Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you know Steph?”

  “Wyatt,” I explained. Then I canted my head to the side, wondering how aloof this man really was. “Wyatt and I are friends.”

  “Is that who Steph is setting you up with?”

  “God, no,” I laughed. “No, this guy is from a different restaurant I think. And not a head chef. Steph was very adamant that I don’t want to date a chef.”

  “You don’t,” Ezra agreed. He must have seen confusion all over my face because he quickly added. “I currently employ several of them and they’re not dating material. They’re the worst.”

  “Even Killian?” I teased.

  “Especially Killian. Although he doesn’t work for me anymore.”

  “Well, this guy is a server somewhere? Or bartender? I can’t remember the details. Honestly, I’m the token single friend at this point. I’m set up so often I’ve stopped bothering to remember their names, let alone their professions.”

  Ezra’s smile returned and with it my heart fluttered and unwanted butterflies took flight. He opened his mouth to say something more, but we were interrupted by a hard knock on the door and Wyatt’s head popping in. “Oh, sorry,” Wyatt mumbled barely sounding apologetic. “Karen Savoy is here. She wants to have a word with you. And me, apparently.”

  Ezra’s pleasant expression disappeared and he was once again all business, completely serious. “I’ll be out in a moment.” To me he said, “Thanks again, Molly. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I smiled pleasantly and said goodbye to Wyatt and Ezra so they could deal with Karen Savoy—whoever that was. Deciding to forget about my almost normal conversation with Ezra, I ran the rest of my errands and picked up Chinese takeout on the way home. I spent the remainder of the night watching a documentary on an unsolved murder and freaking myself way out, even though all I wanted to do was paint.

  But when I finally fell asleep, after at least twenty minutes of hysteric worrying, I was proud of myself for leaving my paints alone. And the memories of Ezra’s smiling mouth. And his crinkled eyes. The way he gentled and heated and became something else entirely.

  When I woke up in the morning, I checked my email and fought the urge to paint all of him over again.

  To: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  From: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  Date: February 24, 2017 02:39:01 EST

  Subject: World-Class Menagerie

  I watched Aladdin. You should have always been Jasmine. Every single time.

  Six

  I clutched the cool glass in my hand and slipped to a corner of the room where I could hide from the potential date Steph had introduced me to. Steph was one of Wyatt’s friends that I’d gotten to know through hanging out with him. She was sweet and energetic and had terrible taste in men. She’d sworn up and down that her friend Trent would be perfect for me.

  Trent was a bartender from Greenlight, one of the cool, late night venues in the plaza. Once she’d introduced us, I realized I knew who he was and didn’t hate looking at him, so I’d spent the first third of the night trying to talk to him.

  At first, he seemed nice enough, although I never felt the flicker of chemistry or intrigue that was usually a good sign. He was taller than me and obviously worked out more than the occasional spin class. He had a nice smile and sturdy teeth. His laugh wasn’t obnoxious and I knew he had a job. My internal checklist would have been complete if I’d been able to hold his attention for longer than three seconds at a time.

  From my brief time hanging out with people in the food industry, I knew two things about bartenders. 1. They got a lot of action. 2. They expected a lot of action.

  Bonus point. 3. They enjoyed attention. But it didn’t really matter to them who they got it from.

  Or at least the ones I’d met so far. So I’d put in some time with Trent while he continued to scan the room for potentials just in case I didn’t work out. I’d ducked away at the first possible opportunity.

  I’d already decided to make it my mission to avoid him for the rest of the night. Plus, the party seemed to be a success and I wanted to check out my handiwork.

  Well, it wasn’t totally my handiwork.

  Actually, barely any of it was my handiwork.

  I’d brought some centerpieces and recruited part of the team, but really Wyatt and Ezra deserved all the credit.

  Also, credit was due to Meg, Ezra’s florist, who wasn’t even a florist. Her email signature had referenced one of the premier interior design firms in the city. I’d googled her, expecting a middle-aged plastic blonde. Instead, I’d gotten a chic redhead that couldn’t have been much older than me.

  I hated her immediately.

