Chapter Four
One week later
Lorenzo twisted the large silver eagle-shaped ring on his index finger as he leaned his tall, muscled frame back in the chair at the head of the conference table and looked out the window. He was busy wishing that he saw the Eiffel Tower of Paris instead of more Manhattan skyscrapers. Summer in Paris was his favorite, but the fall was just as memorable.
He missed the City of Lights.
It had become his home.
“Zo?”
He’d been so lost in his thoughts he forgot he was in the middle of a meeting he called at the Cress, INC. corporate offices housed on the entire fortieth floor of the midtown Manhattan building. Shifting his gaze, he saw all six Cress brothers were staring at him. They all treated him as one of their own: Lincoln, the eldest; Phillip Junior, the C.E.O.; Sean, the beloved star; Cole, the rebel; and Lucas, the fave. He often teased Gabe about being the undisputed “Good One.”
He’d come to let the men know he was resigning from his position at their Paris restaurant and moving to New York. Working for one of the Cress, INC. establishments had been the highlight of his culinary career, and he also let them know that.
Their parents, Phillip Cress Senior and his wife, Nicolette Lavoie-Cress, had turned their over-five-decades careers as acclaimed and well-respected chefs into Cress, INC., a culinary empire. There were twenty-five world-class restaurants, nationally syndicated cooking shows, their own streaming platform, cookware, online magazines, and a nonprofit foundation. Each of the brothers, all successful and lauded chefs, led departments in the conglomerate they’d inherited upon their parents’ retirement. Phillip Junior as Chief Executive Officer; Lincoln headed up the division ensuring sustainability and took over Phillip Junior’s former position running their nonprofit to combat hunger in America; Sean ran the streaming service, CRESSTV and assisted in his former department of publicity and marketing; Cole and his team took care of the online magazines, websites and social media; Lucas was in charge of the ever-expanding line of cookware and accessories with Raquel, Phillip Junior’s wife, as his second in command. Gabe oversaw the restaurant division while running his own small restaurant, GAbrIEL, on the weekends.
“I suggest my sous chef as my replacement,” Lorenzo said, taking a guess that was the question put to him that he missed.
All six men looked confused.
“They were surprised by your move to New York,” Gabe clarified.
“I do miss Paris,” Lorenzo admitted, acknowledging that he would like nothing more than to be in his custom-designed apartment and running the kitchen at CRESS V.
“Then why leave it, mate?” Lincoln asked, his British accent clear.
“Because I would miss my daughter more,” Lorenzo responded without a doubt.
“Daughter?” Several of them asked in unison.
“So, the rumors of a little girl storming the building are true?” Phillip Junior asked.
Lorenzo shared a small smile with Gabe, who sat to the left of him at the long wooden table. “I have recently learned I have a twelve-year-old daughter named Zoie,” he explained.
All eyes landed on Gabe. He held up his hands. “Not my business to tell,” he said, without any show of regret for his loyalty to his friend of more than a decade.
“And thank you for that, mi amigo,” Lorenzo told him as he sat on the edge of his chair and lightly drummed his fingers to the top of the table. “I’ve filed for sole custody.”
“Whoa!” Cole said with wide eyes. “You are serious-serious.”
Lorenzo nodded. “Very,” he stressed.
“I didn’t know that,” Gabe said, landing solemn eyes on his friend. “Is a custody battle necessary?”
Again, Lorenzo nodded. “Very,” he repeated before looking down the length of the table at Lucas. “I hired your father-in-law.”
Lucas’ new wife, Eve, was the daughter of Marco Villar, who helmed one of the top law firms in the country.“He’s formidable—in and out of court,” he drawled with a chuckle.
“Marco is Monica’s attorney,” Gabe added, speaking of his wife. “She has never had an issue with his handling of her father’s estate or her nonprofit.”
Monica had been the former housekeeper of the Cress family until she inherited a massive sum of money upon the death of the father she had never met–an A-list movie star. She used her wealth to set-up a non-profit to financially help foster children who aged out of the system the way that she had. Gabe was the biggest supporter of his wife and mother of their toddler daughter, Emme.
“Good to know,” Lorenzo said. He felt pensive. “I have to uproot my entire life, and I’ll be honest, there was a time when I didn’t want to have children. I was happy with Emme as my goddaughter.”
