The woman dressed in a grey pastel pink turtleneck dress stepped out of the Uber vehicle, quietly shutting the door behind her. Her long sleeved sweater-like dress clung to her perfect figure as she stood before the lofty and Brobdingnagian glass building of the Columbia circle landmark.
The sunlight bounced off the shiny and lustrous building of the Time Warner Center, giving it an unbelievably radiant splendour. Compared to its leviathan height, Emerald was nothing but an ant.
Pushing through the revolving door, she walked into the vast glass building with the sole purpose of finding a particular restaurant.
After taking a couple turns and a ride up the escalator, with the aid of the brochure that had been given to her by a worker, she finally found what she was looking for. In Hell’s kitchen neighbourhood of the Columbia circle – precisely the 4F suite – stood proudly, a Japanese three Michelin-starred restaurant before her.
The word Masa was written boldly at the top of the beautiful and elegantly looking unit. Underneath the bigger superscription were much smaller words written in cursive writing – where perfection is cooked and served.
Squinting her smaragd eyes at the restaurant as she briskly gave its exterior a quick survey, she adjusted the fluffy grey beauty rope that went round her small waist, falling down to her mid thigh as it gave her dress a tinge of invigoration before she walked into the Japanese restaurant, her black peep–toe heeled boots clanking against the tiled floor as she took sanguine steps in.
On hearing the confident footsteps approaching his desk, the receptionist looked up from his computer just in time to welcome their customer.
Taking in the woman with bodacious qualities, the receptionist couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip as he let his hungry eyes run helter skelter up and down her body. He was practically undressing the young woman who was currently oblivious to the receptionist’s stares as she fished for her ID in her petite black Louis Vuitton purse.
When Carol had called her Sunday evening at work, she had asked her – no, not particularly asking – more like, she had tried to coax her into having dinner with her and ultimately, after much – and might I add, much – persuasions later, she had finally agreed, settling for a pretty obvious day. Friday.
Carol had suggested picking her up from her apartment but instinctively, Emerald had declined and had requested that Carol text her the address instead. She had to admit that she had been a tad surprised when Carol had replied with a simple ‘Masa Japanese restaurant. 5:30p. m prompt.’
Her surprise hadn’t been because of the vagueness of the text, no, she’d actually rather prefer a conversation to be direct and straight to the point than to beat about the bush. Her surprise had mostly been because of the location of their meeting.
Seconds later, Carol had interjected Emerald’s ‘ok’ reply with a ‘don’t forget your ID. They tend to be a tad strict with identifications.’
Emerald had heard about Masa. Who wouldn’t know the famous Japanese restaurant that had made the food article section on the Daily Times more than a few times, had been awarded a 4–star rating in The New York Times, including being the recipient of various other awards not ruling out being a three Michelin–starred beanery.
Let’s just say her vast knowledge of this food palace had everything to do with the glutton she currently lived with. One of the few perks of having Ori as a friend.
“Good day,” she finally looked up and greeted the receptionist who had been knocked into a trance from the empyrean beauty of the woman who had earlier been rummaging through her purse.
“H–hi,” he was stunned into muteness as he gaped at the blissful timbre of her voice.
Emerald raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the receptionist’s outlandish behavior. At the sight of her subtle eye squint, the receptionist barely snapped back to reality as he tried to rectify his mistakes in order to not seem as a freak or weirdo to this knockout goddess.
“Good day, ma’am. Welcome to Masa. How may we be of service to you?” he flashed a seductive smile to which Emerald bestrewed her expression with her insouciantly cold look.
“Yeah, reservation under the name Carolyn Levine? I’m Emerald Pearce and here’s my ID,” she slid her identification card over the glass counter towards the receptionist.
“Carolyn Levine. . .” he muttered as he slowly moved his eyes over the computer screen, pretentiously looking for the name that was shining in bold block letters as number one on the list staring him in the eyes. He was stalling so he could soak in more of the view of the enchantress before him.
