The Color Of Love: A BWWM Billionaire Alpha Male Romance Read online

  Twenty eight years old, America’s youngest billionaire, six feet four, muscular and an accomplished lover. Not bad for a kid born with a gold spoon in his mouth.

  Chapter 2

  There were corns on the fingers Victoria used to control the knife. The salon visits didn’t matter, they still remained there as a reminder of the years of hard work she put in to become who she already deemed a success. The books didn’t always balance in the black though, and sometimes she was forced to pay Abby alone and do without her salary. Having worked in kitchens over steaming, greasy dishes and sweating pots from the time she was fourteen, Victoria knew just how much blood, sweat and tears went into making a plate of food and she wore her scars with pride.

  Still she considered Palette a success. The jobs were not large and the contracts unsteady, but it was just enough to keep her holding on to the dream. How Palette worked was simple - you called with a request, anything you could think of - from penis bachelorette cakes, to weird things like pastries that exploded in your mouth and she would never refuse to create it. Pretty simple rule.

  As she computed the numbers for this week, Victoria dropped the pen and squeezed her eyes shut, pinching her nose bridge. There would be no salary this month for her. All profits had to be used to restock and pay the rent. As her home base and business kitchen, she couldn’t let the roof over her head be taken. Bills and priorities were always in the forefront of her mind.

  Truthfully, she was stumped as to what else to do to market her skills. Social media generated some traffic and business, but it wasn’t enough to take it to the next level. She needed a couple large contracts to help her hit the target.

  The ringer on Victoria’s cell phone went off at exactly four minutes past three on Friday afternoon. Abby was calling to say that her delivery of the Grooms cake went flawlessly. She was peeking in at her favorite cupcake shop and gossiping with a friend who managed it. The friend lamented that she and her team were fired from the catering job they ran a few weeks ago. The unreasonable rich man, for whom they were preparing the food, pulled the whole contract. She was now looking for another contract to fill the void.

  Listening absently, Victoria nodded while staring at her numbers. Abby could chat freely because she didn’t have the pressure of owning a business. Her ears only turned on when she heard the words “possible contract”. She was now actively listening.

  “So what do you think Vic? Do you wanna try it out?” Abby asked. Embarrassed that she had tuned out her best friend, Victoria asked her to repeat. After a lengthy, dramatic sigh, Abby repeated her speech. “Andrea said her company lost the contract for DMC a few weeks ago. It’s not as creative a job as we usually do, but it could help to pay the bills. Do you want to give it a shot?”

  Put off by the lacking creative nature of the job, Victoria declined. She would be bored stiff, making chicken sandwiches and buttering bagels. Too simple and unappealing. Disappointing her best friend, Victoria gently declined the offer.

  Replacing the phone on the table caused another unopened red notice to fall to the floor. As she retrieved it, she started to question if refusing work because it was boring, was the right choice. Bill collectors didn’t care where the money came from.

  *****

  The opening night of any affair needed planning and precision and DMC Theater Live was no exception. The walk through of the grand theater pleased Dawson immensely and all the staff seemed to be at the top of their game. The event planner for the special night was there, pointing out now, exactly what would be happening and when. The menu was the only thing holding them back from placing the final tick on the checklist.

  Dawson Ledger could be very imposing. Not sinisterly so, but ominous none the less. He smiled sincerely and then switched to a wild animal in seconds if any incompetency was detected in his staff. His expectations were equally as high for himself and he asked for nothing he didn’t give in return. He dressed crisp and so did his staff. He spoke clearly and respectfully and demanded the same in return. Everyone was happy when Dawson was happy. That was just the way things were with him.

  Menus and wines were things Dawson demanded to be pristine. So far all the caterers his personal assistant had hired rated about ninety five percent competent in his books. Dawson was looking for one hundred and fifty. Secretly, he had emailed the event planner and asked her to source the best of the best. He wanted signature cakes to represent the themes of the play, finger foods to represent the mood of the main characters, and desert stations to bring the attendees the same feeling as the sweet ending of the play.

  The grand rehearsal of their premier performance was two weeks away and it would be there he would sample the hand of her suggested caterer. Little did Dawson know that the event planner was yet to find the right candidate. The countdown was on.

  Interviewing as many as fifteen chefs had proved that Florida had good talent, but that would never do - she needed great. Watching the great man walk across the floor belting out instructions to his mousy looking assistant reminded the planner that to mess up with Dawson meant to mess up in Florida - she just couldn’t let that happen.

  *****

  The cake was made into a ballerina and it spun when the switch was flicked on. Her skirt sparked as the sugar glass picked up the bright lights in the room, declaring it another masterpiece created by Victoria. In the corner, Abby worked on the filling of a lava cake. They were a happy pair.

  The phone rang and Abby grabbed it in a cloud of icing sugar. “Thank you for calling Palette where your taste buds are our canvas. What fantasy can we help you create today?”

  Victoria wrote the greeting. She was proud of it. Listening to Abby make pensive sounds as the person on the other end spoke, Victoria admired her now finished work before eventually being summoned to the phone. Asking Abby to put it on speaker while she washed her hands, Victoria said, “This is Victoria Jones, Chief Creative director for Palette. How can I help?”

