Power Couple (21 page)

CHAPTER 33

P
resented with Yancy's appetizer, I took a very small bite. I chewed briefly and then quickly swallowed it down. Being a vegetarian, ingesting too much meat could cause me to hurl.

I rattled off my rehearsed critique, telling him that his dish didn't cut it. Yancy disagreed with my negative comments and didn't mind telling me so.
What a holier-than-thou creep!

Michelangelo came forward and I took a spoonful of his Crab Bisque. “This is awesome. So creamy and smooth,” I raved.

“Thank you, Cori. Thanks so much,” he said graciously.

The entrées were next, and when I tasted Yancy's dish, I couldn't help making faces and going off script with disparaging comments. I hadn't planned on busting on his dish, but his ox tails had too much heat and the broth was oily and unbearably salty.

Although I didn't have the guts to literally poison the arrogant son of a bitch in the manner in which Grandma Eula Mae had done away with her enemy, I damn sure could cut Yancy down a peg or two with my poisonous tongue.

Once again, Yancy didn't take my criticism well. He made excuses and bickered with me. His ungracious behavior was not a good look for him.

When Michelangelo stepped forward and I took a forkful of his food, my taste buds did the happy dance.

“The shrimp is perfectly cooked. This dish is very well composed.
I love the balance of the cheese and grits—the texture is spot on. And the sautéed mustard greens, oh my God, so good—what is that tangy note I'm getting?”

“It's apple cider vinegar,” he replied with a shy smile.

His humbleness was such a stark contrast to the obnoxious preacher. There was no doubt in my mind that when the show aired, Michelangelo would be a fan favorite.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Josh lurking in the shadows. I could feel him glaring at me, and I wasn't surprised when the director yelled, “Cut.”

“A word, Cori,” Josh hissed, and then hustled me off set. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Telling the truth about Yancy's food,” I replied sassily.

“Are you nuts? Everything is in place for Yancy to win. You can't take it upon yourself to change the plans.”

“I don't know how they choose winners on other cooking competitions, but I'm going to use integrity when I make my selection.”

“You don't make decisions. You do as you're told.”

“Not anymore. This is my show, bitch. So kiss my ass and deal with it!”

“Do not fuck with me, Cori. I'll have this show cancelled before I allow you to destroy a program that I created.”

“Do what you gotta do, motherfucker, but I'm calling the shots at this finale. I'm going to rely on my palate and not your stupid notes to critique the food that I taste. So, go fuck yourself and get out of my way,” I hissed, giving him a hard shove.

As I threw my head up and strutted away, I could feel Grandma Eula Mae smiling down on me.

The dessert segment was next and Yancy's peach ice cream was the bomb. Keeping it real, I told him it was the most delicious ice cream ever created on the show.

But as tasty as his ice cream was, it couldn't begin to compete with Michelangelo's Key Lime Pie with little flecks of fresh lime mixed throughout the pie filling.

Finally, it was time to announce the winner, and despite what was written on the card inside the envelope, I proclaimed on national TV that Michelangelo was the winner and no one could dispute my word!

I could see Josh holed up in a corner, looking like he wanted to choke me out. I imagined that he was telepathically hurling all sorts of derogatory remarks at me.

I laughed inwardly.
To thine own self be true.
Whatever the consequences of my actions, at least I'd be able to look in the mirror and say that I'd upheld my convictions.

Confetti and balloons floated from the ceiling and the finalists' family members seemingly came out of nowhere. Michelangelo's mother and his two sisters ran out on the stage and engulfed him in a hug.

Yancy had a devastated look on his face while his wife and children stood in the background sulking.

Next, all the losing contestants, minus Angus, charged the stage, clapping enthusiastically and congratulating Michelangelo. I had no idea where they'd been hidden. Their presence was a big surprise to me.

Ralphie was among them. Even though I'd secretly paid him off, my guilt over the way he'd been forced off the show prevented me from making eye contact with him.

