Poker Face: A Small Town Romance (The Beaufort Poker Club Book 1)

by Maggie Gates

  I took a long sip of my beer and slammed it down. “Hot Guy from the gym ended up being a judge for Pastry Throwdown. And his name is Luca DeRossi.”

  Bridget froze. “Luca DeRossi as in the Luca DeRossi?”

  “One in the devilish same.”

  “Oh my God. Did you sleep with him?”

  “No!” I shouted a little louder than I meant to. The sparse lunch crowd stared at me and I gave them a middle finger. “I did not sleep with him.”

  “But…”

  “But I may have made out with him a little… Or a lot.” Okay, so maybe we were dry humping. Whatever.

  “You made out with your mortal enemy.”

  “Just dig a hole, toss me in, and let me die in peace,” I groaned.

  Bridget rapped her fingers on the bar before speaking up again. “Why do I feel like there’s something that you’re not telling me?”

  “What? There’s noth—”

  “Spill it, Maddie Lee.”

  “Mr. Mullon finally sold Revanche,” I sighed. “To Luca.” Bridget froze in place, her eyes widened until they were as bit as my plate. She reached over, grabbed my beer, and gulped it down, draining the glass dry. I wrinkled my nose in disappointment, but Bridget filled my glass again and slid it back to me. “I’m pretty sure bartenders aren’t supposed to drink on the clock.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “You just told me that your arch nemesis, also known as the hottest man on the planet, is your new boss.”

  “I quit.”

  “What?”

  “I quit. I walked out of the manager’s meeting and quit.”

  “And what did Rob say? Better yet, what did Luca DeRossi say?”

  “Stop saying his name like you’ll bow at his feet if he walks in the door,” I said. Lord knew I couldn’t handle tall, dark, and asshole-y being conjured again. I sighed, “He said he wants me to work for him and I have until tomorrow to decide if I actually want to quit or not.”

  Bridget looked over my shoulder toward the door. “And what would you do if he-who-must-not-be-named just walked into the bar?”

  My rage went from a hot summer’s day to the surface of the sun in an instant. “What?!” I hissed as I whipped around.

  But it wasn’t Luca. It was Chase. He smirked and pulled at one of my waves like he had when we were kids. “Is Bee messin’ with you, Mad Dog?” He shot Bridget a wink. “Seems like someone’s gotten under your skin.” He hopped up onto the bar stool beside me and stole a chicken finger off my plate.

  Bridget leaned over the bar and eyed his gun and badge clipped to his belt. “On duty?”

  Chase nodded as she turned to grab a glass, “Just some water, darlin’.”

  Bridget slid the glass across the wood toward him and he caught it, giving her a flirtatious smile.

  “Thanks, Bee, Chase said with a flirtatious smile. After taking a long drink, he turned on the stool to face me. “So, I heard about you raising hell at the restaurant this morning. Wanna talk about it?”

  I raised an eyebrow, “Do I look like I wanna talk about it?”

  “Fair enough,” he said, finishing off his water before stealing another bite off my plate. “So, is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “Oh, you know—all that shit the rumor mill’s spinning these days. Did, uh, did that chef guy actually buy the restaurant from Rob Mullon?”

  Sometimes I forgot just how fast news traveled in small towns. I nodded, “That he did.”

  “And?”

  “And, what?”

  “And, what about you? You hate the guy.”

  “I quit.”

  Chase cracked a smile, but it disappeared when he noticed Bridget behind the register, texting someone with a dopey smile on her face. “Not surprised,” he muttered.

  I looked from Chase to Bridget and back again. “What? About Bridge dating Kyle Kingsley or me quitting the restaurant?”

  He frowned, “How, uh, how long has Bee been seeing him?”

  I mumbled something noncommittal as I finished my food. He glanced at his phone and got up, pulled a couple dollars out of his wallet, and tossed them down on the bar.

  “Chase, you just had water. That’s free,” Bridget said as she shoved the money back at him.

