Sinful Chocolate

“You can thank me by agreeing to let me be your business partner,” Isabella said. She’d given up tax law when she became Mrs. Derrick Knight and searched high and low for a career change. Since she found her courage and stopped being the person her parents wanted her to be, she’d spent the last year doing some much needed soul searching. She wanted to be involved in something that inspired her and elicited her passion.

“I’m flattered,” Gisella said, shaking her head. “But going national just seems so grand, oui? I just like things simple. I bake and make treats because I like making people happy. I don’t like making a big fuss of everything.”

“You won’t have to,” Isabella said. “You bake, and I’ll fuss over the big stuff.”

“Yeah,” Waqueisha said. “No one out-fusses our girl Izzy.”

Isabella frowned and Waqueisha shrugged. “What? I was just trying to help you make the sale.”

Isabella raced behind the counter and draped an arm around Gisella’s shoulder. “Just picture it.” She swept one hand up toward the ceiling as she described her vision. “Sinful Chocolate being packaged and sold in shops just like this one all across America, your grandmother’s recipes putting smiles on millions of faces,” she waxed enthusiastically.

“And depositing an insane amount of money into your bank account,” Rayne added.

Gisella smiled and shook her head. “Je ne pense pas. Money is not the most important thing in the world.”

Waqueisha and Rayne’s mouths fell open.

“What?” Gisella asked, frowning at the two women.

“You really aren’t from around here, are you?” Waqueisha said.

Gisella finally laughed. “Am I really all that different?” She glanced around. “I’ve seen you with your husband. Can you really tell me that the things that truly make you happy are attached to how much money he makes or what kind of car he drives?”

Isabella’s face flushed a deep burgundy. “No.”

“You see?” Gisella gave a smug smile to Waqueisha and Rayne. “Material things are what distract people when they’re not following their hearts. Things like family, laughter, food and love are the real keys to happiness.”

Waqueisha blinked. “Damn. That sounded like it should be on a Hallmark card.”

Charlie and his frat brothers soon discovered that the emergency room was no place for an emergency. Bored and in no hurry, the E.R. nurses were more interested in exchanging gossip than helping the sick and injured. Instead, Charlie was stuck watching a bunch of unruly children run around hyped up on sodas and vending machine snacks while a loop of the same news from T. J. Holmes and the rest of the CNN weekend crew played every fifteen minutes.

Finally, Hylan had to ask. “Man, what the hell were you thinking?”

Derrick, Taariq and Stanley all covered their mouths and snickered.

“Charlie, you were really feelin’ yourself,” said Hylan, continuing to tease.

Taariq jumped into the fray. “I tried to tell you those Air Jordans will get a brother caught up each and every time.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

Another round of snickering and elbowing ensued.

After two hours of waiting to see a doctor, Charlie’s patience neared an end. He’d almost convinced himself that he would rather go through life with a limp than to sit another minute in the E.R.’s hard plastic chairs.

“Charles Masters?”

“Over here,” he called, struggling to his feet.

A shapely Latina nurse smiled when her eyes landed on him. “The doctor can see you now. Would you like for me to get you a wheelchair?”

That was like asking a starving man if he wanted a cracker.

A few minutes later, Consuela, according to her name tag, wheeled him through the crowded hallway behind the reception desk. Getting a room was too much to hope for apparently. Instead, the nurse rolled him behind a makeshift divider and told him that the doctor would see him in a few minutes.

It was another hour.

“Well, well. Sorry to keep you waiting,” a voice boomed as the divider was pulled back, which jarred Charlie awake.

“Dr. Weiner?” Charlie asked, startled.

“Ah, Charlie!” A stunned smile spread across his personal physician’s face. “What a surprise.” He looked down at the paperwork Charlie had filled out at check-in. “I must be tired. I didn’t really make a connection when I read your name on the folder.”

Charlie squared his shoulders and felt a little better about being in the care of his primary doctor. “I didn’t know you worked here at the hospital.”

“Well, I fill in from time to time.” Dr. Weiner closed the folder and leveled a serious look at Charlie. “You know my office has been trying to reach you.”

Charlie instantly recalled the number of messages left on his home answering machine. But with all the trouble going on at the office, he kept putting off returning the doctor’s calls. Besides, they probably just wanted to give him the results of his lab work for his upcoming trip.

“Tell you what,” Dr. Weiner said after an awkward beat. “Let me take a look at your foot, and let’s just have you come into my office in the morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Charlie frowned. “Is there something wrong?”

Weiner hesitated again. “I don’t have your chart from my office with me, so let’s just go over everything then?”

Charlie’s gaze lingered on the smiling doctor. He didn’t like the sound of that at all.

