The day she’d met with Anson Lau, Fedora took to the internet as soon as she got home. He’d given her his curriculum vitae and some hard numbers on the financial status of his current restaurants, but she wanted to do some of her own homework. After hours online and on the phone with friends in the industry, she could find nothing nefarious and very little negative. As far as she could tell, this was a smart move for her. Partnering with someone like Anson Lau could potentially catapult her onto the grid as someone to be reckoned with in the industry. And wouldn’t it be sweet to show Mason that he hadn’t damaged her career in the slightest. She fantasized about her and Anson on the cover of Food and Wine, Sunset or some other prestigious publication. That would put that self-important asshole in his place because This Week in Marina Del Rey was nothing compared to that.
The only sticky part was extricating herself from Hat Trick. A war between loyalty and ambition had been waging inside her ever since Anson called with his proposition. She owed Flynn, Slater and Cole a lot. They’d taken a chance on her and given her a position as executive chef, even though she’d never held that title before. They’d supported her, praised her and paid her well, and she’d learned so much. There was no substitute for on the job experience and, needless to say, she’d never have met Anson Lau in the first place if it hadn’t been for Cole and Ruth.
And yet as Kiefer had said, business was business. She wanted to believe that the three amigos cared for her as a person and would applaud and congratulate her. There was a possibility the meeting she’d called would turn out just fine with no hard feelings. She’d heard visualization was a good tool so she pictured the four of them breaking out bottles of ale and clinking them together to celebrate this amazing new career adventure she was embarking upon.
Unfortunately, things didn’t go the way she envisioned.
At all.
As much as she dreaded telling Cole she was resigning, it had to be done. It would be mean and thoughtless to spring the news on him with the other guys, as if he was nothing but a boss to her. So she’d asked him to meet her a few minutes early.
She knocked as she entered his office. She’d worn a Hat Trick T-shirt, jeans and her bright clogs because she had to report to the restaurant later. Her hair was up in only one bun because it made her feel more focused, a little less whimsical than when she wore the two.
Cole stood and met her halfway. When he took her into his arms and gave her a warm kiss, she tried to relax, but she was way too nervous.
Leaning back, he frowned. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
She extricated herself from his grasp. “I have something to tell you.”
“Should I be sitting down?”
She bit her lip. “Maybe.”
Looking worried, he sat in one of the chairs facing his desk and gestured for her to sit in the one across. “Don’t tell me you’re not coming to the auction tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “It’s not about the auction.”
“Thank God. I need the moral support.”
She folded her hands together on her lap because she was afraid they were shaking.
This is business, she told herself. This is not personal. Cole cares about you and he will be excited for you.
She took a deep breath, then met his gaze squarely and said, “I’m giving notice.”
The encouraging expression on his face froze then slowly transformed into one of confusion.
“I don’t…” He shook his head. “Why?”
Recalling the “speech” she’d written up earlier, she said, “I’ve been offered the opportunity to partner up with someone very influential in the culinary world. The plan is to develop a fast casual concept that’s…what? What did you say?”
“I said, who? Who is this influential person?”
“Anson Lau.”
He swallowed visibly and the room suddenly felt ten degrees colder.
“I knew it. I knew he was fucking trying to steal you.” His voice was low and menacing.
“Cole, calm down.”
“Why? Why should I calm down? I think I’m entitled to be pissed off, considering. I mean, here I am, merrily skipping through life thinking that I have everything I could ever want. I’ve been actually thinking that ever since we got back from Seattle. ‘Jesus God, thank you for my life right now. Thank you for helping me see this amazing woman who was right under my nose for over a year.’ Those were literally my thoughts. And then, bam. From out of fucking nowhere, you fucking coldcock me with this.”
“It’s not personal,” she said in a small voice.
“How the fuck can it not be personal?”
“It’s a business decision,” she said. “Just let me explain.”