  Chase smirked and shook his head, pushing the bills toward her again. “That’s for the excellent service, darlin’.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes, but took the cash and tucked it into the pocket of her waist apron. Her voice was soft, and her eyes were dreamy as she smiled, “Stay safe out there, Chase.”

  He gave her a wink, “Thanks, Bee. See you two ladies later.”

  Chase left Jokers and got into his unmarked police car. When my plate was reduced to crumbs and all that was left of my beer was a light line of foam around the glass, I rested my elbows on the bar and put my face in my hands. “What do I do, Bridge?”

  “About what?”

  “My job.”

  Bridget grabbed my dishes and tossed them in the bus bin. “How was the date?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, before you knew who he was.”

  I sighed, “Amazing. We had the best time.” I hated admitting that and I took it out on the paper napkin, tearing it into tiny bits of lame ass confetti.

  “So, you don’t wanna work for him because you have feelings for him?”

  I pointed a defiant finger at her, “I don’t have feelings for him.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes, “Sure you don’t.”

  My phone buzzed on the bartop with another text from Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.

  I shoved my phone away without looking at it.

  Bridget, however, didn’t have such qualms about contact with the devil. Without skipping a beat, she grabbed it and opened it up. I really needed to change my passcode.

  Her eyebrows raised as she read whatever the devil had texted. “Mads, he’s looking for you.”

  I raised my empty glass toward her, “Well then pour me another, barkeep. He’s new in town. No way he’ll look here.”

  Bridget shook her head, took my glass, and tossed it with the rest of the dirty glasses. “I’m cutting you off. You’re acting like a child.”

  “You’re the one who gave me chicken fingers.”

  “Madeline Lee Dorsey, you’re the best pastry chef I know. Don’t let one jackass take that from you.”

  “I can go work anywhere. The inn, Queen’s Coffee—Hell, I’ll work here. I can mix drinks.”

  Bridget shook her head, “I love you, but I’m not hiring you and you’re too overqualified to be baking muffins and making lattes at Queen’s.”

  “I hate him.”

  “Do you? Or do you just think you hate him?”

  That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

  ✽✽✽

  It was the first Monday in a long time that we hadn’t played poker. Still, we all got together and crowded into Steve’s house for dinner. It had been a week that felt like a century. No one asked about Luca taking over Revanche, but they all knew. There were no secrets between us. Melissa and I tackled the dishes while Bridget, Chase, and Steve shot the shit. Kristin and Hannah Jane snuck through the house while Steve was distracted, tidying up, throwing in a load of laundry, and cleaning as much as they could.

  Kristin was the first to leave. The rest of us lived in Beaufort and Morehead, but she commuted in to work at the Taylor Creek Inn all the way from Havelock. Chase and Hannah Jane were next. They lived a block away from each other and usually rode together. Kyle Kingsley showed up right before Chase left. I swore he was going to blow a gasket when Kyle escorted Bridget to his car and drove her home. Melissa lingered, making sure that Steve had everything he needed, even asking if he wanted her to stay longer. Steve shrugged off the offer and disappeared into his garage.

  “You going to work tomorrow?” Melissa asked as she followed me down the path from Steve’s house to the water where my houseboat was tied off.


  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “It’s embarrassing.”

  She rolled her eyes as she hopped onto the deck of my houseboat. “Since when does anything embarrass you?”

  “Mel, we were bordering on public indecency in a parking lot after eating food truck tacos.” She giggled and sat down in one of the deck chairs. I plugged in the string of market lights and sat across from her. “Even if I didn’t want to see him eaten by a shark, I can’t look at him every day and go on like nothing happened!”

  “Why do you hate him so much?”

  “You know why.”

  “That thing with your friend, Lauren? Girl, that was years ago. Forgive and forget, Mads. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “I stand up for my friends. I’m not working at Revanche if Satan’s signing the checks.”