  “Good day Victoria, this is Winelle Martin from Exclusive Events. We received your application and we would like to meet with you in the morning if possible. We like the work in your online portfolio and would like to discuss a possible contract with us. Are you free at ten am?”

  Victoria paused. She never sent an application anywhere and had no clue how to respond. Asking the lady to hold for a moment, she silenced the call and looked at Abby who was now a deep shade of red. The culprit had been caught. Before any words could leave Victoria’s lips, a torrent of excuses came from Abby who looked quite uncomfortable.

  “Don’t be mad Vic, We need this. When was the last time you paid yourself? You need a boost in the financial area and I just couldn’t resist. Please don’t be angry. I promise I will put in over time to help you. Just go to the damn interview… please Vic.”

  Sending her best friend the nastiest of looks, Victory pressed a button and apologized for asking the lady to wait. “I’m so sorry about the hold time Ms. Martin. I would certainly like to meet with you. What’s the address? Thank you so much. What’s that, you need a sample? That can certainly be arranged. Brilliant! See you tomorrow at ten Ms. Martin.”

  When the call ended, Abby was nowhere to be found and Victoria later discovered her in the bathroom hiding. When she finally emerged, Victoria dished out the silent treatment. It was either that or cuss out her best pal. Silence seemed like the more civil option.

  *****

  The office of Winelle Martin was housed in a high rise just off the trendy fashion district. Home to some of America’s finest designers, it was a place where any artist would find inspiration. Everything in the building looked brand new and it probably was. Certain businesses revamped their look biannually and Victoria was sure this was one of them.

  The receptionist looked like a fashion model - as a matter of a fact, every man and woman who passed as she sat and waited looked like a magazine cut out. This was a place where presentation and perfection were of utmost importance, and Victoria felt righ
t at home.

  At exactly ten am the receptionist’s plum painted mouth called Victoria’s name and she was directed to follow the office doors until she found the red one with the number ‘4’ on the front. It was easy to find and Winelle stood waiting for her.

  The exchange between the women was casual as they discussed what she was looking for. It seemed simple enough and after tasting the small dishes Victoria carried, Winnelle all but threw the contract at her. Always a lady, Victoria resisted the urge to ask about the money side of the equation. Every concern she had would be addressed in the contract.

  There were to be four small jobs for twenty five people each time. Then there was the exclusive opening night where she would be expected to prepare for seventy five high level specially invited guests plus the crew and actors of DMC theater primer.

  The proposed compensation was two hundred percent greater than any event she had ever cooked for and the owner of DMC had opened a shopping cart at three of the world’s primary food suppliers to ensure all that Palette needed was provided. There would be no operating costs to her company and she would be in charge of the theater staff for the night as the food was served. The deal was sweet.

  There was nothing to contemplate on the monetary side, but the creative side bothered her until she saw what they wanted. From the cakes to the signature finger foods would be an artistic interpretation of the featured play. Her creative juices were flowing and as she signed on the dotted line, she forgave her overzealous friend who had proven to be a trooper even against Victoria’s will. Abby’s boundary pushing had given Palette the boost it needed. This would be the show of a lifetime.

  *****

  Today would be the first time Dawson ever directed anything but because he had money he could buy anything he wanted - even a director’s consultant - if there was such a thing. The young business mogul had an idea of what he wanted to see expressed in the play by never having done anything like it before, he hired someone to guide him along.

  In essence, the person would ghost direct while Dawson tried to look busy and knowledgeable. The name of the play was ‘The Delicate Rough.’ Written by a revered play writer just for him, it promised drama, dance, song, love and pain. The main characters were a conflicted pair from different social statuses in life. He was a rich merchant and she a lowly, but virtuous housemaid bound to poverty and servitude.

  Because Dawson was the quintessential lover boy, he connected with the main character. There was something agonizingly beautiful about perusing love - even though he preferred more established women.

  The cast was arriving and his hired director was already sitting before the stage waiting for the action to begin. Sara, his personal assistant whispered that everything was running on schedule and the refreshments would be ready by the end of the set. Nodding and then refocusing on the director’s words, he waited for the presentation to begin.

  *****

  Because she was confident she could manage the twenty five meals herself, Victoria didn’t hire any extra hands. She and Abby prepped the vegetables and protein in the morning to give them time to cook without rushing.

  The tiny cupcakes were made the day prior and iced in the wee hours of the morning when she could not sleep. They were red velvet and layered with cream cheese. The top was sprinkled with cayenne pepper and shards of glass like sugar, dotted with iridescent edible glitter. From what she understood of the play, the characters were engaged in a flaming love affair and equally heated internal battle. The red of the velvet cake and spicy cayenne represented the heat of romance and the shards of sugar glass represented the broken hearts they protected, while testing the waters of forbidden love. Contained in small white paper liners with printed skull and bones in pink, Victoria couldn’t help thinking about the poison of love.

