Marie Sexton - Coda 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (4 page)

He waved his hand dismissively at me. “No, Jon. You know your job.” That was the closest thing to praise I would ever get from Marcus. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

I sat down in the chair opposite him. “I’m listening.”

“Monty called a meeting yesterday.” Montgomery Brewington was our CEO, and Marcus was one of the only people in the entire company who could refer to him by his first name. “He’s talking about restructuring.”

“Restructuring, how?”

 

“He wants to have Account Liaisons in each state, to cut down on travel expenses.”

 

“That makes sense, I suppose. What does it mean for me?”

“Keep in mind, Jon, that this is all conjecture at this point. No decisions have been made. But if it happens,” he shrugged, “there are several possibilities.”

“Such as?”

“There are seven major areas he’s talking about having to cover: Arizona, LA, San Diego, San Francisco, Vegas, Colorado, and Utah. The problem is we currently have ten of you covering those areas.”

“So you’re saying three of us will lose our jobs?” I asked, trying to fight the panic that was suddenly blooming in my chest.

“Nobody’s losing their job, Jon.”
“Then what?”
“Three of you will probably be demoted.”
25

“
What
?”

 

“Don’t get too upset yet. The good news is you’re fifth in line, so there’s no reason to believe that you would be one of the three.” That
was
good news. I counted to five, felt myself relax a little. “In which case, I have a one in seven chance of having to relocate?” “Yes. What I’m asking is, how do you feel about that?”

I had to think about that for a minute. I wasn’t attached to Arizona. I hated the idea of moving, simply because I knew it would be a pain in the ass. And my dad was in Phoenix. I would definitely miss seeing him if I had to move. But there was no reason to fight it. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Marcus. You know that.”

He smiled. “Good man.” He stood up, which told me our meeting was over, and I followed suit. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I
LEFT
the office with my head full of visions of moving to another state and the possible promotion that might come along with a new position. I drove home in a bit of a daze. My first indication that something strange was going on was the Saab parked in my driveway. When I walked in the front door, I found Julia sitting on the couch with a glass of wine.

“How was your trip?” she asked.

 

“Uneventful,” I told her as I dumped my luggage just inside the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Your boyfriend asked me to let him in—”
“My
what
?”

“—and I wasn’t going to at first. But somehow he talked me into it, and—”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“—it’s so sweet, wanting to surprise you with dinner—” 26

I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I crossed the living room and pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. Cole was at the stove, and I snapped at him, “What the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t even turn to look at me. “I’m making dinner, sugar. Isn’t it obvious?”

 

“You just decided to break into my house and make dinner?”

“There’s no need to be dramatic,” he said, turning to face me. “I didn’t
break in
.” He was dressed like before: dark, slim-fitting pants and some kind of lightweight sweater in a pale shade of green. It accentuated his eyes, which I could see now weren’t brown but hazel. He was barefoot, and for some reason I found my gaze drawn to his slender feet. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset you. I really am.” And he did sound more sincere than usual. “But I know how it is when you’re traveling, eating at restaurants all the time, and I thought you might appreciate a home-cooked meal. That’s all, sugar. I tried to call, but it went straight to voice mail.” Of course. My phone had been turned off since I’d boarded the plane in LA nearly five hours earlier. “I’m sure it was terribly inappropriate, coercing poor Julia into letting me in. But if I waited until you got home to start cooking, we wouldn’t be eating until after eight. So I decided to take a chance.”

And to be honest, my anger was fading. It really was a thoughtful gesture. I couldn’t remember the last time somebody had made any kind of effort for me. After ten days in LA, eating out for every breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the idea of a quiet meal at home was infinitely more appealing than a crowded restaurant. The mouthwatering aroma of whatever it was he was making wasn’t hurting his cause any either. Maybe the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach, because at that moment, I really could have kissed him.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. He turned away from me quickly, but I still saw the blush that had appeared on his cheeks. “What are you making?”

