Behind the scenes, two chefs who worked for me when I owned the Harlem restaurant, prepared the county-style potato salad, garlic green beans, and grilled boneless ribs that would be placed in front of the blindfolded contestants and presented as the Cori Brown dish that they had to replicate, using the three main components of the meal.
While the contestants were sequestered off stage, I stood in front of the camera. Gina, my hairstylist, was nearby and armed with a container of hairspray and other tools of her trade, watching like a hawk for an errant strand of hair. In the midst of preparing the dish, I spoke about the importance of pan-searing the ribs before putting them on the grill. For the sake of ratings, I angled a warm smile toward the cameras as I fondly recalled how this particular dish had become my husband’s favorite back when he was playing college football.
“And it’s still his favorite meal,” I added with a wink that told the female viewers that my recipes would help them get a man like Maverick or assist them in keeping the one they had.
“Cut!” the director yelled. “That was perfect, Cori.”
Though all I’d done was chopped vegetables and rubbed seasoning on meat, I was relieved the cooking segment was over for me. The area I’d worked in would be cleared and a beautifully plated, completed dish of potato salad, grilled ribs, and garlic green beans would be brought out from the kitchen that was hidden behind the scenes.
I ripped off the mustard-colored apron with the swirly “C” in the center. I didn’t have to be present for the next segment where the contestants tried to duplicate my dishes.
There would be a two-hour wait before it was time for me to return to the set, joining two judges who would help me decide who stayed and who got the boot. Even though I would only ingest a tiny portion of the soul food, I dreaded having to taste any amount of the gruel the contestants had thrown together.
• • •
After an exhausting thirteen-hour day, I looked forward to crawling into bed and snuggling against Maverick’s hard, masculine form. Being close to him, even when he was asleep, would be such a comfort after the long day I had. Hell, I needed to do more than cuddle up. I was stressed the fuck out and the relief I needed could only be achieved from a hard dick, plowing into me vigorously.
When I arrived home, the lights were dim in the hallway and living room. Our bedroom was pitch-black and I could hear Maverick snoring as I made my way inside. Slipping out of my heels, my feet sank into the soft carpet and I released a sigh. Home, sweet home! As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I gazed at Maverick’s silhouette. My big, brawny husband was curled beneath the covers in a deep sleep, but not for long.
A soothing shower was what I needed to get the burst of energy that was necessary to play the role of aggressor in bed.
Maverick usually initiated sex, but tonight I had to atone for the sin of going behind his back and firing Tamara. Tonight I’d have to put on a hell of a performance. Suck his dick down to the hilt. Lather up his balls with my tongue. Pinch his nipples while riding him. Talk extra dirty in his ear, making sure to include at least one of the filthy fantasies that always prompted him to go crazy and completely ravage my insides.
I hated it when Maverick was upset with me, and so tonight, I would do whatever it took to get back on his good side, even take it in the ass if that was what he wanted, even though anal sex was something I did not find particularly pleasurable.
In the shower, warm water sprayed my body from multiple angles, making me feel pampered and relaxed as it cascaded over my shoulders and ran down my back. In my mind, I reviewed the day. The best part had been sending that annoying Texas cheerleader packing. Judging by the disbelief in her eyes, she wasn’t accustomed to being rejected. Later, when the cameramen and the rest of the crew were packing up their gear, I noticed Josh engaging her in a secret exchange. I assumed he was comforting her until her rage-filled, accusatory eyes turned to mine. For a good ten seconds…maybe longer, that bitch stared daggers at me.
Why was Josh coddling her? He didn’t owe that Texas slut an explanation for why she’d been booted from the show. There was no earthly reason why Doralee was still hanging around after she’d already been filmed taking the walk of shame down the corridor. All she needed to know was that her food sucked and she was out of there. Yet Josh had felt compelled to tell her that it had been my decision—not his—to get rid of her. There was no plausible reason for him to have confided that information to her.
Apparently, the culinary executive producer of my show was not only racist, but also devious. I’d definitely have to watch his sneaky ass from now on.
