Different Tastes (The Alexanders Book 7)

by Tina Martin

  Now she had to meet the owner’s brother, Preston Michaels, at seven this evening ironically at the very restaurant she first laid eyes on him, which was also the restaurant she gave the crappy review – Central Grub House. What other choice did she have?

  Chapter 4

  Running into Preston threw off her whole day. She’d been a zombie during inspections. Normally she’d be extra picky. Today, she was more lax. Off her game. Her mind wasn’t there. It was on Central Grub House, her review, subsequent blackmail and Preston Michaels. She still couldn’t believe what was happening. She’d written countless restaurant reviews – some good, some bad – but never had anyone confronted her about a bad review. Couldn’t people take constructive criticism anymore?

  After a long day, she wanted nothing other than to be at home – in her two-bedroom apartment – taking a lukewarm shower, followed by dinner, a little TV and then bed. Instead, she was sitting in a parking lot, debating on whether she wanted to get out and meet her blackmailer.

  Ugh.

  Disgust wasn’t the word to describe the feeling in her gut, having to give in to his demands. But what else could she do? If Preston told her boss, she would most likely lose her job of writing restaurant reviews for Charlotte Magazine, or worse, she could be fired from the health department. While writing is what she loved, it was her health department job that paid the rent.

  She sighed heavily. What to do? Tyson had told her that Preston wrote an article on him. She took out her phone, opened a web browser and found the article. Maybe it would give her some insight into Preston’s personality:

  Millionaires Who Give Back to the Community

  Article By Preston Michaels

  Tyson Alexander, world-class chef, shares his time and money giving back to the community. Born into a middle-class working family, his love of cooking started when he’d watched his mother in the kitchen preparing the family dinner every night.

  “While most teenagers my age were playing video games, I was learning how to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch,” he recounts.

  He must have learned how to make all foods from scratch. This millionaire chef is cooking up a storm these days. But along with his delicious meals, he’s also serving up some generosity. He donates his time cooking for a well-known charity restaurant in the Outer Banks – Padma’s Food House. He also provides pastries for the restaurant with his own money. I asked Mr. Alexander why he offers up his time and money to give back. His response:

  “I do it because, at some point in all of our lives, we’ll need the help of someone. Giving really is so much better than receiving. Try it. Doesn’t matter how big or small your contribution. Just try it. Make it a habit, and soon it will become a lifestyle.”

  ___________

  “Decent article,” Tamera said. It seemed straightforward and to the point. Hoping that Preston would be that way now, she proceeded out of the car, anxious to get this meeting over with.

  * * *

  Preston watched as Tamera strutted towards the building. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Even when the waitress asked what he’d wanted to drink, he told her to bring two glasses of water but his eyes stayed glued to Tamera as her hips swayed back and forth. Her walk looked mean – in every sense you could think of. She had an angry stomp to it that surely tested the endurance of the pumps she wore. She was dressed in the same black skirt suit she had on when he confronted her in the parking lot this morning. That meant she came straight from work. Probably exhausted and all.

  Still, she was a looker. Her hair seemed to make the features of her beautiful face more noticeable. Like her plump, gloss-pink bottom lip that was noticeably bigger than the top one and her small, delicate nose, rosy cheekbones and average sized ears. And even though she was a briefcase-toting health inspector – not a popular job especially when you threatened to shut down restaurants on a daily basis – there was something about her that made him want to see the softer side. The feminine side.

  He raised his arm and threw up his index finger when she stepped inside, looking around. She caught his gaze, saw his finger and rolled her eyes.

  As she began her walk towards him, he had no shame about staring. None whatsoever. He looked her up and down, getting a feel for her energy. He’d gotten a feisty sample this morning. She seemed pretty uptight and angry that he interfered with her work schedule. The woman didn’t have five minutes to spare. No wonder she was a prude.

  “You asked me here. Now what?” she said, sliding into the booth-style seat at the table, sitting directly across from him.

  “Now we can talk about how we’re going to handle this.”

  “How we’re going to handle this,” she mumbled with derision. “I should’ve worn a wire so I can get this blackmail exchange on tape.”

  He laughed.

  She wished she didn’t like the way his lips moved as he did so. Wished his teeth weren’t so freakin’ perfect and that his mustache wasn’t trimmed as precisely as his hair. She crossed her arms, fighting her attraction to him. She was too angry to be attracted to him.

  “I can assure you, this is not blackmail, Ms. Alexander.”

  Her brows furrowed. “I beg to differ. You’re threatening to tell my boss about my side job at Charlotte Magazine if I don’t remove a review I wrote about your sister’s restaurant. You don’t see that as blackmail?”

  “No,” he said, staring at her mouth.

  “Evidently, you don’t know what blackmail means. One second.” Tamera snatched her cell phone from her pocket, pulled up an Internet window, found an online dictionary and said, “Here it is. Blackmail—to force or coerce a particular action.”

  Preston chuckled.