Chapter 5

Charlie hated doctors. No doubt. His resentment went back to the day he was born, when some heartless doctor smacked him on the butt. Since then, he despised anyone wearing a white coat. Since that first day, medical professionals had put him through an endless ordeal of sharp needles, horrible-tasting prescription medicines, and as he got older, even subjected him to invasive finger-probing in unmentionable areas.

Now with an important business trip to South Africa coming up, Charlie had to deal with a lot of blood work, updating vaccinations and loading up on antibiotics. But it all needed to be done if he was going to save his company.

“Ah, Mr. Masters. You kept your appointment.”

Charlie gave an odd-angled smile as he strolled into Dr. Weiner’s office leaning on a cane to protect his sprained ankle. His brain quickly scrolled through his mental Rolodex for the name of the cinnamon-brown beauty at the check-in desk, but luckily he was rescued by her name tag. “Tammy, how are you?”

The roll of her eyes told him she knew he didn’t remember her. “So what’s the excuse this time? You lost my number? You had another death in the family—the dog, perhaps?”

“I don’t own a dog,” he said, unruffled by her irritation. He leaned over the counter and smiled into her eyes. “Besides I’ve been under the weather and have been laid up for a little while.”

A spark returned to her disbelieving gaze. “Then maybe I could come over to your place and play nurse?”

“Now that sounds like a plan.”

“Humph!”

Charlie glanced over his shoulder and then smiled at the nurse glaring at him. “Ah, Lexi.” Embarrassment heated his face. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

Lexi shook her head. “You’ll never change, will you, Charlie?”

He gave her his best puppy dog expression while his smile turned sly. “Can I help flirting when this office is filled with such beautiful women?”

“Sign in right here,” Tammy instructed, her lyrical voice now flat.

Determined not to let the women see him sweat, Charlie scribbled his name and handed over his insurance card before Lexi led him to a room to wait for Dr. Weiner. A playboy at heart, Charlie couldn’t stop thinking about Tammy’s idea of playing nurse—especially if she wore a tight white dress, white fishnet thigh-highs and high-heeled shoes.

Thinking about the fantasy nurse uniform gave Charlie an instant hard-on just as he was sitting down on the doctor’s table, giving Lexi a good eyeful.

“Um.” She cleared her throat. “The doctor will be with you in a minute.”

Charlie nodded and pretended not to notice her distraction as she walked backward. When she bumped into the wall, he gave her a smile.

“Oops,” he said.

Lexi jumped and glared at him again before racing out of the room.

He chuckled. Women never failed to amuse him.

Twenty minutes later, when Charlie had just decided to take a quick nap, Dr. Weiner ambled into the room with his thick, black-rimmed glasses sitting on the edge of his nose.

“Ah, Dr. Weiner. Good to see you again,” Charlie greeted.

The hunch-shouldered doctor came in with a thin smile and lifted his rheumy eyes toward him. “Afternoon, Charlie.”

It was the tone that knotted Charlie’s stomach muscles or maybe it was the fact that the chilly room had suddenly grown stuffy. “What is it, Doc?”

Weiner drew in a deep breath and closed the chart in his hand as he pulled up a stool and sat down.

Charlie could literally hear the blood rushing through his veins. He didn’t like the look of this. He tried to brace himself the best he could, but he couldn’t stop being impatient for the news. “Whatever it is, just tell me. I can handle it,” he lied.

The doctor nodded gravely. “Your lab results came in…”

“And…?”

“And…It doesn’t look too good.” He leveled his serious gaze on Charlie. “You’re dying.”

Charlie stiffened. “Come again?”

“I know this is coming as a surprise, but the lab results—”

“B-but I feel fine.” The doctor’s words hit him like an iron fist. It simply wasn’t true. It wasn’t possible.

Dr. Weiner frowned. “Didn’t you tell me two weeks ago that you’ve been exhausted lately?”

“B-but that’s because of work. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours. I—” Charlie swallowed. “What’s wrong with me?”

“It looks like you have aplastic anemia.”

“A plastic what?”

“Aplastic anemia. It means you have a low count of all three blood cells. I still need to confirm with a bone marrow test—but with these numbers, I’m pretty sure.”

The room roared with silence before the doctor at long last said, “I’m sorry.”

Finally finding his courage, Charlie asked, “Okay, how do we treat it?”

The doctor hesitated. “Well, there’re a few things we can try—all extremely risky but….”

“How long?” Charlie asked.

“I—I can’t just give a date.”

“How long?” Charlie insisted.

Dr. Weiner glanced back down at the chart. “Given these numbers, I’d say five to six months, tops.”

