Hooked!: A Contemporary, Multicultural Romance (2 page)

Chapter
3

Kammille
shook her head at the advice Liza had given her before she left.

Do
something sinful; something you’d be embarrassed to even tell your best friend
about. Something that can remain your little secret …

She
reclined her window seat in first-class, wondering about the woman who was her
business partner.  There was definitely more to her than the cultured,
perfectly coiffed, well-educated, highly proficient business woman she
presented to the world.

Even
though she and Liza had been business partners for a little over three years,
they weren’t bosom buddies or best friends. They’d met in graduate school in
New York. After graduation, they’d lost touch, but had ‘found’ each other again
on social media. Both were living in Atlanta, and they kept running into each
other because they ran in the same business circles.

After
a particularly stressful day at her old job a few years ago, Kammille had
stopped into a bar to have a glass of wine to calm her nerves. She’d spotted
Liza sitting at the bar and during her lamenting about the stress she was
under, she’d said, “I wish I could just quit and open a bakery.”

“Me
too,” Liza had said. “I’ve always wanted to open a bakery. It’s my dream job.”

It
had taken them another year to turn the talk into action – and the bakery had
turned into a full-fledged catering business, totally by accident from almost
day one.  Both had raided their 401ks and stepped out on faith. They were
smart, but had soon realized that running a business humbles even the smartest
person.

Kammille
shook her head at some of the rookie mistakes they’d made; sometimes, ignorance
truly was bliss. She was pretty sure that if either one of them knew going in
half of what they’d learned the last three years, K&L Catering wouldn’t
exist. Fear and doubt would have held them back – at least she knew it was the
case for her.

And
even though Kammille and Liza weren’t intimately involved in each other’s
personal lives, they made ideal business partners. It suddenly hit Kammille –
maybe that’s
why
they made such great business partners.

All
she knew is that she was grateful she’d taken the leap into entrepreneurship.
It afforded her a lifestyle she never would have been able to enjoy had she
kept her job as a social worker – like this impromptu first-class trip to
Miami.

While
she had enjoyed the ‘helping others’ aspect of her old profession, it had been
mentally and emotionally draining. She could have dealt with that, but her boss
had been an ass. He was in it for the pension … nothing more. One day he’d just
caught her wrong and she couldn’t take his cold, unsympathizing attitude
towards those they were supposed to be helping one second longer.  Unable
to hold her tongue, she’d given him a thorough cursing out – or ‘cussing from
hell,’ as her aunt would say – and walked out.

She’d
been terrified of what she was going to do once she realized exactly what she’d
done. She’d quit her job! There went health insurance, 401k, income security –
everything. The only silver lining at that point had been the fact that she had
been a prolific saver over the years. She had never been more grateful for this
early life lesson because it meant she had a nice cushion in the bank. Along
with her pretty healthy 401k, she hadn’t exactly been in danger of living on
the streets. It gave her time – valuable time to figure out what she really
wanted to do.

Once
she’d gotten over the panic of not having a steady paycheck, she realized that
she still wanted to help others; to make people happy – but she’d decided that
in order to make others happy, she had to make herself happy first. She had a
friend who was fond of saying, “
Peace and pancakes. Who doesn’t love peace
and pancakes
?” And that’s when it had hit her – baking. It was her first
love. She could spread joy through food.

Looking
back, she realized that running into Liza in that bar that day hadn’t been
coincidence. She’d never believed in them. She believed that everything
happened for a reason and that when you’re ready – the universe conspires to
give you your heart’s desire. And that day, she’d been ready. The stars had
aligned and a little over three years later, she owned half of one of the
hottest catering businesses in Atlanta.

Life
couldn’t be better … her professional life that is. Her love life was a mess.

No,
not a mess
,
an insistent voice whispered –
non-existent. You don’t have a love life
.
But for right now,
Kammille countered the voice,
that’s fine.
Even
though it had been a year, she was still putting her splintered heart back
together. Many of the bigger pieces had been put back into place, but there
were shards that still had to be pieced together – and she was at a standstill
as to how to do it.

Maybe
this trip would do the trick. After all, you could only avoid pain for so long.
Eventually you had to acknowledge it, stand and face it, and power through
it. 

