All Up In My Business (14 page)

Toussaint smiled appreciatively. She’d passed an important test—loving food and its preparation as much as he did. “This is the test kitchen. Everything on the Taste menu starts here, and we’re constantly refining, making subtle changes. One of our primary goals is to make our Southern cuisine as healthy as possible, without compromising on taste.”

“But you still season with pork, correct?”

“We do, but as you may have noted, we’re constantly adding turkey and chicken alternatives.”

“I have noticed, and those dishes I’ve ordered are delicious. Since they are so tasty, why don’t you eliminate the pork seasoning altogether?”

“And have my great-grandparents rise from the dead?” Both Alexis and Toussaint laughed. “We have two powerful votes keeping pig in the pot—Marcus and Marietta Livingston.”

“Your great-grandparents?”

“Their kids, my grandparents. They’re retired but are still very active in the decisions affecting the company they founded. My grandfather often jokes that when he meets his maker, it’s going to be with a rib in one hand and a pig foot in the other.”

They continued talking casually as Toussaint showed Alexis around the kitchen.

“So where’s the person fixing this food?” Alexis asked when the tour was over.

“You’ll meet him soon.”

When they reached the elevator, Toussaint punched the button for the tenth floor. Alexis was silent, a little intrigued and a lot impressed with the man beside her. He was sometimes perceived as arrogant or cocky, but the Toussaint she was witnessing tonight was funny, kind, and sexy as hell.

“Wow, this is impressive,” Alexis said as they stepped off the elevator into the lobby of the Livingston Corporation. The lush, tan carpet anchored a room filled with mahogany furniture, striped cushions, lush plants, and silk-covered walls.

“I’ll give you a tour later if you’d like,” Toussaint said. “But now, my queen, dinner awaits.”

Once again, Toussaint took Alexis’s hand and led them down the hall. This time, Alexis was acutely aware of how smooth his skin was, and how large his hand. He held her hand gently yet firmly, like he could protect her, like she belonged to him. She refused to ponder the fact that she liked the feeling.

Toussaint opened the door to the company’s private dining suite and stood back. “After you.”

Alexis had one word for the room she entered—exquisite. When she turned to look at Toussaint, her eyes shined with unshed tears. She hadn’t been treated this special since …
No, not now, Alexis. Stay in this moment, with this wonderful man
. “Flowers, champagne, a private dinner … all of this for me?”

Toussaint’s laugh was deep and sultry. “This is just the beginning, love. It’s all of this, and so much more.”

He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Once she was seated, he retrieved the bucket of champagne from the buffet and sat it on the table. He quickly poured two glasses. “To a dinner uninterrupted,” he said with a smile.

“Cheers.”

Immediately, the master chef for all Taste restaurants, Oliver Bouvier, came out of a side door. Oliver was a robust and kind soul, with tanned, weathered skin and kind eyes. He was born in Cuba, and even though he’d come to America when he was seven years old, his accent was still quite evident.

“Mr. Livingston,” he said taking Toussaint’s hand and bowing. “
Bonita,”
he said as he kissed Alexis’s hand.

“Oliver is our executive chef, overseeing the menus at all of the Taste of Soul locations. When he’s not traveling to our different sites, or here, creating new, culinary masterpieces, he gives his capable sous-chef a break and heads to the Buckhead kitchen.”

“Ah, my favorite restaurant,” Alexis said. “Now I know why!”

“You honor me, señorita, with your beauty and your words.” Oliver announced the first course, salmon mousse with capers, and left the room.

“Bet you were expecting soul food,” Toussaint said, his eyes twinkling.

Alexis laughed. “I was, and I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“Next to my mother and grandmother, Oliver creates the best soul food I’ve ever tasted. But he’s classically trained and can master cuisine from any region of the world.”

Over the next two hours and five courses, which included everything French and nothing Southern, Toussaint and Alexis got to know each other. Toussaint plied her with funny stories about growing up in the Livingston household while Alexis spoke of summers in the Caribbean.

“Tell me about your father,” Toussaint suggested after a lull in the conversation.

Alexis’s smile was bittersweet. “He was amazing,” she began. “My hero. Tall, handsome, with big, strong arms and an even bigger heart. My parents divorced when I was little, but he’d visit me faithfully every week. We’d go on dates, just him
and me, simple things: going for ice cream, to the park, or to the movies. During those times, he made me feel as if I were the only person who mattered in the world.