“But,” Lucas said, urging him to continue.
“But now I don’t know what I would do without Zoie,” he admitted, voicing his vulnerability to men he considered friends. “I gotta figure this move out. A permanent place to stay. Career decisions. This damn custody battle.”
Sean stood and buttoned his custom-made gray blazer with a matching shirt and pants. He gave Lorenzo his winning smile that had wooed many a woman in his bed before settling down with Montgomery. The beautiful and well-known publicist had captured his heart and helped turn the former playboy into a devoted husband and father of their toddler son, Morgan.
“Careful, Lorenzo,” Phillip Junior said, drawing laughs.
Sean ignored them and came around the table to sit on the corner of it near Lorenzo. “Let me add an offer you might find irresistible,” he said, his voice calm.
Lorenzo already knew where this was headed.
Having spearheaded the expansion of Cress, INC.’s interest into a streaming service dedicated to cooking, Sean was determined to see it thrive and dominate other platforms that offered the same type of programming.The slow rollout of the platform had already been wildly effective. He was sure offering Lorenzo, a handsome and talented James Beard award-winning chef and cookbook author, his own show would garner even more success.
In the past Lorenzo had consistently declined.
Sean propped his arms against his bent leg and leaned closer to Lorenzo, who frowned.
The other men chuckled.
“Listen, I know firsthand the benefit of being talented and visually appealing,” Sean began, the consummate charmer.
Cole groaned loudly. “That was the thickest piece of shit ever laid,” he drawled with a shake of his head.
“Did he basically say they”re the only handsome ones in the room?” Phillip Junior balked.
“Basically,” Lucas said, whose eyes were filled with his humor. Of all the brothers, he was closest to Sean and could forgive the showoff anything. The six years of age between them did nothing to deter their closeness–especially as the last two Cress brothers to leave the family home.
“This is a great opportunity to do the show,” Sean continued undeterred.
“I’ve told you before I’m a chef, not a TV guy,” he said, hearing the reluctance in his deep voice.
“You can be both,” Sean said, with a dismissive wave at Lorenzo’s reservations. “And a show would leave you more time to get to know your beautiful daughter than being a full-time chef would.”
That’s true.
Lorenzo arched a brow as he looked up at Sean. “Beautiful, huh? You’ve never seen her,” he said, his words laced with humor.
“What else could she be?” Sean said, splaying his hands and offering him a huge toothy grin.
“Good Lord, say yes before we all have to watch anymore,” Lincoln said, his broad shoulders slightly raising from his laughter.
“Actually, she is pretty damn adorable,” Lorenzo said, pulling his wallet from the inside pocket of his black suede blazer. He took out Zoie”s most recent school photo, which he had placed there to keep close to his heart.
“She is,” Gabe agreed, having been the only one to meet her. “But just as tough. She had me shaking at the knees.”
Lorenzo laughed. “Having met her, that makes complete sense now,” he said, giving the photo to Sean, who still sat perched on the table”s edge.
Sean took it and soon raised both brows. “She’s your twin!” he said as if astonished, handing the photo to Lucas–before turning back to try to charm Lorenzo into his own show on CRESSTV.
Lorenzo ignored him as he watched each man pass the photo. “Yeah, she does look like me,” he said. “That’s my little girl. She’s a handful, but I love her already.”
“With your children, you love them deeply instantly,” Gabe offered.
All the men agreed.
Phillip Junior and his style maven wife, Raquel, had their eight-year-old daughter, Collette. Lincoln and his sexy private investigator wife, Bobbie, had year-old Poppy, named after his mother upon her passing. Sean and Montgomery’s son, Morgan, was two. Cole and his wife, Jillian, had recently welcomed their fraternal twins, Christian and Christina.Lucas and Eve had been married less than a year but planned to have their own children in a few years. They’d already chosen the name Luca for a boy or girl.
“And the mother?” Cole said.
“I must admit I’m curious about her, too. I was in Paris and never met your Josie,” Gabe added.
Lorenzo picked up his phone from the table and pulled up the photo Zoie insisted the three took the night of her school recital. He first handed the device to Gabe, who studied it and then looked confused. “I thought she was an artist?”
“Not anymore,” Lorenzo informed him.
