by Pamela Yaye
“You’ve already reminded me, Mom, remember? Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”
“Well,” she said, straightening the silk tie that perfectly matched his tailored suit, “I’m just making sure.”
“What would make you think I’d not come after giving my word?”
Jennifer’s voice dropped. “Whatever or whoever has you almost running from a very successful fundraiser with a gleam in your eye.”
Geez, am I that obvious? Maybe, but once again Niko answered by not answering. He kissed his mother on the forehead. “Thank you so much for everything you did today. Without your great taste and keen eye, this affair would not have been nearly as successful.”
Jennifer chuckled. “Nice try, son, but I don’t distract so easily. Feel free to have her join us if you’d like.”
“Goodbye, Mother. See you tomorrow.”
“Love you, son.”
“I love you more.”
Walking to the car, his phone rang. “Hello, Ashley.”
“Hey. What are you doing?”
“Just left a fundraiser, now headed home to change before going to dinner.”
“Then my timing is perfect. I haven’t eaten, either. Tell me where you’re going and I’ll meet you there.”
“This is a business dinner.”
“Oh, okay. Listen, I wanted to thank you for the generous arrangement you made with our customers earlier today. We’re booked solid for the next two weeks.”
“My newest mayoral rival provided breakfast. I had to step up my game.”
“Mo Slater? She’s been cozying up to my mom, who’s taken the bait. I think she’s an opportunist, and I think you have nothing to worry about.”
“I appreciate that.”
“So...what are you doing after dinner?”
“I have plans but appreciate your support. Take care, Ashley.”
Niko loosened his tie as he arrived at his home, mere blocks away from his parents’ abode. He thought about what his grandfather had told him when he’d shared his plans to enter politics.
“Your life won’t be your own,” Walter Drake had told him, a few terms as city councilman in his native New Orleans giving him a personal perspective from which to speak. “Your time, either. Get ready for everyone to want a piece of you. But being a dedicated public servant has its own unique rewards.”
Niko had listened keenly to his grandfather, who he now counted as one of his most valued political consultants. On one thing Niko most definitely agreed. There were rewards to throwing one’s hat into the political ring. Niko wondered if there was any possibility that tonight’s date could prove to be one of them.
Chapter 5
Monique stepped inside the entrance to the exclusive Paradise Cove Supper Club, located just inside the city’s equally elite golf course available by membership only. While not an avid golfer, she’d been to the course and had also dined at this restaurant. Thanks to her godmother, she knew firsthand about the skillful hands of its classically trained Brazilian chef, who loved to add new twists to traditional dishes. She also made sure she dressed to impress, and this time she didn’t even lie to herself about the reason. Niko was why she’d chosen the never-before-worn Calvin Klein sheath dress that was simple but tailored to fit like a glove, caressing but not squeezing every one of her curves. The royal-blue color highlighted her deeply tanned skin, and the softly rounded neckline, jeweled choker and gently upswept hair with wisps remaining against the crook of her neck gave special emphasis to that area. She’d kept her makeup minimal—a dusting of powder, mascara and gloss—letting her designer silver slingbacks adorned lightly with crystals provide just the right amount of understated bling.
“Good evening.” The genteel-looking man made a slight bow as he greeted her.
He was so formal in his demeanor that Monique almost felt she should curtsy in response. Instead, she graced him with a smile. “Good evening.”
“Forgive my presumptiveness, but a woman as beautiful as you is surely not dining alone. Are you perhaps here to meet Mr. Drake?”
“I am,” Monique responded, hiding her surprise. “Has he arrived?”
“He has indeed, Ms. Slater, and instructed me to have you join him at once. Please, come this way.”
Monique held her smile, discreetly looking around the restaurant and nodding at those who met her eye. She was also trying to see Niko, trying to get in that first look, the one that seemed to take her breath away no matter how often she saw him. But they walked through the entire main restaurant and she hadn’t seen a trace. When the maître d’ turned down a short hallway, Monique was even more confused. I wasn’t aware of another section. This place must be bigger than I thought.
They reached an ornately decorated set of brass double doors. The maître d’ knocked twice, paused a couple of seconds and then turned the knob. “After you,” he said, holding the door as he stood back.
Monique walked through the door and was immediately grateful for the discipline that allowed her to calmly watch as Niko stood next to a table set for two and continue the steps to meet him. Especially when her insides quivered, her panties instantly moistened and once again the air managed to leave the room. He was handsome. Even a blind woman could see that. But living in L.A. and spending as much time on the beach as her schedule allowed, she saw gorgeous, well-chiseled Adonises all the time. What was it about this man, Monique wondered, that made her lose all semblance of control? It was a trait that had served her well all of her life and now it was as if she couldn’t even spell the word let alone possess an ounce of its attributes. The room was small and intimate, yet in the steps it had taken to reach him she’d been able to steady her breathing and find her tongue.
“Good evening,” she said, holding out her hand. “Thanks again for inviting me to dinner.”