He shoved his hands through his hair. “No. You know what? This conversation is over. There’s no need to talk anymore or even stick around for two weeks. Your number two can handle it. What’s her name? Jenna? Jenna proved she could do it when we were in Seattle. Plus, look at it this way. You can get started on your new project with Mr. Wonderful right now. No waiting.”
He held out his open hand, palm up, expectantly but she didn’t understand.
When she didn’t respond, he gestured impatiently. “Your keys, please. The keys to Hat Trick.”
She almost reached for them in her purse but managed to find her voice. “I—I have stuff in my office I need to clear out first.” She hated how shaky she sounded.
“Fine. Why don’t you go do that now? I have work to do.” Walking around to his desk, he flicked his fingers at her in a shooing motion. “Close the door behind you, will ya? Thanks.”
Numb and in shock, she left the room and closed the door as he’d asked. Then she just stood there, fighting the tears and wondering if there was any way that could have gone worse.
Just when the emotions that had been rising in her throat threatened to overflow, Slater and Flynn arrived. Flynn held a Starbucks bag and a tray of drinks.
“Hey, Fedora. We brought some yummy—wait a second.” Slater peered closer at her face and she turned away from him. “Hey, Fedora, what’s going on? Someone die?”
She shook her head, swiping at her eyes, not caring if her makeup was ruined. “No. I…Cole…”
The door to Cole’s office flew open. With his suit jacket folded over his arm and his car key in hand, he scowled when he saw Fedora. “I thought you left to get your things.”
“I—”
He spoke over her. “I’m taking the day off, guys. I’m feeling sick to my stomach. Later.”
The three of them watched Cole push past and head right out the door. Flynn and Slater exchanged a look.
“What the hell is going on?” Slater asked. He scowled at Flynn. “I told you this was going to happen.”
Fedora opened her mouth to explain but instead of words, a sob came out. The last thing she wanted to do was fall apart here, but the sight of Cole leaving pushed her over the edge.
“Fuck,” Flynn said. “She’s crying.”
“I know she’s crying, idiot. I have eyes.”
Flynn gestured with the drink tray. “Let’s go to your office.”
Taking Fedora by the elbow, Slater guided her down the hall.
In Slater’s office, Fedora sat on the leather sofa as Slater pushed a tissue box toward her. Flynn put the coffee tray and bag of goodies on the low table.
“Take deep breaths,” Flynn said in a soothing voice. “It’s going to be okay.”
She did. She took several, filling her lungs slowly and exhaling through her mouth until she thought she might be able to manage coherent speech.
“Want some coffee now?” Flynn asked, handing her a cup with her name on it. “I got you your favorite, a caramel macchiato with an extra shot.”
She nodded at him as he sat next to her. “Thanks.”
“And a croissant. It might even still be warm.”
Slater pulled up a chair as Fedora sipped the latte. “So what’s going on?” he asked. “Did you guys
break up?”
When a fresh batch of tears sprang from her eyes, Flynn leaned over and whacked Slater, who had raised an arm in defense a little too late. He almost fell off his chair, which made her laugh a little.
“No. I don’t know. It’s just…everything’s a mess.”
She told them what had transpired, this time with a full explanation of the opportunity she’d been given by Anson. Slater and Flynn listened without interrupting. When she was done, she sipped her macchiato and found it had cooled too much. She set it down.
Flynn looked hurt. “You want to leave?”
She nodded slowly. “I can’t pass this up, Flynn. It’s an amazing opportunity.”
Slater had his arms crossed. “And there’s nothing we can say that will convince you to stay? You’ve done such a stellar job. I swear, Hat Trick wouldn’t be as popular as it is without you. Your skill, your dedication…”
“Thanks, Slater, but I’ve made up my mind. Like I said, I can’t pass this up.”
Slater and Flynn exchanged a glance, then Slater shrugged. “Okay then, if you’re sure, let me give you some advice. When you get the contract, have a lawyer look at it to make sure it’s legit, that this guy isn’t trying to take advantage of you.”