  Her last relationship had ended miserably. Having met Timothy when she first moved here, Victoria thought they were a match made in heaven. He was average height, but wore a smile on his face that was larger than life. He was a food artist like her, but left the culinary world to become a bus driver. It bothered her that he would abandon his true love and passion for a paycheck, but in the end he seemed happy so she went along with his choice.

  They didn’t live together but saw each other daily - mostly at her apartment. She went to his apartment a total of two times. They didn’t stay, he only collected his laptop quickly before they went off to her place

  He was off on Tuesdays and Victoria made a special effort to spend the day with him. He decided to cook for her and they went to the grocery store together. Picking out a choice filet of salmon while Timothy discussed the best cut of bacon with the butcher behind the counter, Victoria heard a small voice yell out, “Daddy!” At first she didn’t look around but when Tim responded she had no option. “Hi Brittany… what are you doing here?” The girls pigtails, bounced up and down and her eyes sparkled as Tim hesitantly picked her up. Staring at his own reflection, he kissed her on the cheek, avoiding Victoria’s piercing gaze.

  All the blood in Victoria’s body rushed to her brain and she instantly felt violently ill. It was the next voice that took her to the pit of astonishment. “Honey, what are you doing here? We thought you went to work.” A woman who was slightly taller than him sauntered over and plopped a kiss on his cheek. Timothy’s response was as plastic and fake as the shopping bags the woman carried.

  “I am helping my friend shop for her business. This is Victoria. Victoria this my wife, Cherry and my daughter Brittany.” The wife was either blind or stupid. She didn’t seem to pick up that Victoria was involved with her husband. A woman should pick up on these things quickly.

  Who was Victoria to judge? She didn’t even realize she was dating a married man. As he avoided Victoria’s eyes, he continued to chit chat with the pair. She was yet to close her mouth or respond to the introduction or the sight before her. As Timothy delivered a parting kiss to his family, the little girl waved and said, “It was nice to meet you Victoria.”

  It was the butcher clearing his throat that brought her to her senses, the uncomfortable man didn’t know what to do with the bacon he held suspended in mid air and stood waiting for instruction. Timothy walked back over to her and cleared his throat. As she started to back away from the man she thought she knew, Victoria tried to counsel herself. ‘Don’t freak out’ her conscience said. She wanted to respond to his incessant apologies as he followed her, but her mouth wouldn’t work. She was speechless.

  He called for weeks and even though she was in pain, often wondered if she could forgive him. One Sunday evening she decided to have dinner at a restaurant they dined at quite often. It was quaint with small wrought iron tables and chairs outside under the canopy. It was there that she saw them. The happy family laughed as Brittany tried to slurp her spaghetti and Victoria was cast into sadness once again.

  A solitary tear dripped from Victoria’s cheek as she remembered her lost love. Biting into the story telling cupcake before retiring to bed, she thought, ‘not all is fair in love and war.’

  *****

  The veins in Dawson’s neck were popping and all present except the hired director cowered in fear. “These Goddamn actors!” He hissed for the final time. “How hard is it to get one line straight? Marissa you have no passion… absolutely none! And Chad have you never been in love? Is this how you woo your girlfriends? I am so annoyed! Cut! Just friggin cut for the night!”

  The failing actors and actresses left the stage, dismissed from their pursuit of performance perfection while Dawson unfolded his six foot four frame from the folding chair labeled ‘Director’ and nodded at the real man controlling the stage. He too was dismissed.

  There was a room set up just for him above the main theater. The executive box as it was called, carried all the luxuries of the modern age and all the comforts of home. The futons and armchairs were plush and decadent. Dawson’s favorite accent color, red, punctuated the black and white scheme of the room and once he was inside
he made a beeline for the wine cabinet. As he sipped the ruby liquid from the sparkling flute he plopped down to watch his creation in living color.

  With a direct view of the stage and pit, he watched people gather around the food table chatting. He was certain a few were discussing what a task master he must be. Glancing around, he realized that his own dining table was empty. Moments later after a knock on the door, in came one of his staff with the rolling tray of food and many apologies. She had gotten lost and had been rambling for a minute. She was pretty so Dawson spared her the wrath that would usually follow foolish mistakes.

  Walking around the table after the pretty waitress left to inspect the stem ware and the food, Dawson smiled at what he saw as close to perfection. The selection was simple but stunning and the cupcakes looked dramatic - something he liked. This new caterer had prepared kebabs of lamb and grilled summer vegetables. There was a goat’s cheese dipping sauce of some type as well as basil drizzling oil.

  Next to the kebabs were dumplings stuffed with mushrooms and cauliflower and potatoes. Accompanying that was a bright red dipping sauce, which promised a sweet heat. There was a tall drink next to the selection of dishes called ‘The New Direction’. Taking a sip, Dawson quickly removed the glass from his lips to inspect the contents. The pink, almost creamy liquid carried the taste of cherries and pineapple, but there was the underlying taste of spiced rum. It was decadent.

  After settling into the meal, Dawson had to agree with the event planner’s choice of caterer. Never had he been impressed with anyone’s menu choice, but this… this was sublime. Wiping his mouth he reached in his pocket for his cell.

  “Sara, I’m coming down to meet the person who prepared the food. This was excellent.”