Chapter 6

“I don’t feel right leaving you here like this,” Anna complained, setting her suitcase down by the door. “What if something happens while I’m gone?”

“I’m a big girl.” Gisella laughed. “I think I can take care of myself.”

Anna drew a deep breath. “Nicole and Jade’s phone numbers are on the refrigerator. Call them if you need help with anything. I’m leaving to go to my company’s headquarters in New York, but I’ll call you every day.”

“Yes, Mom,” Gisella sassed, bumping her hip against her sister’s before marching out of Anna’s bedroom. “Sasha and I will be fine.”

Her sister followed her to the kitchen and watched her slip on her Kiss the Chef apron and then pull out a variety of bowls and ingredients from every cabinet. “You really do love doing this stuff, don’t you?” she said, folding her arms and leaning against the kitchen’s door frame. “You’d live in a kitchen if you could.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” Gisella joked, measuring out flour and vanilla extract. “I’m still trying to crack grandmère’s famous recipe for her Amour Chocolat.”

“Why don’t you just ask her for it?”

“Now that’s a novel idea.” Gisella smacked her palm against her head. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

“She won’t give it up, eh?”

“She claims the recipe is top-secret because its effects can be dangerous for those who don’t respect its power.”

“Dangerous?” Anna repeated skeptically. “We’re talking about chocolate, right?”

“Ah, but not just any kind of chocolate.” Gisella waved a finger at her sister. “There is what you might call a culinary urban legend about grandmère’s Amour Chocolat. It is said that just one bite of the decadent treat ignites passion.”

“What? Like an aphrodisiac? C’mon, people have been saying that about chocolate for years. It’s not true.”

“But ah! This recipe is the real deal. Trust me. I know.”

Anna lifted a single brow. “You’ve had it before?”

Casting her eyes down, Gisella bit her lower lip and tried her best not to look like a blushing fool.

“Gisella! Don’t tell me there’s a wild side to you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she sassed with a shrug of indifference. “Anyway, I’m no closer figuring out the recipe now than when I first started a couple of years ago, mainly because I have to rely on memory. But I will figure it out,” she vowed.

“So whose bones did you jump when you ate this magical stuff?”

Gisella’s smile faded when her mind tumbled back. “Robert’s.”

“Oh.” Anna sobered. “There I go shoving my foot into my big mouth.”

“Don’t,” Gisella said, waving off the apology. “The past is the past. All I can do is learn from it and move forward and create new memories.”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed on her. “Do you already have someone else in mind?”

“What? No!” Gisella lied, her face heating up with embarrassment. “I’m just saying that you never know what’s in the future. That’s all.”

“Humph!” As usual, Anna rolled her eyes at Gisella’s romantic fancy. “I already know what my future holds—a lot of romance novels and gallons of ice cream.”

Gisella laughed guiltily as she turned toward the refrigerator and took out the milk, butter and eggs. “As much fun as that can be, I’d much rather curl up to a warm body at night.”

“You’ll learn. Men aren’t worth half the trouble they cause. All a woman needs to be happy is a great career, some nice toys and a hearty stock of copper-topped batteries. Trust me.”

Masters Holdings now operated with a skeletal crew. Commercial and housing construction in Atlanta had slowly ground down to a complete stop in the last four years. While puffed up economists, Wall Street analysts and the same tried-and-true politicians argued whether the nation was in a recession or not, companies like Charlie’s were hemorrhaging money at a record pace.

When the first signs of trouble emerged, Charlie foolishly believed that his company could survive an economic slow down. But this was like a financial drought that was on the verge of wiping him out.

Not that it should matter anymore.

Charlie’s gaze drifted to his computer inbox and noted the number of messages from Dr. Weiner’s office in the last week. He sighed and waffled again over picking up the phone. Why was he putting off making the appointment for the bone marrow test?

He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. Maybe he just didn’t want to know the truth. He didn’t know how to go about the business of dying.

How was that for denial.

“Mr. Masters,” Jackson Boyett, Charlie’s executive assistant chirped over the intercom. “You have a call on line one.”

Charlie reached for the receiver, hesitated and then asked. “Who is it?”

“It’s your mother.”

Charlie’s heart dropped. He’d been avoiding his mother’s calls like the plague. Though a part of him was feeling incredibly guilty about it, another part of him knew it was vital not to let his mother even suspect that something could be wrong. But Arlene Masters’s intuition was always sharp as a tack.

Today was Tuesday, and Charlie and his mother had a standing Tuesday night date. If she didn’t have something planned at the senior center, his mother would usually cook him dinner. What was he going to tell her? What should he tell her? If he told her about his aplastic anemia, he knew she would move into his apartment before the end of the workday.

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