She nodded. “I read it carefully, but that’s a good idea.”
Slater went on. “Also, Cole doesn’t have the power to kick you out early. I, for one, would like you to stick around for the two weeks. Jenna might be up to snuff, but I’m sure there are things you can actively teach her now.”
“Agreed,” Flynn said.
She heaved a sigh. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
“For the two weeks, or forever?” Flynn asked. When she winced, he held up his hands. “Okay, okay, it was worth a try. We don’t know for sure anyway until you have that contract checked out.”
“Right. I’ll do that right away.”
“But good on you, if it works out,” Slater said. “I always knew you were meant for bigger things.”
17
Cole hadn’t intended to drive to the Barracuda Ice Center, but that’s where he ended up. Because the team’s morning skate was over, the ice wasn’t being used so he convinced the Barracuda equipment manager to lend him a stick and some pucks. His skates had been in the trunk. Not long ago he’d participated in the Barracuda Fantasy Camp weekend and he’d been too lazy to take his bag inside.
“I just want to fool around for a little while, remind myself what it was like.”
“Sure, sure, Ripper,” Jellinski said. “No problem. Skating lessons start at one, so the ice is yours until then.”
“I won’t be here that long, but thanks, Jelly.”
Soon after, he was standing center ice, a couple dozen pucks scattered at his feet. Stick in hand, he skated toward the other end of the rink, circled around and scooped up one of the pucks and guided it toward the net. Imagining a goalie crouched there, he aimed high and to the right, took a swing and heard a satisfying thwack a second later when the puck hit the net. Without stopping, he headed back for another puck and repeated the sequence. Even though he wasn’t dressed for this—he didn’t even have gloves on—it felt good to be here. He loved the transfer of energy from his stick to the puck and how it reverberated in his arms, how the crack split the air and echoed in the cavernous space. To him, there was an almost musical rhythm to this kind of drill and he immersed himself in it mindlessly. The mental cocoon was only temporary, but necessary. Every time he started to think about Fedora, uncomfortable emotions rushed to the surface and he had to fight them back.
After he’d shot about half the pucks, he finally felt ready to tackle the situation—that Fedora was done with Hat Trick.
Okay. That was so fucking shitty he could barely comprehend it. The thought of going in to work and not seeing her there, running the kitchen like a ballbusting general, producing mouth-watering food, making him laugh with her wry humor and teasing, pissed him the fuck off. But it also made his guts twist up.
It’s not personal, she’d said. It’s a business decision.
Well, it very well might be a business decision, but it felt like a lot more and he didn’t understand why she hadn’t told him about what was going on. Knowing she had kept all this a secret from him made him want to punch something. He fired a puck toward the net and missed, but it thwacked the boards hard.
Obviously Seattle had meant a lot more to him than it had to her. He’d really thought they were making some progress, relationship-wise. Sure, things were moving fast, but the speed didn’t negate the feelings. He could admit now that he’d fallen for her. Hell, he’d probably been in love with her for months now, but too blind to see it. Too blind to see her distancing herself from Hat Trick too.
God, he felt like an ass.
He stayed at the rink for an hour, until his hands started to ache from the cold. Just when he’d gathered the last of the pucks, he looked up and saw a little kid, about eight years old, his hands pressed to the glass.
He skated over.
“Are you a Barracuda?” the kid asked.
“I used to be,” Cole said.
“What’s your name?
“Ripley. Cole Ripley.”
“Ripper? Number 14?
“That’s me.”
“Wow! I know you. My brother’s always trying to rip one from the blue line like you used to do.”
“Good to know I haven’t been forgotten.”
“He tried to get people to call him Ripper too, but that didn’t work.”
“No one gets to pick his own nickname.”
“People call him Bugsy because of this time he was riding his bike and a bug flew in his mouth and he swallowed it.”
