Devoured

Marco Rinadi sat down next to me, smoke curling from his nose like a dragon in heat. He leaned closer and the pungent smell of freshly chopped parsley mixed with the bitter smell of cigarette smoke made my knees weak—and I was sitting down.

“I heard about you,” he said, his voice a raspy baritone that made me want to pour honey down his throat—and maybe lick it off his tonsils. He propped his elbow next to mine on the table and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray he’d brought with him to the non-smoking section. He was so close, I could feel the heat of his dark olive skin.

I can imagine what he’d heard from Alex, the ex, who was his sous-chef. There were no secrets in the kitchen. I cleared my throat wishing I knew which way this was going. Finally, I got it out, “What did you hear?”

“I heard,” he gave me a smile that made me want to crawl into his lap and give him something to really smile about. “I heard you’re called the Queen of Darkness.”

I laughed. “That’s a new one. It’s usually Bitch from Hell or Ball Breaker. Alex tell you that one?”

He didn’t answer, but looked me over as if scrutinizing my ball breaking capabilities. Either that or he was imagining me naked. I had done my own share of fantasizing since he’d called. To make his job easier, I shrugged out of my suit jacket and rolled up my sleeves. I could feel my nipples tighten in the cool air off the water. It felt refreshing after a day spent in a sun-heated car. The corners of his mouth curved up and he unbuttoned the flap of his chef’s jacket. I could picture us dropping articles of clothing on the way to the bedroom. I cleared my throat, and then didn’t know what to say. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a gold cigarette case embossed with his initials. A gift from a lover I was sure. He offered me one.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

“Pity.” He took one out and let it hang between his lips. He tucked the case back in his pocket and pulled out a small silver lighter, also embossed and covered with scratches. Older gift, I surmised. He cupped the flame against the slight breeze. “Do you mind?”

“Would you put it out if I did?”

He laughed. “I’d think about it.”

I enjoyed watching him smoke, watching his hands and mouth move in harmony, watching the eyes crinkle up. Maybe it just went with the bad-boy persona that he had managed to perfect, but it worked for me. Too well probably. I took a sip of my iced tea. He looked at it with distaste.

“They couldn’t do any better than that for you?”

“That’s what I ordered.”

“Honey, you’re here at The Alley. My restaurant. I think I can treat you to something better than an iced tea.”

“I don’t drink when I work.”

“You should. It makes things a lot simpler.” He motioned to one of the waiters, who practically ran over to do the master’s bidding. “Frank, bring us two Grey tonics.”

I glanced at my watch even though I knew what time it was. We had a five o’clock appointment. He had kept me waiting for fifteen minutes. It had been a pleasurable wait as I watched tanned boat jockeys glide their motor boats up and down Ego Alley, and listened to the squeaking of fiberglass hulls against rubber wrapped pilings. We’d met at a charity function two years ago. It was right after Alex got the job as Marco’s sous-chef and dumped me for Rachine Hines, a waitress who fancied herself a foodie, but didn’t even know how foie gras was made. But Alex didn’t want smarts, just willing pussy.

I helped organize the function so my attendance was required. I saw little of Alex, with Rachine wrapped around him like a boa in heat. I’d stopped at Marco’s table to thank him for his contribution. A group of model-gorgeous women were clustered around like he was giving something out for free. Maybe he was later. I shook his hand, loving the way his was firm against mine, not some wimpy you’re-a-woman-I-don’t-want-to-hurt-you limp shake. It made my smile broader. He stopped the chatter around him for a moment. He leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Five o’clock shadow, smoke and musky cologne.

“Good work, kid. Alex is a fool.” Then the chatter had started again and I moved on to thank other contributors. I’d fantasized about that compliment for three days and about how I could get Alex and Rachine fired, and Marco would create a new dish named after me called “Revenge is Sweet.” Ha! Dream on, girl. That didn’t happen, but we did keep running into each other at various functions where some woman was always hanging on his arm. I had him all to myself on Tuesday nights watching reruns of his reality show where he traveled to exotic locales and ate with the natives. There were rumors he was going to do a new show which was why I was here—Super Agent, my best friend, Claire, calls me. I’d rather be a spy, but real estate agent is as close as I’ve gotten. It can have some pretty thrilling aspects though, such as sitting next to this hunk of man and getting his full attention. That’s what happens when you’re a Realtor and money is at stake. People tend to pay more attention. I’ve always enjoyed that part of the job. I slid my high heels off under the table, wiggled my toes and checked my watch again.