Sinful Chocolate (3 page)

C
harlie woke up early Sunday morning the same way he woke up every Sunday morning: completely satisfied and with a curvaceous beauty at his side. What was the girl's name again—Marcia, Jan or Cindy? Maybe he was thinking of
The Brady Bunch
. Blair, Jo, Tootie—no, that was the
Facts of Life
.

The woman moaned softly as she turned and wiggled her rump against his hip—a silent invitation and a coy way of letting him know that she was no longer asleep. Hard and ready, he was more than willing to RSVP her invite when the phone rang.

Mentally, he wrestled with whether he should answer, but then relented when his gaze read the digital clock. Groaning, he snatched up the phone. “I'm up, Taariq.”

“Yeah? Well, you're late,” he said, irritation dripping through the phone line. “It's bad enough you dissed us at the party last night for that Beyoncé wannabe. By the way, how was she?”

Charlie glanced out of the corner of his eyes to skim over the woman's voluptuous form imprinted beneath the silk sheets. “A gentleman never tells.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're one lucky S.O.B? You eased up on her two seconds before I did.”

“You snooze, you lose.” He smiled and sat up. “Give me about an hour, and I'll be right over.”

“One hour.” Taariq huffed. “I'm going to hold you to it.”

“Whatever.” Charlie hung up and turned his attention back to—Penny? No, that was
Good Times
. Well, when in doubt, he relied on his favorite pet name. “Hey, baby girl.” He eased a hand beneath the sheet and caressed her soft skin. “I really hate to have to do this, but I, um, I'm afraid it's time to get up.”

She emitted another soft moan, but then gracefully rolled over to her side to face him. Big, beautiful cat-shaped eyes fluttered open to reveal an intriguing shade of gray.

“Do we really have to get up?” she inquired, curling the corners of her full lips.

Charlie stared at the nymph in his bed as though it was the first time he'd seen her. Her face was devoid of makeup except the slightest hint of red lipstick. She was stunning. “Denise,” he murmured.

“You remembered. I'm impressed.”

“How could I ever forget? Denise just like in
The Cosby Show
,” Charlie covered smoothly.

“Do you always try to do name associations with TV shows?”

Charlie blinked. “Not always.”

“Then I guess the rumors are false.”

“Rumors?”

Denise's tinted lips widened across her face. “C'mon. You have to know you're a man with quite a reputation.” Her eyes traveled down his chest and settled on his erection. “Not all of it bad.”

Charlie's ego inflated. “Glad to hear it.”

Something stirred at the foot of the bed and since Charlie didn't have any animals, he jumped, but then quickly relaxed when the covers lifted and Samantha's—like in
Sex and the City
—tussled head peeked out. “Are you sure it's time to get out of bed?”

Charlie's smile slid wider. “Did you two have something else in mind?”

“As a matter of fact—” the beauty tossed the sheet back from her body to give him a clear view of what she was offering “—I have a
few
things in mind.”

His erection throbbed and robbed him of sufficient oxygen for him to think clearly. At last a smile rolled across his lips. “To hell with Taariq.”

 

“
You
let her meet Charlie Masters?” Nicole, Anna's busybody best friend roared incredulously. She pretended to rub wax out of her ears. “Please tell me I'm hearing things.”

A bored and sleep-intoxicated Anna struggled to rake her fingers through her frizzy hair before turning her attention to her large mug of coffee. “Gisella is a grown woman and more than capable of keeping her legs closed.”

Nicole's eyes narrowed. “No woman can think straight when Charlie is on the prowl. How many times have I told you girls that?” She glanced around the four-member Lonely Hearts Club.

“At least a million,” Anna droned.

“Exactly.” Nicole crossed her arms and glared at her best friend. “I knew this was going to happen. I swear Charlie has like this radar whenever a beautiful new woman moves into this city. Hell, I'm surprised it took him nine months to find her.”

The other women snickered at the joke, which only encouraged Nicole to stay perched atop her soapbox. “Wake up, Anna, your sister is exactly Charlie's type, and he'll be all over her like white on rice.”

Jade, one of the founding members of the group frowned. “What's Charlie's type?”

“Anything with breasts and a pulse,” Nicole shot back.

“Damn. I better hide Sasha, too.” Anna bent down and picked up her orange-and-yellow tabby cat that kept mewing at her ankles.

“She's telling the truth,” said Emmadonna, a plus-size beauty with a mountainous chip on her shoulder, nodding in agreement. “I met the famous dog at a club a couple of years back, thinking I was safe since he spent half the night dancing with the same old anorexic-looking chicks until he brushed up on me.”