  Melissa leaned forward, “Maddie, you’re loyal to a fault. Maybe Lauren just had some bad luck. Maybe there was more to it. You don’t know. Luca DeRossi buying out the restaurant could be great for you. You won the competition, a big-name chef sees you as a valuable asset—for once in your life just think about yourself.”

  10

  ———

  LUCA

  I leaned back in my leather office chair and stared at the clock on the wall. 10:29 AM. I tapped my phone again just to make sure I hadn’t missed a text from Maddie. Nope. Nada. My foot tapped anxiously on the floor. Her employee file was on the desk in front of me. She had an impressive resume. I scanned it again to take my mind off the possibility that maybe she wasn’t going to show up.

  Maddie studied at the Culinary Institute of America right after high school and graduated at the top of her class. After that, she did a year-long internship in New York City with one of the country’s top cake designers, then did a stint as a pastry cook in my flagship restaurant in Manhattan.

  Huh. I never knew Maddie worked for me. I made a mental note to shoot that restaurant’s general manager an email and get a copy of her file.

  After two years in New York, she returned to Beaufort and took a job as the pastry chef at Revanche. What initially began as a one-woman show, Maddie had grown the pastry program here into an entire team of people that had her basement kitchen running nearly twenty-four hours a day. The wholesale accounts she’d landed brought in a huge chunk of profit. After going through the books with Robert before he handed over the keys, it surprised me to learn that besides standard restaurant service, Revanche produced breads, pastries, and individual desserts that were resold in coffee shops and cafes all along the coast. Scott and Maddie also teamed up to provide five-star catering for weddings and other events. Selfish desires aside, there was no way replacing Maddie was going to be a simple task.

  I looked at the clock again. 10:33 AM. I pushed out of the chair and let out a muttered string of profanities. Scott made it clear that the staff was loyal to Maddie and vice versa. Replacing one person was one thing, but replacing an entire team was another. I wandered through the dining room where Carol was double-checking lunch and dinner reservations, and her servers were doing a meticulous inspection of every place setting and table. I ducked my head into the main kitchen. Scott wasn’t there, but his sous chef and line cooks were busy preparing for the lunch crowd. I rounded the corner and passed the storeroom, hoping Maddie would be in there, but she wasn’t. My phone buzzed in my pocket with the timer I had set. 10:34 AM. I didn’t want to believe that Maddie would quit, but I steeled myself for the worst as I headed down the stairs to the pastry kitchen.

  Scott and Maddie hunched over one of the stainless-steel worktables, pouring over spreadsheets and menus. Her team of bakers and pastry cooks worked in a near-sprint as pan after pan of croissants went from the proofer to the oven. Mixers whirred and bowls clattered. It was organized chaos and it was beautiful.

  I cleared my throat. Scott looked up, Maddie did not. “Chef Dorsey, a minute, please,” I said.

  Maddie’s eyes never left the menu she was working on. It clicked with me that they were working out the seasonal dessert pairings for the summer menu. I stood off to the side and watched for a moment before piping up and saying, “The flourless chocolate torte—you should add some of the chili-caramel cotton candy you made for the competition. It’ll be a big draw, especially after the episode airs.”

  She finally looked up at me, her face completely devoid of any expression. “We don’t have a cotton candy centrifuge here.”

  “Rush order it. I’ll approve the expense,” I said.

  Maddie paused a beat, growing the tension before she finally said, “Yes, Chef.”

  Her chilly demeanor was unnerving. Wanting to avoid the cold, I caught her eye once more and motioned up the stairs. “My office when you have a moment.”

  Her eyes turned back to the menu placed between her and Scott. “Yes, Chef.”

  ✽✽✽

  There was a knock on the doorframe before Maddie poked her head in, “You wanted to see me, Chef?”

  I waved her in. Maddie closed the door behind her, and I motioned for her to have a seat. “I didn’t think you were going to be here today,” I admitted as I peeled my eyes away from her body. The way her Rolling Stones t-shirt peeked out of her undone top buttons of her chef’s coat made my heart race. Her long, silvery blonde waves were in a massive bun, and covering her head was a bright teal headwrap that screamed beach hippie.

