by Maggie Gates
Bridget wasn’t much more help, but at least she had mozzarella sticks waiting when I dragged my feet into Jokers. Good thing Chase was there. Out of all seven of us—eight, with Luca—who made up the poker club, Chase was probably the best at girl talk.
“Bee, me and Mad Dog are gonna grab a booth,” Chase said as soon as my hands braced against the bar.
Bridget handed him the plate of mozzarella sticks and pointed to an empty booth in the corner. “I’ll bring your drinks over in a sec.”
“Thanks, darlin’.”
“I take it Hannah called you,” I said as I followed him and sunk down onto the lumpy leather bench.
“You know how it works,” he said as he stabbed a mozzarella stick into the marinara sauce. “You’re awfully calm.”
I sighed and rested my elbows on the table between us and dropped my head into my hands. “I’m trying to be reasonable.”
Chase let out a full-bellied laugh and shook his head. “You’re not reasonable. You’re hell hath no fury.”
“That’s why I said I was trying.”
His fun-loving demeanor shifted to something serious. Chase looked less like my good-time guy friend and more like the man with the badge and gun he had on his belt. “I shouldn’t be sayin’ this ‘cause I’m on duty, but if he actually fucked around with that reporter, I’ll beat the shit out of him.”
I cracked a wry smile and picked at a groove that cut through the top of the wood table. “Not really sure that’s what the Beaufort P.D. classifies as protecting and serving.”
“I’m serious, Maddie.”
“I know.” I groaned in frustration and rested my head against the back of the booth. “How could I be so stupid getting involved with a guy like him? I knew exactly the kind of person he was before I got in bed with him, and I was a dumbass to think I could change that or believe he could be someone else.”
“Mad, listen to me. It’s not your damn fault. Don’t saddle yourself with feeling responsible for that motherfucker’s shitty fucking choices.”
I left the bar feeling slightly better after Chase’s profane version of tough love. That was, until I pulled into the driveway at Luca’s house and saw Astrid’s car in the drive.
“Madeline,” she sniffed with her nose so high in the air it looked like an antenna.
“What are you doing here?” I said as I slammed my Jeep door. “Should you be in L.A. doing damage control with Luca?”
She gave me a pitiful smile and sneered, “I wasn’t needed in Los Angeles. He’s there making sure his restaurant is safe, and the investors are happy, and I’m here making sure that his image remains appealing to the masses and the few that actually matter.”
“And just who actually fucking matters?” I snapped. “If you know something, just come out and say it.”
Astrid smoothed her hand over the side of her slicked-back hair. The tight bun made her look even more severe and cold than usual. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She feigned innocence, but it was all just one big steaming pile of bullshit.
“Celeste Montgomery,” I clipped. I was done beating around the bush. I deserved a damn answer.
She gave me a slight smile that was more victory than pity and opened her car door. “I don’t comment on the personal life of Mr. DeRossi unless I’m speaking publicly on his behalf. I’m sure you, of all people, can appreciate my discretion, Miss Dorsey.”
“Is he sleeping with her?”
Astrid’s smile turned downright wicked as she slid behind the wheel, gave the key a sharp twist in the ignition, and said, “No comment.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks, burning my skin as Astrid pulled out of the driveway. I stared up at the house, knowing I needed to go inside and take care of things, but I didn’t have the strength to take the first step toward the door. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and half-heartedly, I hoped it was Luca. It wasn’t. I took it as a sign from the universe and scrolled through to find his number. I held the phone up to my ear and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Right before the ring that I knew would send me to voicemail, Luca’s voice filled my ear. “Hey.”
Seriously? Hey is all I got? I bit my lip and tried my hardest to keep my tone even. “Do you have a minu—”
“Look, I know we haven’t talked in a couple days, but now’s not a good time.”
“Are you kidding me?” I laughed in disbelief. “Luca, I haven’t seen you in a month, and now I find out that—”
“I gotta go, Maddie. Talk soon.”
