Birthday Suit Page 6

  10

  Leo

  I grew up as the oldest of three brothers in a middle-class family outside Philadelphia. My father worked as a manager at a hardware store, my mother as a florist. Our lives were simple. My parents worked hard and long.

  When times were leaner, I tried my best to make sure my younger brothers had everything they needed—the warmer jackets, the better sneakers. At five years older than my middle brother and seven more than the youngest, I was keenly aware I’d make it out of the house before they did, so I did my part to put them first and to make sure I could contribute to the family too.

  In high school, I snagged a busboy job at a swank surf-and-turf restaurant. Its sprawling oak booths and burgundy leather seats were home to the wheelers and dealers in the city.

  I worked my way up from busboy to waiter, and along the way, I was privy to bits and pieces of the deal-making that went down in those booths. There, as I served porterhouse and Cobb salad, I learned the lingo.

  Now, at age thirty-two, I have the job I want. I’m the guy who strikes the deals. I’m exactly where I want to be in business, and that’s because I set a goal when I was younger, and I worked my ass off to reach it. When I went to college, I paid for it myself, thanks to loans and scholarships I earned.

  I take pride in what I do, especially because I don’t merely love deal-making—I love doing it for Heavenly. My family had one indulgence growing up—chocolate—even when money was tight. My mom would bring out a treat from her secret hiding place when we had all done our homework and chores.

  As I grew older, my love affair with chocolate stayed strong. Work feels a lot less like work and more like an indulgence.

  Now, the chance to introduce my old friend to my company gives me a healthy injection of pride.

  Friend, I remind myself.

  Lulu has only ever been a friend.

  That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  No one needs to know I once had a Pandora’s box full of feelings for the woman.

  Kingsley leads the meeting, and after a few minor items, she gives me the floor. “And Leo has found our next Rising Star. Leo, why don’t you introduce Lulu to the department heads?”

  I stand, gesture to the woman in purple and white, and dive into it. “I consider myself lucky for a lot of reasons. But first and foremost, it would have to be because, back in the day, I was this woman’s guinea pig.”

  Lulu laughs softly, her smile warming me up. I swear I can see the memories flickering before her eyes—of late nights sampling goodies, testing recipes, asking me to try just another bite. Those were the nights I fell in love with her.

  I blink the images away, doing my best to stay rooted in the moment.

  “What a trooper I was back then. So gallantly offering myself up whenever she needed someone to taste test a peanut butter truffle, or a chocolate-covered salted caramel. Mind you, this was before salted caramel became a thing.”

  Lulu’s expression turns faux-confused. “There was a time before salted caramel? Sounds terrible.”

  “The world before the salted-caramel craze was a devastating one,” I say.

  Noah chuckles loudly. “So, Lulu was one of the movement’s founders, and you were the salted-caramel taste tester. That must have been so rough.”

  “It was difficult and incredibly challenging. I had to add in extra daily workouts to maintain my figure.”

  That’s Kingsley’s cue to jump in once more. “Maybe you ought to send me the name of your personal trainer, then. Because I haven’t cracked the salted-caramel resistance code either.”

  I smile then cut to the chase. “Folks, Lulu Diamond has been crafting the most delicious chocolate since I first had the pleasure of tasting her creations. We’re talking melt on your tongue, make your taste buds sing, and turn your world upside down with pleasure. In a word—heavenly. I am pleased she’s joining us as a chocolatier in residence for the next year. Thank you, Lulu. It is an honor.”

  Lulu beams, and it’s the kind of smile that can’t be contained. For one terribly selfish moment, all I can think is I did that. A voice in the back of my head taunts me. You’re the one who can do that for her now in other ways. You don’t have any competition.

  I cringe inside, telling that voice to shut the hell up.

  There was never any competition with my best friend. I didn’t fight for her affection. I didn’t throw down the gauntlet and say, My name is Leo Hennessy, and I am here to battle you for the green- and blue-eyed beauty. We were all friends, and I never made a play for her.

  He did.