  “Oh, it’s funny?” she scowled.

  “It is,” he said, still amused. “I’m not forcing you to do anything, Ms. Alexander. In fact, I’ve never had to coerce a woman to do anything with me. It’s always of her own free will.”

  Tamera shook her head. Was he talking about the issue at hand or something else? Still attempting to explain her position to him, she said, “You’re asking me to remove a review in exchange for not snitching me out to my boss. You are forcing my hand.”

  “I don’t want to think of it like that. I think we can use this opportunity to work together. By the way, I’m going to start calling you Tamera. Your last name is too long to keep saying over and over again.” Maybe if it was Michaels…

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “And, by the way…you have a gorgeous pair of lips that I’m having a hard time taking my eyes off of because you won’t stop talking. Keep it up and I’ll be tempted to kiss them right off of your face.”

  Her mouth fell open. Heart raced. Did he just say what I think he said? Couldn’t have.

  “Here are your waters,” the waitress said. “Do you all know what you want for dinner?”

  “Nothing for me,” Tamera said quickly. There was no way she was going to try anything else Central Grub House had to offer after the disgusting meal she had there.

  Preston looked up at the waitress and said, “We won’t be here long. Just bring some wings for now with ranch sauce.”

  Wings for you, not me, Tamera thought.

  She watched the waitress walk away. Looking at Preston, she said, “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

  “I do. Thanks for noticing,” he told her.

  Tamera went stone-faced. He had a good supply of confidence to go along with his boldness. It didn’t help that he looked so good while being straightforward with his take-charge attitude. And she’d never seen a man with whiter teeth. Never seen a man groomed as well as him. Poised, calm and collected. Gentlemanlike. That’s how she knew she had to be careful.

  Mark, her ex-husband, presented himself as a gentleman and turned out to be anything but. Then again, Preston couldn’t be a gentleman either. A gentleman wouldn’t threaten to kiss a woman’s lips off of her face, would he?

  Looking at him again, she said, “Since we’re
on a first-name basis, Preston, why did you want to meet me here – at Central Grub House – in all its glory?”

  “Because my sister isn’t here today. She doesn’t know I’m talking to you right now.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “She doesn’t. She told me about your article, I read it and told her I would handle it. I didn’t tell her how I would handle it.”

  Tamera shook her head. “It’s really ridiculous, you know. You can’t go on a crusade and attack people who give you bad reviews. I’ve had people who told me flat-out they didn’t like my articles. I didn’t make it a mission to seek them out. It’s the norm. Your sister can’t expect every customer who walks into her establishment to like it. It’s just not feasible.”

  “You’re right. I told her that. She’s somewhat of a hothead, though. Doesn’t listen much.”

  “That sounds like a personal problem. It has nothing to do with me.”

  “Oh, but it does Tamera. The reason she’s so bothered by your review is because of your profession. If people know you’re a restaurant health inspector, reading a bad review you wrote about her place could equal massive business loss. I know how much hard work and dedication my sister devoted to this place. As an outsider, you have no idea. She’s my sister. Of course, I want to look out for her. So, why not just take the review down and save us all the trouble?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it requires approval.”

  Preston took a sip of water. “What kind of approval? You wrote the article. You can take it down.”

  Tamera sighed. “It’s not that simple. I don’t know how it works over at Charlotte Recreational, but when we write articles at Charlotte Magazine, it goes through a two-step approval process before being published. My direct manager approves, then the head of my department approves. How am I going to look asking them to remove the article, which, by the way, requires the same two-step process?”

  “Well, how about amending it?”

  She frowned. “Amending it to say what?”

  He opened gestured with his hands. “That you tried something else at the restaurant and liked it.”

  “But that’s not true.”

  “Here are your wings, Sir,” the waitress said, interrupting.

  “Perfect timing,” Preston said.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.

  “No. This is plenty. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Enjoy.”

  “I’m not eating any of those wings if that’s what you were thinking,” Tamera told him.

  “Come on. They smell good, don’t they? And I’m sure you haven’t eaten.”

  Tamera looked at the wings again. They did smell good. The spice of the buffalo sauce wafted beneath her nose. The wings were so hot, steam rose from them. Stomach on empty, she even thought about trying the accompanying celery and she didn’t even like celery.

  “Try one,” Preston urged, taking a wing himself biting into it and mumbling how good it was, hoping to entice her into eating one.

  Tamera squinted at him. He had the nerve to lick and suck his fingertips, then took another wing and started all over again.

  Dang. Watching him eat could be a pastime…

  “Try one, Tamera,” he urged.

  The thought made her cringe. Her last experience with chicken at this place was one she wanted to forget. She didn’t need to create new bad food memories. But Preston didn’t look like he was the type to give up so easily. “Okay. I’ll try one.”

  He smiled briefly as he watched her take a bite. “You may want to dip it in the ranch.”

  “Why? To help bring out the flavor?”