Cole laughed. “No wonder he wants a new nickname.”
“Tristan, come on. We’re leaving,” called a voice.
Cole looked and saw a hockey mom and what seemed to be Tristan’s brother Bugsy. Tristan waved at them vigorously.
“Mom! Drew! It’s Ripper. He’s right here!”
Cole pointed toward a place where there was no glass and they reconvened there. Drew the older brother looked to be on the edge of peeing his pants, he was so excited. Pictures were taken. Cole signed stuff for them and gave Drew some pointers on how to improve his slapshot. By the time he left the rink, he was in a considerably better mood. A hockey mood, actually. He decided on the spot to go to the game tonight. The ’Cudas were playing the Stars in the first game of the playoffs. He didn’t have a ticket, but as an alum, that was never a problem. He’d immerse himself in the world of his past since his present was in the crapper.
18
Cole was nervous as fuck about the bachelor auction tonight. He’d been counting on Fedora to be in the audience and bid on him if nobody else did but his pride wouldn’t let him call her. He’d almost texted her about a dozen times since the debacle in his office, but in his book, the person in the wrong should make the first move. Sure, he’d acted like a dick, but she was the one who had made that deal behind his back without even discussing it with him. He supposed they were in a Mexican Chinese standoff.
Dressed in a dark gray suit, lavender tie and shiny black wingtips, he had cultivated some stubble, as requested. He’d also brought along a stick and a puck. Sarah thought it would be cute if he did some sort of hockey trick while the bidding was going on.
When he arrived at Club Maxx where the auction was being held, there were women everywhere. They were all dressed to the nines, chattering with excitement. He kept his eye out for Fedora just in case, but he didn’t see her.
He did see his mother, though, and what the fuck…she was with Anson Lau.
“Son, you remember Mr. Lau,” Ruth said.
Cole nodded with as little of a smile on his face as he thought he could get away with. “Yes, we’ve met a couple of times, Mom.” What’s he doing here, he wanted to ask. And why the fuck does the guy have his arm around you?
Lau held out his hand, but Cole pretended he didn’t
see it and leaned forward to kiss his mom’s cheek. “Thanks for coming, Mom, but I have to go backstage.”
And he left, not wanting to stay because if he did, he’d end up saying something shitty to Lau and embarrassing his mom. But they were going to talk later, that was for sure. It gave him the heebie-jeebies to think they were romantically involved.
In the green room, he waited with the other bachelors. It was stuffy and crowded and there weren’t enough chairs for all of them, not that Cole wanted to sit. Someone had set up a refreshment table with water, soda and a bowl of snack mix. A flat screen TV up in the corner showed a feed from the main room of the club.
Cole was smack dab in the middle of the roster. He would have preferred going out sooner because that meant less time spent in anxious anticipation, but oh well. One of the guys was passing around a flask, and Cole gratefully took a swig to settle his nerves. He wondered if any of these guys had done this before. No one else seemed to be on edge, but that was probably an act. He told himself it was human nature to be uneasy in a situation like this.
“All right, men,” a woman said. “My name is Stephanie and I’ll be the one directing traffic. We run this like a baseball game. While one person is at bat, the next guy is on deck, waiting. When it’s your turn, just be yourself. The most important thing for you to do is smile. If you want to ham it up, pull a few Magic Mike moves, fantastic. The ladies love that. If you want to do it suave and cool, James Bond style, that’s great too. There’s no wrong way to do this. It’s all good. Honestly.”
Cole realized his hands were sweaty but he couldn’t exactly wipe them on his pants so he got a napkin from the refreshment table. As he propped his hockey stick against the wall, he glanced around and wondered how many of these guys had Magic Mike moves in their repertoire, because Cole was not the best dancer in the world. He guessed the women would get more excited over hip gyrations than they would over a guy and his hockey stick, but Sarah had asked him to use his stick.
Crazy for Cole Page 11
