by Maggie Gates
“Why?”
I shrugged, “Fifty thousand goes a long way.” Luca was quiet. For him, that was chump change. For me, it was everything.
He looked up at the string lights on the houseboat, “You, uh, thinking of upgrading? Maybe moving somewhere that has a foundation?”
I pointed a finger back at him, “Don’t hate. She’s a great little house.”
“She?”
“Boats are always named after women.”
“So, what’s her name?”
“The Martha Ann.”
“Why’d you name her that?”
I reached for the decanter and poured another glass of wine. “After my mom.”
“Are you two close?” He asked. “I remember in California you told me your dad isn’t around anymore.”
I shrugged, “We used to be.”
“But not anymore?” He prodded. I just sipped my wine until Luca finally realized that that was the end of the conversation.
He looked at me intently. His brows furrowed together, creating a deep crease above his nose. “Maddie, why are you here?”
18
———
LUCA
“Maddie, why are you here?” I asked. None of it made sense. Why was she working in a nowhere coastal town when she could have been earning Michelin stars and industry awards left and right? Sure, Revanche was a great little restaurant, but she was cut out for bigger things. “What happened that made you leave New York?”
She was quiet, and I panicked, thinking that I’d pushed too far. “My mom was diagnosed with early-onset dementia.”
Shit. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She shook her head, “It’s fine.”
“So you came back to be with her?”
Maddie nodded and let out a trembling breath.
She looked so fucking cute in her sweatpants and ratty, faded t-shirt with her hair tied up in a massive bun. It made me want to drag her into my arms and hold her until the pain went away. “It wasn’t so bad at the beginning, but it’s gotten worse over the years. I left New York and moved back so I could live with her and take care of her. With me working all the time and her condition getting worse, I had to make the decision for her to live in a facility that could care for her around the clock. So, I sold her house, moved onto a houseboat, and used the money to cover her care.”
I couldn’t imagine doing that alone. Sure, my sisters could be overbearing, loud, and obnoxious, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world. I trailed my fingers along the back of her shoulder, rubbing gentle circles. “Do you ever think about leaving Revanche?”
“I used to,” she confessed. “I used to think that I’d go back to New York or Vegas or Los Angeles. Maybe do a year or two in France.”
“Not anymore?”
She shook her head, “My life is here now and I’m fine with that. I missed it when I was gone.”
I half believed her. She ran the shit out of the restaurant, and had a pack of friends that stuck together. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, the Carolina coast was growing on me. It had its own kind of charm and I could see the appeal of living here full time. Still, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something else. “Did we ever meet? You know—when you worked at my restaurant.”
Maddie giggled and I watched the light return to her eyes. “You know that makes you sound like such a dick, right?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what happened between us.”
“Who said it has anything to do with us?”
“Doesn’t it?”
Maddie shook her head, “No, we never met.”
Deciding to take a chance, I set my nearly empty glass down and reached over, covering her hand with mine. “Then just tell me what the hell I did so that I can make it right.” She chewed on her lip, pulling that plump lower pout between her teeth like she was nervous to bring it up. “Madeline,” I soothed. “I can take it. I can take you hating me as long as I know what I did to deserve it.”
She fingered the ends of her hair, twisting them nervously. “Your first acquisition was a restaurant in Brooklyn. Three months later, you brought in a G.M. who fired the chefs, kept all the line cooks, and brought in new executive chefs and pastry chefs to run everything. My friend lost her job because of you. Because you couldn’t leave well enough alone. You came in and turned a neighborhood joint into a high dollar restaurant when the market for that kind of thing in Brooklyn just wasn’t there yet. It would have been fine without you.”
Damn. That stung.
The corner of her lip trembled and she took a deep breath to keep it in check. “I don’t know if I’m just biding my time here—I feel like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop and it’ll be me who’s out of a job and out of a home.”
“Mad, even if something happened, you’d never lose your—”
She shook her head. “I don’t mean my houseboat and you know it. I’d lose my home. Revanche is my home. The staff is my family. I don’t want to work anywhere else.”
“Maddie, you realize that you could work anywhere you want to, right?” I asked, putting a mental in the Brooklyn restaurant issue for now. “Do you know how many emails I’ve gotten from other restaurateurs asking if you’d do dessert pop-ups all across the country? Hell, you could work anywhere in the world.”
“I can’t do this,” she whispered as she got up from the loveseat.
I shot up to my feet and grabbed her arms. “Madeline, listen to me. You can go anywhere in the world and yet you’re here and I have to know why.”
“I can’t do this. Not with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I look at you and know that you could crush me!” She shouted. “You hold everything that’s important to me in the palm of your hand and I can’t trust you to not take it all away from me!”
I slid my hands from her arms to her waist, anchoring her to the deck. “Why does it sound like you’re not just talking about the restaurant.”
Maddie looked like she was going to say I was wrong—that she didn’t have feelings for me. To my surprise, she just looked up at the sky and shook her head. “Because I’m not just talking about the restaurant.” She turned toward me, with her gray eyes locked on mine and I felt the force of a hurricane behind them. “Because you have a good poker face and I don’t know which side of you to trust—Luke, the guy I met in L.A., or Chef DeRossi, my boss.”
