Creed (The Marquette Family Book One) (10 page)

“Damen isn’t a bad guy.”

“He said that.”

He chuckled. “He isn’t. He can be stupid, I’ll give you that, but he means no harm. Tell you what. I’ll make it crystal clear that Marisa’s to be treated with kid gloves. If he doesn’t get it, I’ll gladly bust his head for you.”

“Naw, pal, you’re not taking my satisfaction.”

He laughed again. “You’re hardcore.”

She leaned away from him. “So you’re not going to fire me for threatening to beat your brother’s ass?”

His eyes crinkled at the edges. “Shada, if you were gone, where would I get my daily entertainment? You keep this place alive.”

“Whatever. I’m going to work.” She started to walk away, but he grabbed her hand to hold her back. “Let me go, Creed. I have work to do.”

“Promise me you won’t fight Damen in the restaurant.”

She snatched her hand away and put it on her hip. “I can’t make that promise.”

“Shada.”

“Fine. I won’t fight him in the restaurant.”

He glared at her. When he started to speak again, she muttered an excuse and hurried out of the office. Let him think he had solved everything, but she didn’t like Damen, and it probably wasn’t over between them. No matter what anyone said, she would defend Marisa. Even if she had to do it all alone and stand against a Marquette.

Chapter Eight

Two weeks had passed since Shada had slept with Creed. She hadn’t seen him much, because he’d had to return to New York for his other business. Neither of them had mentioned getting together again, but Shada found she couldn’t get him out of her head. He didn’t make it any better when he texted her from where he was.

Describe to me what you’re cooking,
he wrote.

Why does that sound dirty?
she replied.

Because you have a dirty mind.

You’re crazy.

Come on, Shada. Tell me. I want to visualize it. I’m hungry.

She laughed as she read his words.
You’re insane.

She did go into detail, though, telling him all about the blackened stuffed pork tenderloin with celery, red bell peppers, shallots, onions, along with some chipotle, so it would be nice and spicy. When that got him excited, she included a description of how tender her cuts of meat were, so soft they would melt in his mouth. She reported on the dirty rice she had experimented with making and all the spices she had chosen for the dish. A few natives of New Orleans hadn’t believed the chef didn’t come from their fine state, and Shada proudly let Creed know this too. He praised her, warming her from her toes to the roots of her hair, and she had to rein in her emotions before she went too far.

Her strong attraction to Creed aside, Shada had to deal with both Marisa and Damen ignoring her warnings. Unfortunately, it also meant she got into more arguments with her sister, which she hated. The situation got to the point where she didn’t want Marisa coming to work with her. Yet she couldn’t deny Marisa’s requests, because she liked to keep an eye on her, and they couldn’t afford a full-time nurse. Not that Marisa needed one, as she often pointed out.

One particular Sunday afternoon, Shada glanced through the kitchen window and spotted Damen serving Marisa a glass of sweet tea. He lingered at her elbow, listening while she spoke to him. Shada frowned and started out the door, but Tiffany bound through it, almost knocking her down.

Shada paused at the sight of the full plate of food in Tiffany’s hand. “What’s that?” she asked.

Tiffany smirked. “What does it look like? The customer at table nine says the sauce isn’t fresh, and it doesn’t taste the way it did the last time she was here.”

“What?” Shada snatched the plate. “I made that not even an hour ago.”

“Maybe you missed a step,” the skank said, and Shada worked on quelling the impulse to dump the food on her head.

“What’s wrong?”

Creed appeared, and somehow her body came alive. He’d been back all of two days, and she couldn’t stop staring when he walked into the room. Neither of them had approached the other on a personal basis, and the texts he had teased her with stopped when he returned. Now she began to think he must have been in boring meetings and had been looking for a way to distract himself. Silly her, she should have realized.

“Oh, Creed,” Tiffany simpered. She touched his arm. “The customer at table nine isn’t happy with the sauce, and Shada won’t take responsibility for skimping.”

Creed’s eyes flashed annoyance. “Shada doesn’t skimp when it comes to cooking.”

Shada snapped her fingers in Tiffany’s face, and the woman looked fit to catch fire where she stood. She flipped her ponytail and pursed her lips.