Since the network had the responsibility of keeping the name of the winner a secret until the show aired on TV, the celebration that followed was held within the confines of the studio. A DJ materialized and began setting up his equipment. The food was catered by the behind-the-scenes chefs and there was plenty of liquor to ensure a good time.

I made my obligatory rounds, shaking hands with Michelangelo's family, and I chatted briefly with Yancy's wife and kids.

I noticed that Josh and his cronies didn't bother to hang around. They'd left right after the taping, and I didn't intend to linger around, either. Leaving the festive atmosphere, I strode to my dressing room, intending to pack up and slip out the rear door. There was no point in expecting my driver to be waiting for me in the front of the building. Being on Josh's hit list, I was certain he'd already canceled that amenity. I wondered in what other ways he planned to retaliate. He'd probably stop footing the bill for my assistant's salary and expect me to pay Ellie out of pocket from now on.

The show had wrapped, but instead of feeling jubilant, I felt off center. I'd jeopardized my career over my convictions, and now I had to face the consequences. I bit my lower lip, terrified of what the future held for me. Then I had a sudden epiphany. The show was called,
Cookin' with Cori,
so how the hell could Josh replace me?

The answer to that question quickly flashed in my mind, and I realized that I was doomed. Josh was such a vindictive little twit, he'd figure out a way to get rid of me while keeping the show running with a series of guest-hosts. Even worse, he'd probably stick that thirsty Azaria Fierro in my place. He was so far up her ass, I had the impression that he wanted to
be
her.

My agent had his work cut out for him in finding me suitable work. I'd turned down being the brand ambassador of an up-and-coming knife company, but now I was reconsidering that decision. If I didn't secure a number of endorsement deals, I could end having to earn a living by holding cooking classes at a community center. Oh, the shame!

At least my husband's career was secure, I told myself as I lethargically threw a few of my personal items in a tote bag. Ellie could pick up the rest of my belongings at the Chelsea studio tomorrow.

The moment I picked up my phone and called a car service, it seemed that the wrap party got extremely loud and the noise filtered into my dressing room. The music was pumping so loud and their voices were so boisterous, I could barely hear the person I was speaking to at the car service, and she could hardly hear me. I had to practically scream out the address of the warehouse as well as my instructions to have the car pick me up at the rear entrance.

I was stressed and my head started pounding, again. I took another Advil, but it didn't alleviate the pain. I had an hour to wait for the car, but unable to deal with the noise from the party, I decided to go outside and get some fresh air.

I slipped out the back door and heard it lock behind me.
Damn!
Locked out, I looked around my environment. The rear area was more rundown than the front and there was nowhere to sit except for a few stray cinder blocks. I considered leaning against the structure, but it looked filthy, and would surely stain my pants suit.

I thought about pounding on the door to get back inside but realized it would be a waste of time—no one would hear me. As if my life wasn't fucked enough, I was forced to stand in heels for an hour.

Suddenly, I heard the doorknob jangle, and I whirled around. To my surprise, Michelangelo was standing in the doorway, looking like a winner.

“Hey, congrats, again,” I said, breaking into a genuine smile.

“Thanks. It doesn't seem real, yet.” He looked at me oddly. “What are you doing out here in the dark? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine—waiting for my ride.”

“I needed to get away from the noise for a moment. Mind if I join you while you wait?”

“Sure, I love your company,” I said sincerely.

He unlocked the door from the inside, making sure he didn't get locked out, and then stood next to me.

“You look troubled. Are you sure everything's all right?”

“Couldn't be better. But enough about me, what are you going to do with the prize money…open a restaurant?” I asked, merely making small talk.

“I had planned to use the money to open a restaurant in my dad's honor, but now that it's a reality, I realize that a hundred thousand won't go very far in the restaurant world. To do what I intended, I'd need more backing. Maybe a partner. I may use the money to travel. Learn the food culture in places like Africa, Asia, and Spain. That kind of education is invaluable.”