“She’s a lawyer?” Gabe asked, taking a guess. “Accountant? Insurance agent?”
“Banker,” Lorenzo supplied.
“Same difference. Cute, though,” Gabe said.
“Let me see,” Phillip Junior said, lightly tapping the tabletop so Gabe could slide the phone to him. He took a look. “Face a seven—she looks constipated. Hair a four. That suit is an absolute zero. It”s too big and hides her body.”
The men all groaned in disgust, including Lorenzo. Lucas balled up a piece of paper he tore from the notepads stacked next to the water canister. He balled it to send it flying across the table at Phillip Junior’s head.
Admittedly, since finally being appointed C.E.O. by their father, Phillip Junior’s typical arrogance and need for one-upmanship had faded. Still, at times, like using a numerical scale to judge a woman, Phillip Junior’s annoying behavior would briefly resurface. And all the brothers made it a point to reign him in.
Even Sean, who could be a bit self-absorbed, looked back at his older brother with incredulity. He accepted the photo from Lincoln and gave it a cursory look before handing it to Lorenzo. “See how it”s done?” he asked Phillip Junior, who just shrugged.
“She has changed from when I knew her. More reserved. More restrained,” Lorenzo observed. “Very uptight.”
And then he remembered that he carried a photo of her deep in his wallet for years. He used to pull it out and look at it whenever she crossed his mind. He picked up the wallet from the table and removed all his credit cards to find the picture that was a bit distressed from age.He held it up to peruse her.
On it, Josephine’s wild hair was blown away from her face by the wind, and the sun showed down upon her as she laughed at something he said as he took the photo. Her false lashes and eye shadow accentuated her eyes, and her lip gloss seemed to plump her already full mouth. She wore a low-cut knit halter top and wide-leg denims that rode low on her hips. She was barefoot in her small studio apartment, using the small corner of the kitchenette to sculpt a clay female figure.
She was glorious. The energy of being wild and free radiated from her even in the photo. This version of her had no inhibitions, and Lorenzo had loved her in a way that made him think, at times, he was going mad.
He allowed that photo to make the rounds.
“Same woman?” Phillip Junior asked, looking confused.
Lorenzo nodded.
The other brothers shot the C.E.O. a warning glare.
Lorenzo bit back a smile.
Phillip Junior was just being honest. There was a difference between Josie versus Josephine. And it was more than looks. It was as if her inner light had been dimmed.
Lorenzo accepted both photos to replace in his wallet.
“Back to business. You have it, so why not use it,” Sean told him, nodding as he assessed him.
“It?” Lorenzo asked.
“The star factor,” Sean told him. “I have it, too. Some are just blessed with it.”
Lorenzo laughed. Sean was daring if nothing else, but somehow still charming and lovable. Even he found it difficult to get mad at him.
“This dude,” Cole said, rising to his feet. “I didn’t leave my wife with our newborn twins to listen to Sean blow wind up Zo’s ass. Lorenzo, I understand and accept your resignation. I’m happy to learn you have a kid and hope to meet her soon. I wish you well in all endeavors. Let me know if you’re interested in going the food truck route. Jillian and I can guide you through it and loan you one of ours to get started. Other than that–”
“Actually, Cole, that might be something to think about,” Lorenzo said, intrigued by the idea.
Cole reached for the sealed canister of water and one of the glasses in the center of the table to pour himself a drink.“It’s a freedom you cannot deny,” he said.
Sean stayed locked in place, so Lorenzo rolled his chair back and leaned to the man’s left to eye Cole. “I could better plan my schedule with a food truck.”
“I’m also up for sharing my restaurant space with you. I only open it Friday through Sunday with my busy work schedule at the company. So, it’s available for you to use on the nights its usually closed,” Gabe presented.
“Like a culinary residency?” Phillip Junior asked, looking interested as he leaned forward to look down the table length at Gabe. “That actually might be something to consider at CRESS XXIV.”
Gabe’s serious eyes lit with curiosity.
The newest opening of their line of high-end restaurants was scheduled for 2030 in Accra, Ghana, joining the others across the country and overseas, including the one that recently opened in Dubai.
“It would also be a great way to audition possible candidates,” Gabe added.
“Let’s schedule a time to talk more about that,” Phillip Junior said, reaching for his tablet to make a note before sitting it back down. “And then, Lorenzo, you are more than welcome to join us here at the Cress, INC. offices. We could find something that best uses your talents and abilities.”