After giving an almost imperceptible nod to the maître d’, Niko enveloped her small, dainty hand in his strong, masculine one before lifting it to his lips for the wispiest of kisses. “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Slater.” He stepped away from her and pulled out her chair. “Please.”
She sat, trying very hard not to imagine that she was Cinderella and Niko her prince. “Thank you.”
She lowered her head to place the napkin on her lap. But that didn’t stop her from stealing a couple of discreet glances as he walked over to his chair and sat down. She noticed that he too had changed from the flattering slacks, shirt and pullover that he’d worn at the beauty salon. The navy-colored suit that now graced his body was immaculate and looked so soft that she wanted to squeeze his arm. Not only to touch the fabric but to see if the biceps she’d perceived beneath the cloth was real. In a field dominated by men wearing nice suits, she should have not been bothered in the slightest. But there was something about Niko that made him stand out. It was the combination, she decided, smiling over her glass as she took a sip of water. Looks, brains, money and class mixed with just the right amount of swagger and sex appeal. Lethal. Dangerous. And damned if she didn’t want to go ahead and play with fire, even knowing that there was a strong possibility that she could get burned.
“This is nice,” she said into the silence, as she looked around to keep from connecting with the dark bedroom eyes that gazed upon her. “I didn’t know this room existed.”
“Not many do, unless you’re a lifetime member. My parents have belonged to the club forever, so the children gained entry pretty much by default.”
“How many children are in your family?” Monique eased back against the cushioned chair, thankful that she finally felt that she was in familiar territory—subtle interrogation.
“There are eight of us.” Niko leaned back, as well. “All of us live here in Paradise Cove except for Reginald, whose wife has deep and abiding ties with New Orleans, where they reside, and my youngest brother, Julian
, who’s studying in New York.” He took a sip of lemon water. “What about you?”
“One brother, a doctor. He practices at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.”
“A doctor and a lawyer, huh? Your parents must be proud.”
“They are. Both were overachievers and encouraged their children to be the same. Are any of your siblings involved in politics?”
The smooth grin that spread across Niko’s face was enough to make a nun rethink her celibacy. He looked absolutely decadent, Monique imagined, and she would have bet a year’s salary he tasted just as sweet. “Come on, now. You’re an attorney. We’ve both done our homework, scoped out the terrain. If there was another Drake involved in politics, that information would be on the internet, and you would know about it.”
“Which is why I’m sure my brother’s occupation is no surprise. Nothing wrong with including the question in a bit of friendly conversation, is there?” Monique’s eyelashes fluttered as she looked at him, a move that was totally against the game plan. Do not flirt with him, Monique Slater. Do. Not. Flirt! Before this thought could completely make the rounds from her head to the body parts that needed the directive, a giggle had escaped her lips and she’d reached up to place an errant tendril of hair behind her ear.
Wait, was that me? Did I just giggle? I never giggle. I’m too old and too grown to giggle. She gave herself a silent chiding and vowed to behave.
Niko eyed her intently but said nothing as the sommelier entered the room and presented Niko’s wine choice. After he tasted and nodded his approval, the handsome young blond nodded, turned on his heel and quietly left the room.
Pouring their glasses of wine hadn’t taken long, but fortunately it had been enough for Monique to regain her professional-woman, top-notch defense-attorney senses. By the time he held up his glass, she was ready for those sexy brown eyes, cushy-full lips and dimple that winked every time that he smiled. Salivating, lust-filled, but ready.
She picked up her glass. “To what shall we toast?”
“What about to what was earlier suggested? A fair, clean, positive campaign?”
“Sure.”
They clinked glasses and took small sips of the vintage-year cabernet.
Monique took a second drink and set down her glass. “You said that too fast for it to have been an off-the-cuff response.”
“It’s one of the reasons I invited you here. I know that modern-day politics have been reduced to negative ads and smear campaigns. But that’s not my style. And while I don’t know very much about you—the second reason why I requested the pleasure of your company—I get the feeling that it’s not your style, either.”
“I definitely plan to run on the merits of my education, experience and qualifications to lead this town into an exciting and prosperous future.”
“What type of excitement do you have planned?”
There it was again, a flirtatiousness executed so deftly and gone so quickly that she questioned whether it was real or imagined. Perhaps this was just his personality and, as such, she shouldn’t get her hopes up that he was interested in her in that way.
And just what way is that, Monique Slater? This question in her mind she heard in her mother’s no-nonsense voice. It was a good question. Because Monique wasn’t interested in Niko like that. She’d had a crush on him, sure. Probably along with thousands of other college-aged girls. She found him attractive. So what? Anyone with eyes would feel the same. But any thoughts of anything ever happening between the two of them were beyond wishful thinking; they were flat-out ridiculous. She wasn’t his type, nor he hers if she really thought about it. Even though she’d ended their relationship, she belonged with a man more like Rob: solid, steady and...safe. And most of all? They were adversaries in a political campaign. It would be the height of scandal if anything untoward ever happened between them. No, their interactions would be totally innocent and strictly professional. How it should be. How it must be.