“Traipsing around the world sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It would be more fun if you were joining me,” he said solemnly.

“Don't start, Michel. You know how complicated my life is.”

“Yeah, so why don't you let me make it uncomplicated?” He swiveled me around, forcing me to face him—to see the hunger that filled his eyes. He looped his arms around me, pulling me close with a possessiveness that I was too weary—too beaten down to fight. The chemistry between us was undeniable. Simply giving in to the heat seemed easier than continuing to fight a battle I couldn't win, and so I melted into him without protest.

His kiss was intense. Aggressive. His tongue invaded my mouth like a conquering army. Feeling his hard dick pressed into my groin, my body undulated against him.

His hand slid down to my crotch, which he discovered was moist. Breaking the kiss, he looked at me and smirked. His expression told me he wasn't at all surprised that my pussy was dripping with anticipation.

Michelangelo lowered his mouth to my ear, brushing it lightly with his lips. “You know you want me as much as I want you. Am I lying?”

I didn't respond.

Taking my silence as consent, he backed me into the grubby
exterior of the warehouse. The idea of protecting my Carolina Herrera pants suit was the last thing on my mind.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back in surrender. While his lips grazed my bared throat, his fingers busied themselves, unbuttoning my jacket and deftly unhooking my bra. He cupped both breasts with his warm hands, and I shivered with delight. Dipping his head to suckle, his tongue danced across the nipple of my right breast, rapidly bringing it to a sharp point. I felt his thumb graze the left nipple, drawing slow deliberate circles around it. I moaned and clutched his jacket in both fists as he went back and forth, teasing each nipple in turn, firing darts of pleasure throughout my entire system. One hand pulled away from the sumptuous mounds of my breasts and meandered downward, caressing my thigh, moving slowly toward my hip, and then around to the front of my pants.

Expert fingers unhooked the clasp as I stood trembling before him. His hot hands palmed my ass and then, his fingertips traveled around my waist before wandering to my tummy. He slowly dragged his fingers downward, leaving a line of fire in their wake. They journeyed lower and lower, and then grazed across the velvet texture of my inner lips. I spread my legs, giving his adventurous fingers access to my heated interior. One finger, then two, slid in and out of me gently, but with insistence, until slick, leaking moisture revealed that I was ready for him.

Momentarily insane, I didn't care that we were outside—exposed. I mumbled how badly I needed him as I grabbed his waistband and freed his dick. Freed from confinement, the full length of his shaft speared toward me. My hand closed around its wide girth and I aimed the helmeted head toward my throbbing clit.

Michelangelo bent his knees a little as he drove himself deep inside me.

I wanted more of him. No, I wanted
all
of him, and so I pulled
one leg out my designer pants, allowing the expensive fabric to drag the dirty ground. With newfound freedom, I propped my foot on a tall stack of cinder blocks to give Michelangelo more access. He anchored me with his arms wrapped around my waist and then proceeded to work his concrete manhood inside me.

He was hunched over and I met his thrust by standing on the tiptoe of one foot while the sole of the other was planted on the top cinder block. The gentle, yet persistent fuck that Michelangelo had begun, soon morphed into a furiously intense coupling.

My mind drifted a bit above the frenzy, wondering how we must have looked. With me splayed open and straining to meet his height and him bent low as he thrust into me, we must have looked like contortionists from Cirque du Soleil as we slow-fucked in such an awkward position.

Strangely, our awkward position made it easy for him to reach my spot. With every stroke, my stomach spasmed and I drew air in desperate gasps. As I climaxed, the only way to keep the volume of my voice down was to bite my lip so hard that I tasted blood.

Michelangelo came shortly after I did. Groaning my name, his body shuddered violently, but he didn't let me go. In that spinning vortex of ecstasy we had created, he remained an anchor, holding me tightly.