  No, that wasn’t true. I’d disliked her immediately. I hadn’t hated her until I’d walked into Lilou three hours ago and seen what she’d done to the place.

  Lilou was usually a stunning sight, but tonight I’d actually lost my breath when I walked inside the door. She’d taken my vintage spice racks and filled them with vibrant red peonies in overflowing bouquets that added magic to Lilou’s already enchanting decor.

  She’d draped more peonies over the iron bars on the windows and hung them in glass lanterns from the ceiling. She’d tented sheer fabric and layered the ceiling, transforming Lilou from trendy restaurant to epic event hot spot. Then she draped twinkling lights all over because clearly we needed more charm.

  She’d strategically placed food stations around the room and grouped Wyatt’s Vera-inspired menu from back in her short-lived food truck days in perfectly edible harmonies. And she’d somehow convinced Ezra to move tables out of the way so she could set up a dance floor that was currently crowded.

  This was the party I hadn’t been brave enough to hope for. Getting Lilou as the venue had been a big enough deal. What Meg had accomplished was… next level brilliance. And I had Ezra to thank.

  Speaking of Ezra, the man didn’t disappoint. He’d called Killian earlier in the day and asked him to bring Vera by the restaurant to try the tasting menu of a new executive chef he was considering for Bianca, one of his other restaurants. Killian and Vera had jumped at the chance to check out the new blood.

  The surprise was only sort of ruined when they walked in the side door to the kitchen instead of the front door. The guests hadn’t been expecting Killian and Vera to sneak up on them from behind.

  Still, a surprise was a surprise. Vera had burst into tears and Killian had wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. The photographer Meg had enlisted snapped away, capturing the beautiful moment forever.

  Now, well into the party, I was three champagne cocktails deep and working on my fourth. Vera danced with Killian in the middle of the floor, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, cheek pressed against his chest.

  My heart kicked at the sight of them and I took another drink of champagne. I scanned the room, noting Ezra smiling at Meg, no doubt congratulating her on a job well done. My job well done. I took another drink of champagne.

  “Where can I get one of those?” A pretty blonde pointed at the drink in my hand.

  She had to be from Ezra’s list of invites since I didn’t recognize her. She was stunning in a white shift dress that showed off one elegant shoulder and a whole lot of leg. I wondered if Ezra bugged her about wearing a coat.

  I took another sip.

  “Just stand here for a minute,” I told her through numb lips. I pointed at a seemingly floating tray of drinks making its way through the crowd. “Careful though. They’re the kind of good that’s dangerous.”

  “Yeah, Aidan is the best.” She referenced the bartender while adjusting the strap of her dangerously high stiletto. “But then again my brother only hires the best.”

  Her words bounced around in my champagne infused brain. “Your brother?”

  She nodded across the room. “Ezra,” she clarified.

  Her answer only confused me more. “Ezra is your brother?”

  “Half-broth
er,” she clarified. “Mostly though he’s a pain in the ass.” She suddenly smiled wide, throwing her head back and laughing like a lunatic. When she righted herself again, she whispered, “Pretend like we’re having a really good time. If he thinks I’m sulking he’ll come over and make a big deal about it.”

  My eyes sought him before I gave them official permission to do so. Sure enough, he was staring over at us, watching his sister intently. Belatedly, I loosed a smile and laughed at her non-existent joke.

  She laughed again, only this time it seemed genuine. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m Dillon by the way. Ezra’s younger, wiser, more attractive sister.”

  I smiled at her. “I’m Molly. Vera’s younger, wiser, more attractive best friend.”

  We shared another laugh. Mine was louder than usual, fueled by stress and alcohol.

  “You’re the mastermind behind tonight, aren’t you? Ezra said this was all you.”

  I squinted at her, trying to decide if I’d heard her right. The dance music was loud, but not that loud. “Oh, you mean the party? Yeah, I guess it was. Ezra should really get the credit though. Or his florist, Meg. She did all the…” I waved in the general direction of some flowers. “Décor.”

  Dillon snorted. “I figured. It has her flare.”