He glanced at me over his shoulder quickly before turning away again. “Sautéed pasta with lobster.”

 

“It smells amazing.”

 

27

 

He turned back to me with a flirtatious smile. “It ought to, doll. I’m an
excellent
cook.”

 

“Do you need any help?”

 

“Cooking? No. But you could set the table. Tell Julia there’s plenty if she wants to stay.”

Julia! I had forgotten all about her. After my entrance, I had no doubt she was expecting me to be angry with her for letting him in. I went back into the living room and found her pacing.

“Jonathan, I’m so sorry!” she said as soon as I walked into the room. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine, Julia. Really.”
She looked skeptical. “I promise not to do it again.”

“It’s okay. He caught me off guard, but it’s really not a problem. I’m glad you let him in.”

“Okay. If you’re sure….”
“I am. He says there’s plenty, if you want to join us.” She grinned at me. “And crash your date? Not a chance.” “It’s just dinner,” I said as she turned to leave.

“You know, Jon,” she said as she opened the door, “I think he’s a keeper.”

 

“
It’s just dinner
,” I said again. But she was already gone.

 

N
OT
only had he made dinner, he also brought a bottle of white wine. “I usually drink red,” I told him as he poured it.

He tipped his head so his bangs fell in his eyes. The light in my living room was better than it had been in the restaurant, and I realized it had a hint of red in it. It reminded me of cinnamon. I found myself wondering if he smelled like cinnamon too. “You’re not one of those 28

deluded souls who thinks that Merlot goes with everything, are you sugar?” he asked me dryly.

 

“Well,” I stammered, feeling myself blush, “I usually buy Chianti.”

 

He smiled knowingly at me. “Trust me. The Viognier will be
so
much better.”

I wasn’t sure about the wine, but his comment about being an excellent cook turned out to be no idle boast. The dinner was amazing. “Where did you learn to cook like this?” I asked him when we were finished.

He had a habit of sometimes keeping his head down when he talked, so that his gaze on me was shadowed beneath long lashes and the fall of his hair. “I have a lot of free time.”

“Really?” I hesitated for a second, not wanting to rock the boat, but I finally gave in to my curiosity and asked, “What do you do?” He rolled his eyes at me. “That
again
, sugar? Don’t you get tired of asking?”

 

“I might, if you ever actually answered.”

 

He shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with his flatware. “The truth is I don’t really
do
much of anything.”

“You must be employed.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You obviously have money—”
“I do.”
“—so how do you make it?”
“I don’t.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but after a few seconds, it became clear he wasn’t intending to. “So,” I said with slow, deliberate cynicism, “are you saying you’re independently wealthy?” 29

He tipped his head back, let his hair fall to the side so he was looking directly at me. The affect was somehow coy and earnest at the same time. “I am, actually.”

I wasn’t sure what answer I had been expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. “Oh,” I said stupidly, because I didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t like to tell people too early, sugar. I learned at a very young age how many of them would choose to be with me simply because I might foot the bill.”

I could certainly imagine that might be true. “Did you win the lottery or something?”

“No,” he said. “I inherited it. It’s all terribly predictable, I’m afraid. My father had an obscene amount of money. Some of it was family money, and some he made himself. He had several marriages but no children. About the time he turned fifty-five, he started to contemplate his own mortality, I suppose. He decided he needed an heir, so he found himself a wife. She was twenty-two and beautiful and not incredibly bright.”

“A trophy wife?” I asked, and he smiled.

“Exactly. He made her sign a prenup, of course, but once she produced an heir, he cut her loose with a generous stipend. She lives in Manhattan now, actually.”

“So you’re the heir?”

“Of course, sugar.” He stood up, and I thought he was leaving the table. I pushed my chair back and stood up too, but then he just stood there looking at me, so I sat back down. “My father died when I was fifteen. The money was all left in trust. I had to meet a few requirements.”

“Like what?”