 “Ladies
and gentlemen, please prepare for landing. Put your tray tables up and return
your seats back to their original, upright …”

Kammille
had been lost in her thoughts the entire, almost two-hour flight. After
complying with the flight attendant’s instructions, she leaned closer to the
window, inhaling the beauty of the turquoise, blues and green waters of the
ocean below. She almost clapped her hands in glee she was so excited. This trip
had definitely been a good idea.

All
she wanted was a
Mai Tai
– with a pretty flower in it to signal that she
truly was on vacation and in chill mode – and a cabana on the beach. The Miami
sun could be hot and she wanted to enjoy as much of the outside as possible
without running from its rays, so a cabana was a must.

By
the time she got all checked in, the sun would be setting. “Tomorrow,” Kammille
whispered to the ocean below.
I’ll enjoy you tomorrow
, she finished the
thought in her head. Tonight, a nice table for one by the sea would be nice.
She’d treat herself to a nice dinner in the hotel restaurant, get to bed early,
and get up early and spend the day at the beach sipping
Mai Tai’s
and
just relaxing.

What
could be more perfect?

###

Kammille
struggled to pull her bag from the overhead luggage bin upon landing.
They
made these damn things too small these days!
, she thought.

A
well-muscled arm reached up and pulled the stuck leather case down with ease.

Kammille
turned to say thank you, and got instantly absorbed into a splendid pair of slate-grey
eyes. They could almost – almost – be blue, but had just enough of a clearness
to them to remain in the grey zone.

How
could she have missed him she ruminated as he said, “You’re welcome.” He handed
the bag to her and she proceeded to de-board, shaking her head at what a
stunning specimen he was.

Kammille
almost laughed aloud. Specimen … it made him seem like some kind of science
project. But his beauty – and that was the only way to describe him – was a
freak of nature, she justified to herself. There just weren’t that many
creatures walking God’s green earth who looked like that!

Unlike
most women, Kammille automatically dismissed men in his realm of handsomeness
as dating material. She’d learned that lesson her freshman year in college while
dating the star basketball player, who happened to be every naïve co-ed’s
dream. They only dated for four months and even though they were supposed to be
exclusive, she’d found out that he’d been dating her and at least two other
girls -- that she knew about. And when she’d confronted him about it, he’d been
unapologetic, basically blaming the girls, saying they kept ‘coming for him.’

Then
and there, she’d learned a valuable lesson. ‘Devilishly handsome’ equals
big-time player. And a man as good-looking as the ‘luggage stranger’ would
command attention everywhere he went. It was just too much trouble. Dreamboats
like that were better left in your dreams. In the flesh, they were heartache
walking.

Kammille’s
stomach rumbled. It was almost dinner time … and she was hungry.

Chapter
4

“Good
evening Miss. Will you be joining us for dinner?” the Maître d’ asked as
Kammille entered the intimate restaurant. With a direct view of the ocean, it
was a beautiful establishment.

“Yes,”
Kammille responded to the splendidly dressed, middle-aged man. Do they
custom-fit their staff here, she wondered as she looked at the perfect fit of
his tuxedo-like uniform. It didn’t even seem right to refer to it as a uniform.
He really could attend an official black-tie function in it. It was that
expertly tailored. Her mind always on business, she thought about how she and
Liza outfitted their staff. Maybe they needed to upgrade a bit.

“Very
well. We’re glad to have you this evening. How many in your party madam?” the Maître
d’ was saying to her. Kammille forced her mind back to the present. “One. Just
me,” she said. “And if you have it, a table with an unobstructed view of the
ocean.”

“Unfortunately
Miss, we only have one left, and it’s reserved. But I can get you close,” the
Maître d’ said with an apologetic smile.

“It’s
my table, and I’m dining alone this evening as well,” a deep-throated baritone
said behind her.

Kammille
swiveled around, immediately recognizing the voice from a couple of hours
earlier. So deep. So rich. She’d never forget it, even though he’d only uttered
two words to her. It was the luggage stranger!

“I’d
be more than willing to share my table … if the lady is amenable,” he said,
speaking to the Maître d’, but eyes squarely on her.

The
interruption obviously took the usually unflappable
Maître d’ by
surprise. He looked from one to the other, before speaking again. “Miss?” he
inquired a bit tensely, looking at Kammille.