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  Dillon wrinkled her nose. “I was going to say it smells like a funeral home, but we can go with your answer. It’s nicer.”

  I laughed again, instantly liking the pretty blonde that was nothing like her brother. They didn’t even look alike. It was hard to reconcile them as siblings, and my muddled thoughts questioned if maybe she was lying.

  “Are you sure you’re Ezra’s sister?” I asked, speaking my mind before I could think better of it. “You’re so much more—”

  “Pale?” she filled in.

  “I was going to say pleasant.”

  “Ha! Well, that too, I suppose.”

  I looked back and forth between Dillon and Ezra again. He had dark hair and eyes, and olive skin. She really was paler. Her blonde hair just a few shades darker than her bright white dress, and her big blue eyes were inviting and sweet, unmarked by the heaviness in Ezra’s.

  “You really don’t look anything alike though,” I heard myself say. “He’s so…” I trailed off before I could finish the sentence with stupid adjectives like hot, sexy or drool-worthy.

  “He favors our dad,” she explained. “Where I’m like my mom. She was all Viking.”

  “Sorry,” I added quickly, realizing belatedly that I was asking a perfect stranger bizarre questions about her sibling. I opened my mouth to ask another stupid question like how Ezra knew Meg, or how often does Meg do Ezra’s flowers, or is florist code for something else? Like hooker? But Dillon cut me off, saving us both from the disaster brewing inside my mouth.

  “Oh, shit,” she mumbled. “He’s coming over here. If he asks, tell him we were discussing mature adult things like politics or nuclear physics. Or the weather.”

  I didn’t have time to process her request before Ezra approached us. He went straight for his sister, pulling her into a brief hug. “Dillon,” he greeted in that way of his that wasn’t a greeting at all. . Never “hello” or “hi” or “hey girl.” Just first names and broody looks. “Glad you made it.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she told him. “Killian’s family.”

  “You’ll love Vera too,” he told her. “When they’re done dancing, I’ll introduce you.”

  “I’ve already met the best friend,” Dillon nodded to me. “Molly’s been keeping me company.”

  Realizing it was odd that Dillon knew who I was, I was slow to reply. “Politics,” I finally blurted. “We were just discussing politics.”

  Ezra’s eyes narrowed on me, then dropped to the empty champagne flute in my hands. “Dillon is always discussing politics,” he confirmed. “When I’m not around that is.”

  She gave him an innocent smile. “That’s because you’re such a know-it-all. I prefer people with open minds.”

  “And you think that Molly is one of those people?”

  “Hey!” I protested.

  He reached forward and grabbed the glass from my hands, dropping it on a tray as a waiter walked by us. The move was so smooth and effortless my mouth unhinged and I bristled. I could have done that myself!

  Or okay, I probably wouldn’t have noticed that waiter. He was moving too fast and he kind of blended in with everyone around him. But I would have caught the next one.

  “Molly is one of those people,” Dillon insisted. “And she agrees with me about Meg’s design taste. You have to stop using her.”

  Ezra’s shoulders lifted and dropped with an impatient sigh. “Don’t be petty,” he warned. “She did a fantastic job. Besides, this was very last minute. I didn’t give her much time.”

  Dillon rolled her eyes. “Time has nothing to do with it. She’s over the top. I told you that last time. I don’t know why you don’t listen to me.”

  Feeling out of place while the siblings bickered over flowers I took a small step to the side. “I’ll just… I’m going over... somewhere else.” I pointed across the room.

  Ezra’s hand fell to my forearm, stilling me. “I’ll find you in a minute.”

  “Why?” The question popped out of my mouth before I could think better of it.

  His dark eyes turned to me and he gave me his full, undivided attention. I sucked in a sharp breath at the intensity in his look, the utter power barely restrained beneath his cool expression. He was all sleek lines tonight in a white dress shirt, tailored gray trousers and thin black tie. His hand on my arm was hot and firm, freezing me in place like it had magical powers.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” he explained.

  I struggled to swallow through the new lump in my throat. “About what?”