Creed peered through the window and nodded. “Got it. Rene, another plate, please. Shada, the sauce.”

She frowned. “But the customer didn’t like it.”

He smiled. “Trust me.”

“I do.”

The words slipped out, but Creed didn’t appear to notice. He whipped out of the kitchen, with Tiffany tripping after him. Shada watched through the window as Creed bent over the woman in a semi-bow and offered her the fresh food with a flourish. One would have thought from the grace of his movement that he hailed from the eighteen hundreds, yet his size also reminded her of a jungle cat—sexy but dangerous.

Shada couldn’t hear what the woman said, but she gushed with obvious pleasure. A hand invariably went to her bosom, with the other brushing Creed’s arm. Shada tried not to gag as she spun away. She returned to her work, rushing about but taking great care at each step to make food Marquette’s would be proud to serve.

Creed entered the kitchen moments later. “Fire extinguished.”

She made a rude noise. “Of course, she did it to get your attention or that of one of your brothers.”

He shrugged. “A part of the game.”

“Does the game include Damen lingering at Marisa’s table?”

He moved too close to her. Her heart raced, and she found it hard to draw in a steady breath. When he reached out, she thought he was about to touch her—in front of the kitchen staff—but he flicked a finger against the pot where she had made the sauce. “I was called away to New York, but I’m back now. I’ll talk to him tonight as I promised. And don’t worry. I know personally how good your sauce is.”

Shada blinked after him as he disappeared into his office. Unless her mind had fallen permanently into the gutter, he had just made a sexual innuendo.
No, I’m reading something into it. I just got a complaint, and he must have thought I was worried about continuing my specialties.

The self-talk did nothing to calm her down, and she reminded herself while she worked that it was a good thing Creed had backed off and didn’t ask to take her home again. She needed cool-down time, a minute to get things straight in her head. They had fun together. Nothing wrong with that, but that was all it was. All it could be.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with Shada moving nonstop. New guests arrived as fast as the previous ones left, and the next time she looked up, it was pushing six in the evening. She gasped, realizing she had forgotten about seeing Marisa home. Flying to the front dining room, she called out to Rene. “Be right back. I have to see to my sister.”

He said something she didn’t hear, and the door closed behind her. A couple occupied the table where Marisa had sat earlier. Shada scanned the restaurant and didn’t spot her sister, so she checked the private rooms on the second floor. All were empty, so she walked back to the kitchen while digging in her pocket for her cell phone. Halfway down the hall toward Creed’s office, she dialed Marisa’s number, but there was no answer. Worry stirred in her heart. When Creed called “Come” to her knock, she barreled in.

He stood when he saw the look on her face. “What’s wrong, Shada?”

“Marisa isn’t answering her phone, and I don’t know where she is.”

His expression changed.

“You know something about this, don’t you?”

He held up his hands as he approached her. “I talked to Damen.”

“And?”

“And he promised to look after her.”

Shada went cold. “Look after her
when?
”

“Don’t freak out, baby.”

She flinched at his calling her baby, since he hadn’t acted like they still had anything going on. When he saw her reaction, he corrected himself and called her by name. She didn’t know which was worse.

“Shada, they’re friends. He took her to dinner.”

“They could have eaten together here.”

He raised his brows.

“I know I’m being stupid, but…”

“I get it. You’re worried. It’s just dinner. I’m sure she knows how you feel, and she’ll call.”

As soon as he said it, her cell phone rang, and she blew out a breath in relief at the sight of Marisa’s name. Shada stabbed the connect button. “Marisa, are you okay?”

Her sister laughed. “I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t answer.” She lowered her voice and whispered into the phone, “I had to…”

All kinds of terrible thoughts popped into Shada’s head.

“… I had to pee.”

Shada laughed. “You’re nuts. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Yes, we’re just getting our food. You know I’m with Damen, don’t you?”

“You didn’t let me know you were going.”

“You were busy.”

“I’m sorry, sis.”

“It’s okay, Shada. You’re working. I don’t expect you to babysit me. Damen and I are going to have some fun.”

“Please, sis, don’t overdo it.”