After toweling dry, I slathered on Chanel Coco Mademoiselle body lotion, a scent that drove Maverick wild. I slinked into the bedroom, my naked body soft and shimmery, and then slid into bed. Mav’s back was to me. I threw back the duvet and discovered that he was cocooned inside the top sheet, and no matter how hard I tugged, I couldn’t unsnarl him. Giving up on the notion of touching his bare skin, I ran my hand gently across his sheet-covered shoulder, allowing my fingers to delicately skitter downward over the curvature of his muscled arm.
Changing tack, I ran my hand along the length of his back, and when he still hadn’t responded, I smoothed my hand over his hip and down his thigh. He lay there motionless, but I was aware that he was awake. I could tell by the rigidity of his body. Could hear hostility and anger in the sound of his breathing and felt waves of resentment emanating from him.
Determined to entice him into a forgiving mood, I reached over and groped for his dick, which should have been pulsing with readiness, but instead, it was hidden beneath the sheet, defiantly shriveled and limp. He squirmed away from my wandering hand.
“Mav!” I whined his name and then awkwardly began caressing his hipbone and thigh, stretching out my fingers to get to his groin, determinedly trying to bring his dick to life.
“Stop.” His voice came out soft and sleepy, but there was a cold finality in his tone that unsettled me.
Stop! Since when did my libidinous husband ever turn down sex? “What’s wrong, babe?”
“I’m tired.”
“You don’t have to do anything except lie there; I’ll do all the work.” Eager to feel his dick swelling and stretching inside my mouth, I yanked at the sheet vigorously, but it was tucked around his body tightly, practically mummifying him. “Come on, babe. You know you want it.” I licked my lips with the realization that once I swirled my tongue around the head of his dick, Maverick would begin helplessly moaning and groaning, no longer able to resist me.
Suddenly, he sat up and ripped the bedding away from his body. For a moment, it seemed as though he was about to get rough with me—toss me around—and fuck my brains out. But instead, he stood up, stalked across the room, yanked open one of my dresser drawers and proceeded to grab bunches of my neatly folded lingerie, carelessly flinging panties and thongs down to the floor.
“What the hell?” I clicked on the bedside lamp.
Maverick whirled around and I was stunned to see what he’d grasped from my drawer. Giving me the nastiest smile I’d ever seen on his face, he said, “If you want to get off, you better use this.” He returned to bed and thrust my favorite dildo in my hand.
Speechless, I stared at the object in horror. It wasn’t a secret that I had adult toys—we sometimes played with them together—but the malicious manner in which he’d rebuffed my sexual advances was rather unnerving.
“Maverick,” I said softly. “You made your point. I get it. But is it necessary to be so disrespectful?” I released the dildo and it hit the thick fabric of the duvet with a thud.
Maverick flopped down on his side of the bed, picked up the pink dildo, and flung it at me. “Man, go fuck yourself!”
I’ve never been the wimpy type. I would describe myself as being more like a tigress than a kitten. But I was so caught off guard by Maverick’s seething resentment, his unmitigated rage, I found myself apologizing. Profusely. Promising to rehire Tamara.
He pointed to the mound of my undies that he’d thrown on the floor. “Man, just clean that shit up and let me get some sleep.”
I hopped out of bed. Without uttering a word of protest or scoffing at the audacity of him ordering me to clean up the mess he’d made, I began picking up the scattered underwear. I shocked myself by behaving in such a weirdly submissive manner. It was fucking surreal, like I was in the midst of an out-of-body experience.
Looking over my shoulder, I glimpsed Maverick settling back in bed. Getting comfortable, he gathered the covers around his body and then drew them up to his neck.
After I’d returned all my lingerie to the drawer, I crawled back into bed and stared at my husband in dismay. Maybe if I gawked at him long enough, he’d feel compelled to offer an explanation for his reprehensible behavior. Feeling my gaze and apparently annoyed by it, he pulled the bedding completely over his head. “Turn off the light,” he demanded, his muffled voice, contemptuous.
