Chapter 14 Lesley
The clanking in the kitchen woke me up from a much-needed nap.
I’d been busy as hell since coming back from my trip, but thankfully, it was local business.
Coco was changing me, slowly but surely.
I never took naps, but I did now. She even had me taking ashwagandha.
I shook my head as I headed to the bathroom to freshen up.
I smelled it before I saw it. Something rich was moving through the whole penthouse, a smell that meant somebody had been cooking since morning.
A nigga had lucked up for real. Coco was a baddie, could cook like she'd been doing it her whole life, and had me reconsidering every decision I’d made before her.
I headed toward the kitchen and found Coco at the stove in an apron over a sundress, hair pinned up, one earbud in, moving between three different things at once like she was conducting something.
The prime rib was in the oven. A pot of something was reducing on the back burner. She had a cutting board full of vegetables and a separate pan for au gratin potatoes, and the whole room already smelled of butter and cream.
I leaned in the doorway and watched her for a second before she noticed me.
“You’re up,” she said without turning around.
“How’d you know?”
“You always clear your throat when you first wake up.” She stirred the pot without looking at me. “Sit down, I’m almost done with this reduction. How was your nap?”
“Changing my life. You got me getting soft, though.”
“You’re welcome, baby,” she smiled with a wink as I took a seat at the island and watched her work. She moved through the kitchen as she’d always been in it, mine first, hers now, ours somewhere in between.
“Co.”
“Mm.”
“I could've paid somebody to do all this.”
She turned and looked at me over her shoulder. “I know that Mr. Pay For Shit.”
“So why have you been in here since eight this morning?”
She turned back to the stove. “Because your father is coming to my home for the first time and I wanted to cook for him myself.” She said it simply. “This is how I do things, Lesley. Let me do things.”
I let it go. There was no arguing with Coco when she’d decided something.
“What can I do?”
“Set the table. Good dishes, not the everyday ones.” She pointed toward the cabinet on the left without looking. “And call Malice, tell him to have somebody bring up the wine I ordered. It’s downstairs.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She cut her eyes at me and gave me a warm smile.
“Do you think he’s going to like me?” she asked.
“Who cares?”
She stopped and turned to me. I looked at her and waited for her answer. Maybe before this became more than we’d agreed upon, I’d care, but she was my wife in all ways. Fuck what anyone had to say about it or her.
“Lessy, I care.”
“That nickname, Co, is gon get you fucked.”
“Be serious. Will he like me?”
“Yes, he’s going to love you, but he’s never been one to take marriage seriously after losing my mom. So, anything he says about it is coming from a place of bitterness. It’s not personal.”
“Noted.”
“Which fork goes first?” I asked from the dining room.
“Salad fork is on the outside, dinner fork is closest to the plate.” She didn't even pause. “And please don’t put the knives facing the wrong way. It bothers me.”
“How does a knife face the wrong way?”
“Lesley.”
“I’m asking a real question.”
She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, walked straight past me to the table, and rearranged two settings without a word.
I watched her lean over the table and felt the pull before I’d decided about it.
I caught her from behind, one arm around her waist, and put my mouth close to her ear.
“You look good in my kitchen,” I said quietly. “Smell even better.”
She went still for just a second before she relaxed back into me. “You're distracting me.”
“I know, that’s the plan. Let me put you on the table real quick.”
I turned her face toward me and kissed her, her lips glossed and full against mine. She kissed me back the way she’d been kissing me since we crossed that line. There was no going back on this.
The elevator dinged, causing us to separate.
I groaned as Malice came through with two bottles of wine tucked under his arm and a third in his hand. He looked at us, looked at the table, looked back at us.
“Wine,” he said, setting them on the counter in the kitchen without further comment.
Coco smoothed her apron and walked back to the kitchen. I straightened my collar.
“Not a word,” I told him.
“Wasn't gonna say nothing, boss.” He said with a smile. “They’ll be here in twenty.”
They arrived at seven.
My father walked in the way he always did, filling whatever room he entered without trying, suit pressed, presence preceding him.
Karyn was on his arm. She was a beautiful woman, but I never trusted her or treated her any differently than did any other woman he brought around.
