What Love Tastes Like (12 page)

“I'm sorry, Ms. King, but you can't go in there.”

“Excuse me, Steven, are you talking to me?”

“Please, Angelica,” the older man pleaded. Steven had worked for Nick at another of his companies before becoming head concierge at the hotel. He'd known Angelica for a couple years, and liked her. That's why he'd greeted her personally as she tried to step through the revolving doors. “I don't want to do this. But it's Nick's orders. Not telling you this can cost me my job! I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

“This is a public establishment. No one—you, Nick, or anyone else—can keep me out.”

Steven's voice dropped to a whisper. “We're to call security if you put up a fuss. I'd hate to do it, Angelica. But Nick's my boss.”

“Your master, is more like it. I'm disappointed in you, Steven. I thought you had balls.”

“Take care, Angelica.”

“Fuck you, Steven.” Angelica took a couple steps and then whipped back around. She walked up to him purposefully and put her manicured finger in his face. “This little fling Nick is having is temporary. I'm the one who will be around when the dust stops flying. I'll be back, Steven. And those who've crossed me are going to pay. You remember that.”

“I'm sorry, Angelica.”

“Yes, you are.”

Angelica rang Nick's line for two straight hours. Finally, Christina had had enough. She knocked on Nick's door and, in an uncharacteristic move, didn't wait for his answer before walking into his office. Nick looked up, a frown on his face.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Rollins, please forgive me. But…it's Angelica. She's called repeatedly, for hours. The girls at the switchboard are going nuts and try as I might, I can't convince her that you're not here. I was just hoping you could take just one call so that she won't call back.”

As if to underscore her point, the outer phone rang again. Christina walked over to Nick's phone, which showed the blinking light announcing a call but was silent. “May I?”

Nick nodded.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rollins's office. This is Christina.”

“Put him on, bitch.”

“Angelica, it really isn't necessary for you to call me names—”

Nick hit the speakerphone button and motioned to close the office door.

“Look, I know that Nick is in there. I want you to put him on the phone, now! I've already been there once, and if I come back again, it's not going to be pretty. I don't care if you call the police. I want to talk to Nick and I intend to do just that.”

“You're already doing it,” Nick said. His voice conveyed the weariness he felt. “Thanks, Christina. You can go back to work now.”

Nick waited until Christina had closed the door behind her. “All right, Angelica, you have my undivided attention. What do you want?”

“I want to know why you've barred me from the hotel, as if I'm a criminal. That is a public establishment. You can't do that, Nick.”

“You and I are over, Angelica. Why would you want to come here?”

“For the food,” Angelica spat, before her voice turned deceptively sugary. “There's no restaurant like Taste, the cooking is out of this world!”

She knows about Tiffany.
In that moment, Nick was sure of it. He didn't know how she'd found out, but Angelica knew.

“Angelica, I'm seeing someone who works in the restaurant.” Nick tried a direct approach. “The relationship is new, and tentative. I like this woman and want to pursue a relationship with her. You and I had something special, Angelica, but those times are over. We want different things out of life.

“You're a good woman, and there is someone out there for you.”
Someone who isn't married, unlike Bastion Price.
“When you two find each other, you'll forget all about me.”

“Don't flatter yourself, asshole. I already have.”

Nick walked through Le Sol's elegantly appointed lobby. He stopped to chat with Steven, the con cierge, and engaged in small conversation with a successful East Coast businessman who'd become a regular guest. Anyone observing him would have seen a calm and gracious man, his interactions more those of a host than a hotel owner. No one would have guessed the frustration that simmered beneath his placid demeanor.

When it came to women, Nick rarely let one get under his skin. But Angelica had done it today. He'd made the choice to date her, and could deal with her attitude. But the constant calls to the hotel had burdened his staff, and Christina had borne the brunt of Angelica's misplaced anger. His plate was much too full to have to deal with an egotistical female who refused to accept the fact that “they” were no longer “us.” Her telephone call had riled him, and reminded him of what he didn't miss about his ex. But it had also reminded him of what he liked about someone else.

From the time Angelica hung up on him, Nick was preoccupied with the fact that Tiffany was just two floors below, no doubt working up a sweat as she worked in the kitchen. He'd thought back to another time when her body had glowed—from the sheen of their lovemaking. As he walked through the restaurant's dining room, he told himself that it was because of the private dinner Chef Wang was catering the coming weekend that he felt the need to visit the kitchen. But Nick knew it was because of one reason and one reason only—he missed his brown sugar.