  I focus on the here and now, as Lulu stands. Her eyes shine with a hint of wetness. Lulu had the softest heart, and she’d cry at any sad story in the news or touching moment in the movies. She’s tough as nails too, so I know she won’t break down here. Still, I love knowing that my introduction matters to her.

  She smooths a hand over her clothes, something I’ve learned is her nervous tell. But when she speaks, there’s only confidence in her tone. “It’s truly an honor to partner with Heavenly, and my goal here is quite simple: I hope to make all the customers as addicted to my chocolates as Leo and Kingsley are.”

  Lulu and I sit, and Kingsley takes the floor again, tucking an errant strand of silky black hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Lulu and Leo. And I imagine, like me, you all want this new partnership to succeed?” She looks to the crew.

  Everyone nods.

  “Good.” She takes a breath. “But how badly do you want it to succeed?”

  “So badly!” Noah shouts.

  “That’s what I thought. And while the last Rising Star did very well, we can’t rest on our laurels. Finger-Licking Good has had a whole heap of press lately after they played the sympathy card when someone contaminated their fountain at the chocolate fair.”

  “Oh no they didn’t!” Noah says, dramatically.

  “Oh yes they did. But something’s rotten in the state of candy.”

  “Please say it’s not my favorite flavor of Mars bar. Please say it’s not rotten,” Noah mutters in a prayer to the gods of candy.

  Kingsley whips her gaze to him. “You better not be eating Mars bars while I pay your salary.”

  He scoffs. “No way. Just testing you. I only eat Heavenly chocolate.” Under his breath, he adds, “I only eat protein bars.”

  “Chocolate is good for you, Noah Rivera.” Kingsley strides to the head of the conference table, taps the keyboard on her laptop, and points to the image projected on the whiteboard. “This is the problem, folks. Big problem.”

  An Instagram post from Frodo’s. It’s an array of potato chips, artfully arranged on a silver plate, in the outline of a lovely woman. Chip legs are crossed invitingly, a hand is parked on a chip hip, and the salty breasts are full.

  Holy potatoes. Some chip sculptor turned salt and vinegar chips into something succulently suggestive. It’s pure snack porn, and my mouth is watering.

  Noah lets his tongue loll out. “Hot damn. I want to—”

  Kingsley holds up a hand and slices off the dirty thought that was surely about to make landfall. “Don’t go there, Rivera. Whatever you were going to say is, I’m sure, inappropriate for mixed company and for my company.”

  “But Mrs. Potato looks so hot.”

  Kingsley stares down the bridge of her nose at him. “I know. Trust me, I know. But that’s not the big issue.”

  “Well, they are quite big,” Ginny mutters, then gestures to the chip lady’s knockers.

  “That’s what she said.” And that’s courtesy of Noah, naturally.

  “The big issue is what Frodo’s posted next.” Ginny shifts to a more serious tone.

  Kingsley glances at the offending photo again. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ginny. Because this is a big, stinking, hairy hairball of a problem.”

  She clicks to the next image, and it’s a caption. Devour chips, not chocolate. Savory is better than sweet.

&nb
sp; A collective gasp echoes across the conference room.

  Noah slams a fist on the table. “Those are fighting words.”

  “Plus, look at the comments. The likes. Dear God, the likes.” Kingsley emits a long, tortured moan, like she’s Edward Munch’s The Scream and the complete and utter devastation of humanity has set in. She snaps her gaze away as if she can’t bear to look at the number. “But there’s more. It’s worse.”

  Kingsley taps the screen one more time, displaying what I can only presume will be the pièce de résistance.

  A Twitter post of a chocolate fountain spilling over at the chocolate show. And the words below it? Potato chips don’t make this kind of mess. Just sayin’.

  She slams the laptop closed. “And the Twitterinos love it.”

  Ginny scrunches her brow. “I don’t think Twitterinos is a thing.”

  Kingsley waves a hand, four rings sparkling brightly as they catch the afternoon sun. “Twitteristas, Twitterati, Twitter-schmitter. Whatever. The point is, Frodo’s is eating our lunch. And laughing at us. And do you all know who runs Frodo’s?”

  “Your sister runs Frodo’s,” Ginny answers.