I didn't need anyone playing momma to me. However, Karyn had been around the longest at three years. It was the way she carried herself, like she’d earned something, that irritated me with her. I steered clear of her talkative ass.
Coco met them at the door in a strapless gown molded to her curves, black lace tracing every line of her waist before falling into a sweeping leopard print skirt that brushed the floor behind her.
Every step sent the fabric shifting around her legs, and every eye in the room followed it.
She had on gold from her diamond earrings down to the gold diamond choker I'd put around her neck myself, and whatever Karyn thought she'd earned evaporated in about four seconds.
“Mr. Grimson,” Coco said, extending her hand to my father with a smile that was warm and direct. “I'm glad you came.”
Pops took her hand and held it for a second, looking at her the way he looked at things he was deciding about. “Our pleasure, beautiful. It smells like somebody knows what they’re doing in a kitchen.”
“I hope so. I’ve been at it all day.” She stepped back to let them in and turned to Karyn. “Karyn, welcome. Can I take your wrap?”
Karyn smiled, but it wasn’t genuine. “Thank you. It smells wonderful in here.”
“Prime rib. Lesley mentioned it was a favorite.”
My father raised an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged. He looked back at Coco, recalculating something.
We moved to the living room for drinks while Coco finished plating. I got up after about ten minutes and went to the kitchen.
“What you need me to do?”
“Nothing, baby. Go sit with your father.”
“I can carry something out.”
She looked at me over her shoulder. “Lesley. I have a system. You’re going to disrupt my system. Go sit down.”
I went and sat down.
Five minutes later, I was back in the doorway. I didn’t want her to overwork herself or try to impress my father, but she was adamant about my not helping. Once again, she pointed at the living room without turning around. I went back.
My father watched the second redirect from his chair with his bourbon and said nothing. But the corner of his mouth moved.
Karyn asked about the penthouse. The view. The decor. The questions of a woman taking inventory. Coco came in to refresh drinks mid-conversation, answered everything graciously, and went back to her kitchen without leaving Karyn anything to build on.
Dinner was everything she’d promised, but I had no doubts.
The prime rib came out perfect, and the reduction she’d been working on all afternoon pooled alongside it on the plate.
The au gratin was rich and layered, the roasted vegetables beautiful and charred, sitting alongside everything.
She’d thought about every detail. My father cut into another piece and went quiet.
“Colecion,” he said after a moment. “This is exceptional.”
“Seriously, Coco, it is. I thought we’d be having fried chicken and greens.”
Coco scoffed, and my hand went to my hip. That was the rudest shit, and I almost shot this bitch on principle. Coco placed a hand on my arm.
“Karyn, that’s your last chance playing with me and trying to insult me. Let’s enjoy dinner before I unleash my husband on his father's special friend.”
Coco tucked a piece of hair behind her ear with a wink. Her diamond sparkled, and Karyn was infuriated and lucky at the same time. I relaxed and looked at my father, silently telling him to get his bitch on a leash.
“How did you learn how to cook like this, young lady?”
“My mother taught me before she passed. As a kid, it was survival; now it’s something I enjoy.”
“My condolences. Elaborate on survival. I don’t know your story, Coco. Is it okay if I call you that?” he asked, looking between us.”
“Nah, it ain’t,” I replied, and she swatted at me.
“Mr. Grimson, Coco is fine. And to answer your question my mom battled cancer most of my teen years. I’ve been on my own for a long time.”
My father set his fork down. Not dramatically. Just set it down and looked at her.
“You've been on your own since a teen,” he said.
“All alone, but it made me who I am. No pity, please.” She met his eyes. “I put myself through school, built my business, handled everything that needed handling.” A slight lift at the corner of her mouth. “I'm good at figuring things out.”
The table was quiet for a moment. Karyn reached for her wine. My father looked at me and then back at Coco. His expression had shifted, measured, the way he looked at people he’d underestimated.
“Accept my apologies, Colecion.”
“For?”… “Oh, you’re his father, it’s water under a bridge.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “But hear it from me it wasn't a slight.”