A Matter of Taste (Men of the Capital #2) (2 page)

“What did the chandelier look like? In the movie?” The manager inquired anxiously. “Ours is brass
, but many brides with more contemporary taste are somewhat disappointed that we have no brushed nickel alternative. What does the bride prefer?”

“I don’t know. It looked fancy.”
Annelise shrugged. “I’m sure brass will be just darling.”

A quick search confirmed Hannah’s suspicions about the caterer
, who was evidently so prosperous because their legendary wood-fired ovens were in fact a front for an extensive methamphetamine manufacturing and distribution operation. Since the proprietor, as well as the head chef, had been arrested and held without bond, it seemed like Annelise was going to have to hunt for a non-criminal food supplier available on short notice. Preferably one with a Valium habit to make Hannah’s indecision more tolerable.

Annelise
bought herself a nice latte and sat down to search the top-rated caterers in the city who were not currently facing a mandatory fifteen year sentence for drug manufacture with intent to distribute.

That new car must have really cheered her up, she thought.
Otherwise she’d be dwelling on the fact that Roger cheated on her and now she had to plan some rich people’s engagement party instead of her own wedding. It was a good thing she wasn’t bitter, Annelise thought. She harrumphed into her latte and congratulated herself on her fair and generous perspective.

The quote they pulled to italicize for the feature article was
The Best There’s Ever Been
. Annelise scrolled through the awards, the worshipful testimonials of prominent clients from the world of politics and show business. The glitterati loved this bastard. She already didn’t like him. His picture told the tale. Far too good looking to be trustworthy. He was, she admitted grudgingly, possessed of a fine pair of shoulders despite his fancy-ass effeminate line of work.

Society Taste
magazine had named Desmond Blair’s catering service the number one in the state for three years running, a record unmatched by any other chef in the publication’s twenty-eight year history. “I’m the best there’s ever been,” Blair stated when asked if he was surprised by the repeat honor.

There was a difference between audacity,
Annelise thought, and sheer fuckwitted egotism. This was not going to be a pleasant meeting. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, picking a particle of spinach out of her teeth and nearly sideswiping a Lexus in the process. She made her way to the chic downtown block Desmond Blair’s business had almost singlehandedly revitalized. A tea room, a flower shop, a stationers’, and a jewelry store had gone into the street in the last couple of years, filling in disused storefronts with gracious, colorful displays and the waft of prosperity.

Real estate in the newly renovated brownstone was sky high…
Annelise was painfully aware of the fact, considering her own itinerant lifestyle. Even at her most aspirational, she couldn’t fathom earning enough money to have an apartment there, much less a detached brick-fronted brownstone with geraniums spilling over the wrought iron balcony on the second floor. It was a good thing she wasn’t bitter, Annelise reminded herself. Otherwise she would resent the living hell out of these rich people. Even their sidewalks were nicer—brick and even without weeds sprouting up through the cracks. Annelise was starting to feel like a cracked sidewalk herself.

The front of the shop was just beautiful. She grudgingly admired the weathered terracotta hue of the
rough hewn brick, the old-world feel to the carved wooden door with an unadorned brass plate reading,
Aux Delices. By appointment only.

“Well, la-di-fucking-dah
,” She murmured as she pressed the buzzer.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to Aux
Delices. Do you have an appointment?” chirped an even, cultured voice.

“No. I’m
Annelise Hollingford from Jasper Cates’s office. I spoke with Kathleen on the phone. I was told that Mr. Blair has had a cancellation, making him available for the weekend of my employer’s engagement party,” she said in her haughtiest official voice.

“So
, you have no appointment.” The chirpy voice affected a faux tinge of disappointment, and Annelise knew she was about to be sent away like the goddamned little match girl. “Unfortunately, no one is available to speak to you at this time. Do call and schedule so we will have an opportunity to discuss your event, as it may relate to our booking availabilities. Have a lovely day.” The lady on the intercom clicked it off abruptly.

“Lovely day
, my foot.” Annelise muttered harshly.