And then the line went dead. Tires crunched up the driveway, and I whipped around, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Luca would materialize behind me and everything would be okay. Instead, I saw Steve’s black Challenger idling beside my Jeep. He got out and shoved his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans that looked like they’d been worn well past their wear. “Figured you’d be over here,” he muttered.
My lip trembled, and I clutched my phone like a lifeline. With each one of Steve’s steady strides, I felt myself crumble a little more. “Don’t tell anyone I cried over him,” I whispered as Steve wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in close.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he muttered. “I owe you. Remember?”
I did. The night that Heather passed away and we sat on the dock—I never uttered a word to anyone about Steve shattering to pieces. “I don’t know how you get up every day,” I sniffed, trying my best to keep his soft flannel shirt snot-free. One of my many flaws was that I was an ugly crier. Snot bubbles and dry heaving—the whole nine yards. It wasn’t attractive in the slightest, but around Steve, I didn’t care. “I can’t imagine how it felt for you to lose your soulmate because this hurts like hell.”
“Maybe it’s supposed to hurt,” he finally said after a long silence. “The pain tells us we’re still alive and breathing.”
I laughed through my tears, “When did you become such a fortune cookie?”
Steve’s lips quirked in a sort of dopey, lopsided grin. “Can’t take credit for it. Mel says it to me all the time.”
“Of course she does,” I said. Because she’s totally into you.
“You’re gonna be alright, kid.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you gonna be alright?”
Steve rested his chin on top of my head, and for the first time, I realized that hugging him now didn’t feel like it used to. Where he had been solidly in the dad-bod-teddy-bear category, his soft sides were gone, and instead, his shirt strained against defined muscles and sharp edges. He’d even gone from being clean-shaven all the time to sporting a scruffy beard. How had I missed all that? Steve was my neighbor and one of my best friends. Had being with Luca blinded me to what was happening all around me?
He shrugged and said, “Pain reminds us we’re alive, but I think pain is a warning not to get hurt again.”
39
———
LUCA
I grabbed the crystal decanter and poured myself a healthy glass of bourbon. I filled the tumbler to the rim. Tonight wasn’t the night for measuring alcohol by the ounce and drinking like a gentleman. I loosened my tie and made my way to the leather couch that was calling my name.
I felt like shit, and not just because I’d blown off Maddie earlier. I knew I owed her an apology for leaving town before I could make it to Beaufort to see her, but the situation in L.A. was worse than I thought.
The—now unemployed—executive chef of my Los Angeles restaurant was scum of the lowest variety. Not only had he been preying on young employees, but he’d also done so while promising raises and promotions if they fulfilled his sick desires. I wasn’t one to lean into the court of public opinion—I wasn’t the judge, jury, and executioner. Still, the evidence was damning, and he had admitted to every disgusting thing.
All it took was one employee coming forward and spilling the details to the third-party human resources firm for an investigation to get started. One emp
loyee willing to talk turned into two, and those two turned into six.
Six women who had been manipulated and coerced by that bastard—I was fucking furious. If the revelation hadn’t already ruined the man’s life, I would have beaten him into the ground myself. But that’s not what my investors wanted to see, and it certainly wasn’t what my L.A. employees needed. They needed me to be a strong, level-headed presence. They needed stability and someone reasonable to get things back on track. Say what you will about the rest of the restaurant industry, but I cared about my employees. Sure, I didn’t know all their names, but from my first restaurant to the rest of the acquisitions that came after, I was hell-bent on creating a safe working environment for the men and women who invested their time there. This bullshit wasn’t the kind of thing I tolerated being associated with my restaurants.
“You look like hell,” Isaac said as he let himself in. He glanced at my glass as he picked up the nearly empty decanter, putting the pieces together. “That bad, huh?”
“You have no fucking idea,” I groaned as I sipped the bourbon and relaxed as the warm, smokey burn coated my tongue. “It’s a shit show.”