  “No, because people usually dip wings in ranch or blue cheese. Well, normal people.”

  “No thanks.” She finished the wing, then licked her fingers. The wings were off the charts. The buffalo sauce had a spicy, yet tangy flavor to it. The meat was juicy and seasoned to perfection. She wondered if the same chef who’d prepared the wings had cooked the braised chicken. It couldn’t have been. “Do you know if these wings are prepackaged and already come seasoned?”

  “I have no idea. I just know they’re good. Why are you wondering about that, anyway?”

  “Just a job habit, I suppose.”

  “You’re not on the job right now, so relax and have another wing.”

  She took another while Preston studied her. At least he got her to eat here again. Some progress was better than no progress at all.

  “If it’s not prepackaged, I wonder if the same chef who prepared the braised chicken I reviewed also cooked these wings?”

  Preston grinned. “I knew that’s why you asked if the wings were prepackaged.”

  “I’m curious.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to relax?”

  “I am relaxed. I like working…figuring stuff out.”

  “Well, that’s sad,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  A lopsided grin appeared on his face. “What I mean is, work shouldn’t be your life. It should be a means of supporting yourself…not a way of life.”

  “So says the owner of Charlotte Recreational who single-handedly built his company from the ground up. Tell me your life doesn’t revolve around your work.”

  He smiled. He loved the challenging look in her eyes. He also liked the fact that she’d been looking into him and his company. “It was, for a while, then when I knew the company had grown to where I wanted it, I relaxed for a moment. Delegated work to others so the burden wasn’t all on me.”

  “Yeah, well…” She took a sip of water.

  “Well what?” he asked.

  She looked at him after placing her glass on the table. “That might work for you but I’m a single woman. I work hard to support myself and secure my financial future.”

  “And working solely as a restaurant health inspector doesn’t pull in enough income for you to do that?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. It does, but I make a nice chunk of change writing for Charlotte Magazine, too.”

  “But you don’t need that job.”

  Her brows furrowed. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Telling,” he said, holding her vision. “You don’t need it. In my experience, people who write less than part time do it for the fun of it—not as a career choice, per se but just to fulfill their desire to write or to use it as bragging rights to their friends and family.”

  Tamera took another wing.

  “Go ahead and admit I’m right,” he said.

  “You’re not. I like writing better than I like being a health inspector. With that being said, I love telling people I’m a writer and it is fun for me, but I take my subject matter, food, seriously.”

  “As you should, but do you have to be so harsh with it?”

  “Harsh? I’m not harsh.”

  Preston wiped his hands with a napkin, then took the folded article she’d written about his sister’s restaurant out of his pocket and cleared his throat. Reading from it, he said, “I imagine the mashed potatoes is what paper mache would taste like – you know that pulpy, starchy stuff you used to make art projects with as a kid in elementary school? Yeah. That.”

  Tamera hid a smirk.

  “Those are your words,” Preston said.

  “Okay, I’ll admit…when I run across a bad restaurant, I tend to be extra critical.”

  “But this isn’t a bad restaurant. You pointed out how neat and clean it was and—”

  “I did because it is clean but at the end of the day, people want good food. I’ve been in some raggedy old restaurants that looked like they should be condemned, but the food was off the charts.”

  Preston nodded. “I need you to help me out with this review situation. If you can’t take it down, can you at least amend it to talk about your experience with the wings?”

  “I told you—amending it is no better than asking for permission to take it down.”r />
  “How can we work out a compromise here?”

  “Um, I’m not sure. Can you hold off on the blackmail and give me a few days to think about it?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. I can do that. In the meantime, tell me how one becomes a restaurant health inspector.”

  “Well, you enroll in college and—”

  “Funny. I know that part. I mean, what made you want to do it.”

  She shrugged. “Probably because my brother’s a chef. I wanted to do something related to food, but not the cooking part.”

  “You can’t cook?”

  “I can. I know how to make braised chicken.”

  He chuckled. “You are something else.”

  “Seriously. My brother taught me.”

  “Your brother,” he said, not believing a word she said.

  “Yes. You know him.”

  “I do?” he asked, eyes wide.

  “Yeah. You do. His name is Tyson Alexander.”

  “Get out of here,” he said, beaming. “Tyson Alexander is your brother?”

  “Yep.”

  “Small world, huh? I did an article on him a while back.”

  “I know. He told me. When I sat down to type the article on this place, I called him to talk about it.”

  “Let me guess—you told him how disgusted you were with the food.”

  “Sure did. That’s when he mentioned you were the owner’s brother. I’d never heard your name before then.”

  “You work for a magazine and you don’t know your competition?”

  “Who said Charlotte Magazine considered you competition, Mr. Charlotte Recreational?”

  “Ouch,” he said as a smile settled in the corner of his lips. He didn’t come here with intentions of liking her so much. But her smart mouth and sprightly ways were actually growing on him, especially since most women were intimidated by his looks and overall aura. She was quite the opposite.