CHAPTER 34

M
averick returned from Brazil with a sun-bronzed hue to his brown skin. Not only did he look exceptionally handsome, but he was also in great spirits. I assumed his cheerful disposition was the result of his slutty adventures in Brazil. Fucking his brains out for seven days straight did for Maverick what a week-long spa retreat did for the average person. I wondered if the hookers in Brazil had put up with his penchant for biting, or was that something only Russian whores were into?

After spending three nights of passionate sex with Michelangelo, I was feeling pretty good, my damn self. Now that Michelangelo had decided to travel the world, he could appreciate not being tied down with one person, and our “friends with benefits” situation was much more appealing to him, now.

For the next few weeks, the two of us were scheduled to do a press junket, which required overnight stays in some instances—like our upcoming photo shoot in Hawaii for
Bon Appétit
magazine. We were being flown to beautiful Waikiki to be photographed on the beach with a spread of delectable Southern cuisine.

I was super excited about the trip. By day, Michelangelo and I would pose for pictures on a private beach, and I'd be able to feast my eyes on his magnificent physique for hours at a time. But our evenings would be even steamier. Staying at the same hotel, we'd have complete freedom to slip in and out of each other's hotel suite
and no one would be the wiser. I got goosebumps imagining his large hands awakening my skin—his mouth and skillful tongue teasing me to near madness.

My personal involvement with Michelangelo made me feel less agitated about Maverick's sexual shenanigans. For once, I wasn't the least bit concerned about what he was up to. Had I known that having a sidepiece could be so emotionally healing—so soothing to the soul—I would have gotten one a long time ago. I suppose it took the right person to make me aware that life didn't have to revolve around my husband.

Remarkably, Josh's anger over my breach of contract subsided and he became somewhat friendly. I was initially baffled by his pleasantness, but his unexpected civility made perfect sense after Ellie informed me that she learned from Josh's assistant that the network executives had seen the dailies of my show. They loved my sassy one-liners and the way I had interacted with the contestants so much, they were eager to pick up
Cookin' with Cori
for a third season.

With a stable marriage, a successful career, and a sizzling new love affair, my life was fabulous! My only complaint was the relentless phone calls from Sophia. What a pest! While in Hawaii, I'd be able to get some well-deserved respite from her constant bitching and lamenting. In case of emergency, I'd advise her to contact Maverick during my absence. Maybe she'd shut the fuck up if he stopped by her place and tightened up that pussy for her.

• • •

I engaged the incline feature of my treadmill and powered uphill as intense workout music blasted from my headset. In beast mode, I huffed and puffed, sweating like crazy as I got in some last-minute cardio along with a little thigh and butt-toning before my trip to Hawaii with Michelangelo.

The beach shoot was all about displaying my food and showing off Michelangelo's abs. I planned to wear a cover-up in the photos, so I wasn't worried about my body looking perfect in a swimsuit; I simply wanted to be as toned as possible when my boo stripped off my clothes.

I rarely pushed myself when working out, but today I was going to extremes, alternating between running and steep-hill climbing. In a zone, all I could think about was heating up the sheets in Hawaii.

In the midst of fantasizing about sex on the beach, Maverick suddenly came hurtling through the door of our home gym. He was holding up his phone, waving it, and yelling something that I couldn't hear with loud music pumping in my ears.

“What's wrong?” I asked, yanking off my headset.

“What is this shit?” Phone in hand, his arm was outstretched as he stomped toward me.

Confused as to why Maverick was acting the damn fool and interrupting my workout, I turned off the treadmill. He thrust the phone in my hand and when I gazed at the screen, my vision blurred. In freeze-frame mode was an image of Michelangelo and me, kissing passionately. I was so totally unprepared to see photographic proof of my indiscretion that my legs went wobbly. I had to hold on to the handle bars in order to remain steady on my feet.

“Hit ‘Play,'” Maverick demanded with a look of rage in his eyes.

