The Billionaire’s Full Figured Desire

Chapter 5

“And you’re pretty much all caught up,” Frida said.

Terrence sat across from me, twirling a drained wine glass in his hands. “You were right, that was a long story. But it was definitely worth it. And I bet it was just as worth it to go through it all, knowing that the reward is being where you are now.”

Frida nodded. She’d long since finished her crema di Pomodoro appetizer and had already ordered the two entrees of lobster Thermidor after Terrence had decided to join her in her self-appointed mission to critique the restaurant that some considered the rival to her own.

“So what’s tonight, your night off?” Terrence asked.

“One of many,” Frida said. “Said no Head Chef ever.”

Terrence laughed at this. “Oh, I can imagine. Ever since I got into the business of owning restaurants, I’ve recently begun to take more of an interest in the businesses that I own. And food critiquing, as well. I mean, my name is quite a big one in certain circles, might as well put that influence to good use, am I right?”

“You’re right.” Frida nodded. “And on the subject, we’ve talked enough about me, I want to talk about you.”

“Demand any question, and I’ll answer to aid you.” Terrence sat back in his chair, spreading his arms coolly.

Frida already knew what answer she had percolating in her mind. “What’s up with you and blondie?”

“Blondie?” Terrence asked, puzzled.

“The lady you were with,” Frida prompted him.

“Oh!” Terrence abashedly ran his pale hand through his dark hair. “You mean Ophelia.”

“That’s her name? Ophelia?” Frida made a face. “Does anyone even have names like that anymore?”

“You’d be surprised,” Terrence said. “She’s a…a long-time family friend. Basically, our parents have always wanted us to get together, as it were. And in my family, and in hers as well, names like Ophelia are the done thing.”

“And by “families like yours”, you mean rich families? Upper class/Billionaire families?” Frida checked.

“Basically.” Terrence nodded. “I have an older brother and an older sister. Their names are Quantavius and Tabitha. So I got a fairly normal name when you compare it.”

“I suppose you did,” Frida chortled. “So where is your family from?”

“Canada, actually,” Terrence said, to Frida’s surprise. “Yeah, British Columbia, born and bred. We moved down here when I was pretty young, though, as my father was extending his business. Which is now my business, I guess.”

“Right.” Frida nodded. “Well, don’t look now, but I think the food’s on its way.”

She was right. As she looked up, a young waitress was walking towards their table, carrying a large tray, with two plates on it. She served them their dishes with a smile and made herself scarce.

Frida looked down at her plate. “In your…uh…professional opinion, what’d you think?”

“Plated nicely,” Terrence admitted. “I’ll give it that much. Lobster shell has a nice sheen.”

“I noticed that too,” Frida said. “It looks like they gave it a brush down with extra virgin olive oil. Always a nice touch.”

“You can tell that just by looking?” Terrence was impressed.

“Well, I do the same thing, don’t I?” Frida smiled.

Terrence nodded. “I suppose you do. So is Thermidor one of your specialties?”

Frida shrugged. “I don’t like to use the word specialty, a good chef never limits herself. But if I had to name one dish as my specialty, as you put it, I would say it’s…Tave Kosi.”

“Tave Kosi,” Terrence echoed. “Isn’t that a dish from Eastern Europe?”

“Albania.” Frida nodded. “Good eye. Or…good ear?”

Terrence chortled. “It’s the one with the lamb, isn’t it?”

Frida nodded. “Lamb and rice filling, seasoned with garlic and oregano, baked in eggs and unflavored yogurt. I mean, that’s the traditional way that you’re supposed to make it, but in my version, I do it a bit differently.”

“Bit of a rebel, are we?” Terrence asked, an amused edge to his tone.

Frida couldn’t resist grinning mischievously. “You’re supposed to use boneless lamb, but there’s something a lot more satisfying about having bones in it, for me. And I always top it with a little Parmigiano, which, again, is really off-recipe, but who’s really checking?”

“Who’s checking indeed,” Terrence agreed. “So perhaps we should try this, then?”

The lobster Thermidor, to Frida’s pleasant surprise, was every bit as good as its reputation suggested. It was decadent and creamy, the lobster meat was perfectly cooked and the brandy in the sauce hit her with a gentle burn.

“That is delicious,” Terrence said, from opposite her.

“Isn’t it?” Frida agreed. “This place has really got some big hitters on its menu.”

“I really can’t argue with you there,” Terrence said through a mouthful of lobster.

The two of them talked and ate, and ate and talked, and pretty soon the atmosphere between them was electric. Frida had to admit, she’d had some reservations about this man after seeing what had happened between him and the woman he’d been there with, Ophelia, but after more than an hour of conversation, she was coming to the realization that he was just a genuinely nice guy. He was obscenely rich, and although he pointed out he was of billionaire status, he was not snooty, or stuck-up, which was both a rare combination and one that Frida found extremely attractive. Another unusual factor about Terrence was his clear interest in her – something Frida wasn’t so used to.

She’d seen plenty of men who looked like Terrence, just as handsome, perhaps not as rich, but wealthy, and just as well-dressed, and they hardly ever gave her a second look.

There were people out there who had a thing for African American women, and plus-size women too, but excuse Frida if she didn’t feel flattered being the object of someone’s s*x-fuelled fantasy, an exotic forbidden fruit for someone to gorge themselves on. She didn’t like being around men who had “always wanted a black girl,” because she felt like she was an antique tea set, and he was an enthusiastic buyer had been outbid at an auction.