“I’m sorry about Brooklyn. About your friend,” I said. “I made a bad call. I put the wrong person in charge. Why do you think I’m sticking around here for so long?”
Maddie looked down at her bare feet. “But eventually you’ll leave.”
“That’s how this works.”
She nodded and backed away from me and like an idiot, I let her. “Of course you will,” she said placidly. “Everybody does.” Maddie picked up the empty wine glasses and decanter and walked to the door that led deeper into the houseboat. “I’ll see you at work.”
✽✽✽
The restaurant was in a frenzy and for once it wasn’t because of a slammed dinner service. I made the call to close early and have a watch party when Pastry Throwdown aired. After I showed up at her house last week, Maddie had gone from having a chilly disposition to avoiding me altogether. Still, when I sent her an email—because that’s the only damn way I got her to talk to me—about inviting her friends to join the staff for the party, she was surprisingly agreeable.
Scott and the front line had whipped up a family meal fit for James Beard himself and Maddie’s bakers had recreated her competition desserts for everyone to try. “Alright, alright,” I said as I stood up in front of the crowd while Carol fumbled with setting up the projector. I held up my glass of whiskey and began my toast, “We all know why we’re here tonight—to celebrate Chef Dorsey and her badass skills, but I just wanted to say a few words to all of you before the show starts.” I cleared my throat and began the speech I’d prepared.
“It’s
been a great month with you all. I know it’s been a bit of a shift in management for you all being under DeRossi Hospitality now, but I can’t help but be thankful that Mr. Mullon created such a fine establishment. I’m especially grateful for your executive chefs, Scott and Maddie.”
I made a point to look straight at her. She couldn’t escape me—not tonight. Someone had given Maddie a sparkly tiara and a sash that read World’s Best Pastry Chef, and damn if that didn’t make her look fucking adorable. She threw her arms up and wiggled in her chair as her adoring public applauded her.
“So, Carol,” I said, “If you’re just about ready with the projector, let’s raise a glass to Maddie and get ready to watch her kick some ass on national television.”
Maddie sipped her champagne with a humble quietness while everyone got up to clear their dishes. Javier and Rae began passing out bowls of popcorn as someone jumped up and dimmed the lights. Everyone cheered when Maddie appeared on screen. She was all dressed up in the competition chef whites with her arms crossed, mean mugging the camera in the cutest way. Her long hair was wavy and ethereal. She was an angel and a mermaid and a unicorn with a little sprinkling of Satan in there too. Madeline Dorsey was one of a kind. She stood straight as a statue in line as the annoying ass host introduced the judges. The camera panned from Jenna Lachlan on the far right, to Winston Nacey on the left, and finally, zooming in on me in the middle, scowling and looking as unpleasant as possible. Astrid would be thrilled. I looked over and saw Maddie. She looked uncomfortable. Everyone else was enraptured with the competition, but she just stared into her champagne, not even bothering to drink it. The show went on. When she stood for judging after the first round, I watched as I laid into her. You took the easy way out. It was nice, Madeline. The staff booed and threw popcorn at the screen every time I was an ass. There was a lot of popcorn to clean up.
The first round ended with Charissa Miles being sent home. Whereas Maddie took an easy ingredient and used it in complex and versatile ways, Charissa really did take the easy way out—just doing the bare minimum, relying on flawlessly executing something simple rather than using even an ounce of ingenuity.
For round two, Maddie, Patty, and Jeff had been given a speed challenge: craft a dish in just thirty minutes that reminded them of someone special. I watched as Maddie moved at a lightning speed, darting around the kitchen to get it done. The show cut to a shot of her sitting behind a branded backdrop. “My round two dish is inspired by my mom. One of the first times I drove home to visit her after I started pastry school, I brought her some almond tuiles that I made in a lab class. To this day, they’re still her favorite cookie. I chose to pair it with hazelnut gelato and a warm pear compote. Growing up, we had a pear tree in our front yard. It reminds me of simpler times.”
The lump in my throat threatened to choke me when she talked about her mom. The chef on the screen was poised and professional. The woman I’d had wine with last week was vulnerable and raw. She wanted to give me hell for my poker face, but I wondered just how much her friends really knew her—Really knew what she was capable of. I wondered if they saw just how amazing she was.
The competition moved into round three and it was down to Maddie and Patty. The old lady was a damn good baker, I’d give her that. Unfortunately, her competition was Maddie and that meant she didn’t stand a chance.
I remember the third round more than anything else, because I got to enter her universe and watch her create pure magic. I watched myself linger at her station, asking her about her interpretation of the challenge concept of opposites.
Her mouth curved up in a subtle smile when she said, “Heaven and hell.” I baited her a little more, trying—for my own curiosity’s sake—to see if I could rattle her, but nothing did. She had nerves of steel and the confidence of a runway model.