 

Tiffany wiped an errant strand of hair away from her face, and beads of perspiration along with it. Her semi-regular visits to the hair salon were among the many aspects of her personal life that were being neglected. Her hair had grown out to her shoulders, and her highlights were dull. There was no place she'd rather be than this kitchen, but Tiffany's visit with the Parsons family yesterday reminded her of what was missing from her life. Seeing Randall and Joy together forced Tiffany to acknowledge the truth—she missed Nick. He'd been on her mind since she'd slept in his bed, and even though she'd thanked him again via a text message, they hadn't spoken since his call had awakened her the morning after the massage.

The holidays were over but the dining room remained full. Fortunately the lunch crowd was beginning to wane. Tiffany bantered with Roger as she helped him cook “the chow,” the crew's name for the staff meal served before the morning shift, and again between the afternoon and evening shifts. Even though her back was to the door, she knew the moment Nick Rollins entered the kitchen.

Before Chef called out a greeting, something about the atmosphere changed, crackled, and she could have sworn the hairs rose on the back of her neck. From the corner of her eye, she watched him, noted how he was respectful of each person's job and their space as Chef took him to the hot prep area to taste the day's soup special—a hearty cioppino made with a zesty, herb-infused tomato base, and filled with a variety of straight-from-the-dock seafood. Tiffany hoped that Chef would tell Nick who made the mouthwatering sauce.
Maybe he'll remember.
In that moment, Tiffany did—remembered the day shortly after she'd began working, when Nick had tasted one of her first batches of tomato sauce and then a few days later, had tasted something else.

“Ow!” Tiffany snatched back her hand from the grill, having just gotten a quick lesson in not daydreaming while testing the doneness of meat with one's fingers. She'd missed the halibut filet and touched the grill.

Nick was by her side in an instant. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Tiffany mumbled, embarrassed that Nick had seen her make such a dumb mistake. Thankfully, he was the only one who reacted. In a chef's world, burns, cuts and bruises were par for the course.

“Let me see,” Nick insisted, taking her hand before she could protest. His touch was gentle. Tiffany's heartbeat raced, and despite her efforts to the contrary, she could feel her body grow warm.

Nick held her wrist with one hand, and traced the red burn mark with the other. “Shouldn't you run this under cold water? I believe that's how to treat a burn, correct?”

Tiffany jerked her hand away. She felt naked, exposed, even though the others in the kitchen seemed bent on their tasks. Even Chef had stepped away to speak with the pastry chef. Tiffany got the distinct feeling of being all alone with Nick, in a room full of people—a feeling that heightened her awareness of him, and shortened her breath. Especially with the way he looked at her, dark eyes boring into hers before dropping slightly and settling on her quivering mouth.

“Tiff!” Roger quickly stepped between Tiffany and the grill, bumping Nick in the process. “Excuse me, boss, but the sous here is about to burn our chow.” Roger elbowed Tiffany playfully while turning the now overdone fish with his other hand.

Tiffany was mortified. Not only had she burned herself but even worse, she'd almost burned the food. In front of Nick! It wasn't like her to be a bumbling idiot, under any circumstances. She had to get away before she made a complete fool of herself.

“You know what? I think I will go and run water on this, just to make sure it doesn't blister. I owe you one, Roger!” she called over her shoulder, as she hurried toward the employee bathroom and away from the man who'd unnerved her.

Chef re-entered the kitchen as Tiffany exited. He and Nick finalized the menu for the weekend meeting, and Nick returned to the second floor. But his mind wasn't on meetings or menus. It was on Tiffany, and how he knew she'd felt the heat when he touched her, the same as him. She was a stubborn one, he'd give her that. But Nick was determined to work things out, to get them back on track. As he walked down the hallway of the executive offices, a slight smile played across his face.
You can run but you can't hide, Tiffany Matthews. I know where you work.

“What's that smile about, Grand?” Tiffany's question broke the companionable silence that she and her grandmother were enjoying as they cooked shoulder to shoulder during this, Tiffany's first in-person visit in over three months.

“Oh, I'm just happy you got a new fella, and y'all are getting along.” Grand took the pan of marinated fish and placed it in the oven.

“How are you so sure I have a new fella, much less how we're doing?”