All of the brothers nodded in firm agreement.
Lorenzo felt a bit overwhelmed and stood to walk over to the windows lining the stylish conference room. He released a breath and felt considerably lighter. Although he was far from a pauper, he was walking away from his sizeable income as a chef. Of course, his focus was fighting at all costs for his right to help raise his daughter, but his career still mattered to him. “I came here today having no idea what I would do next, and I’m leaving here with so many options,” he said, far more open than his usual reserved self. “I am immensely grateful for your friendship and trust.”
He released a breath that misted the window before it evaporated. “The only thing I knew before today is I would spend every last dime I had to fight for my kid,” he said as he closed his eyes, hating that he had felt pressed to take legal action. He knew it could affect Zoie seeing her parents at war.He sighed. It all felt unnecessary.
If only Josie–Josephine–had told me the truth.
If only I had known she was pregnant.
If only I had been given a chance to make my own choice.
If only she didn”t want to keep me out of Zoie’s life.
If only, if only, if only…
Suddenly, he felt an unseen energy of strength and support press upon him, and then a strong hand gripped his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find the Cress brothers had lined up at the window with him, flanking each side of him.
“We got you,” Gabe promised.
And what an impressive sight they made. The afternoon fall sun outlined their tall and strong frames as they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the Manhattan skyline. Each handsome. Each talented. Each solid. And each was there to support Lorenzo.
He felt he was one of them and knew they would help him in whatever way he needed. For that, he was thankful. It felt damn good to have his brothers on his side.
∞
In a world where she used to choose art over stability, Josephine was more understanding that the constancy of a higher-paying job wasn’t giving her anything beyond that. She was stressed from the workload and regularly felt as if she was drowning in minutia. She was becoming more and more disheartened with her career. Finding joy in her work was a struggle, so she had to push herself to find the one good–and that was her income.
Is that enough?
Josephine sighed inwardly.
It has to be.
Her eyes landed on the photo of Zoie on her desk. It had been her first day of kindergarten, and she was smiling, revealing a missing tooth and deep dimples. Her hair was parted down the middle and pulled up in two puffs. Her little gold hoop earrings sparkled almost as brightly as her eyes.
‘I will do anything for you, kiddo,’ she thought.
Except to stop interfering in her relationship with her father.
Josephine frowned, having heard her conscience far too loudly. Zoie was just as disappointed when none of her plans with her father happened. In her zeal to protect her daughter, Josephine admitted she was, in fact, hurting her.
She released a swear as she leaned back in her chair and turned away from her desk to look out the lone window in the corner of her office at the bank. The traffic was as busy as her thoughts, and the cars were as plentiful as her regrets. The biggest was the court”s involvement in raising her child.
It’s all a mess I could have prevented.
She watched the workers cleaning the glass of the high-rise building that towered over the bank from across the street. She saw them, but her thoughts were scattered elsewhere. Pains of the past, regrets of the present, and fear of what’s to come.
She looked up at the fall sun. She couldn’t help but smile, remembering that she used to stand in the park in her bare feet, spread her arms wide, and tilt her face up to the light for energy and inspiration of ideas for her creativity. What to draw, sketch, paint, or sculpt. For as long as she could remember, she’d felt a special kinship to the sun and its rays. It”s rising and falling. Its brilliance. The feel of its light on her skin would give her glimmers and bring deep joy. Even as a child, she believed it had followed her everywhere from its prominence in the sky.
In fact, she was luxuriating in the sunlight when she first met Lorenzo…
The summer winds blew gently, raising Josephine’s wild curls back from her face as she sat in the middle of a colorful blanket in the small park near her studio apartment. She paused in the sketch she was doing of a little girl being gently pushed on the swing by her father. She set aside her hardcover sketch book, wiggling her fingers to release the tension of gripping the charcoal pencil. The sun was high in the sky. She was thankful for the tank top she wore with cut-off jean shorts that cupped her round buttocks, leaving the already brown complexion of her legs exposed for tanning.
Leaning back on her hands, she kicked off her stacked-heel sandals and crossed her ankles. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, loving the feel of the heat. She took in slow breaths before releasing a long moan of pure pleasure.