I turned off the light and placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. “Can we talk about this?”
He uttered a sound of discontent and scooted as far away from me as possible, quietly informing me that there’d be no more talking tonight. No getting to the bottom of why he was so irate.
What the hell is going on? My eyes darted around the room as if the darkness held the answer.
I’d always considered it my prerogative to hire and fire the help as I saw fit, and although Maverick had complained, he’d never overreacted like this before. Dear God, it was bad enough that I was constantly worrying that my career was on the brink of collapse. Did I now need to be concerned that my marriage was headed for disaster?
• • •
I could feel Maverick leaning over me and stroking my face, and running his fingers through my hair. Believing that I was in the midst of a dream, and wanting to hold on to the good feeling for a little while longer, I kept my eyes closed. His hand moved away and I accepted that the sweet dream had ended.
“Cori.”
My lashes fluttered lazily. Dreading any form of condemnation or criticism, my lids lifted begrudgingly.
“Cori, baby. I’m sorry,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and clenching my hand. “I don’t know what got into me last night. I was wrong to treat you like that. Being in negotiations for the new show is starting to mess with my head. I want that show so bad I can taste it.”
“It’s all going to work out, Mav,” I said, sitting up in bed.
“I don’t know. My agent flipped when he found out Tamara had been fired. He said she has a close friendship with Kevin Berenbaum’s wife.”
“Really?” Kevin Berenbaum was one of the executives at Maverick’s network and Maverick had a lot of respect for the man. I couldn’t imagine how Tamara had developed a friendship with his wife.
“Was Tamara the Berenbaums’ chef before she came to work for us?”
“Kevin’s wife and Tamara went to the same culinary school. They’ve been close friends for a long time.”
“Kevin Berenbaum is married to a chef?”
“Actually, she was his chef until he married her. Now she’s also the mother of his only son. She’s about twenty-five years younger than him and he’s crazy about her and their kid. My agent’s so pissed about the timing of Tamara’s firing. He can’t understand why we didn’t wait until after the deal was done.”
A wave of guilt washed over me. “Wow, I had no idea about any of this. I’m surprised you never mentioned that you and Kevin had something in common, with both of you having great cooks for wives.” I laughed a little, trying to bring some levity to the situation. But Maverick didn’t crack a smile.
“Yeah, we married great cooks who never put on their aprons again once we put a ring on it.” He gave a bitter laugh.
Feeling defensive, I said, “I don’t know about Kevin’s wife, but I’m not a kept woman. I work hard and wear my apron at the studio where I earn a living. I can’t believe we’re having a discussion about me cooking for—”
“Look, I don’t want to put Kevin in a weird situation at home, so you need to fix this.”
“All right.”
“No games, this time, Cori.”
“I don’t play games.”
“Yeah, you do. Even after I called and told you that Tamara was referred by a head honcho at the network, you still didn’t give a damn about the position you were putting me in; you said you were going to hire a male chef.”
I looked away in embarrassment because Maverick was right. “I had no idea that firing Tamara would cause this kind of trouble for you.”
“Nor did you care. You can be really callous when you want to be. I’ve been thinking…maybe a trial separation would give us both an opportunity to reflect on the marriage.”
Startled by his suggestion, I blinked rapidly. Then I laughed, although I was not amused. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“If you want to fucking separate, why’d you wake me up with tender caresses and that meaningless apology?” Growing angry, I threw a pillow at him. He didn’t flinch as it collided and then bounced off of him. “Why, Mav?”
“I am sorry that I lost my temper with you. And…” He paused and swallowed. “I love you, Cori.” He dropped his eyes briefly and then looked up and locked his gaze on mine. “But I don’t like you anymore. I can’t stand the coldhearted person you’ve become.”
“Maverick, this is crazy. We can’t separate. It’ll ruin our brand and you know it.”
“I don’t care about the brand. I’m sick to death of the whole Mavcor thing. I’m not happy, and I haven’t been for a long time.”