Having no desire whatsoever to witness the video, I blinked rapidly as if I had been slapped across the face. I was in such a panic, I was close to jumping off the treadmill and haul-assing out of the workout room. But where would I hide? Mechanically, I obeyed my husband's command and tapped the screen. In a state of shock, I stood on the treadmill and watched a video recording of Michelangelo and me outside the warehouse on the night of the finale. I stared at the footage with my eyes wide and my mouth wide open. We were fucking like two animals in heat, and it wasn't
easy to stand there and observe myself behaving like a savage. Suddenly parched, I grabbed my water bottle from the side compartment of the treadmill and took a desperate gulp. Dazed, I needed to lie down, and so I got off the treadmill and handed Maverick his phone. With my mind in a fog, I thought my feet were heading for the doorway, but having lost all sense of direction, I found myself pacing in a circle.

“What are you doing? Stop walking in circles like a freakin' lunatic,” Maverick bellowed. He gave me a look of such intense hatred, I stopped moving and physically recoiled.

“How'd you get this?” I asked in a monotone.

“What the hell does it matter how I got it? What the hell possessed you to smash dude from your show—in public—like a dirty ho?”

Being called a “dirty ho” made me flinch, but being curious about who had taken the video and sent it to my husband's phone, my mind wandered. Then it hit me—Josh! There'd probably been hidden security cameras outside the warehouse and that devious queen had gotten hold of the perfect weapon to destroy me. No wonder he'd been acting so sickeningly sweet lately. He knew he was going to stab me in the back the entire time he'd been grinning in my face.

“How am I supposed to show my face around town with that filthy sex tape of my wife breaking the Internet?” Maverick looked down at the footage and then angrily hurled his phone, smashing it against the wall. Then, as if in anguish, he held his head with both hands and hollered. It was a long and loud, plaintive wail.

Seeing Maverick becoming unglued influenced me to pull myself together. “Get a grip, Mav. We have a powerful PR machine. They'll do damage control.”

“Nobody can fix this. It's over; we're both done. I used to kill myself on the football field to ensure we had a good life. And after
football, I continued to grind. Those endorsements that help us maintain our lifestyle didn't simply land in my lap; I busted my butt to get them. And now your dumb ass has destroyed everything I've worked so hard for.”

“You're upset, honey. I understand, but we aren't a hundred percent certain that the video has been posted online,” I said in a rational tone.

“Someone sent it to me, so I assume it's everywhere.” He yelled out every word and punctuated his tirade by kicking the treadmill.

“Who sent it?” I asked quietly, hoping my calmness would encourage him to take it down a few notches.

“I don't know; the sender was private.” He was still livid, speaking through clenched teeth, but at least he'd stopped yelling.

I went into action and used my phone to check gossip blogs, social media sites, and entertainment news. I couldn't find the video or any mention of it, thank God!

“It's not online, Mav. But I have a good idea who's behind this.”

“Who?”

“Josh. He's using the tape to blackmail me into giving in to his demands.”

“Josh is gay; why would he demand sex from you?”

“It's not about sex. It's about the show.”

Maverick stared at me inquiringly. “Why would Josh put something out there that could destroy the show?”

“We've been having creative differences, and I think he wants to replace me with Azaria Fierro.”

No longer composed, Maverick punched the wall. “Do you realize that if this shit gets out, I could lose my endorsement deals as well as my position at the network? What the hell were you thinking, fucking around with that kid?”

“He's not a kid. Michelangelo is a grown man.”

Maverick grimaced. “I hate that stupid-ass, pretentious-sounding
name. Ugh. Michelangelo.” He spat out the name as if it were a violation to his very soul. “How much is that motherfucker worth, Cori?” Maverick looked upward as if mentally calculating. “Let's see…he won the competition, so at least he has a few bucks in his pocket,” he said sarcastically. “You got yourself a hundred-thousand-dollar man. Wow. That's a hell of a downgrade, Cori. I hope the dick was worth it.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. And I kept them closed as if the way out of this nightmare was written on the insides of my lids.

“I don't get it. Don't you get all the dick you need from me?”

I opened my eyes. “Maybe I need more than a hard dick, Maverick.”