“Is there anything better than the feel of the sun?” she asked aloud before rotating her ankles.
“Yes,” a deep male voice with a smooth Spanish accent said. “The sight of you enjoying thefeel of the sun.”
She opened her eyes. A tall man with jet-black waist-length hair was standing in front of where she lay and looking down at her. With the sun outlining his sinewy frame and the wind lifting the ends of his straight hair, he was a stunning sight. So much so that words escaped her, and her heartbeat picked up its pace. High cheekbones, strong chin, soft lips, and long lashes made for a very handsome man. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” she softly admitted, unable to do anything but speak the truth.
He smiled, revealing dimples and nice teeth.
The pace became thunderous.
“Like a model,” she continued, sitting up and reaching for her sketchbook and pencil.
The man chuckled. “Should I pose?” he questioned, sounding amused as he looked down at the quick strokes of her pencil to pad.
“Huh?” she asked, already lost in recreating his image in great detail–including his endearing slightly crooked smile.
She glanced up at him to gather more specifics and make comparisons, but her attention was focused on her work. Art was her greatest joy. It gave her endless delight and excitement. Her heart raced. Her cheeks wereflushed. She felt as if she was soaring among the clouds and framed by the light of the sun.
“I’m Lorenzo Léon Cortez,” he said.
“And I’m Josephine Rivers, Lorenzo Léon Cortez,” she said. “Now, no more talking. I’m working on that jawline.”
He chuckled. “And if I walk away?” he mused.
She looked up at him with startled eyes. “No, please,” she begged delicately, holding up hersketchpad to show him. “Let me finish.”
Lorenzo eyed the drawing. “Wow. You’re excellent,” he said with several small nods of appreciation.
“I know,” she said with confidence before continuing her sketching. “I was born to create.”
“Me too, Josie,” he said.“You look more like a Josie than a Josephine.”
I like that.
“What do you do?” she asked as she paused to tilt her head this way and that as she studied her creation.
“I’m a chef at Nouveau,” he said.
She looked up to find his eyes watching her. Closely. Intimately. It made her slightly breathless. “Impressive,” she said, thinking of the small but popular restaurant that served French cuisine and was far out of her budget.
“I was born to create…delicious food,” he said.
They shared a brief smile.
“Are you good at it?” she asked, her heart pounding so hard as she took in the man who looked like a warrior against the backdrop of the brightly shining sun.
Her sketch was forgotten for a few moments as she watched him quietly study her–from her curly hair down to her bared feet without missing anything. Somehow, his gaze felt as potent as a lover’s touch.
With a grin, he locked his eyes with hers and said, “I’m good at everything.”
She shivered and pursed her gloss-covered lips to release a breath–and hopefully some of the pressure he was building. “So am I,” she promised softly, biting her bottom lip.
His black eyes seemed to darken with the intensity of his gaze. And then he smiled. Slowly.
“Hold that thought,” she said, pressing her smooth brown thighs together to ease the sudden throb of her bud that he awakened with that look. “And that pose.”
He gave her a brief nod to acknowledge her request.
Josephine set aside the chemistry pulsing between her and the handsome stranger. She gave all her energy and attention to the sketch, focusing on his eyes. She so very badly wanted to capture the beauty and the heat in the ebon depths. The intensity and allure.
As she put the final touches on his long and lush lashes, she wondered how his eyes would look as he climaxed.
“Lorenzo Léon Cortez, the sexy chef, do you have a wife or girlfriend?” she asked, signing the bottom of the sketch with a cursive letter J.
“No.”
She snapped the sketchbook closed and lifted her hand to him. He took it. The warmth of his touch was intoxicating as he pulled her up to her feet. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him as she held on to his hand and stroked her thumb across his inner wrist.
Lorenzo looked down at the touch and then raised his black eyes to lock them with hers. In them was the desire she knew she sparked.
“And would you like a new lover, Lorenzo Léon Cortez?” she asked boldly.
Josephine lived life by doing what she wanted and who she wanted when she wanted. She never let the illusions of the world dictate to her what was wrong or right. It was her life, her body, and her choice. She allowed herself a slight grin as she held his steady gaze with one of her own and enjoyed the flicker of surprise.
“Sí,” he answered before taking the lead and gripping her wrist tighter as he pulled her close.