Annelise
took a long breath, which Shannon always told her to do when she was about to rip someone a new one. Shannon mistakenly thought it would calm her down. Instead it reinvigorated her small, angry frame with plenty of oxygen for the fight. Fully oxygenated and ready to rumble, she pressed the buzzer nine times in rapid succession. She felt the grind of the buzzer straight to her teeth and was satisfied by the vindictive rush it gave her.

“Miss, I’ll have to ask you to step away from the buzzer please
,” the cultured chirp of the receptionist had grown testy now. “As you have no appointment, there is nothing we can do for you today. Please call ahead next time. Have a lovely day.”

“Listen, I would have a lovely day if you would let me in. I’m betting that you’re the Kathleen I spoke with on the phone. My employer is the CEO of Cates Corporation, which he founded. He is hosting an engagement party for seventeen hundred guests in the gardens of the
exclusive Greenwich Estate, which we have already secured. No matter how elite you think your food business is, your boss can’t afford to blow off the most dazzling and sure-to-be most talked-about social event of the year.”

The door swung open
, but instead of looking smugly upon the obstructive blonde receptionist, Annelise found herself face-to-face, or rather face-to-broad-muscled-chest, with Desmond Blair himself.

“Did you just call Aux
Delices a ‘food business’?” He smirked.

Desmond Blair’s
smirk had the most bizarre melting effect on Annelise, who retained enough presence of mind to feel only the barest hint of aggravation that her entire body seemed to liquefy under the heat of his dark-eyed gaze.

“That’s what it is. You peddle appetizers, no matter how French your name is.”
Annelise managed to marshal her feistiness enough to retort, even under the duress of his seductive glare.

“
Do you suppose that being rude is going to get you an appointment?” His voice was low and buttery, completely devoid of the haughtiness in the receptionist’s cultured chirp that riled her.

“No. I assume
that being the appointed agent of a prominent billionaire will get me an appointment. Further, that being rude will stop you from trying to push me around.”

Annelise
stood up straighter, trying to get an extra half-inch of height from her five-foot-three and finding herself wishing she’d worn some heels. As it was, her chin was jutting in the air stubbornly and she had, as her granny would say, got her back up over something. Some intangible quality about Desmond Blair unnerved her, put her off balance. It could have been the fact that she was still raw from her breakup and she felt oddly threatened by her instant attraction for him.

Or maybe it was the chip on her shoulder left over from growing up in a rotten part of town, the chip that seemed to enlarge when she was faced with the entitlement complexes of the rich and self-important. Possibly, just possibly, it was the fact that she
wanted to bite his shoulder. Well, to be truthful, she’d take his shirt off first, which was an entirely separate problem…and Annelise realized that he was speaking and she had paid absolutely no attention to one single word that came out of his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“I said that I have no need of your business. My clients provide me with ample free publicity. Consequently, it isn’t actually necessary to my prosperity that I take every high profile, high maintenance event that turns up at my door without an appointment and proceeds to press the buzzer ten times.”

“Nine.”
Annelise felt that she was losing ground with him.

“Not counting the first
time you buzzed.” Desmond countered. “What was your name again?”

“
Annelise Hollingford. I’m the personal assistant to Jasper Cates, chief executive officer of Cates Corporation.” She produced a vellum business card, which he took, stroking the edge of it slightly in a way that made her bite her lip.

“Desmond Blair. Food business
,” he said, offering her a glossy black card with his name embossed in matte gray. Annelise fingered the slick finish and decided he was overcompensating.

“
My employer’s highly anticipated engagement party is being touted as the social event of the season. No expense has been spared. The event is in three weeks.”

“Three weeks? Not possible
,” he said dismissively, still blocking her passage into the hall, his rather magnificent shoulders nearly filling the doorway.

“Nineteen days, if you want precision
. According to Kathleen, you had a cancellation that weekend. Now, that was phone-Kathleen who, might I say, is much more accommodating than door-buzzer-Kathleen, who is something of an appointment Nazi.”

“Even so, that
timetable is insufficient to prepare a menu and special order any artisanal ingredients—“

“The bride couldn’t boil an egg and the groom lives on kale shakes. I sincerely doubt either party knows much about the
food business
. They want it to look fancy and for all the guests to think it was fabulous. Now, the groom has a thing about some kind of fancy mushrooms he saw on a documentary. I’ll spare you the details, but they’re hot pink.”