He shot me a look of disgust. “You could have fooled me. The way you came out of your pants and let them drag in the dirt, it looked to me like you were starving for some dick.”

“With all your whoring around, you can't talk,” I clapped back.

“The big difference is that I'm discreet. And I've always been honest with you. You're always reminding me about discretion and then you turn around and get with your boy toy out in the open. Letting him raw dog you up against a rundown building—like two vagrants who can't afford a hotel room.”

“I'm sorry, Mav. I didn't mean to—”

“Shut up with that lame excuse. You're well aware of the morality clause in my contract. Our brand—Mavcor—is a symbol of wholesomeness and your slutty conduct reflects on me, as well as you. This is so fucked up,” he lamented, rubbing his forehead circularly.

“You don't understand how lonely I get being married to you.”

“How the hell are you lonely? I take a boys' vacation to Brazil once a year, and I travel sometimes for work, but other than that, I come home to your ungrateful ass every single night.”

I laughed bitterly. “You come home, all right. And you bring sluts and whores home with you and fuck them in our bed, and expect me to accept the disrespect with a smile.”

“We agreed on an open marriage a long time ago, so don't start complaining about it now.”

“I never agreed to an open marriage. I only agreed to your having a sexual encounter once a year on your birthday. You took it upon yourself to take it further with the whores in Brazil. I didn't like it, but since you were doing your dirt outside the country, I dealt with it. But your obsession with prostitutes has gotten out of hand, leaving me feeling inadequate and lonely. Everyone envies us, but we both know there's nothing to envy about our bogus marriage.”

“Don't give me that sob story. If you had been honest with me, you could have been with your amateur cook on the up and up, but you made the decision to be a deceitful bitch. If your sex tape gets out, and I'm sure it will, I'm not going down with you. I'm distancing myself from you and your lewd behavior as of right the fuck now.”

“Mav! What are you saying?”

“You heard me. I'm packing my shit and leaving. My spokes-person will be making a statement later today about our imminent divorce.”

“You can't divorce me. What about our baby?”

“You mean
my
baby. I knocked up the hooker, so it's my child, and not yours. I'll raise my son on my own.”

The tale I'd woven about the ripped condom and Sophia getting pregnant by Maverick had come back to haunt me. “That baby belongs to both of us, Mav. Sophia didn't get pregnant by you.”

“What?”

“You wouldn't go along with the surrogate birth, so I tricked you into believing the condom broke the night you were with Sophia.
Sophia's not a prostitute; she's our surrogate, and she's carrying
our
child. I set it all up, and convinced her to pretend to be a whore. I'm sorry for tricking you, but you gave me no choice. I was desperate to have a child and you wouldn't cooperate.”

“You're a piece of work, Cori. I never realized I was married to such a lying, conniving bitch.”

I started to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say in my defense. I gazed at him, hoping to see a glimmer of compassion in his eyes. But his eyes were filled with such loathing, I quickly glanced away.

“That sex tape speaks volumes about your character. No court of law would give custody of an innocent child to an indecent piece of scum like you. Thanks for hoodwinking me into fatherhood,” he said, gloating. “But I'm going to be a great father. Being a hands-on single dad will be the key to winning back public approval. I can rebuild my brand and make it even bigger than it already is when I start pushing baby products like disposable diapers and baby food. Maybe I'll write a book about the joys of single fatherhood.” He gave a burst of evil laughter. “Mo' money, mo' money,” he taunted.

Maverick had been the ultimate dog, fucking anything that moved. I'd only cheated with one person, and yet my entire world was collapsing.

The unfairness of the situation pushed me to the edge. “I won't let you take my child,” I screamed as loud as I could. “I'll fight you for my son. And I'll fight dirty if I have to. I'll tell the world about your whores and how you like to bite them. Sophia hates you, and she'll testify on my behalf. She'll reveal that you bit up her thighs, leaving deep teeth marks, like a rabid dog.”