She raised up on the tips of her pink painted toes as he lowered his head and caught her mouth in a tantalizing kiss that blazed hotter than the sun…
They had been inseparable for the next year, lost in their passions for their art and each other. She had found an adventurous soul in him who didn’t see her ways as odd or judge her whimsy. Instead, he would kick off his shoes and stand in the sunlight with her. Dream with her. Run and laugh in the sun with her. Wild and free.
A perfect mate.
Until I got pregnant.
Back then, what she wished had been the happiest time of her life had been fraught with worry and then plagued by heartache when she decided to end the relationship. She’d made a choice, and in her mind, she put her baby”s well-being and Lorenzo”s wishes ahead of what she wanted—for them to remain together and raise their child in love.
A knock on her closed office door led to her turning the chair and releasing memories of what was and what would never be. “Come in,” she called, picking up her pen and removing herserious expression to feed the impression of her happily working at her desk.
Marisa Turner, one of the bank tellers, opened the door and stepped inside. The petite, slender young woman crossed the office to stand before her desk with a smile. She recently graduated with her associate degree in Creative Writing. She was intelligent and open to learning. Most managers wouldn’t have given the woman the job when she made it clear she wasquitting with the first major book deal she secured. Josephine had seen a lot of herself in Marisa and hired her anyway.
Pregnant with a child and putting herself in the position to be its sole financial provider, Josephine had scurried the papers and applied for any position available. For some, she was overqualified; for others, she had the education but not the experience. There’d been many interviews and only a few offerings for a job. The bank teller position paid the most, started soon, and offered training, so she shifted her focus from a life of creativity to financial stability. And once she learned there was a path to advancement and a higher salary, she made becoming a manager her mission.
Before her pregnancy, Josephine was okay with surviving on canned food for the sake of her art. For many days, she’d purchased art supplies to finish a commission. She suffered through using candles at night because her lights were cut off for nonpayment. Back then, it had been an adventure, and none of it stole her joy because she had the love of her art and the freedom to create.
None of that was suitable for a child.
“Hey, Marisa. How can I help you?” Josephine asked the other woman as she motioned with her hand for her to sit in one of the leather chairs positioned to face the front of her desk.
“Two things,” Marisa said, crossing her legs as she rubbed her hands together in what could be a nervous gesture.
Josephine set her pen down and locked her fingers atop her cluttered desk. “Fire away,” she said.
“I know you’ve been swamped with monthly reports and cooped up in this office all morning, so I wanted to check on you,” Marisa began.
Josephine gave her a warm smile. “I brought lunch today. I tried making lasagna for the firsttime last night, and it wasn”t half-bad,” she said with a giggle. “Fire away again.”
“Okay. I’m interested in the training program you told me about,” Marisa said, her words flying together like she forced them free. “I think I would make a great branch manager like you one day.”
Josephine forced a grin and hoped it appeared to come with ease. Although she always ensured her staff knew of the same management training program she had entered, it hadn’t been her vision for the young woman when she hired her. If it wasn’t for motherhood, Josephine would have never given up her art…and she hoped Marisa would succeed in her writing and leave the job. “Well, you know I always encourage advancement because I started as a bank teller,” she said, picking up the pen again to lightly tap against her desk. “But I also want to share my regrets.”
Marisa’s slender face shaped with confusion. “Okay,” she hesitantly said.
Josephine gave her a look, which she hoped offered comfort. “Once upon a time, I was an artist. A sculptor mainly,” she admitted, realizing how odd it sounded for her to say it when she seemed so far removed from it. “I only wished I had been smart like you to make room for my work and my art.”
Marisa’s eyes filled with surprise.“Really?” she asked.
“I sketched, painted, did photography, wrote poetry, sculpted, and even did a little songwriting,” she said, leaning back in her chair with a smile at her past. “But I put that all aside and focused on this career.”
Marisa looked down at her hands as if contemplating the possibility of that for herself.
“I will absolutely get you info on the program and help you with it,” Josephine said, sitting up straight and returning to a more professional demeanor. “But try to make time for both your career and your purpose. I’ve learned that one is not always the other. Don’t leave your art behind because it may be hard to find your way back to it.”
“I won’t,” Marisa promised as she nodded in understanding.
And I did.
Yet another regret.