“We remained close through my high school years and college. Then I moved to New York, determined to break into the design world, and didn’t see him as much. I should have tried to go home more, see him more often. I didn’t know that …” A huge lump in Alexis’s throat prevented her from speaker further.

Toussaint’s heart clenched. In this moment, the strong, feisty woman he admired was replaced by a vulnerable, frightened child, still mourning the loss of her father. He didn’t have to ask if that was what happened. Her loss was palpable. Wanting to take her in his arms but knowing now was not the time, he simply placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I’m sure he was a fine man, to raise a daughter like you.”

Alexis nodded, using her napkin to wipe the tears that threatened at the corner of her eyes. “He died suddenly, a heart attack. I didn’t get to say good-bye.” This time she couldn’t stop the tears as they poured down her cheeks.

Toussaint reacted before he could think. He stood, lifted Alexis from her chair, and walked them over to a love seat positioned in the corner of the room.

“I’m okay,” Alexis said, trying to wiggle out of his arms.

“Shhh, no, you’re not. And it’s okay. It’s okay to miss him. It’s okay to cry.”

He sat with her then, cuddled in his arms. And it was here that for the first time, Alexis truly let go, the first time she’d felt safe enough to mourn her father.

M
alcolm’s eyes sparkled as he and Joyce stood at the counter of his engineer’s lab. The baby that Malcolm had worked on for almost two years, the one that he wanted, was finished. The excitement hummed like electricity throughout his body. He’d planned to have Victoria by his side during this moment—the unveiling. That Joyce was here instead of a room full of Livingstons felt different, but nice. This was Malcolm’s moment. It was rare that he hadn’t had to share the spotlight with his brother, father, uncle, or mother.

Since sharing dinner at FGO three weeks ago, Malcolm and Joyce had forged a fast and deep friendship. During that dinner, and later at the lab, where Malcolm swore Joyce to secrecy before revealing his project, they discovered common interests and shared goals. Joyce was attentive and supportive, a good listener. Malcolm didn’t realize how much he missed what he used to have with Victoria—friendship—until he felt it again with Joyce. He knew that Joyce’s attraction went beyond business, that the feeling was mutual. If not for the legacy begun by his great-grandfather, and Malcolm’s determination not to be the one to break the tradition, he would have slept with Joyce that night. Malcolm was a Livingston, however, so he’d done what Livingston men did. Instead of bed partners,
he and Joyce became business partners. Malcolm, under his newly formed limited-liability company, had agreed to be a sponsor for Loving Spoon Enterprises, as well as a business consultant.

The engineer-turned-cook who had brought Malcolm’s idea to life now stood on the other side of the counter. Malcolm had met Luis three years ago at a food industry expo in Indianapolis. Now, here the three stood, at a nondescript warehouse near downtown Atlanta, where Malcolm had nursed his dream. “Malcolm, I present to you the Soul Smoker!”

Joyce clapped enthusiastically while Malcolm moved closer to his creation. The stainless-steel cylinder, measuring twenty-four inches long with a circumference of thirty inches, looked state-of-the-art, with various gauges and buttons at the bottom. Two bolted hinges secured the door, which ran the length of the cylinder. Inside were various skewers to hold the cooker’s choice of meat—whether chicken, steak, chops, or a slab of ribs. Spritzers were strategically placed from top to bottom, with a holder at the top of the cylinder where the liquid and residual fat that would baste the meat was placed. Finally, there was another area where those who preferred wet ribs could place the sauce. An automatic timer distributed the sauce when the meat reached its appropriate tenderness based on how much the meat weighed; a number that was calculated by the machine, once the meat was placed on the skewers. With Malcolm’s Soul Smoker, novice cooks, seasoned chefs, and everyone in between could skewer a piece of meat and then leave the kitchen. They could run errands, watch television, or clean the house and within an hour have fall-off-the-bone barbeque that was perfect every time.

“And now for the real test,” Luis said, moving to another smoker with the red ON light gleaming. “I had my wife prepare this slab of ribs precisely according to the instructions that will accompany the device. I wanted to make sure the directions were easy to follow. I’ve also had a neighbor roast a
whole chicken, and my father marveled at the steaks he produced.” The engineer opened the smoker door, unlatched the skewer, and placed a slab of sizzling ribs on a platter.