Those
penetrating grey eyes that were almost blue were the first thing she took in
about him – again -- right after his towering height. He was at least
6'3", maybe 6'4". The breadth of his chest and shoulders blocked
everything she might have seen behind him, even though there was nothing behind
-- or in front or to the sides of him – that could be as attention-grabbing. If
he wasn't so broad, she would have pegged him as a model. His arrow-shaped,
Roman-inspired nose was a perfect complement to his beautifully dominant
cheekbones and flawless lips. A professional athlete, Kammille thought. South
Beach was full of them. He could be a baseball player, a basketball player or a
football player -- perhaps wide receiver or tight end.

"Miss?"
the Maître d’ inquired again.

"Would
you like to share my table?" the flawless being said to her in that
‘get
your juices flowing’
voice.

Kammille
gathered her scattered emotions. Now she knew what it meant to have your world
rocked by just looking at another human being. He was too beautiful; too
utopian; too unrivalled … too much man. She’d been well schooled for years as
to what this meant, which quelled any doubts she had about accepting his
invitation. He didn’t have a prayer in hell with her and after all, she was on
vacation … why eat alone in such a beautiful environment?

"If
you're sure you wouldn't mind," Kammille said, almost looking forward to
the ‘woman will fall into my bed at the end of the evening’ charm he was sure
to display. She could see it coming a mile way.

"It
would be my pleasure," he said.

"Now
that that's settled," the Maître d’ said, let me show you and your guest
to your table Mr. Shaw."

"After
you," the stranger said, putting one hand out to encourage her to follow
the Maître d’.

Landon’s
eyes followed every delectable sway of her picture-perfect backside as she
walked in front of him. Tonight was turning out to be a helluva lot better than
his day.

 Kammille
could feel his eyes on her. They were like an ass-laser, trained to hone in on
exactly one spot – her backside. She felt heated, from the swell of her butt to
the intimate crease between her thighs. She hadn't decided whether she was
flattered or pissed off about where his impossibly gorgeous eyes were focused.
She’d decide soon; the answer would come to her soon, she told herself, clutching
her black wire-mesh evening bag harder as she fought not to acknowledge her
visceral reaction to him.

I
haven't even had a drink yet, and I'm already not acting like myself
, she thought.
Maybe
a drink is just what you need to calm down
, she reflected as the Maître d’
pulled the chair out for her and she took her seat. "I'll send your server
right over," he said.

“As
this is our second meeting, I suppose the first thing we should do is get
introductions out of the way. I’m Landon; Landon Shaw,” he said, extending a
large hand across the table for her to shake.

“Nice
to meet you, Mr. Shaw. I’m Kammille Howard,” she said, taking his hand, which
immediately swallowed hers. She liked the feeling. It made her feel feminine
and protected
. It’s all part of the game Kammille; don’t you dare forget it.

“Second
thing, do you mind if we drop the formalities? Please call me Landon and I’d
love to call you Kammille. It’s such a beautiful name.”

“Very
well … Landon. Thank you. And please, feel free to call me Kammille,” she said
with a smile.  

“So
soft; so warm,” he said, still holding her hand in his. “Not unlike the woman
herself I’d bet,” he returned, smiling back at her.

Let
the mating game begin.

“And
what makes you say that?” Kammille questioned a bit coyly.

“I
shake a lot of hands in my line of work. Let’s just say you can tell a lot
about a person by a simple handshake, much more than you’d ever think.”

“Really?”
she remarked. “And just how long do you have to have a person’s hand in yours
before you get all this insight about them?” she asked, her gaze noticeably
directed to their still intertwined hands. It had gone a bit beyond a simple,
introductory handshake.

“Not
long,” Landon responded. “But some you want to hold on to longer than others –
for a host of reasons,” he finished, finally letting her hand go.

“So
just what is it that you do that requires you to shake so many hands – and read
so many people?” Kammille asked.

“Good
evening,” the very red-headed, very curly haired server said as she approached
their table. She made them aware of the specials, took their orders
proficiently, then left.

“Now
that was a head of hair,” Landon said as the perky server left the table.

“Red
heads not your thing?” Kammille said. “She had a beautiful head of hair.”