“Ooh?” the other women chorused.

“Next thing I know, he was all up in my ear, saying only a dog wants to play with some bones.”

The women laughed.

“Girl, I played it cool for about two minutes before I jumped him and showed him how us big girls worked it out. Nahwhatimean?” She held up her hands and received a train of high fives while the room filled with new squeals of laughter.

“If you didn't see the devil horns and tail then you weren't looking hard enough,” Nicole said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, I was looking, all right,” Emmadonna said. “All I saw was a tall brother with money, class, sophistication…and if I'm not mistaken, a dash of thug in him. Every girl needs a little thug in their lives.”

“That man has a trail of broken hearts that stretches halfway around the globe.” Nicole's hands settled on her thick hips. “Charlie's a diehard playa, and any woman who thinks she can change him, which is every woman he's ever come in contact with, is just kidding herself.”

“Including you,” Jade said, easing back into the leather couch with a knowing smile.

“Yes, including me.” Nicole squared her shoulders. “Of course,
I
never became a notch on his bedpost. I had a little more sense than that.”

Anna rolled her eyes and yawned. “Anyone want some more coffee?” She shuffled toward the kitchen. “If I have to wake up, I might as well do it the right way.”

“I could've slept with him if I wanted,” Nicole said to Anna's back.

“I hope you like Folgers.”

“Ignore if you want, but back in college I was considered a fine catch myself,” Nicole reminded her.

“Of course, I think we might have some Taster's Choice in here,” Anna kept on, unfazed.

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Folgers is fine.”

Anna rustled through the cabinets for a few minutes and then fumbled with the coffeemaker. All this talk about Charlie was hitting a little too close for home. She had her own history with the infamous playa and she'd rather just forget the whole incident. She certainly didn't want to talk about it.

Nicole glanced down at her watch. “It's noon. I bet you anything, Charlie is lying next to some chick right now trying to figure out the best way to get her out of there.”

“Okay, now you're creepin' me out.” Anna hit the Brew button. “You know just a little too much about the man's modus operandi.”

“All playas have the same M.O. Hit and run.”

“I still say Gisella is smarter than that. She was just hired to make the man's cake. She's hardly looking to leap back into another relationship after what her ex just put her through.”

“Charlie doesn't
do
relationships.”

“And Gisella doesn't believe in one-night stands.”

Emmadonna, with supersonic ears for all things gossip, cackled from the living room. “Girl, please. Every woman has had at least one.”

Anna and Nicole rejoined the women in the living room.

“I say,” Nicole continued, “the only way a woman can avoid getting caught up in Charlie Masters's dog trap is to run the other way when you see him strolling down the sidewalk.”

“Amen” circled around the room along with another series of high fives before the women burst out laughing.

Curious about the commotion in the apartment, Gisella finished dressing and joined her sister's friends in the living room. “What's so funny?”

The minute she walked into the room, all the laughter was suddenly sucked out of the air and everyone began straightening and fidgeting in their seats.

Gisella cast her gaze around the room as suspicion crept up her spine. “
Parlez-vous de moi?
”

Anna shooed Sasha off her lap and stood up. “Don't be silly, Gisella,” she said, shuffling over and draping her arm around her shoulders. “We weren't talking about you—exactly.”

“No, we were talking about your birthday boy last night,” Nicole said, piping up.

Gisella's face flushed. Had her sister heard her in her room last night? Oh, Lord, hadn't she called out his name a few times?

Nicole pointed. “Look at her face. Something
did
happen last night.”

Anna's arm fell from Gisella's shoulders. “You didn't!”

“Didn't what?” Gisella asked, thoroughly confused.

“Sleep with the enemy,” Anna said. “Charlie Masters is the biggest man-whore in Atlanta.”

“And that's putting it nicely,” Nicole agreed.

Gisella groaned before she could stop herself. Didn't these girls ever give it a rest? Men were not the enemy. “Relax,” she huffed. “Nothing happened. I went to network, remember?”

Unconvinced, Nicole planted her hands on her hips. “Did you meet the birthday boy?”

Four sets of eyes locked onto Gisella and waited.

“I met him.” Gisella shrugged. “He said he loved the cake, and then I took off.”

Anna smiled as her arm magically reappeared around her shoulder. “See? I told you she knew how to handle herself.”

Ivy, the petite and soft-spoken member of their group, voiced her suspicions. “You mean Charlie didn't even try to hit on you?”

Gisella shook her head, even though the memory of their light flirting replayed in her head. “Nope.”

“Damn.” Emmadonna chuckled and eased back into her seat. “We really are living in the last days.”