  He lifted his hand from my arm and I scooted another step away from him. “I’ll find you,” he promised. Then he turned back to Dillon and I instantly felt dismissed.

  Noting the exit locations I contemplated escaping, but in the end, I settled for dropping by one of the food stations. I hadn’t eaten anything yet and the alcohol was clearly catching up to me. Wyatt had done a spectacular job with the spread and I decided I should tell him that.

  Chicken and waffle slider in one hand and a refilled champagne cocktail in the other, I made my way to the kitchen. I briefly remembered Ezra’s warning about setting foot in there the other night, but just as quickly dismissed it. He wasn’t technically open for business and so I wasn’t technically breaking his rules.

  I found Wyatt in the center of his kitchen, king of his newly claimed kingdom, leaning over a tray of appetizers. He was all focus and serious vibes, meticulously inspecting them for any faults. Without lifting his head he yelled at someone behind him about double checking temperatures. His hands never wavered from where he worked to perfectly drizzle sauce on top of a skewered meatball.

  “Wyatt, please just acknowledge that everyone is drunk by now!” a woman yelled from by the coolers. “This isn’t fucking Top Chef!”

  Wyatt spread his hands wide on the stainless steel table, gripping the edges in an effort to keep his cool. He dropped his head and roared, “Goddamnit, Kaya, if the mousse isn’t perfect I’m going to fucking fire you!”

  I watched Kaya grin at his back, pleased that she’d gotten to him. “I’m here on a volunteer basis tonight, asshole! You can’t fire me for helping you out.” The rest of his cooks ducked their heads and focused intently on staying out of his way.

  “And I thought Killian was scary,” I said loud enough to catch Wyatt’s attention.

  His head snapped up and I had the pleasure of watching his cheeks turn red. “Killian had me for a sous chef,” he growled, throwing a murderous glance to the back of his kitchen. “And I didn’t run my mouth constantly.”

  Kaya dropped a tray of chocolate mousse cups next to Wyatt. “That’s because you were too busy using it to kiss his a
ss.” She walked away making smooching noises.

  Wyatt glared at the desserts. “So help me God, if these aren’t perfectly fucking executed.”

  “I should put a cuss jar back here,” I told him. “I’d be rich.”

  “You’re trying to push me over the edge, aren’t you?” Wyatt snarled at me. “You’ve joined forces with Satan’s mistress and the two of you are in cahoots to give me an aneurism.”

  “Who’s Satan’s mistress?”

  Kaya raised her hand. “That would be me. It’s our esteemed chef’s affectionate pet name for me. Along with Madam Satan, She Devil, the Antichrist’s Baby Mama, and Mrs. Bin Laden.”

  Mrs. Bin Laden?

  I swallowed a laugh since it was obvious Kaya didn’t appreciate her nicknames. “Quite the hostile work environment you’re fostering, Wyatt.”

  He grumbled more curse words beneath his breath, but overall chose to ignore my comment. “What can I help you with, Molls?”

  I shrugged and took a nervous sip of my champagne. “Just stopped by to see how you were doing. I was hoping you would be done by now and could come hang out with me.”

  Wyatt reached up to tug at his tall chef’s toque. “Wish I could, but I have to finish up desserts. I’ll be out as soon as we clean up.”

  “So in like three hours?”

  “Sorry.” He frowned. “You hired me to work. I’m still working.”

  I didn’t really hire him. He volunteered. But I understood that he still had a job to do, and I didn’t want to get in the way. “Find me later?”

  His expression softened and his eyes warmed, transforming his looks completely. Wyatt was a total bad ass. At only thirty years old, he already commanded one of the best kitchens in the state. He’d inherited Lilou from Killian, taking over to fill giant shoes. But Wyatt hadn’t faltered for a second. From what Vera had told me, Ezra was seriously impressed with how Wyatt was able to handle the kitchen, the menu, and the staff.

  Wyatt wasn’t hard to look at either. He was tall and lean, his corded muscles like taut ropes against bone. High cheekbones, a square jaw, perfectly shaped ears, on top of a rock-hard body, and kick ass kitchen skills? Yes, please.