  Those gray eyes pierced into mine with relentless ferocity, “I’m taking a day off tomorrow. My sous chef, Rae, is covering.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, I—” She stuttered.

  “Thought I’d say no?” I asked, cracking a smile. “You probably had a ten minute argument planned, didn’t you?”

  “Something like that.”

  A flicker of amusement ticked at the corner of my mouth. “Would you like me to pretend to fight with you about it so you can get it off your chest?” I teased.

  Maddie rolled her eyes.

  I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. “Are we gonna be able to make this work?”

  “Are you going to stay out of my kitchen?”

  “I think it’s my kitchen now,” I countered.

  Smoke rose off the top of her head, and she balled her fingers into tight fists.

  “I’m joking, Maddie,” I said with a sigh. “Look, I’m not coming in, riding roughshod all over the way you all do things around here. There will be some changes, but nothing drastic. You, Scott, and Carol run the show.”

  Her little lips turned into a frown, “What kind of changes?”

  “Some new equipment. I’m talking to a contractor to see if we can put a dumbwaiter in, so your staff and the servers don’t have to keep hauling ass up and down the stairs during service. Eventually, I’ll bring in a G.M. to be my eyes and ears when I’m not here, and I’m hiring a third-party H.R. firm to make sure that staff issues are handled properly. I know that sometimes employees don’t feel comfortable bringing up problems if they have to tell them to the superior they have a problem with. I take care of my staff.” That last thing piqued her interest. I lifted my hands and asked, “Does that sound reasonable to you?”

  “Yes, Chef,” she said. Her expression pulled into a hard line. The flirty, free spirited girl I met at the gym in L.A. was nowhere to be found.

  “Do what you want in front of your staff, but when it’s just us—call me Luca. We don’t have to pretend like we’re strangers.”

  “I’d prefer if we did.”

  I rose from my chair when she made a move for the door. “Maddie—”

  “My staff wanna know if there’s going to be a delay in getting their checks this pay period,” she asked in the same calm tone she used during the competition—a far cry from what I knew her to actually be like. It wasn’t the raucous laughter when we had dinner or danced, or the quiet murmur she used when we sat on the floor outside her hotel room and swapped personal facts. Madelin
e Dorsey was anything but cold, but her voice was frigid.

  I shook my head, “No. I’ll make sure everything’s done on the same schedule.”

  “Okay.” She made a reach for the doorknob, but I stepped in front of the door. “Is there something else you need, Chef DeRossi?”

  The condescension that dripped from her words made me want to choke her—the fun way. “Yeah, I want you to stop acting like a fucking robot, Mad.” There was a flare in her eyes, and I knew I had pushed a button. “I know there’s a person in there,” I said as I trailed the tip of my finger along the middle edge of her pristine chef’s coat. “I just don’t get why you’re so hellbent on us hating each other—because I’m not.” Her chest rose and fell, and I searched for something—some inkling of what was going through her head. For some idea of what she felt. I came up empty. I took a step back and traced my tongue across my lip. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the loss of your friend, Maddie. I hope you got to spend some time with her when you got back from California.”

  Maddie’s eyelids fluttered as she looked down at the floor and blinked back tears. She took a steadying breath and put her hand on the doorknob again. “Anything else you need, Chef?”

  “That’s all. I’ll pop down during service to observe.”

  She gave me a nod and opened the door.

  “Hey, Mad—”

  She turned and looked over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows.

  “If you need anything, just let me know,” I offered with a pathetic smile.

  Without a word, she dipped into the main kitchen and headed down the stairs.

  11

  ———

  MADELINE

  Grief and loss were lawless and vile things. I hated them. They were the opposite of everything I wanted in life, and yet I found myself constantly surrounded by them. It was rare for me to take a day off, but I had learned that there was no avoiding grief—only acknowledging it and continuing to move forward.