“It’s
rare that you see hair that color. And I happen to agree with you; it is
stunning, which is why I commented on it. And in answer to your question, right
this moment, I’m partial to a brunette … with curls … and red lipstick … in a
beautiful blue dress. Is a picture starting to emerge?”

In
spite of the game she knew he was playing, Kammille laughed. “You never got
around to telling me what you do,” she said, refusing to let his compliments penetrate
her on any level deeper than the surface.

“I’m
a sports agent,” Landon said. “I’m in town on a recruiting mission.”

“Why
am I not surprised? I had you pegged as an athlete, so I was close.”

“I’m
a little long in the tooth to still be playing anything,” Landon replied, “at
least, effectively.”

“Long
in the tooth. How old are you, 33? 34? Many athletes play close to – and beyond
40. I mean, look at Tim Duncan. Thirty-nine and still schooling the young
boys.”

“All
my playing is done recreationally these days. I had a career-ending injury
before I even got a chance to play in the majors.”

“So
which sport did you play? You have the kind of build that could put you in any
number of sports.”

“Ahhh,
so you’ve taken note of my physique. Interesting …”

“There
is nothing interesting about that, Mr. Shaw,” Kammille rushed to explain. “And
I’m sure I’m not the first one to tell you that.”

“Well
you’re not far off. I lettered in three sports in high school, and played two
in college – hockey and baseball. I chose baseball. It’s my first love, but in
my first year in the minors, I suffered a career-ending knee injury, and that
was that.”

“You
must have been devastated,” Kammille said, somewhat fascinated by his life
story.

“I
was. I’ve played sports my whole life. It’s the only thing I’d ever wanted to
do. But when one dream dies, you learn from it, plant seeds for new ones, and
move on.”

“So
just like that,” Kammille remarked, snapping her fingers, “you lose your life’s
dream and you’re okay with it.”

“I
didn’t say I was okay with it. I said you learn from it. And believe me, that
took a while. Overall, I can’t say I have any complaints about the way things
have turned out for me. I’m still involved in sports and I get to help young
people attain their dreams. It’s a win, win.”

“And
you truly don’t mourn being that close to stardom? The big-money contracts?
Endorsement deals? Women throwing themselves at you wherever you go? All that
could’ve come with being a professional athlete?”

“I’m
not the kind of person who dwells on what could have been. I focus on what is.
And right now before me is a beautiful woman … whose turn it is to tell me
about her. What do you do Miss Kammille?”

“Miss?
A bit formal, don’t you think?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Oh
there’s nothing that I’d like more than to be informal with you Kammille. But
for now, please, go on – tell me about yourself.”

“I
have a catering company,” Kammille started.

The
waitress brought their entrée’s and refilled their wine glasses. Kammille had
decided to forego her
Mai Tai
when Landon offered to share a bottle of
wine he’d been dying to try -- but only if she would share it with him.
Kammille loved wine, and was always up for trying new ones. Now on her second
glass, the conversation flowed as easily as the robust vino.

###

“Since
you were kind enough to share your table so that I could see that spectacular
sunset, please let me pick up the check. It’s the least I can do,” Kammille
said.

“It’s
really nice of you to offer, but no thank you. It’s against my personal
policy.”

“What
personal policy?” Kammille said.

“To
let a woman pay,” he stated simply, reaching for one of the credit cards in his
already-open leather wallet.

“It
is the 21
^st
century Landon. I think you can make an exception to
that rule. Besides I really want to. First, you help me with my luggage, then
you share your table, then you share your wine. You’ve been so generous… and
it’s not like we’re on a date. If I were a man, would you let me pay?” she
questioned him.

“No,
because if you were a man, I never would have invited you to join me.”

“I’m
not sure how to respond to that,” Kammille said. “But, I still want to pay.”

“Feel
flattered,” Landon said, ignoring her plea to pick up the bill. “You’re a
beautiful, desirable woman. I would have approached you anyway had I noticed
you sitting alone. So it worked out just fine.”

“And
why would you have done that?”

“Because
I’ve been thinking about you ever since I pulled your luggage down from the
overhead bin. The smell of your perfume lingers, you know.”

“I’m
getting the strange feeling that I might have been stalked had we not run into
each other this evening Mr. Shaw,” she teased.