His admission ripped through me like a serrated blade, cutting away at my self-worth and my womanhood. I winced and placed a hand on the nightstand to steady myself. “I had no idea you were unhappy.”
“How would you know? After all, in this house, it’s the Cori show. All you think about is yourself.”
There was a modicum of truth in Maverick’s words, but what he didn’t realize was that I had no choice but to put myself first. If I hadn’t, it would have been all about him, and I would have ended up without an identity. He was such a big presence, so beloved and revered, if I hadn’t placed myself front and center, I would have been swallowed up by his image. Throughout our marriage, I’d been fighting to stay afloat. Fighting to keep up with him. Doing everything in my power to be deemed worthy of being his wife.
“If I only cared about myself, then why do I turn a blind eye every year when you go to Brazil?”
“That’s part of our agreement.”
“That stupid agreement doesn’t benefit me in any way, but I go along with it,” I yelled. “And what about your special birthday present that I get you every year? A selfish wife wouldn’t go to the extremes that I go through to make sure her husband is happy. Listen, Mav,” I said, lowering my tone. “I don’t want to separate. We can work this out, together,” I said pleadingly with tears running down my face. I snatched a tissue out of the fancy holder on my nightstand and tried blotting my eyes, but the tears kept falling.
“I’m so sorry, Cori, but this marriage is beginning to suffocate me,” he said in a gentle tone.
“What about the baby?”
“There is no baby.” The tenderness left his tone and was replaced with annoyance.
“The process is already in motion. There’s a fetus that was created from my eggs and your sperm. I finally selected a surrogate the other day.” The surrogate part was a lie, but I was grasping at straws, trying to hold on to my marriage.
“We haven’t signed any papers, yet…no harm, no foul. Whoever you spoke to can keep it moving and be an incubator for another couple.”
“But it’ll look bad if you walk away, now.”
“It’s better to leave now than to wait after a kid has been brought into the world. As far as I’m concerned, that kid is a weird lab experiment. Any child that’s chilling in a Petri dish and waiting for a womb doesn’t stand a chance at a normal life.”
I had no idea that Maverick held such disdain for a surrogate birth. Obviously, his mother had forced her outdated viewpoints on him. “Using a surrogate doesn’t impact a child’s mental or physical health.”
“It’s still weird as hell. Look, I’ve changed my mind. If we can’t have a child the traditional way, then I don’t want one.”
My hands trembled and my voice came out shaky. “Okay, forget the surrogate for now. But for the sake of both our careers, we need to stick together.”
“Are you saying we should stay together in name only?”
I was horrified by his implication of an open marriage. I’d already thrown away enough of my pride by giving him permission to go to Brazil once a year where he fucked as many Brazilian beauties as he could. After he returned home and after getting a physical where he was tested for STDs and HIV, our marriage resumed as if the vows hadn’t been broken.
“Mav, all I’m saying is that neither of us can afford bad publicity, and after putting in ten years, we shouldn’t simply give up.”
Maverick folded his arms. “Ten years is long enough for me…I want out!”
Though I was on the brink of erupting into more tears, I remained calm. Maverick was not thinking rationally and I had to control my emotions in order to fix this shit.
“Mavcor is the brand of a wholesome and virtuous married couple,” I reminded him. “A big part of your attractiveness to the network is based on the brand that we’ve both worked so hard to build. I doubt if any network would be interested in you if you were a bachelor or a separate entity from the Mavcor package.”
“If memory serves, Mavcor wasn’t out there on the football field winning back-to-back Super Bowl rings; I did that shit all by myself,” he bragged, poking himself in the chest.
I brought up a few more reasons why separating would sabotage both our careers, but going back and forth with Maverick was getting tiring and I had to be on set in another hour.
“I realize I put you in a vulnerable position with the network, and I don’t blame you for being upset, but I can fix it. I will fix it,” I promised. “Tamara will be back to work tonight—I’ll give her a raise. Everything is going to work out.” Giving him a reassuring pat, I got up and began getting dressed. I sighed as I mentally prepared for a long day.