The Black Door (19 page)

CHEF JEAN-GEORGES’S
Asian-inspired restaurant, 66, in TriBeCa was a well-known destination for corporate tycoons, music industry moguls, supermodels, models in training, and just plain folk in search of a gastronomical treat. The modern interior with its monochromatic color scheme, steel mesh curtains, and oblong Lucite communal dining table near the front of the restaurant was welcoming. The rear of the space offered a more private dinning experience and a breathtaking view of its colossal aqua-blue saltwater aquarium stocked with baby sharks, moray eels, vibrant blue yellow-tailed hippo tangs, prickly porcupine puffers, and striped lionfish.

Trey arrived before Mason and took a seat in the lounge area. The section was filled with a smattering of Euro-trash, Wall-streeters, and downtown artists. Trey glanced around and perched across from him on a set of white leather cubes was a group of leggy models. They were busy poring over a portfolio and didn’t see him when he sat down.

“I think my boobs look too fake in this shot,” said a tall redhead.

“Well aren’t they?” responded a beautiful brunette with short cropped hair.

“Yeah, but the surgeon said that after the swelling went down, they would hang just like regular boobs.”

“Beth, you know good and well, that they are too damn big to look
regular.
What cup size are you now, 40-triple-E?” she mused.

“No.” The redhead smiled. “I’m a 38-double-D,” she said proudly, not getting the joke.

The brunette shook her head. “And you wonder why they look fake?”

Trey couldn’t help but look over at the women. The first one he noticed was the redhead. She had on a white wife-beater and her breasts nearly spilled out of the deep-cut sides. She might as well have been topless, because the thin cotton tanktop barely contained her enormous jugs. He was a breast man, but hers were too damn unnatural. Instead of soft and feminine, they looked hard and synthetic. He liked the thrill of seeing a woman’s nipples harden as he played with them, but this chick’s nipples were already as firm as two thimbles. Trey had seen enough saline enhancements at the club that he’d become immune to the manufactured boobs.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mason said, walking into the bar area.

“No problem, man. I just got here myself a few minutes ago.”

Before Mason could sit down, the redhead called out, “Excuse me.”

Mason looked in the direction of the trio, thinking that maybe someone in the group knew him, but he didn’t recognize any faces. He pointed to himself. “You talking to me?” he asked.

She stood up and walked over to him. “Didn’t I meet you at The CroBar the other night?”

Mason was always getting mistaken for someone; he had that type of face. “No, it wasn’t me.” He smiled.

She walked closer so that her boobs nearly touched his chest. “Are you sure? I was dancing with this guy who looked exactly like you.” She reached out and touched his well-defined bicep through his form-fitting knit sweater.

Mason blushed slightly at the flattery He got hit on on a daily basis, but he never tired of the attention. With the demands of med school and working, he hadn’t had time for much of anything else. His sugar mama had disappeared, and he hadn’t been laid in months, but now that he was taking a hiatus from school, he’d have time to get his freak on. Mason gave her the once-over, and his eyes zeroed in on her big-ass titties. She didn’t have on a bra, so he could see her nipples as clear as day. He felt his dick responding, but didn’t want to act like a hound dog in front of his boss. He extended his hand. “My name is Mason, and yours?” he asked, flashing her a sly, sexy smile.

“I’m Elizabeth, but my friends call me Beth,” she flirted, relishing his firm grip. After a few seconds, she released his hand, reached inside her jeans pocket, pulled out a business card with her picture on the front, and handed it to him.

He looked at her mini head shot on the front and assumed that she was a model. Mason loved models. They were usually freaky as hell. Most of them were bisexual and loved to have sex with their girls and a random guy. He was more than willing to be that random stud. Mason turned the card over.

“That’s my cell number. Give me a call. I’d love to go out sometime.” She winked.

“Okay, Beth. Have a good evening.” He tucked the card in his back pocket and turned back to Trey.