“You think your grandmother was born yesterday? I know what it's like to be in love, and that pep in your step gives away the fact that someone has your nose wide open.” Grand emphasized the word “wide” by spreading her arms. “I know you're getting along because you didn't bring that many things to chop for this visit. Even the potatoes are being baked. Yeah, child, there's some smooth sailing happening on the home front. And I for one am happy about that. You're not getting any younger, Tiffany Matthews. I want to see a great-grandchild in my lifetime.”

“Well, don't hold your breath, Grand. I've got plenty of cooking to do before I think about taking time off to raise a family. I don't want to have kids just so someone else can take of them.”

Both women became silent. Tiffany pondered Grand's erroneous assumption about her “fella,” and wished it were true. She didn't have the heart to reveal that the man who'd put the pep in her step yesterday was not a suitor but Chef, who'd complimented her verbally—a rarity. He'd even told her that if she continued to learn and work hard, she could someday own her own restaurant. From anyone, but especially from Chef Wang, this was high praise.

As for kids, Tiffany meant what she'd said about them. If and when she gave birth, she didn't want a nanny raising her child. Tiffany loved her grandmother to death, but all of Gladys Matthews's love couldn't stop her from feeling like she'd been an afterthought in her parents' lives. Grand understood Tiffany's anger, but had told her that things could have been worse—that Tiffany could have been born and left to someone who didn't love her as much as Grand did.

“That fish should be about ready,” Tiffany said with authority.

“Hmph, like I haven't cooked fish for the last fifty years. You just make sure those twice-baked potatoes don't taste like they've been cooked three times!”

“Ha! All right, Grand.”

“All right now.”

The uncomfortable energy of the past successfully defused, Tiffany and Grand enjoyed their dinner of pecan-crusted baked halibut, potatoes, asparagus tips, and Grand's homemade yeast rolls (which Tiffany had yet to master). While eating this main course, the conversation centered on Grand's Monday-night bingo circle (where she'd recently won five hundred dollars); her neighbor's new, noisy Chihuahua (who didn't always get his poop scooped); and the Neelys, Grand's favorite cooks on the Food Network.

“If I was a little younger,” Grand concluded, “I'd give Gina some competition for that tall sip of tea!”

As they topped off dinner with Grand's fresh-from-the-oven strawberry-rhubarb pie and Tiffany's homemade vanilla ice cream, the conversation returned once more to Tiffany's love interest.

“So Mr. Put-The-Pep-In-Your-Step. He good-lookin'?”

Tiffany thought of Chef Wang, and almost laughed. Chef wasn't unattractive, but neither would he win
People
magazine's Sexiest Man Alive.
Nick could.
“Honestly, I don't have time for a relationship. I'm focusing on my career right now.”

Grand's fork clattered to the saucer as her head jerked up. “What do you mean, you don't have time? You're not getting any younger, child. You'd better make time. A career can't visit you on your deathbed. Family can.”

“I don't plan on dying anytime soon, Grand. I'm not even thirty.”

“The years can fly away before you know they're gone. While you're turning up the heat on the stove at your workplace, don't forget to light the home fires, that's all.” Grand picked up her fork and chewed thoughtfully on a bite of pie. “What about that fella that had you slicing and dicing when you were here before? What happened to him?”

“Didn't work out.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, Grand,” Tiffany sighed. “It's a long story.”

“Don't seem like y'all lasted a month—can't be too long.”

Tiffany laughed. “Can't put one by you, huh, Grand?”

Grand winked. “You'd have to get up mighty early.”

“First of all, there's no
new fella
,” Tiffany said, deciding on the spot that Grand's counsel might not be a bad idea. “There's just this one guy I've been dating off and on. He owns the hotel where I work. I met him before I started working there and after getting hired, decided not to mix business with pleasure.”

Tiffany continued eating her dessert, wondering whether her grandmother's reaction would mirror how her mother had felt—that interoffice dating was a bad idea.

“This here man, what's his name?”

“Nick. Nick Rollins.”

“This here Nick Rollins, what kind of man is he?”

Tiffany thought for a moment. “A lot like Daddy…”

“How?”

“Focused, take-charge, all about business.”

“Couldn't have been all about business else you two would not have met.”

“True.”

“Your father's not all bad, Tiffany. Keith has some good qualities. Nothing wrong with being focused and take-charge. You want a man to be able to handle his business.”

“Right.”

“And you say he
owns
the hotel?”

“Well, not only him. He's one of a group of partners who do.”

“That sounds like a good quality right there. So what other good qualities does your Nick possess?”

“He's not my Nick, Grand.”

Grand simply grunted.