“Come out with me. You look like you need a good time to unwind. I met this chick getting coffee this morning. She’s a journalist or something—total babe. I’m meeting her at a club downtown. I can have her bring a friend.”
I grunted something noncommittal and took another swig from the glass. “You know, for a guy as filthy rich as you are, I can’t figure out why the hell you still go inside a coffee shop and get your own coffee in the morning.”
Isaac grabbed the bottle of cognac I kept on the bar cart and poured a finger into an empty glass. “How else are you supposed to meet women? All the ones I see at work are wrinkly, old lizards in power suits.”
He wasn’t wrong. Isaac was the sole heir to a massive real estate fortune. He was the next generation of the firm his father and grandfather had built, and that meant putting in a hell of a lot of work. Isaac’s motto hadn’t changed since his Ivy League days—work hard, play harder.
“Get your P.A. to give you a list of women wanting to use you for money and fame,” I grumbled with a dry sense of annoyance.
Isaac cracked a grin as he downed his glass of cognac. “Your lizard still trying to get you back with Amalia?”
“Nah—even Astrid knows I’d rather be castrated than go back with that dipshit. Now she’s got it in her head that she’s gonna set me up with Celeste Montgomery.”
“Who?”
“Contributing editor for Vogue. She’s been a fucking thorn in my side for months while she’s been writing this piece about me. Astrid’s making me play nice, but Celeste can’t take a fucking hint.”
“Ah,” he chuckled. “The woes of the rich and famous. Too bad you’re sexy as hell too—that must be a real bitch.”
“Takes one to know one, dick head.”
“What happened to that little east coast ten you were seeing? I swear, man—my secretary’s got a thing for you. I caught her staring at the red carpet photos of you and your—”
“Maddie.”
“You and Maddie from some event last month.” He plunked down in the wingback chair across from me and propped his ankle on his knee. “Things serious?”
“I have a ring. Just haven’t been able to pop the question yet.”
“Damn, DeRossi—I always knew you were a sentimental son of a bitch. You’re serious?”
“Dead fucking serious.”
“Good for you,” he said casually. “Happy for you, man.”
“That’s it? No argument that I’m giving up my bachelorhood for a ball and chain?”
Isaac grinned, “Why would I argue? It’s a numbers game, man. You being off the market means more pussy for me.”
I should have laughed, but I couldn’t. Not when I still remembered how wrecked Maddie sounded during the twenty seconds we talked on the phone. Still, there was something that I was sure of. “She’s it for me.” I slid my phone out of my pocket and fired off a text.
Luca: You busy? Call me if you’re free.
She responded almost instantly. I could feel her anger seeping through the screen.
Maddie: Working.
I was only a few sips into the bourbon I’d poured myself, but I knew if I kept going that I’d inevitably do something stupid. Something stupid, like getting on a plane and flying across the country to see a girl who had been on my mind every damn day for six fucking months. I walked my tumbler over to the sink and poured seventy-five dollars worth of Blanton’s down the sink. “How the hell am I supposed to make it work with her when she’s in North Carolina, and I’m all over the fucking place ten months out of the year?”
“Beats me. That’s why I’m going out like my granddad—bachelor until he was sixty, married a hot, young thing and got her pregnant and kept the family tree going.”
I sneered in disgust and shook my head. “You realize you just called your grandma a hot, young thing, right?”
“I said what I said.”
“You sure did,” I muttered under my breath. “So, you’re really ready to hit the big four-oh in a few years and still party like you’re in a fraternity?”
“Please,” he said, looking at the one of a kind watch on his wrist as he made his way to the door. “I’m Isaac-fucking-Lawson. The parties I go to now are much more legendary than when I was in college. You look like you need a night out. Come on—my driver’s downstairs waiting. Let’s go out, get you loose. Just like old times.”
Being in a hot, crowded club with migraine-inducing music and whiny drunk girls sounded about as appealing as a doctor telling me to turn my head and cough. “I’m good. I should get some sleep. Few more days and I’ll be outta here. Just need to finish cleaning up the clusterfuck at the restaurant.”