“Gentlemen, your table is ready,” the hostess said, approaching them.

Once they were seated at their table, Trey didn’t waste any time commenting on Beth. “Man, she was really vibing on you.”

“What can I say? The ladies love them some Mason.” He laughed.

“Spoken like a true player.”

“I’m not a player.” He grinned. “I just enjoy the company of a fine young lady every once in a while.”

Trey smirked doubtfully. “Yeah, right.”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the waiter said, approaching their table. “Can I get you sparkling or flat water?” He handed them two menus.

“Flat is fine for me,” Trey said, and then turned to Mason. “Is that okay with you?”

“Evian, if you have it. I don’t care much for carbonated water.”

“And a bottle of Veuve Grand Dame,” Trey added.

“Sure, sir. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

They perused the mouthwatering menu, with its selections of nouveau Asian dishes; every item on the extensive menu was tempting, from the honey-glazed spare rib appetizer, to the succulent Peking duck and ginger-infused squab with an orange glaze. Even the coconut tapioca, winter-fruit parfait for dessert sounded totally sinful.

The waiter returned with their water and champagne. “Can I start you off with an appetizer?”

“You can bring the spare ribs, and two orders of the rock shrimp,” Trey said, ordering for the table.

“And as an entree, I’ll have the roasted garlic lamb chops,” Mason said.

Trey added, “”I’ll have the sesame-crusted salmon, medium rare.”

Once their orders were placed and the champagne poured, Trey raised his glass. “Welcome to the executive suite.”

Mason, clinked his glass. “Thanks, Trey. It feels good to not have to worry about finances anymore.”

“Hey, wait a minute . . . Who said I was paying you a salary? This is an internship position,” he said, without cracking a smile.

Mason stopped drinking and looked Trey dead in the eyes. “What? I thought—”

Before he could finish, Trey burst out laughing. “Just kidding, my man. Of course I’m going to pay you a salary. After all, ‘the ladies love them some Mason,’ “ he said, mocking Mason’s earlier words. “And I’m counting on you to increase our membership numbers by referring quality ladies who need some excitement in their lives.”

Mason breathed a sigh of relief. “Done!”

The champagne was flowing and the food was beyond delectable, so Trey and Mason sat back and ate and drank like kings. After dinner, they each ordered Lagavulin, an aged, single-malt Scotch, and shared stories of the women they had loved
and
lost. Trey was tempted to tell Mason about his tryst with Ariel, but stopped himself. He realized that saying he knocked boots with his future stepmother would sound bizarre—at best—so he kept his mouth shut. When the check arrived, Trey reached in his wallet, took out his American Express Black Card, and put it on the table.

Trey’s cell phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID. It was Michele. He didn’t feel like being bothered, so he pressed
DECLINE
and sent her call into voice mail. He hadn’t seen her since the cocktail party a week ago, and was trying to avoid her so that he could slowly break off their relationship. After experiencing such a cosmic connection with Ariel, Trey knew that if Michele was indeed his soul mate, he would never have been attracted to another woman. He didn’t want to waste Michele’s time, and realized that he needed to step up and tell her that it wasn’t working out for him. But his true confession could wait until tomorrow. “I gotta take a whiz,” Trey said, and excused himself to the restroom.

The bathrooms at 66 were as unique as the restaurant itself. Hidden behind silver mesh curtains was a darkened hallway lined with several individual bathrooms. Each unisex stall was private, complete with its own sink and vanity mirror. Trey tried the first door, but it was locked, so he went to the next one and knocked, but it was occupied as well. He wasn’t in the mood to try each door, so he decided to wait until the person came out of stall number one. With champagne and Scotch flowing through his veins, Trey was feeling no pain. He was in a good mood and whistled lightly as he waited. He heard the lock click and stepped aside. When the door opened, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Standing in front of him was none other than . . . Ariel Vaughn.

Her eyes widened when she saw him standing there. Ariel stood in the doorway motionless, practically paralyzed from shock. Trey was the last person she expected to see. She didn’t know what to do, so she did nothing.