As they continued eating, Tiffany remembered how Nick had come to her rescue in Rome, helped her get hired at the hotel, loved her passionately, and arranged the massage after the restaurant's opening night. “He's kind,” she said at last. “And thoughtful. Made me feel protected when I was with him. But it couldn't last. I could never come second to a man's career.”

“The way a man is coming second to yours right now?”

It was Tiffany's turn to jerk her head in Grand's direction.

“That's what you just told me, right? That you didn't have time for a relationship because you were focused on a career right now?

“Sometimes, Tiffany, living life is a lot like cooking. You might have several burners going at the same time, something in the oven and a slab on the grill. But if you keep your wits about you, and pay attention to what you're doing, nothing has to overcook, dry out or burn. A cook worth her salt can whip up a three, four, five course dinner and never lose her smile. Course, a meal always tastes better when it's shared with somebody else.” Grand nodded at Tiffany's empty saucer. “You want another slice?”

Tiffany shook her head.

“And one more thing,” Grand said, as she walked over to place Tiffany's empty saucer on top of hers. “Don't ever think nobody else's cooking is better than yours. Don't matter if their kitchen is bigger, or their pots are shinier. A man will eat beans mixed with love before he'll chew steak seasoned with spite.”

Tiffany watched her grandmother sashay into the kitchen. Her heart swelled with love for the slight, feisty woman who even now was the wind beneath her wings.
She's right,
Tiffany admitted. The parts of Nick's personality that at times she detested weren't necessarily bad traits. They were undoubtedly the qualities that had made him a millionaire. As for his good qualities, Tiffany had purposely put those out of her mind. It made the thought of not being with him romantically hurt less, but did nothing to quench her desire.

She thought of Grand's beans and steak analogy, and concluded her grandmother had said a mouthful without even knowing it. The word
spite
definitely described Angelica's actions when she and Nick had dined at Taste.
She saw me watching them, read my reaction, and purposely rubbed the fact that they were dining together in my face.

“But I cook with love,” Tiffany whispered, repeating Grand's words. For the first time in weeks, Tiffany admitted that when it came to Nick Rollins…she wanted another taste.

 

Tiffany wasn't the only person remembering what they'd once tasted. So was Bastion Price. “You ever hear from Angelica?” he asked Nick, after they'd wrapped up discussion on their latest business venture—a megadeal involving a string of high-tech nightclubs in China.

Nick nodded. “Unfortunately. She's pretty much stopped calling, but the e-mails continue.”

“You know, I don't know what I was thinking, taking up with Angelica when you two broke up. Granted, she's a gorgeous woman…smart…but Jill didn't deserve my infidelity. I just wish it hadn't taken her illness to get me to realize that.”

Nick thoughtfully sipped a cup of decaf coffee. “Like you said, she's an attractive woman who made it obvious to you that she was interested. Stronger men than you have been felled by a woman's wiles.”

“You still don't hold it against me that I went out with her? I mean, you guys were an item a long time.”

“Believe me. You did me a favor.” Nick put his cup down as a thought occurred to him. “When did you break things off with her?”

Bastion told him.

Right before her surprise visit that Monday.
The pieces of the puzzle were falling in place.

“Why, if you don't mind me asking?”

“The timing suggests that Angelica began pursuing me again after getting the boot from you.”

“She never stopped loving you, Nick. She told me that.”

“Doesn't matter, I've moved on.”

“Doesn't sound like she has.”

“She will. Women like Angelica don't stay alone for long.”

 

Angelica sat at home, wrapped in a bathrobe, calmly sipping a flute of sparkling champagne. She'd needed it after returning home from yet another unsuccessful date. There'd been nothing about Stan Koespesky, whom her friend had raved about, that impressed her. Not his looks, dress, or conversation, especially his going on and on about how successful he was. She'd learned from experience that that was a telltale sign of someone who wanted to be a player but wasn't there yet. When men were at the top of their game, like Nick and Bastion, they didn't have to talk about it. Men like them just walked into a room and their success showed. Had it not been for the news Stan shared just before she ended their date, the evening would have been a total loss.

Angelica pulled on a silk nightgown and walked over to her laptop.
It's time to do a little homework,
she thought as she turned it on and waited for it to fire up. She'd agreed to give Stan a second date not because she was interested in him, but because she wanted to meet the genius boss he'd bragged about. “Okay, Mr. Keith Bronson,” she said aloud, while typing his name into a search engine, “let's see what your next love interest can find out about you.”