L
ife had gone from bad to worse.

It was the only way Charlie could explain it. His company, Masters Holdings, continued to edge toward bankruptcy. Hopefully, his upcoming trip to South Africa would change all of that. His bid for a lucrative government contract was all that stood between him and financial ruin. The housing market combined with the credit crisis had formed the perfect storm to sink his financial ship. He was going to lose everything. The high-rise. The cars. The boat. The plane. His lifestyle.

To make matters worse, Charlie had been less than forthcoming with his frat brothers. How could he be, when they were still very rich and very successful in their own right? The last thing he wanted was to be labeled the failure of the group, nor did he want anyone's sympathy.

After all, he did have his pride.

No. Charlie shook his head. He was going to rebound from this. He had to.

First, he had to survive this basketball game. Hylan and Taariq were running rings around him today, and Derrick looked ready to kick him to the curb and pick Stanley as his partner.

But something was changing. Charlie felt it the moment Hylan passed Taariq the basketball and he launched into trying to block the next shot. Sure, he was in shape. He worked out five days a week at his local gym. Pumped iron, practiced kickboxing and swam like a fish in their indoor pool. And every Sunday afternoon, like today, he and his frat brothers got together on the half-court at Derrick's spacious estate in Stone Mountain for a few friendly games.

Bottom line: he was in shape.

So what was this change he was feeling in his body? The same change he'd been feeling since the moment he blew out the candles on his birthday cake.

I'm getting old.

Charlie frowned at the continuous thought circling his mind. Trying to dispel the notion, he pushed himself a little harder, ignored a few straining muscles and wiped the pouring sweat off his forehead with the back of his arms like windshield wipers in the midst of a thunderstorm.

Still, he didn't feel as aerodynamic as he had in college. Why weren't his other frat brothers struggling?

Taariq faked a shot, Charlie jumped and a collection of muscles in his lower back throbbed in protest. Recovering, he jerked to his left, intersected Taariq's running dribble for a clean steal.

“Yeah!” Derrick shouted as he did his best to clear the perimeter for Charlie to take his shot. Some people who'd watched them play in the past thought it was a bit odd for the teams to be divided as three on two. Those same people quickly understood when they saw how Stanley epitomized the term: white men can't jump…or shoot, dribble, block or run.

“Take your shot!” Derrick shouted. “Take your shot.”

Charlie took aim and then launched the ball. Everyone stopped to watch its perfect arch. Taariq, Hylan and Stanley groaned when it swished beautifully inside the netting.

The game tied, Charlie and Derrick whooped in excitement and pumped their fists in the air.

Charlie took a moment to bend at the waist and chugged in a few deep gulps of air.

“You okay, hot shot?” Taariq asked, eyeing him up and down.

“Never better.” Charlie righted himself and forced a smile.

Taariq shrugged off his concern and turned back to wait for Stanley to toss the ball back into play.

Charlie's resentment toward the other guys' boundless energy returned. Of course, they could be faking, too, he realized. He couldn't see any of them admitting to the pull of aging.

Kicking it into overdrive, Charlie tapped into the energy reserves he had left and started zigzagging in between the fellahs. But somewhere along the line, he lost his mind.

That was the only explanation for his delusion of being like Michael Jordan in 1989 and launching across the court with the song “I Believe I Can Fly” playing in his head.

Flying wasn't the problem.

It was landing.

The ball swooshed through the hoop, giving him and Derrick the winning two points. However, when Charlie's feet hit the concrete, his ankles folded like paper.

“Ooh, damn!” the Kappa brothers chorused and winced at the same time.

“Owww!” The sound that erupted from his throat wasn't unlike a roaring lion. But when Charlie looked down and saw the odd angle of his foot, his deep bass disappeared and he sounded like, what Derrick would later call, a wailing banshee.

 

“Oh, my God, I've died and gone to heaven,” moaned Waqueisha, Isabella's good friend and Delta Phi Theta sorority sister, as she bit into another one of Gisella's chocolate truffles. “I know you said the girl was good, but damn!”

Waqueisha was the epitome of the round the way girl. She wore a lot of hair weave, tight clothes and was still rockin' bamboo earrings. Despite all that she was a very successful entertainment publicist.

“Everything just tastes so fantastic,” said Rayne, another soror and a timid elementary schoolteacher. “I want two dozen of these chocolate coconut nuggets. Make that three dozen.”

Gisella beamed at the women. “Isabella, I can't thank you enough,” she gushed, rushing to fill the ladies' orders. “It's been crazy since that birthday party, and every day I'm getting calls and orders from people that say you've recommended my shop.”