Malcolm and Joyce looked at each other, their eyes dancing with anticipation. Malcolm reached for the knife and fork set resting beside the platter. He didn’t need either, really. The sauce was creamy, the slabs fork tender. He pulled the end bone away from the rest of the slab and took a bite. The meat fell into his mouth, succulent and tasty. He pulled another rib off the slab, closed his eyes, and tasted the meat critically, with a palate honed from a lifetime of eating barbeque.

Malcolm cut yet another rib, placed it on a saucer, and offered it to Joyce. She pulled half the meat off the bone with her teeth, closed her eyes, and chewed. “Yum.” She finished off the rib and licked her fingers. “That was amazing. May I have another one?”

Malcolm’s smile widened. He separated the remaining ribs and gave Joyce one of the thicker ones from the middle of the slab. “What about this one? Is it as tender as the smaller ribs on the end?” Malcolm’s face resembled that of a ten-year-old, waiting to find out whether he got to keep the puppy.

Joyce couldn’t answer because she was eating. “This is so good,” she finally eked out, still chewing. “Malcolm, you’ve done it. Get ready, QVC viewers. The Soul Smoker is coming to your kitchen!”

Malcolm, Joyce, and Luis high-fived; then Malcolm enveloped Joyce in a huge hug, lifting her off the ground.

“Malcolm, you’re a genius. I’m so proud of you.” Joyce kissed Malcolm on the cheek.

He kissed her back, on the mouth. It started out innocently enough, but as Malcolm’s lips touched Joyce’s, his body was reminded of how long it had been since such an intimacy had occurred. Soon, tongue swirling replaced the chaste exchange. Joyce deepened the kiss. Malcolm’s lips felt better than she had imagined, and she felt safe and protected in his arms.

Luis cleared his throat, which drove the haze of lust from Malcolm’s brain. He ended the kiss abruptly and stepped back. “I’m sorry, Joyce. I got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” Joyce replied breathily. She hid her disappointment at Malcolm’s change of demeanor behind a bright smile. “This is an exciting moment.”
One that will hopefully end up at my house
. Beyond that first night—when Joyce had let Malcolm know she was attracted to him, and he had let her know that he was faithful to his wife—Joyce had been platonic in her actions toward him. But she’d never stopped hoping….

“How many slabs did you make?” Malcolm asked Luis.

Joyce hid her smile.
Yes! Wrap one up for us to eat later, baby!

“I fired up three of the smokers to use different settings, play around with them a bit.”

“Excellent! Wrap the tenderest slab up for me, and place a smoker in my car trunk. It’s time to head over to my parents’ and introduce them to the newest member of the Livingston barbeque family.”

“Sure you don’t want to stop by FGO for a celebratory drink?” Joyce asked as she and Malcolm walked to his office.

“No, I want to go see the folks.”

After seeing Joyce safely to her car, Malcolm went to his and reached for his cell phone. He was surprised when his parents’ home phone went to voice mail. It was after nine. He called his father’s cell phone. “Hey, Dad. Where y’all at?”

“Hey, son,” Adam answered. “I’m over at Toussaint’s, marveling at his upscale bachelor pad. Your mother’s at home, though.”

“If she is, she isn’t answering the phone. I got voice mail.”

“Maybe she was out back. Try her cell.”

“I did, same thing.”

“Hmmm. Well, I don’t know what to tell you, son. She didn’t mention any plans to me. What’s on your mind anyway? Everything all right with Victoria and the baby?”

Not by a long shot
, was what Malcolm thought. “She’s fine,”
was what he said. “I had something to share with you and Mama, but it can wait.”

“Are you sure? I’ll be leaving here in a few minutes.”

“I’m positive. It’s just a little something I’ve been working on, that’s all. I’ll run it by you later.”

“Look forward to it.”

“Bye, Daddy.”

Malcolm looked at his phone and contemplated taking Joyce up on her offer to have a drink. But he didn’t feel like a night at the club, and after the kiss that happened earlier, going to Joyce’s house was out of the question. He knew what would happen behind her closed doors.

“I can’t keep living this way,” Malcolm said aloud. He turned the ignition and headed home, knowing that something had to change. And soon.