He started walking around to my side of the table. “I had to graduate from a major university with at least a three-point-oh GPA. I had to agree to continue supporting my loving mother.” And I knew just by the way he said it that she was anything but.
30

“Exactly how much money do you have?” I asked as he reached my chair. I knew it was a rude question, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t mind.

“I don’t know exactly. Chester takes care of it all. Although he keeps threatening to retire, and I have no idea what I’ll do then.” “You
don’t know
how much money you have?”

“Not exactly. I know it’s enough that I can continue living the way I do and still have plenty left over for the heir I’ll most
certainly
never have.” He straddled my knees and sat down in my lap, facing me. He unbuttoned my shirt, then trailed his slender fingers through the hair on my chest. The conversation suddenly seemed incredibly unimportant. He had beautiful, full lips, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. “So tell me, sugar: would you like to discuss my trust fund all night?” He let his hair fall away from his eyes and gave me a wicked, lascivious grin that went straight to my groin. “Or are you ready for dessert?”

I discovered quickly that he didn’t really like being kissed on the lips. It didn’t matter to me. There were plenty of other areas on his body that he
did
like to have kissed, and I stuck to those. We left a trail of clothes from the dining room table to the bedroom. I found a condom, and offered it to him.

“Do you have a preference?” I asked him. “I’m versatile.” He pushed it back toward me. “I never top, sugar. It’s terribly cliché for a guy like me, isn’t it?”

 

I smiled at him. “I don’t mind.”

His body was slim and beautiful. He was only a couple of inches shorter than me, but he felt small and fragile underneath me. I discovered quickly, though, that he was anything but. He was a very enthusiastic lover.

The only body hair he had was under his arms. Even his groin had been shaven clean. His hair was silky soft, and it didn’t smell like cinnamon at all. It smelled like strawberries. There was a small birthmark on the back of his neck, just right of center, where the skin was a few shades darker than the rest of his body. It was triangular, and 31

it reminded me of a butterfly. I found my lips drawn to it over and over again.

Afterward, he didn’t lie in my arms or cuddle against me. He moved to the other side of the bed and stretched out languorously, not touching me. “You’re not going to make me drive all the way home in the middle of the night, are you, sugar?”

“No. You can stay.”

 

“I knew I liked you,” he said. If he said anything else after that, I didn’t hear it. I was already sound asleep.

H
E WAS
still sleeping the next morning when I left for my daily run, but when I arrived back home I found him in the kitchen, making bacon and eggs. He was already fully dressed, but still barefoot.

He indicated the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and said without looking at me, “I don’t clean, darling, but I can have somebody come and take care of the mess, if you don’t want to do it.”

“Are you serious?”

 

“Of course. I pay Rosa double for the messes I make in other people’s homes.”

 

“Does that happen often?”

He smiled, but still didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes on the bacon and eggs sizzling on the stovetop. “Not as often as you probably think.”

“Do I have time to shower before we eat?”
“If you make it fast.”

By the time I was ready for work, breakfast was on the table. “Do you usually cook breakfast the morning after?” I asked.

 

“It depends.”

 

32

 

“Did you cook for Jared?” Of course I didn’t actually know that he and Jared had ever been lovers, but I was curious.

He smiled. “I would have if he’d ever had anything in his house
to
cook. I’m pretty sure that man subsists on nothing but Pop-Tarts and beer.”

When I finished, I looked over to find him watching me. “I hate to be rude,” I told him apologetically, “but I have to work today. I really need to get going.”

“I didn’t think you put that suit on for my benefit, darling. I can go now and leave the mess in the kitchen for you to clean up, or I can wait for Rosa and have her lock up when she leaves. It’s your call.”

“I didn’t mean for you to rush out. I just didn’t want you to be offended when I did.”

“I understand.”
“You leave for Paris today?”
“My flight is at two.”
“How long will you be gone?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know yet, darling. Until I feel like coming home, I suppose.”

“Do you go there often?”
“Several times a year.”
“For vacation?”
“I own a condo there.”
“Really?” I asked, unable to keep the awe and envy out my voice.