“Good,” Isaac said as he made his way to the door. “You’re really cramping my style. Can’t exactly bring girls back here when your mopey ass is slumming around.”
“Um, last time I checked, this was my condo, and you’re welcome for me being a saint and letting you crash here when I know damn well you could get your own place.” I had built my restaurant empire from the ground up, Isaac was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Still, he was the cheapest rich person I knew.
“Hey—I spend my money where it counts.”
“Like on nightclub VIP sections and top-shelf bottle service to impress the undergrads you pick up at Starbucks?” I knew I was giving him a hard time, but truth be told, Isaac was always the first person I went to when I was thinking about making a risky business move. He had a head for numbers, and regardless of his party boy antics, he was a shrewd businessman with the irrational confidence of a honey badger. It worked for him, so who was I to judge?
Isaac left to go paint the town, and I turned down the hallway toward my room. At least he had been crashing in the guest room. I didn’t want to think about what kind of debauchery would have happened on my sheets had he taken up residence in the master. No laundry service in the world could ever get my bedding clean enough for me to sleep on it again.
I wasn’t one to leave a mess, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass when my suit hit the floor, and I didn’t hang it up to send it to dry cleaning. I changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I grabbed my Yankees hat and threw it on. I was fucking sick of being Luca DeRossi. I was ready to be Luke again.
The taco truck was hopping. The night was still warm and people milled about. I grabbed my styrofoam container and dropped a wad of cash into the tip jar. Wistfulness crept through me like a snaking vine. Fuck, I missed her. It was nearly eleven in California, which meant it was two in the morning back in Beaufort. There was a chance that Maddie was still awake if she had closed the restaurant for dinner service. I took a picture of the taco truck and fired it off.
Luca: Wish you were here. -Luke.
Maybe she was onto something when she told me that all she wanted was Luke and Maddie. My condo—even wi
th Isaac crashing there—felt empty. The Blanton’s I fancied tasted like tap water. My stress levels were nearing nuclear, and the only thing that could make it better was her.
My phone buzzed, and like a moron, I had hope. It wasn’t Maddie texting me back. Maybe she had already gone to bed, or maybe she was just ignoring me. I couldn’t really blame her for either. I swiped across the screen and saw that Celeste had tagged me in a post on Instagram.
Of her.
In the master bedroom in my new house.
Someone—a soon to be murdered Astrid—had taken a photo of Celeste standing on the widow’s walk overlooking the bay. The French doors were wide open, and the sheer curtains were billowing in the breeze. Celeste’s hands were outstretched on either side of the railing. The silky, black dress she was in looked like fucking lingerie.
“I know the real Luca DeRossi,” the caption began. “The question is, do you? Read all about the industry’s sexiest chef in Luca DeRossi: Food, Fashion, and Foreplay. Find it in next month’s issue.”
Well, fuck.
40
———
MADELINE
Hot Guy from the Gym in L.A.: Maddie, please call me back. I need to talk to you, Tesoro. I love you.
I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know that it would be a dreadful day.
I wasn’t sure that my phone had ever stopped ringing throughout the night, but when I woke up and actually looked at the damn thing, it was a million times worse than I had expected.
It wasn’t a dreadful day—it was the worst day.
It was the day that my world came crashing down.
Screenshots of the post were in almost every text from Hannah Jane, Melissa, Kristin, and Bridget. I had at least a million copies of Celeste Montgomery with tousled sex hair standing on the balcony off the hidden master suite in Luca’s house.
The place he said was for us and us only.
I was angry, but more than that, I felt violated—used and then thrown away.
Luca’s name flashed on the screen. It had to be at least his three hundredth attempt at reaching me. By the looks of my call history, he had been at it all night long. Without even thinking, I hurled my phone across the room and screamed. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. Suspecting your boyfriend of cheating on you was one thing, but having it rubbed in your face was another thing entirely.