  “My older sister, Scarlett, who loves to needle me. So I did the only thing I could do.”

  “Challenged her to a duel?” Noah asks.

  “Poked her till she begged you to stop? That’s what I used to do to my little sister. My daughter tries it with me now, but I always beat her. I’m a champion poker,” Ginny suggests.

  “That’s a good one, and I’ll consider it, along with photoshopping a vampire bat on her face and posting that on her LinkedIn profile.”

  I fold my arms, groaning silently. Something’s coming. I don’t know what, but Kingsley can’t resist a crazy battle royale with her sister.

  One year, she and Scarlett hosted a competitive costume party. The next year, it was a trivia matchup with prizes like movie vouchers and dinners at fancy restaurants, nights on the town and tickets to Broadway shows dangled in front of us.

  Lulu looks to me with big, expectant eyes, asking silently, What is it?

  “Wait for it,” I whisper.

  Kingsley takes a deep breath. “This will be good for us. It’ll be a morale boost. It’ll strengthen our teams. It’ll bond us. It’ll help us roll out the most amazing line of craft chocolate. Better than last year. Better than we’ve ever been before. Let’s not forget, last year the Rising Star line outsold chips at many of our competitors. And I believe we can bring that same spirit to our rollout this year. Because this year . . .” She stops, sweeps her arms out wide like she’s about to launch us into the Hunger Games, and let’s hope she’s not sending us as tributes into the wilds of Manhattan.

  I wait, poised on the edge of my seat.

  Just because I let Tripp take the lead doesn’t mean I’m not competitive.

  Just because I put my brothers first doesn’t mean I don’t care about winning.

  I’m where I am today because I’m willing to go for it. Whatever Kingsley has for us, I’ll rise to the occasion. Hell, for the costume contest, Ginny and I competed in the Best Pun category and won as “Green with Envy.” She dressed head to toe in emerald, and I showed up as the letters N and V from Scrabble.

  “This year, we are going to take on Frodo’s in a multi-day scavenger hunt. And I bet the Frodo’s CEO that we’d win.”

  Lulu’s jaw drops, and she mouths, Is she for real?

  I whisper, “We’ve done a few of these in the past. But don’t worry. It’s just for employees.”

  Kingsley clears her throat once more. “And this year, since our focus is on teamwork, bonding, and introducing our brand-new partnership with a premiere craft chocolatier, it would be a great honor if Lulu would join us on a multi-day, team-building, bonding extravaganza starting next Wednesday morning.”

  My spine straightens.

  Shit. She’s going to feel obligated. She’s going to say yes. I should let her know I can help her get out of it if she wants. She’s only a contractor, after all.

  But Lulu nods excitedly. “I was hoping you’d ask. I love riddles, and I killed it at hide-and-seek as a kid. I’d love to do a scavenger hunt.”

  When the meeting ends and Kingsley’s photographer snaps a photo of Lulu, Kingsley, and me, Lulu’s arm wrapped around my waist, all I can think is after this weekend I’ll be in close quarters with Lulu for the next few days.

  And I’m loving that and hating that at the same damn time.

  Sort of like how I felt at Lulu’s wedding.

  11

  Leo

  Eight Years Ago

  * * *

  I sprawled across the lounge chair in our apartment in Hoboken, late at night. We were finished with cooking school, and I had scored my first corporate job, while Tripp had landed a gig as a sous-chef, and Lulu worked in an entry-level post with a boutique chocolatier.

  “Another one. Give me another one,” Lulu demanded from her spot on the leather couch that Tripp’s dad had given him, another show-off gift. Her legs were draped over her soon-to-be-husband’s.

  “You’re such a riddle junkie.” He nuzzled her hair, kissing the top of her head. My chest tightened, but I’d learned to live with the ache.

  “I’m a junkie, and Leo feeds my fix. It’s that simple.” She stared at me, bug-eyed, wiggling her fingers. “Bring it on.”

  I flipped to the next page in the book of riddles I’d bought for her, a pre-wedding gift I’d given her that night. Because I was a glutton for punishment. Because she was a bright, bold, daring person I couldn’t get enough of, even though I shouldn’t be taking any hits of her.