“You can thank me by agreeing to let me be your business partner,” Isabella said. She'd given up tax law when she became Mrs. Derrick Knight and searched high and low for a career change. Since she found her courage and stopped being the person her parents wanted her to be, she'd spent the last year doing some much needed soul searching. She wanted to be involved in something that inspired her and elicited her passion.

“I'm flattered,” Gisella said, shaking her head. “But going national just seems so grand,
oui?
I just like things simple. I bake and make treats because I like making people happy. I don't like making a big fuss of everything.”

“You won't have to,” Isabella said. “You bake, and I'll fuss over the big stuff.”

“Yeah,” Waqueisha said. “No one out-fusses our girl Izzy.”

Isabella frowned and Waqueisha shrugged. “What? I was just trying to help you make the sale.”

Isabella raced behind the counter and draped an arm around Gisella's shoulder. “Just picture it.” She swept one hand up toward the ceiling as she described her vision. “Sinful Chocolate being packaged and sold in shops just like this one all across America, your grandmother's recipes putting smiles on millions of faces,” she waxed enthusiastically.

“And depositing an insane amount of money into your bank account,” Rayne added.

Gisella smiled and shook her head. “
Je ne pense pas.
Money is not the most important thing in the world.”

Waqueisha and Rayne's mouths fell open.

“What?” Gisella asked, frowning at the two women.

“You really aren't from around here, are you?” Waqueisha said.

Gisella finally laughed. “Am I really all that different?” She glanced around. “I've seen you with your husband. Can you really tell me that the things that truly make you happy are attached to how much money he makes or what kind of car he drives?”

Isabella's face flushed a deep burgundy. “No.”

“You see?” Gisella gave a smug smile to Waqueisha and Rayne. “Material things are what distract people when they're not following their hearts. Things like family, laughter, food and love are the real keys to happiness.”

Waqueisha blinked. “Damn. That sounded like it should be on a Hallmark card.”

 

Charlie and his frat brothers soon discovered that the emergency room was no place for an emergency. Bored and in no hurry, the E.R. nurses were more interested in exchanging gossip than helping the sick and injured. Instead, Charlie was stuck watching a bunch of unruly children run around hyped up on sodas and vending machine snacks while a loop of the same news from T. J. Holmes and the rest of the CNN weekend crew played every fifteen minutes.

Finally, Hylan had to ask. “Man, what the hell were you thinking?”

Derrick, Taariq and Stanley all covered their mouths and snickered.

“Charlie, you were really feelin' yourself,” said Hylan, continuing to tease.

Taariq jumped into the fray. “I tried to tell you those Air Jordans will get a brother caught up each and every time.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

Another round of snickering and elbowing ensued.

After two hours of waiting to see a doctor, Charlie's patience neared an end. He'd almost convinced himself that he would rather go through life with a limp than to sit another minute in the E.R.'s hard plastic chairs.

“Charles Masters?”

“Over here,” he called, struggling to his feet.

A shapely Latina nurse smiled when her eyes landed on him. “The doctor can see you now. Would you like for me to get you a wheelchair?”

That was like asking a starving man if he wanted a cracker.

A few minutes later, Consuela, according to her name tag, wheeled him through the crowded hallway behind the reception desk. Getting a room was too much to hope for apparently. Instead, the nurse rolled him behind a makeshift divider and told him that the doctor would see him in a few minutes.

It was another hour.

“Well, well. Sorry to keep you waiting,” a voice boomed as the divider was pulled back, which jarred Charlie awake.

“Dr. Weiner?” Charlie asked, startled.

“Ah, Charlie!” A stunned smile spread across his personal physician's face. “What a surprise.” He looked down at the paperwork Charlie had filled out at check-in. “I must be tired. I didn't really make a connection when I read your name on the folder.”

Charlie squared his shoulders and felt a little better about being in the care of his primary doctor. “I didn't know you worked here at the hospital.”

“Well, I fill in from time to time.” Dr. Weiner closed the folder and leveled a serious look at Charlie. “You know my office has been trying to reach you.”

Charlie instantly recalled the number of messages left on his home answering machine. But with all the trouble going on at the office, he kept putting off returning the doctor's calls. Besides, they probably just wanted to give him the results of his lab work for his upcoming trip.

“Tell you what,” Dr. Weiner said after an awkward beat. “Let me take a look at your foot, and let's just have you come into my office in the morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Charlie frowned. “Is there something wrong?”

Weiner hesitated again. “I don't have your chart from my office with me, so let's just go over everything then?”

Charlie's gaze lingered on the smiling doctor. He didn't like the sound of that at all.