fixes.”
“Well, you better make sure it’s Malcolm and not Victoria cooking,” Toussaint joked. “That girl’s been in the family for over ten years and still can’t boil an egg!”
Malcolm joined in the laughter, but the smile on his face didn’t match how he felt inside. The family had often joked about Victoria’s lack of cooking skills, but her stellar pedigree, good looks, and large bank account had overruled what wouldhave been a deal breaker with a more common woman. Malcolm was embarrassed by the fact that hiring a chef had been a move of necessity as much as convenience—and not because Victoria was busy being a mother to four children. She was also a spoiled only child who had been the apple of her late father’s eye, and she had always lived the life of a prima donna. From the second year of their marriage, Malcolm and Victoria’s home had never been without a cook, housekeeper, or chauffeur, and after the first childbirth, they added a nanny. Malcolm’s grandfather had put the situation into succinct order after tasting the omelet his granddaughter-in-law attempted during his first visit to their home after the wedding. The eggs were almost burned on the outside, runny on the inside, and she’d failed to wash the vegetables that were mixed in.
“Well, it must be what she does in the bedroom,” his grandfather had said somberly after forcing himself to eat a few bites.
“Excuse me?” Malcolm had asked, confused. “You obviously didn’t marry her for her skills in the kitchen, son. If you didn’t know how to cook, your family would starve to death.”
“I’m looking forward to the Fourth and heading to Hilton Head,” Malcolm said, changing the subject. The Livingstons owned a rambling, eight-bedroom, ten-bath home on this tony island, on land that had been in the family since purchased from the master who freed Malcolm’s great-great-grandfather. “Even Justin is excited,” he continued, speaking of his oldest son. “He’s asked to bring a couple playmates along.”
“Well, everybody’s welcome,” Candace said. “We’ve already reserved an additional villa to handle any last-minute additions to the guest list. It has four bedrooms, with two beds in each, so that should accommodate everyone. Toussaint, will you be inviting a guest? Shyla, maybe?”
“Shyla? Why would you think I’d invite her?”
Candace fixed her youngest son with a knowing look. “Not much gets past your mother. I noticed the way Shyla looked at you during the planning meeting. She handled herself quite professionally, mind you, but while you were presenting the expansion plans, love was written all over her face. And hers wasn’t the only one,” she finished, mumbling under her breath.
Toussaint chose to ignore the last sentence. He knew that Zoe also had a thing for him. And while he preferred dark chocolate, he rarely turned down a tasty sweet treat, no matter the flavor. Toussaint had wondered more than once how Zoe’s administrative efficiency would translate in the bedroom, and he hadn’t totally dismissed the idea of finding out. But she wasn’t coming to Hilton Head, and neither was Shyla. “I might bring someone,” he finally answered.
“Who?” Malcolm asked.
“You’ll just have to wait and see, big brother,” Toussaint answered, already envisioning Alexis in a skimpy yellow bikini. She’d turned down his first date request, but Toussaint was persistent and determined. When it came to challenges, he didn’t back down, especially when the object of said challenge looked so delicious.
8
I t was a rare day off, and Alexis St. Clair was bored to tears. She sipped coffee that had been liberally doused with hazelnut cream and wondered for the umpteenth time why she’d turned down Toussaint’s offer to spend the Fourth of July with his family. It definitely wasn’t because of the excuse she’d given him, that she never dated clients, even though it was true. No, the reason
Frances and Richard Lockridge
David Sherman & Dan Cragg