A few minutes had passed and Emerald was starting to get irritated. How long did it take to go through a list of booked reservations? If her sources – Oriana – had been accurate, then there should only be about twenty six tables in this beanery which made it one of the most exclusive restaurants in the United States, therefore, it shouldn’t take more than at least five minutes to skim through the reservations list.
Noticing the young woman’s growing annoyance, the receptionist hurriedly exclaimed, “Ah! Here it is. Under the name, Carolyn Levine, reservation for Emerald Pearce and-”
“Yes, that’ll be me,” she interrupted in suppressed vexation as she took back her ID card much to the receptionist’s chagrin because he couldn’t get a glimpse of her contact info or house address.
“Shall I head in now?” she asked after tucking the card safely in her purse again.
“Yes, ma’am. Just go down the hall and take the stairs leading up,” he pointed out, the seductive smile and locutions not leaving his lips.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, not bothering to fake a smile as she quickly made her way away from the eldritch being.
Not wanting to lose both chances as he already lost the chance to get her telephone number, he hurriedly took his phone out of his pocket and took snapshots of her swaying backside, even going an extra mile to make a video before her figure completely disappeared behind the wooden door.
He heaved a dreamy sigh as he plopped down on his elevated stool with his elbows propped up against the counter, his eyes never leaving the reiterating videotape of the seductress, Emerald Pearce.
Unbeknownst to him, a gloomy figure had approached the counter. He unconsciously shivered, feeling as though the temperature in the room had dropped by a million degrees, the hair on his skin and at the back of his head stood on end as a foreboding aura filled the room.
“Reservation under the name Carolyn Levine?” a cold voice asked.
With furrowed eyebrows, the receptionist’s head snapped up from his phone. His body turned rigid as his eyes widened in realisation when they met with the black shades clad set of eyes, the sadistic smirk not evaporating from the intruder’s face.
He gulped.
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This wasn’t Emerald’s first time in the building complex. She had visited Time Warner Center a couple of times with her mom, Luca and her friends but this was the beautiful shrink’s first time in the Japanese restaurant, Masa.
Having been raised by parents who were restaurateurs and head culinary artists themselves, Emerald grew up to not be a frequent punter of beaneries unlike Oriana. Instead of having to order pizza, Emerald would rather bake hers herself.
“Good evening, ma’am. What will you be having this evening?” a neat waiter in a white long sleeved shirt, black slacks with a black apron around his waist with the words, Masa – where perfection is cooked and served. . . approached her with a friendly smile on his face, his little left dimple making a vivid appearance.
“Hello,” she couldn’t help but return his smile. “Water is fine for now. I’ll place an order when my friend arrives,” she added, earning a polite nod from the cute waiter before he walked away.
She let her eyes take in the entire restaurant. She was seated in the upper room, the top floor where there appeared to only be about five set tables, hence the peaceful bliss and serenity that came with the quietude. Clearly, Carol had booked the more private suite.
For a few minutes, she watched the famous chef and owner of the Japanese restaurant, Masa Takayama perform his work skillfully.
Across the little bar made of the rare Japanese hinoki wood and set up on the upper floor, you could clearly watch the head chef perform his culinary magic.
She was utterly fascinated by the dominance he seemed to exhibit over the entire kitchen area. He didn’t even flinch one bit when the pan he held onto burst into flames momentarily. He kind of reminded her of her mother, Maggie.
With that thought, Emerald smiled and her gaze collided with the chef’s who gave a warm smile to which she reciprocated before returning to his work. She was so engrossed in the view playing out before her that she didn’t notice the dark figure that had walked into the room, seemingly making the temperature fall.
She didn’t notice how the few people in the room shivered from the unbearable coldness the man emanated. She didn’t notice that this same man was approaching her table.
Sensing a warm body casting its shadow over her, she looked behind her and her gaze met with those familiar chocolate brown eyes. He had discarded his dark shades and his chocolate eyes seemed to glimmer at the sight of his gemstone.
It had been a while since he had seen her.