Trey’s animalistic instincts took over and he knew exactly what to do. He didn’t say one word, just took hold of her shoulders, walked her backward into the bathroom, and kicked the door shut with his foot.

Trey released her shoulders, locked the door, took her face in his hands, and kissed her passionately He almost groaned. He had wanted to do this in the kitchen of his father’s town house. Her lips were as soft as butter and melted into his. He then slipped his tongue inside of her expectant mouth. Their tongues met and danced together to a seductive rhythm all their own.

Ariel gently pushed Trey against the door, pressing her body closer to his. She knew it was wrong, but couldn’t stop herself. Her skin craved his touch and she wouldn’t be satisfied until he kissed every pore on her body.

Trey seemed to read her mind. His kisses went from her mouth down to her neck. He unbuttoned her blouse with one hand as he held her tight with the other; once her blouse was opened, he trailed his tongue down to her bra. He nuzzled his head between her breasts and traced his tongue around the edges of her tattoo. Trey loved that rose, because if it were not for that discerning mark, he would have never known that she was the woman behind the red mask. He kissed the rose, and began nibbling on the edges of her lacy bra. He bit open the front snap with his teeth, causing her bra to pop open and her breasts to spill out. Unlike the model with the saline boobs, Ariel’s were the real thing. He caressed them and loved the way they felt— soft and voluptuous. He leaned down and licked each nipple with the tip of his tongue, then proceeded to suck them ever so tenderly.

Ariel’s eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled to the back of her head at his masculine, yet gentle touch. He pressed her tits together and went from one to the other with a combination of kissing, licking, and sucking. The sensation made her gasp with pleasure. She reached down to unzip his pants, but he caught her wrist and stopped her hand from going any further.

In an uncharacteristic move, Trey hooked Ariel’s bra closed and carefully buttoned each pearl button on her blouse. Ariel looked disappointed, but understood why he stopped himself. This was so wrong. They had committed the ultimate betrayal and now that they knew each other’s identity, the
only
choice was to stop before Preston found out.

Trey grabbed her by the hand and unlocked the door. He headed straight for the exit with Ariel in tow. They walked right past the hostess and out the door. He didn’t say a word and neither did she; outside, he hailed a taxi with one hand, while still holding her hand with the other.

“Take us to 128 East Thirty-eighth, right off Park,” he told the driver.

Neither spoke as the taxi weaved through traffic on the way to midtown. Remembering that he’d left Mason and his AmEx card, Trey took out his cell phone.

“Hey, man, something came up and I had to leave. Can you sign the check and hold onto my card for me? I’ll get it from you tomorrow . . . Okay, thanks.” Trey put his phone on vibrate, and stuck it back in the breast pocket of his blazer.

Realizing that she had abandoned Meri, Ariel took out her phone and dialed her friend. “Uh, hi. Something came up and I had to leave,” she said, using the same words as Trey.

“Not to worry, daarliing. I see a handsome young thing with yummy biceps sitting all alone, and he looks familiar. I think I just might have to have him for dessert tonight,” Meri said, with a devilish grin.

Ariel was glad that Meri wasn’t the needy type and could fend for herself. But she knew that in true Meri style, she was going to call back at some point and drill her for the real reason as to why she left so abruptly. Ariel wasn’t going to take any calls tonight, so she turned off her phone and put it back in her purse. She knew that they were breaking all the rules, but this chance encounter was fate giving them one final good-bye. She should’ve asked where they were going, but she didn’t want to ruin the magic of the moment, so she remained silent.

Trey felt his phone buzzing against his chest, but he ignored it. Five minutes later, the phone buzzed again. He knew it could only be one person annoying the hell out of him—Michele—and he wanted to toss the phone out of the window so that he would never have to talk to her again. But that was useless, because she’d only call his house phone. He was definitely going to tell her that it was over, but not tonight.