“I won’t, Mom. We’ll even be back by eight-thirty, just in time for bed.”

“Haha, very funny. I’ll talk to you later, and you can tell me all about your date.”

“You got it. Good night.”

“Night,” Shada echoed, and she disconnected the call. Worry clogged her mind, no matter how many times she told herself to chill. Creed laid a hand at her waist, but she moved out of reach. “I have to get back out there. Thanks.”

“Shada.”

She kept moving, pretending she didn’t hear him.

* * * *

Shada squeezed off a ball of strawberry sherbet into a dessert dish and balanced a macaroon cookie, made with white chocolate Satsuma ganache, in the center. The decadent treat had been a hit, and Creed had spoken of opening a gift shop in one of the unused areas of the restaurant to offer the macaroons and other goodies. She felt like he was bringing to life ideas she had never even dreamed of, let alone hoped would one day come true.

In truth, Rene’s creations always got more fanfare than hers from their guests, but she didn’t mind. She had lots to learn and was enjoying the ride.

“Non!
Not like that.”

She looked up from her task. Think of the devil, and there he appeared. Rene’s expression was that of a man who had just seen a train wreck. Dramatic. He waved spindly arms and rushed over to her. She loved his Cajun accent, but it was too bad his pock-marked skin kept him from being attractive. Maybe he was to someone.

She straightened and studied the dessert. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Where’s the syrup?” he demanded. Rene snapped his fingers, and another of the kitchen staff zipped over with the strawberry syrup. With a flourish, Rene dressed up her treat, making it that much more beautiful. She should have thought of such a simple addition. Rene nodded his approval. “Perfect.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“Quickly,” Rene barked, and the assistant whisked the dish away, ready to hand it off to Tiffany or one of the other servers.

With everyone moving at high speed and more and more diners arriving all the time, Shada didn’t have more than a moment here and there to think about her sister. However, her pace came to a screeching halt when Creed blew into the kitchen, took her arm, and propelled her toward the door.

“Come with me,” he said without explanation, hurrying her along. He called over his shoulder. “Get someone to cover for her, Rene. She won’t be back tonight.”

Shada stumbled to keep up with him. “What’s this about, Creed? Would you slow the hell down?”

They reached the back alley, and she gaped when a car pulled up and a man jumped out and handed the keys to Creed. Creed ushered her into the passenger seat and then took the wheel. Soon, they were out of the alley and on Royal Street, headed toward Conti.

“I want you to stay calm, Shada,” he said. “Do you think you can do that?”

Her stomach turned. “Why would I need to stay calm?”

He hesitated and glanced at her. When he reached for her hand, she let him take it, but only because she suspected she might need it. “Marisa collapsed. She’s okay, but Damen took her to the hospital just in case.”

Shada’s world dipped and swayed. She squeezed Creed’s hand and pressed her lips together, saying nothing.

“You okay?” he asked.

She didn’t respond. After an eternity, they drew up to the hospital, and she jumped out of the car even as Creed pressed the brakes. Let him find parking on his own. She ran to the emergency entrance and burst through the sliding doors to get to the information desk. “Marisa Cobalt, where is she?”

The woman behind the counter smiled. “Are you family?”

“I’m her sister. I need to get back there.”

Maybe she had Marisa’s stats on her computer, but the woman frowned in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but Shada cut her off.

“I know, I know. I’m black, she’s white. Ever heard of adoption? I’m all the family she’s got. Let me back where she is. Now!”

What Shada said wasn’t really true. Marisa still had family, and they had never adopted Shada. Her fear, and maybe the fact that she was on the verge of tears, convinced the woman, and she buzzed Shada through the doors and directed her on where to go. Just as she hurried to them, Creed arrived and followed.

They found Marisa lying pale and still on a bed, and Shada darted to her side. At first, she didn’t even see Damen until he spoke.

“I’m sorry, Shada. I would have called sooner, but I didn’t know your number, and I had rushed Marisa here and left her phone in the car. I called my brother to get you.”

Shada rounded on him. “What the hell were you doing?”

His gaze shifted to Creed, who hadn’t spoken. “I…uh…we went bowling.”