“
Lobster mushrooms. Only nineteen days to prepare a menu for seventeen hundred guests at an outdoor venue,” he said thoughtfully.

“It would be
quite the challenge. If you pull that off, it would be an achievement. Everyone would talk about it, how you did the impossible.” She warmed to the idea. “Having to pull it together on short notice would shake things up for you. Keep it from getting dull at the top.”

“It’s never dull on top
,” Desmond Blair promised, his voice just husky enough to make even Annelise’s cynical eyes widen.

Flustered,
Annelise dropped her eyes to his business card and a plan began to take shape in her mind. Annelise pulled out her phone, her chevron nails quickly clicking in the number listed on his posh, dark business card. Seconds later, the phone in his pocket chimed to life. He answered it, staring straight in her eyes.

“Aux
Delices. This is Desmond.” His voice was low, confidential.

“Desmond, this is
Annelise Hollingford. I’m calling to inquire about your availability to cater an event for my employer. I’d like to schedule an appointment to discuss an upcoming engagement gala.” She smiled slyly.

“
Annelise, may I call you that? Annelise, we’re quite booked up at the moment. Perhaps I could refer you to the food business down at the intersection. They sell chicken by the bucket.”

“Perhaps I should mention that my employer is Jasper Cates, one of the most respected and discerning business figures in the recovering economy
,” Annelise shot back.

“Perhaps I should mention that I don’t give a shit who you work for. I just want your personal number
,” he said, his voice low.
              “You have it.” She plucked her business card from his pocket boldly and presented it to him again, indicating the digits at the bottom.

“I might have a little time in, perhaps, five minutes.” He wavered with a grin, flashing white teeth and a knockout smile that took him instantly from brooding bad boy to George Clooney
-level stratospheric hotness and charm. Annelise literally had to grip the doorframe to keep from swaying on her weak knees from the tidal wave of attraction that struck her.

“I’ll just press the buzzer.” She leaned past him and pushed the button again. When Kathleen’s exasperated voice
said, “Yes?” they both dissolved into laughter.

Desmond reached out and pressed his thumb to the screen of her phone, ending the call. He
had only touched her phone, but somehow, Annelise felt it down to her toes. He had the nerve to smile at her, as if he knew the effect he was having and enjoyed it. Cocky bastard, she thought indulgently.

Desmond Blair finally stepped aside and admitted her to a
n immaculate black and white tiled entry. A vast round mahogany table was topped with an elaborate centerpiece of tropical fruit in an antique silver urn. She was tempted to drop her messenger bag on the table and take a piece, but didn’t. She followed Desmond, admiring his muscular back and butt as she watched him climb stairs. Once, she was concentrating on his flexing so hard that she stumbled and missed a stair. He’d cast an amused look over his shoulder and she almost blushed. Annelise Hollingford hadn’t blushed since she was in the seventh grade.

Trailing him up two narrow flights of wooden stairs,
Annelise emerged into a massive, gleaming kitchen and prep space. The walls were lined with an army of stainless steel appliances, a walk-in freezer, and a row of tables for food assembly. Open shelving held pots and pans, mixing bowls, and a variety of cooking implements Annelise couldn’t begin to identify. A couple of kitchen workers chopped and measured ingredients, studiously ignoring them as they entered. He led her to a large marble-topped island and invited her to sit on a high metal stool. With a nod of acceptance, Annelise attempted to hitch up onto the counter height stool in her snug pencil skirt and nearly toppled off in her inability to bend freely. When Desmond caught her by the arm and steadied her, Annelise felt warmth flood her cheeks. So much for her record since seventh grade—Desmond’s touch made her temperature rocket and her composure flee for the mountains. His touch was practical and brief, but it sent a shock through her. She took a long breath to steady herself.

Situated on the stool, she withdrew a folder from her mes
senger bag and passed it to him in her most businesslike manner.

“This is a copy of the menu we were negotiating with our previous caterer
,” she said to him briskly. “They want gazpacho shooters, prosciutto-wrapped Mission figs, a curry station, the duck quesadillas, and the cedar plank grilled salmon entrée.”