Chapter 16
C ARRAH MADE IT to the other side of the door. Dusk swallowed her whole while chilling the chaotic rhythm of her heart. What the hell was happening to her? Right now wasn’t the time to seek answers. It was almost country-ass dark, the crickets sounded like giants chirping in the night, God knows what else was out in the Florida wilderness, and all she wanted was to get home and hide her face in a pillow.
She fidgeted with her purse until her phone and key were in hand and then made a quick beeline to her car. The moment she closed the door and pushed the button to start the engine was the moment she realized that she’d walked away from her dreams.
Water welled in her eyes. Tears slid down her cheeks and she cursed herself for thinking she had the power to break free of the emerald palace her family had placed her in.
A series of knocks struck the window and froze her still. Despite the night settling around them, Chris’s golden skin stood out in contrast as he waited by the door. She unlocked the car, allowing him to pop the door open.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His long arm reached in and then his thumb pushed the wetness from her cheek. She flinched, scared by the way his touch awakened hidden desires within her body. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Carrah turned her head until their eyes locked. She then steadied his hand. “This isn’t your fault.”
He lowered his arm, scanning her as though he were searching her soul. “Then why do I feel like it is?”
“Trust me… it is not.” She was honest; he wasn’t the reason she was crying. However, the way she felt—as though she could throw caution in the wind along with their rivalry to feel his touch once more—was totally his fault. Trent had never made her want him, and for all she knew that might have been their problem all along.
“Truce.” He offered his hand.
Carrah placed her hand in his, accepting the cease-fire for the hope that they could make this agreement between them work. “Truce.” She gripped his hand and shook. “I think we need a redo.” She cut the engine off and moved to exit the car. Once they stood face-to-face, she presented him with her hand. “Carrah Andrews. Thank you for taking me on as a new client, Mr. Chennault. I’m excited to discuss the contract.”
His lips quirked into a smile and he slowly clasped her hand then took a step forward to close the distance. “Please call me Chris. Shall we?” He gestured for them to go back inside and she agreed.
This time when they entered the house her stomach decided to growl. He chuckled, while she wished to disappear. “Excuse me,” she said sheepishly, holding her stomach and praying it wouldn’t happen again.
“Hungry?”
Her stomach growled again, answering for her. This time they both laughed. “Very.”
“I planned to make a burger. Want one?”
She nodded then watched him loosen his tie and roll up his sleeves as he went to the kitchen. He gathered a host of items from the pantry and fridge and set them on the counter before he pulled cooking pans from the cabinets. He whistled as he worked, minding his own business as though she weren’t even there.
Except she was very much present and intrigued by this person she’d known all her life from a distance. Not in a million years would she ever have guessed that Christopher Chennault was the type of man who knew his way around the kitchen. His family had cooks and maids that traveled from Louisiana to join them in the Shores during the summer months, and everyone knew that Ms. Claudette spoiled her boys rotten.
“Do you cook often?” she asked as she went to the kitchen and pulled out a stool from the counter and sat. She could only know more if she asked. They’d called a truce, he was officially her attorney, and he said he’d try. It was her turn now, and the only way to know more about a man she at one time believed was her enemy. “Sure looks like you know what you’re doing.”
A smirk danced on his lips as he shook his head no. “Can I make a four-course meal, no. Do I know how to make sure I don’t go hungry, yes.” He chuckled. “I think I need to hurry up before your stomach yells at me again.”
Uncontrollable laughter hit Carrah. She’s didn’t know this funny side. He was always so serious, straight to business like he was the first time she’d come in. When she finally gasped for breath, she found him staring at her. Those light eyes seemed as though they’d peeked through the windows of her soul and stripped her bare.
“Here.” She left her seat and went to the sink to wash her hands. “Let me help. Many hands make light work.”
“True.” He stopped looking into a cabinet over the stove. A vacant expression landed upon his face. He may have physically been in the kitchen, but his head was a million paces away. “My mother used to say that.”
A pang struck her, hearing the solemnness he spoke with. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she didn’t. They had raised their white flags, not vowed to be friends. Still she couldn’t leave him stranded wherever he was. “Maybe it’s generational. Mine says it all the time.”
He snapped out of it and went back to reaching over the stove and pulled down a skillet he set atop the stove. “They were friends… once.”
“Sorority sisters too,” she added, and he nodded. She then wondered if he knew why they’d fallen out. “Do you know why they stopped being friends?”
“I do not. I think it happened long before we were born because for all I can remember, our families have not associated with each other.” With the efficiency of a sous chef, he gathered a few more cooking utensils and the meat from the fridge. “Ms. Watson, our house manager, premade patties. I’m just putting them in the pan. If you want to help you can clear the table and set it. Maybe get the ketchup, mustard, and other condiments out.”
For the first few minutes they worked in quiet, taking on their assigned dinner tasks. By the time the patties were in the pan laughter filled the cottage as they debated summer happenings in the Shores, mutual friends, and Carrah’s anti-fry day. Chris argued in favor of Carrah accepting hospitality and sampling the fresh-cut, seasoned potatoes Ms. Watson had prepped. In the end he stood the victor, making her claim a cheat day as he sat a plate down in front of her with a juicy, mouthwatering burger and a stack of fries.
After Chris sat down across from her and said grace, they picked their burgers up at the same time. Right as Carrah was about to take a bite, she couldn’t. At least not like this. She put her burger down and retrieved a knife from the kitchen and cut it into quarters. Snickering came from the other side of the table.
“You’re kidding?” He wiped his mouth then gulped down sweet tea. “Burgers are handhelds.”