So why did this thought make Monique feel like crap?
“Strategizing against me?”
Monique looked up from the wineglass, where she’d been idly running her finger around the rim. She hadn’t realized she’d grown silent, had no idea how long she’d been lost in her own thoughts. “Forgive me. There’s a lot on my mind.”
“Running for elected office is definitely hard work.”
“I also have a couple cases to wrap up before I can immerse my head totally in the game.”
“You’re still handling clients?”
“I took a leave of absence from the firm but retained a couple cases that I felt too involved in to turn over. I’m also mentoring a young man who was paroled to my care. His name is Devante.”
“He lives with you?”
Monique shook her head. “He and another young man share an apartment.”
“That’s dedication.”
“Or narcissism. Right now, I can’t tell which.”
“Ha!” A waiter entered the room pushing a tray containing a bowl of wilted arugula salad and warm, freshly baked rolls. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of planning our menu. The choices in here are different than those offered in main dining.”
“Really? I’d looked forward to the chef’s succulent filet mignon.”
“Ah, so you’re familiar with Esteban’s culinary skills.”
“Probably not as intimately as you are, but I really enjoy the way he prepares that cut of meat. I’m not that picky of an eater, however. I’m sure that whatever you’ve ordered is fine.”
She enjoyed a bite of the salad that had been placed down in front of her. “This is delicious. I love the blend of sweet and bitter.”
“Yes, that’s one of Esteban’s signature dressings, a pomegranate vinaigrette.”
“So you’re not only successful, but cultured, too.”
“I guess you can say that my mama raised me right.” Monique laughed and he continued. “We were always learning, school or no. The world was our classroom and it was always in session. She encouraged us to be curious, to ask questions and to not be afraid to try new things. Then, it wasn’t always appreciated, but now I’m reminded of the foundation she and Dad provided every single day.”
“Do you personally know the other men running? Dick Schneider and Buddy Gao?”
“Dick’s a good old boy I’ve known for most of my life. He’s old-school, traditional, conservative. His father’s a retired judge with connections. Fortunately they’re largely Republican while ours is a more liberal town.”
“And Buddy?”
“Good kid, former immigrant reform activist who cut his political chops in Berkeley after graduating from the university there. He’s only twenty-six years old, but will probably be a contender in the future.”
“He’s twenty-six and you call him a kid? How old are you?”
Niko smiled. “Thirty-one. My grandparents say I have an old soul. What about you? Or are you one of those women?”
“Thirty-three,” she responded, ignoring his jab. “And, by the way, you do look good.”
“Thank you,” he responded, obviously appreciative of her remark.
“For an old man.”
“Ha!”
The easy banter continued through an entrée of perfectly prepared chateaubriand served with grilled asparagus and jasmine rice, and a three-berry crisp with whipped cream for dessert. They talked generally about the political landscape and the upcoming national elections, but also learned a bit more about each other. Niko was pleased to learn that Monique was an avid tennis fan who played on occasion, and Monique found it interesting that the chic, fashion-forward Niko rode horses and liked to fish. One topic was pointedly not discussed: their romantic lives.
After being let out through a private side door, Niko walked with Monique through the pa
rking lot. “Thanks again for a lovely evening,” she said, after he’d insisted on opening her car door. She held out her hand.
He looked at it and then at her. “My roots are Southern,” he said easily. “We prefer hugs to handshakes.”
He took a step and in the next second she was enveloped in his strong, comfortable arms. As soon as her soft breasts met his hard chest, she felt it, an attraction so strong it was electric and real, traveling from her core to her toes and back up to her heart. Her nipples pebbled and once again muscles that hadn’t been used for months tightened with desire, even as she felt her mouth go dry. Niko must have felt something too because he abruptly ended the hug and stepped back.
She didn’t want to look at him, sure that blatant desire, ardent lust and thoughts of good old booty bumping showed on her face. But since it would seem even stranger to say goodbye with her face obscured, she did face him, totally prepared to see a cocky, knowing look in his eye.
But she saw something different—hunger, desire—before he blinked and the moment was gone.
“See you on the campaign trail,” she sang, trying to sound casual and unaffected, getting into her car before she did something crazy like throw caution to the wind and kiss the lips that had tempted her all evening.
“Be safe,” he responded.
She pulled away, then looked into the rearview mirror to find him still standing there, staring. Something had happened tonight, when they’d hugged; something innate yet palpable, something ethereal yet all too real. Monique had no doubt that she’d felt it and she was positive that Niko had sensed it, too.
On the drive home she tried to redirect her thoughts about him, focus solely on the fact that they were opponents in a coveted mayoral campaign. But such attempts were futile. The race was on, of that there was no doubt. Whether it ended in a boardroom or a bedroom, now, that was the question. That Monique was leaning toward the latter as her ending of choice was creating a problem, one that would only escalate in the coming months if there were more intimate meetings like this.