  “I lose my head in the morning and gain it at night. What am I?” I looked up as Lulu took a sip of her freshly poured glass of wine, considering the riddle. I chuckled to myself as I read the answer silently.

  Tripp scrunched his brow. “A snake? Is it a snake?”

  Cracking up, I rolled my eyes. “Do snakes lose their heads? Does your answer even make sense?”

  He scoffed. “I bet there’s some snake somewhere that loses its head. I’m sure if you looked in an encyclopedia of snakes, you’d find some weird-ass one that loses its head. Right, Lulu?”

  She patted his thigh. “Tripp, I love you, baby, but you need to stop talking about snakes. I hate snakes. Even as an answer to a riddle. But it’s not the answer. And let’s hope there’s not an encyclopedia of snakes anywhere.”

  “What’s the answer, then, Miss Smarty Pants?” His hands darted to her waist, and he tickled her ferociously, igniting a flurry of laughter.

  It was the full-bodied kind of chuckle that seemed to move through her like a wave, from her shoulders to her belly to her legs. “A pillow, you goofball.”

  He held up his hands in the air. “A pillow? A pillow loses its head in the morning?” He paused, then nodded. “Fine, it does. But, seriously. Who thinks of these things?”

  “Let’s just be glad someone does. Give me another, Leo.”

  “What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?”

  Tripp cut in. “Did you get her a dirty book of riddles?”

  I showed him the cover. “101 Brain-Busting Riddles for the Riddle Lover in Your Life.”

  “Still sounds dirty.”

  “This one’s easy,” Lulu said to Tripp. “Think about it hard.”

  “If I’m thinking hard, then that is a dirty book of riddles.”

  “It’s not dirty. I know what it is.” Lulu practically bounced on the couch cushions, an eager student bursting with the answer.

  Tripp furrowed his brow, then shrugged. “All I can figure is it’s someone who starts out a stud but fails miserably.”

  Lulu thrust a fist in the air. “Nope. It’s the letter M. Isn’t that brilliant? It comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years.”

  “It is indeed brilliant,” I said.

  Tripp paused, processing the riddle, then laughed. “Good one.”<
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  He grabbed her wineglass and took a swig then set it back down on the table. “Listen, I’m man enough to admit I suck at riddles, but I am fucking awesome at feeding my woman.” He rubbed Lulu’s stomach. My jaw ticked, and I glanced at Lulu’s wineglass. It was nearly half empty now. “You want some sautéed artichokes with shiitake mushrooms and polenta? I came up with this new recipe while I was riding my bike the other day, and it’s going to make your stomach so happy that you jump me.”

  She arched a brow. “Your artichokes will make me jump you? That’s what’ll do it?”

  “They’ll make you come in a minute.”

  I groaned. Loudly.

  “Oh, please. I heard what you did to Daphne the other night,” Tripp said as he rose, mentioning the woman I’d been dating.

  “Is that so?” I asked.

  Tripp pumped his hips. “She was like, oh Leo, oh Leo, oh Leo. She was like that all night long.” Lulu’s eyebrows rose, and for a split second, I didn’t mind that Tripp was imitating one of my lovers in the throes of passion. Let Lulu linger on that image. Tripp continued, talking to me, “Have I mentioned I can’t wait to move in with my fiancée next week after she marries me? I can finally get away from you, Casanova.”

  He acted like I had a parade of women flitting into the place at all hours. I wasn’t going to disabuse anyone of that notion.

  Lulu sat up straighter, her lips quirking in curiosity. “You’re a multiple man, Leo?”

  Go out on a high note. Like George Costanza. I blew on my fingernails. “When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.”

  Lulu laughed. “I guess you’ve got it.”

  Tripp headed into the kitchen, and I returned to the book, reading more riddles to Lulu. That was my role with her. Riddle-supplier, not multiple-O-bestower.

  “What has a tongue, but never talks, and has no legs, but sometimes walks?”

  A beat. “A shoe.”

  “What belongs to you, but other people use it more than you?”