The final product was nothing short of immaculate. Four tiers of luscious angel food and devil’s food cake in alternating layers with white chocolate ganache and blackberry gelée sandwiched between the sponge. Midnight black mirror glaze coated one side of the cake, while the other was stark white. Everything was executed with the precision of an architect. I’d never done them personally, but I knew from industry colleagues that square cakes were ten times harder to ice and construct than rounds. Maddie’s corners and edges were tight and flawless. Her buttercream work was spotless—not a seam or crevice in sight.
Compete what you practice. In my early days, it’s what my mentors had drilled into me. Sure, I wasn’t competing on television like Maddie, but when the dinner rush started it was like an Olympic marathon. At twenty-nine, Maddie had the finesse of a much older chef. Even my thirty-six years made me feel inadequate compared to her.
I stole a glance at Maddie and saw her watching the screen. It had cut to the final judging session and I realized that Maddie never saw that portion.
“Madeline Dorsey. Hands down,” I watched myself say.
Winston leaned back in his chair and crossed one thick arm over the other, “She’s talented, yes, but Patty did much more than Madeline did.”
Jenna came to Maddie’s defense. “In every other round, Madeline came up with fresh ideas and perfect plating. I had no complaints with any of her dishes the entire time. Patty is great, but she lacks the level of polish and expertise that Maddie has.”
I rolled my eyes and waved off Winston dismissively. “Her technique far surpasses anything Patty could put out even on her best day. There’s only one competitor here that I would ever work for, and to me, that’s the mark of a true chef,” I barked.
As I watched myself fight for Maddie’s victory just as hard as she had competed, I remembered how hard it had been to keep myself from appearing biased. I looked over and saw Maddie watching the drama unfold with her lip trapped between her teeth.
The host brought the two competitors back out and Maddie was crowned the winner. It was pure pandemonium. Every person in the restaurant went bananas. Confetti popped, popcorn flew in the air, and Maddie was practically crowd surfing on her friend Chase’s shoulders as everyone celebrated her victory.
“Mad, you’re coming to Jokers for the afterparty, right?” Hannah Jane asked.
Maddie gave her a quick hug and waved off a few of their friends. “Maybe for a minute. I’ve got an early morning and I need to wrap up a few things here before I go.”
The staff stuck around to clean up the mess and reset the dining room for tomorrow’s lunch service. As employees began to filter out, I saw Maddie slip into the main kitchen and then down the stairs. When the last person left, I shut the lights off one by one. Staring at her on screen for the last two hours had me on edge—remembering what had happened between us just hours before the competition started. Dancing with her under the lights. Her straddling my hips as I tasted her lips and devoured her whole. Knowing just how good it felt to have her in my hands.
Now, I had seen her in action—Running the pastry kitchen with a ruthless efficiency, demanding excellence from herself and everyone around her. There was something so irresistible about her talent. It was mind blowing and sexy and no matter how much I tried to get her out of my system, I couldn’t shake her. I didn’t want to.
I crept down the stairs and found her bent over a stainless steel worktable, double checking the next day’s truck order. She rested on her forearms with the clipboard in front of her. Maddie’s back arched and her ass was pushed out. She had let her hair down and draped around her like angels’ wings. Her breasts hung heavy, just above the surface of the table. I gripped the handrail, using the last vestiges of self control I had not to launch myself at her.
Clearing my throat as not to startle her, I managed to choke out, “Congratulations, Madeline.”
She looked up from her spreadsheets, her mouth forming a perfect “O”. Her eyebrows raised and she sucked in a sharp breath.
For a moment, all was quiet. Neither of us moved. Electricity buzzed in the air like a brewing storm. My eyes tracked the rise and fall of
her chest, and then she whispered, “Luca.”
19
———
MADELINE
“Luca—” It was barely audible, but it was enough. He rushed in, swiped his arm over the table, shoving my clipboard to the ground with a clatter. He grabbed my hips and turned me with such force that my mind was spinning. Luca pinned me against the work table and his lips crashed onto mine.
This was nothing like our kisses in Los Angeles. This was needy and dark. It was cruel and punishing. Luca was taking control and I had never felt so alive. It was better than the rush I got from jumping off my roof into the water below. It was better than the feeling when I was three sheets to the wind, dancing my heart out at Jokers. He tasted like top shelf whiskey and bad decisions. Good thing I was a glutton for punishment.
“Madeline,” Luca growled. His hands skated up my sides to cradle my face. Touching my body was a momentary distraction and he quickly redirected his attention to my mouth. Luca held my head in place with his big hands. He kept my body still with his hips pressed against mine. The hard length of his massive erection rocked between us and he moaned with every movement. His tongue pushed against my lips and finally slid up against mine. I had missed this. We moved with such synchronicity and ease. The rich musk of his cologne had me begging for more.
I slid my hands up his suit jacket and fisted the crisp dress shirt he wore underneath. Wrinkles be damned. I pulled away and began undoing his tie. “Luca,” I whined, pleading his name. I wanted this. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anyone.
His brown eyes turned black. Luca clenched his hands into fists and pounded them against the steel table. It echoed like a gunshot and I froze.
“Do you want me?” He barked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure, Madeline?”
I nodded, my eyes never leaving his.
Luca shook his head. He raised his hand and trapped my chin between his thumb and index finger. “Say it.”
