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PJT: Will call tomorrow to let you know when driver will pick you up.
CE: O.K. I’ll see you Friday. Meanwhile, think of a name for your vampire.
PJT: He’s not my vampire, but yours. So, you do the honor.
CE: O.K. Good night.
PJT: Good night.
Chandra logged off. She mentally checked off what she had to do before meeting with Preston. She still had to unpack, call her sister Belinda and update her résumé. During lunch she’d called the salon and was given an appointment for Thursday at eleven. The Eatons had planned a get-together at Belinda and Griffin’s for Saturday to celebrate Sabrina’s and Layla’s thirteenth birthday. She wasn’t certain what her nieces wanted or needed, but decided to give them gift cards. Then, there was her ten-year-old nephew whom she would meet for the first time. Aunt Chandra would have to buy him something, too.
Chandra waited for the driver to come around and open the rear door for her. As promised, Preston had arranged for a driver to bring her to his apartment building. He’d also arranged for them to have brunch.
She gave the doorman her name and three minutes later she came face-to-face with Preston Tucker for the second time when the doors to the elevator opened.
Preston stared, completely surprised. He almost didn’t recognize Chandra. She’d changed her hair. The braid was gone, replaced by a sleek style that framed her face and floated over her shoulders. It made her look older, more sophisticated.
“You look very nice.”
Chandra couldn’t stop the pinpoints of heat pricking her face. She’d lightly applied a little makeup and changed outfits twice before deciding on a tailored charcoal-gray pantsuit, white silk blouse and black patent leather pumps.
“Thank you.”
Preston not only looked good, she thought, but he also smelled good. He wore a pair of black slacks and matching shirt and the stubble on his chin gave him a slightly roguish look. He’d admitted to being dark and brooding and his somber attire affirmed that. She didn’t have to go very far to find the inspiration for her vampire. Preston Tucker was the perfect character.
“Have you come up with a name for your vampire?” Preston asked as he led Chandra down the hallway and into his apartment.
“I have,” she admitted.
He closed the door and turned to stare at her. “What is it?”
“Pascual.”
Preston angled his head. “Pascual or Paschal?”
“Pascual. It’s Spanish and Hebrew for Passover. The name is somewhat exotic and implies that he’s passed through a portal from another world to ours.”
“If the setting is New Orleans, shouldn’t you give him a French name?”
Chandra drew in a breath, held it and then let it out slowly. They hadn’t even begun to work together and already he was questioning her. “I thought you said Pascual is my vampire.”
“He is, Chandra.”
“Then, please let me develop him the way I want, Preston. And that includes giving him a name that’s Spanish. Remember, France lost control of New Orleans to Spain, then regained it before it was sold to the U.S.”
Preston looked sheepish. “Unfortunately, history and languages weren’t my best subjects.”
“I have you at a disadvantage because my sister teaches American history to high school students.”
“What do you teach?”
“How do you know I’m a teacher?”
Reaching for her hand, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Today you look and sound like a teacher. Besides, you didn’t deny it. By the way, are you on sabbatical or are you playing hooky?”
Chandra’s lips twitched as she tried not to smile. She knew she had to remain alert with Preston. He probably processed everything she said within seconds. “I’m in between jobs.”
“Come with me to the kitchen. We can talk while I cook.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You write, direct and cook. I’m impressed. What other talents are you hiding?”
Throwing back his head, Preston let loose genuine laughter. He’d found Chandra Eaton cute and very talented. What he hadn’t counted on was that she could make him laugh.
“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.”
“Maybe I should ask your girlfriend.”
Preston’s expression changed suddenly. He glared at her under hooded lids. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“What about a wife?” Chandra asked. Denise had said Preston was a bachelor, but she needed him to confirm his marital status.
“I also don’t have a wife.”
“Is it because you’re not romantic?” Chandra asked, knowing she was treading into dangerous territory. She really didn’t want to know any more about Preston than what Denise had told her. Whatever she would share with him was to be strictly business.
“Not being romantic has nothing to do with whether I’m married or involved with a woman.”
“Are you a misogynist?”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t look so put out, Preston. I’ve read about a lot of high-profile men who date women, but detest them behind closed doors.”
“Well, I’m not one of those down-low brothers.” He hadn’t lied to Chandra. It had taken many years and countless therapy sessions for him to let go of the enmity between he and his father. “Women should be loved and protected, not physically or emotionally abused.”
“Spoken like a true romantic hero.”
“Give it up, Chandra. It’s not going to work.”
“What’s not going to work?”
“You’re not going to turn me into a romantic hero.”
She wrinkled her nose in a gesture Preston had come to appreciate. “You think not, Preston?”
“I know not, Chandra.”
“We’ll see,” she drawled.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you hatching in that very cute head of yours?”
Chandra ignored his referring to her being cute. “Wait until I develop Pascual’s character and you’re forced to breathe life into what will become a vampire who’s not only sexy but very romantic. You’ll be the one who has to come up with the dialogue whenever he interacts with his romantic lead.”
“We’ll see,” Preston said.
“Have you thought of a name for your new play?”
Taking a step, he dropped Chandra’s hand, pulling her to his chest. Lowering his head and fastening his mouth to the column of her scented neck, Preston pressed a kiss there. He increased the pressure, baring his teeth and stopping short of nipping the delicate flesh.