“Maybe when you’re home.” She finally took a bite of her sandwich. “Mmm… this is good.” She groaned then took another bite, savoring the smoky notes from cayenne pepper, along with onion, garlic, and a hint of oregano. Creole flavor was on full display and much appreciated since the Southern culinary found in the Shores was different than NOLA. “She always has ready-made patties for you?”
“Ms. Watson stocks the fridge weekly since she knows I like to hide out here from time to time and go fishing.” He snickered then enjoyed another taste of his burger. “Fries.”
He pointed at her plate. “You’re not off the hook.”
Carrah picked one up and put it in her mouth. That Creole seasoning did what Chris apparently expected and reeled her in. He displayed a self-satisfied grin watching as she continued going back for more, validating the argument he’d won and totally accepting the hospitality that had been offered.
Small talk continued over their meal, allowing her to learn that the cottage was built by Chris’s great-grandfather, Cyrille Chennault. The elder had found his way from Louisiana to Florida after traveling with the Silas Green Show to promote Noir’s cosmetics. It was then Carrah remembered in Noir’s history that Cyrille launched the company’s original products by giving dancers from the variety show face powder and lipstick samples to wear when they performed.
What she didn’t know was that it was also the time he founded his family’s summer escape. The Shores was one of the first places Cyrille had come to in the South where there were no plantations or remnants of one. He’d also discovered Black and white communities coexisting. It was a place he believed his descendants should have a stake in.
All the talk of his great-grandfather, of course, led to them dabbling a bit into his choice not to be a part of the family business. It seemed he had been more afraid than she was. However, he had no regrets. He loved his career even though he hated the lifestyle of being so close to the rich and famous.
It was why he only took on celebrities with relatively no drama and who actively gave back to their communities, like him. She had no idea until now that he was a primary investor for Duncan’s youth village and had recently established a scholarship in honor of his mother for young Black women who were interested in pursuing degrees within the STEM field.
Instead of stuffing her face with the last of her burger, she dropped it, wiped her mouth, and leaned into the table. “Really!” she blurted out, unable to contain the adrenaline spiking within her. “What made you choose STEM?”
Carrah felt almost bewitched by the man sitting across from her. Her desire to mix ingredients in a lab may have diminished, but not her love of science. She would always have a soft spot for the thing that understood her best and made sure her genius thrived… even if it had been a safety net.
“What do you mean?” His brows creased before he stood up from the table and took his dirty dishes to the sink.
“Your mother was a businesswoman. Why not a scholarship fund for students pursuing degrees in business or entrepreneurship?”
Carrah had to be pulling his leg. Their family businesses had been rivals a long time and he was sure they would have briefed Carrah when she started at the company. There was no way she didn’t know of the force that was Claudette Chennault. The woman was the reason Olina Chennault Cosmetics was in the top five around the world beyond always outperforming Noir in African-American markets. She had been featured in every magazine from Essence to Vogue , and recognized a thousand times over for her philanthropy to eliminate hygiene insecurity among women and children from marginalized communities.
Needing to know if she were running game or being genuine, he went back to Carrah and looked her in the eyes. “Are you pretending to be ignorant of my mother just to make small talk or something?” Carrah recoiled, scrunching her face so hard that Chris offered an apology. He then said, “You really didn’t know that my mom was a STEM girl like you?”
A hard-to-read expression flashed across her face. She raked her fingers through her hair then pulled it back into a bun that accentuated her high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips. She was beautiful. Always had been, but he had to turn away.
“You know what I do?” Her question halted his steps.
Of course he knew. The guys had just rubbed it in his face along with the experiments she did with everyone else. Even before that, he’d heard his parents mumble of how Carrah had taken her father’s smarts and her mother’s beauty. His mother had even once gone on the record of saying Carrah would’ve been the perfect girl for him to escort if her last name had not been Andrews.
“We have mutual friends, Carrah. I also assist the company with legal matters, so it’s natural for me to know the competition. By the way, I heard you were the mastermind for the only perfume that’s ever outperformed us in fragrance.”
Her lips twitched. They never formed a smile. It was almost as if she resisted. She then left the kitchen and went to the bay window in the sitting room and gazed out. He followed and stood opposite her in silence. He didn’t know her well enough to gauge her thought process. What he did know, however, was that instead of seeing pride, he saw resentment. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time. He’d seen it one too many times with his mother as she struggled to ensure Chennault remained relevant. He hoped it wasn’t the same burden for Carrah.
“My mother attained a degree in pharmaceutical sciences.” He broke the silence—safely, he hoped. “She was a woman of science turned business mogul after she came to work for my grandfather’s company and pioneered groundbreaking advances in hair and skin care for African-American women.”
“I honestly didn’t know. All my life I only knew that she ran operations at your family’s company. A STEM scholarship makes sense.” She glanced over at him and smiled.
He sighed, resting one arm on the wall as he continued staring out into the nothingness of the night. The last year had been difficult without her busying around the house or corporate headquarters. “She was the brains of Chennault and now my father seems lost without her.”
Almost like they were told to, they looked at each other at the same time. The agony, grief, and defeat that spiraled inside of him was upon her face, and he wanted to know why. Except they weren’t there yet. She hadn’t opened up much over dinner and he wouldn’t push.
“He’ll find his way.” Her soft words soothed the chaos within and made him come upright. “We all do, eventually.”
“Is that why you wrote the book?” She stiffened and he regretted asking the one question he wanted an answer to since he’d finished the manuscript.
A tear slid down her cheek, her eyes closed, and then she said, “I wrote it because I’m tired of being trapped.”