I ask a few more questions? It’ll only take a minute.”
“Talk to my publicist. Her contact info is on the website.”
“I tried,” Roz said to his retreating back.
“Try harder.” He threw the words over his shoulder without turning around.
“This will only...” The sentence faded as, seething at the rude way she’d been dismissed, Roz watched his long, sure strides widen the distance between them. “What a jerk.”
Gee chuckled.
“Wait, did I say that out loud?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, he is.”
“Ah, don’t be so hard on the guy. He probably has women throwing themselves at him 24/7, eight days a week.”
“I wasn’t one of them,” she countered. “My reasons for talking to him were strictly professional.”
“If you say so,” Gee said. When Roz raised a fist to punch him, he quickly added, “Just playing. I’ve got to give it to him. Guy’s in great shape.”
Roz followed Gee’s gaze and immediately wished she hadn’t. The image would be hard to shake from her mind. Pierre, shirtless. Long black shorts covering a taut butt, hanging off lean hips. Chestnut-colored curls with natural blond highlights that looked so soft Roz’s fingers itched to touch them. He chatted with the Hispanic bodyguard who’d tried to block her, while effortlessly lifting a huge barbell up and over his head. His back muscles rippled beneath smooth caramel skin; his arm muscles bulged, then relaxed with each lift and flex. The bodyguard looked over, caught her staring and said something to Pierre, who glanced up. He smiled broadly, then broke out laughing.
Oh, I’m a joke now? “Do you see that, Gee? Is he actually laughing at me?”
The gym owner shook his head. “No, two seconds and you’ll see who has his attention.”
Just then a tall, busty woman who looked all of a size two breezed by her and headed straight toward Pierre. It was Roz’s cue. She turned to Gee. “I’m out.”
Roz headed toward the door, totally undeterred. She’d get the story. But now she’d have to go digging for what he could have easily provided. Search out classmates from the middle school he’d attended, the name of which was one of the few nuggets from his past that she’d gleaned online. Better yet, she had a couple contacts who’d grown up in the Ninth Ward, the area hardest hit by Hurricane Katrina and where many who ended up in Houston had lived. Perhaps one of them had known Pierre.
Plan in place, Roz headed toward the door, ready to put in a couple more hours before calling it a day. On the way out she passed a mirror, saw her reflection and did a double take. Sweaty curls bunched in a hasty ponytail. Mascara smudged beneath one eye. Torn T and oversize gray sweats. Unkempt would be a kind description of her appearance. Next to the beautiful woman who’d passed her, Roz looked more like a homeless beggar than a journalist. That still didn’t excuse his rudeness. Even the homeless deserved kindness and respect.
Halfway to the car, she heard her phone beep. Roz tapped the message indicator.
Don’t forget the ball! I know you’re excited. :) Biff
Roz mumbled an expletive as she opened the car door and slid inside. She was so not excited about the Bayou Ball, which was probably why she’d totally forgotten that it was next week. Why had she agreed to attend this prestigious gala and represent both NO Beat and her best friend Stefanie’s nonprofit organization, Shelter From The Storm? She’d rather get dropped in a war zone and report from the front line. But a promise was a promise. So instead of heading east toward the lower Ninth Ward, Roz whipped around and headed toward the nearest shopping mall.
* * *
“Hello, Easy. I’m Rachel. I own Crescent Moon, the bar around the corner from your restaurant.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He accepted the handshake she offered. “The name’s Pierre.”
“I thought it was Easy?”
“That, too, I guess.”
“It fits you to a T.” She stepped closer. “You are definitely easy on the eyes.”
Inwardly, Pierre cringed at the unimaginative line and purposely avoided her flirting. “Describes the restaurant’s decor even better. A very relaxing atmosphere.”
“So I’ve heard. Looks like it will be a couple months before I can find out for myself, though. Can’t believe you’re that booked up.”
“Me either. It’s crazy.”
Rachel took a step closer, her barely covered breast brushing Pierre’s upper arm. “Are you sure there isn’t a way I can...try it out any sooner? Like, as soon as possible?”
Pierre didn’t think Rachel was talking about food. He deftly shifted away from the touch as he took in the large breasts spilling over a tight tank top, wondering how she could be so top-heavy and still manage to walk.
“There’s a waiting list on our website if you’d like to add your name. So far there have been no cancellations, but it could happen.”
“What about a late-night snack after hours? You could join me in the private room at my bar. Drinks on me.”
“That’s a generous offer, but I can’t accept. After putting in eighteen-hour days six or seven days a week, the only place I want to go after locking up is home. And since this is my first day off in almost a month, I’d better get back to this workout.”
“Sure thing, gorgeous. Just remember, you always have a free drink waiting at Crescent Moon. Not that you couldn’t afford to buy one. Just showing you some neighborly love.”
It soon became clear that neighborly love wasn’t the only thing Rachel wanted to show. After smiling at Pierre, she walked over to the horizontal crunch bench and lay down. The thong-like leotard she wore left little to the imagination.
Pierre focused on his friends. He deposited the weight back into its holder and strolled over to where his sous chef, Riviera, was doing push-ups on a mat. He dropped down beside him, determined to shake off the constant self-imposed pressure of making his business a success. For him it was not enough to have a great restaurant; Easy Creole Cuisine had to be the best restaurant of its type anywhere. Period. Ensuring that, while juggling other contractual commitments, had sent him to the gym. Misery loves company, so he’d brought along some of the staff, including his out-of-shape manager, Ed, who looked clearly out of place as he held up a wall.
“Come on, Ed!” Pierre aligned his body with Riviera’s and matched his quick rhythm. “I want every member on the Easy team to be in shape.”
“Yes, Chef, but one day at a time, okay?” Ed palmed both hand weights he’d been pumping, then used a towel to mop up the sweat that ran down his face. “The last time I saw a gym was in high school.”
“Remember the prize,” Riviera panted, still doing push-ups, but more slowly.
“An all-expense-paid