“Death’s Kiss,” he whispered in her ear.
Chandra turned her head, her mouth inches from Preston’s, breathing in his warm, moist breath. “You can’t kill your heroine, Preston.” Her gaze caressed the outline of his mouth seconds before he kissed her cheek.
“We’ll see, won’t we?” he said, smiling.
“What would I have to do to convince you to include a happy ending?”
“I’ll think of something.”
Bracing her hands against Preston’s chest, Chandra sought to put some distance between them. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Preston winked at her. “Not to worry, Chandra. You’re safe with me.”
Chandra recoiled when his words hit her like a stinging slap. “The last man I was involved with said the very same words to me. But in the end I was left to fend for myself. Thanks, but no thanks, Preston. I can take care of myself.”
“Was he your husband?”
“No. Thank goodness we didn’t get that far. But we were engaged.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Not because I don’t want to. It’s just that I can’t.”
Preston dropped a kiss on her fragrant hair. “Then you don’t have to. Are you ready to eat?” he asked, changing the subject.
“What’s on the menu for brunch?”
Resting a hand at the small of her back, he escorted Chandra toward the kitchen. “You have a choice of fresh fruit, pancakes, waffles, an omelet or bacon, sausage, ham and grits. To drink, there’s herbal tea, regular and hazelnut coffee, orange, grapefruit or cranberry juice. As for cocktails you have a choice between a Bloody Mary and a mimosa.”
“I prefer a mimosa.” Chandra flashed an attractive pout. “I’m really impressed with you, Preston. I’ve never hung out with a guy who could cook.”
Preston gave Chandra a sidelong glance, his gaze lingering on the tumble of hair falling around her face. “I’m no Bobby Flay or Chef Jeff, but I can promise you won’t come down with ptomaine poisoning.”
“I think I’m going to enjoy working with you.”
And I promise not to like you too much, she added silently.
It was what Chandra told herself every time she met a man to whom she felt herself attracted. It’d worked in the past and she was certain it would work with Preston Tucker.
Chapter 4
Chandra followed Preston into an expansive state-of-the art stainless-steel-and-black gourmet kitchen outfitted with Gaggenau appliances. “Very nice,” she crooned.
“Should I take that to mean you like my kitchen?” There was a note of pride in Preston’s voice, as if he were talking about one of his children who’d aced an exam.
She met his questioning gaze with a wide smile. “Did you think I was talking about you?”
“I was hoping you’d think I’m nice.”
Chandra sobered. “Does it matter what I think of you, Preston?”
“Of course it does. After all, we’re going to be collaborating.”
“Hold up, dark and brooding. First you want me to develop a paranormal character, and now you’re talking about collaboration.”
“Pascual is yours, beautiful, and that means we’ll have to collaborate to make him a powerful and memorable character. I need for him to mesmerize the audience the second he walks on stage. Even before he opens his mouth, he must pull them in and not let them go until the final curtain.”
“Are you going to include him in every scene?” Chandra asked.
“No. It would make it too intense. Whenever he’s offstage I want to build enough tension for the audience to look forward to his reappearance. Enough shoptalk. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to eat.”
Chandra was also ready to eat. Aside from the salad she’d eaten the day before, her only intake of food was a cup of coffee earlier that morning. “It looks as if you do some serious cooking in here.”
“It works whenever I host a dinner party. There’s more than enough room for a caterer and his staff to work without them bumping into one another.”
Preston’s kitchen was almost as large as the apartment she was renting from her cousin. It was furnished with top-of-the-line cook ware and miscellaneous culinary gadgets suspended on hooks from an overhead rack.
“How often do you have dinner parties?” she asked, recalling Denise telling her that Preston usually kept a low profile.
“I always host one before the debut of a new play. I invite the entire cast and production staff.”
She watched as Preston rolled back his shirt cuffs, exposing muscular forearms before washing his hands in one of the double sinks. “How long does it usually take for you to write a play?”
He dried his hands on a towel. “It depends on the subject matter and my state of mind. My first one took several years because I’d reworked it half a dozen times. However, there was one I completed in four weeks, but it took its toll on my health because I’d averaged about three hours of sleep each night. I took a couple of months off, checked into a resort and did nothing more strenuous than eat and laze around.”
Removing her suit jacket, Chandra hung it on a high-back stool pushed over to the slate-gray granite countertop. “You probably were burned out.”
“Probably? I was. It was another year before I was able to focus and write again.”
“How long do you project it will take for you to complete Death’s Kiss?” she asked.
Preston, resting his elbows on the countertop, gave her a long, penetrating stare. “That all depends on my collaborator’s availability.”
“And that depends on whether I can find a teaching position. I’ve applied to several schools with vacancies for Pre-K to 6. I’ll be available to you until I’m hired.”
The schools Chandra had applied to were in designated hard-to-staff districts. Belinda taught at a high school in those districts. Earlier that year one of Belinda’s students was arrested and expelled for discharging a handgun in her classroom. Fortunately the incident ended with no casualties.
Teaching in the public school system would be vastly different from what she’d experienced in the exclusive private school in Northern Virginia where the yearly tuition was comparable to private colleges. The most profound difference between the children who attended Cambridge Valley Prep, Philadelphia public schools and her former students in Belize was that the prep school students were the children of elected officials and foreign dignitaries.
