” Luvici went on to order a huge and exurbanite meal. French onion soup and a Cesar salad—as if his breath needed any help being disgusting. Then he ordered a porterhouse steak (rare) with provolone cheese and scampi shrimp on top. Throw in a baked potato with butter, sour cream, bacon bits and chives, and Lucy thought she was going to throw up if she was going to have to watche him eat all that.
But since this was her fantasy restaurant, she wanted to order something really good. She’d been eating mostly her grandmother’s cooking and McDonald’s, so eating at a high class eatery was an event.
Her mouth watered as she looked over the choices. Everything on the menu looked good, especially since there weren’t any prices on it. Maybe a combo platter of a little of everything… maybe the size of the table?
Then she thought of how she hated feeling so thankful for being there. Being like that, feeling that way, it just made her mad. How had she gotten this far down?
“I’ll have the grilled chicken and a spring leaf salad with honey mustard dressing on the side.” She was going to trim down to her old size—she’d just decided. And she was going to demand weekly trips to this very restaurant in their negotiations. That way she’d get over this whole “thankful for things” phase.