Playing with Piper (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing for Love Book 3)

by Tara Crescent

  I close my eyes in relief. If Constable Rahilly had refused to help, I wouldn’t have known what to do next. “Thank you.”

  She clears her throat. “Are you well, Owen?” she asks, a tremble in her voice. “We sent you away from your home when you were just a child. Did we do the right thing? Has life been kind to you?”

  I reflect on her words. My friendship with Wyatt has enriched my life and our partnership has made both of us wealthy. And there’s Piper. In her arms, the ghosts are silenced, the past a distant memory.

  What would have happened if I’d stayed in Dublin? I’d been heartbroken and angry; reckless in a way only a sixteen year old could be. I’d craved revenge. I would have died before my seventeenth birthday.

  I swallow a lump in my throat. At the time, I’d been angry about being sent away, but I realize now that Aisling Rahilly gave me a precious gift. She’d given me a second chance. “Life has been more than kind.”

  Once I hang up, I stare at the phone number I’ve scribbled down for a long time. I can’t shake off my premonition of doom. The world I’ve so carefully built will come crumbling down if I dial that number.

  You have to know if Cassidy is in New York, I reason with myself.

  I punch in the digits and make the call. There’s no turning back now.

  25

  Do not swallow bait offered by the enemy.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Piper:

  According to Google, one of New York’s ten best sex stores is located in SoHo, which is only a twenty-minute ride on the C line for me. Tuesday morning, I wake up and head there, anxious to put my plan into action.

  A young woman is just opening the store as I walk up. “Hello,” she greets me, smiling in a friendly manner. If she thinks it’s weird that I’m shopping for sex toys at ten in the morning, her expression doesn’t reveal it. “Can I help you find something?”

  I’m relieved it’s a woman at the store, not a guy. As it is, I’m mortified. Of course, I can hear my mother’s voice in my head. Well-behaved Southern women don’t shop for sex toys.

  I’m getting better at ignoring that voice. “I’m looking for butt plugs,” I lean in and whisper.

  “All the way in the back of the store, on the right hand side,” she replies. “Call me if you need help.”

  Pigs will fly before I have a discussion about the best kind of butt plug to buy for first time anal sex. Piper Jackson, what are you doing? I ask myself, but I also feel a thrill run through my body. This is uncharacteristic of me, and I like it. I’m tired of being the good girl. Wyatt and Owen have awakened strange desires in me, desires that demand satisfaction.

  There is a bewildering array of options. There are butt plugs that vibrate, plugs that can be controlled by remotes, butt plugs with bumps of increasing size, even butt plugs decorated with bushy tails. The tails make me blush. One step at a time, kiddo.

  After a few moments of searching, I find what I’m looking for. A set of three plugs, increasing in size. The package promises that it’s perfect for anal beginners. I pick it up, and then my eye falls on a glass butt plug adorned by a sparkling red jewel. Butt plug jewelry. Who knew? Strangely, it’s really pretty. It’s also sixty bucks, but I can’t resist.

  I take my purchases to the front, and the young woman rings them up for me. “What about lube?” she asks, her voice matter of fact. “You’re going to need lubricant for those.”

  I can barely meet her gaze. “Right,” I mumble. “I forgot.”

  “Try this one,” she advises, pointing to a clear plastic bottle in the front. “It’s one of our best sellers.”

  “Sure.” I grab the larger size. I’m sure I’m going to need lots of lube. I pay for my bag of smut, and I almost run out of there, back to the safety of my restaurant.

  * * *

  As soon as I walk in the door, my phone rings. It’s my mother. I’m still feeling ashamed at the way I automatically assumed the worst of my parents in yesterday’s accountant episode, so I pick up the phone. “Hello mother.”

  “Piper, what a surprise. I thought I’d have to leave another message on your voicemail.”

  “I spoke to you on Saturday,” I defend myself mildly. “What’s up?”

  “I hear you’re going to be on TV. I’m quite hurt you haven’t told me, Piper.”

  I wince. Damn it, she really does sound upset. I’ve been avoiding talking about the restaurant on the general principle that the fewer details my parents know, the less they can interfere. Still, I should have known I couldn’t keep Can You Take The Heat? a secret.

  “Sorry, mother.” I apologize out of habit. “I submitted my application late, and I wasn’t sure if I’d get selected. It’s only in the last week that I found out I was in.”

  “Tell me all the details, dear,” she urges. “When does the contest start, and how long does it run?”

  I sigh inwardly. “The first round is on Thursday,” I reply. “There are sixteen restaurants participating, and it runs for four weeks. Each round, half the restaurants are eliminated, I think. They’ve been quite vague about the format.”

  “Well, your father and I were thrilled when we heard the news.”

  “You were?” I don’t think my mother’s been thrilled at anything I’ve done in the last six years. Did aliens abduct my mother and replace her with a kinder clone?

  “Of course we were, honey. We ran into Merritt Grant yesterday at the club, and he said you’re doing quite well.”

  My mother sounds almost proud of me. I wonder if I’ve misjudged her all along. “Thank you, mom. Things are getting better. Wyatt and Owen have been a great help.”

  “Yes, your new partners. You haven’t told me very much about them, Piper.”

  I swallow. I’m not ready to talk to my mother about Owen and Wyatt yet. “They’re legendary in the restaurant business,” I tell her. “I’m very lucky they want to work with me.”

  “How did you connect with them?”

  “My roommate Bailey recommended me to a chef friend of hers,” I say vaguely. “One thing led to another.”

  “That’s great, dear. Of course, your father and I are coming up to watch you. We’ll be there on Thursday.”

  A sense of unease washes over me. “You’re coming to New York?”

  “You didn’t think we’d miss your contest, did you?” she asks with a fond chuckle. “Save us a spot at your restaurant, dear. We’re quite excited to taste your food.”

  My parents have never once eaten my cooking, never once taken an interest in my restaurant. I’m not sure what caused their change of heart, and I don’t really trust it.

  26

  Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Wyatt:

  Before I know it, Thursday is here.

  “You look nervous,” Owen says as the two of us make our way to Hell’s Kitchen. It’s a warm sunny afternoon, and we’ve elected to walk.

  “I am.” My voice is clipped. Owen gives me a curious look, and I elaborate. “I’m worried about Maisie.”

  “Maisie? Why?”

  “She’s an ex-girlfriend. What if she’s jealous of Piper?”

  Owen shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says confidently. “I know Maisie too, remember? She’s far too professional for such emotions. This contest is a major coup for her. She’s got a TV crew to film this show. She’s on the front page of Yelp. She’s not going to fuck that up. Besides, I didn’t think you parted on bad terms.”

  “We didn’t.”

  Owen rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he says dryly. “Maisie is not going to cause problems. I wish I could say the same thing about Piper’s parents.”

  I sigh. It had taken all the willpower I possessed to keep quiet when Piper had told us her parents were coming into town. But she’d sounded so happy that they were finally being supportive, and I didn’t have the heart to shatter her illusions. If the three o
f us have one thing in common, it’s that we have massive blind spots when it comes to our families.

  We arrive at Piper’s. The windows are freshly washed, and flower boxes overflowing with pansies and asters decorate the front. The two of us gaze on it silently for a few seconds.

  Less than two months ago, this place was a dump serving indifferent Middle Eastern food. Now, the restaurant is warm and welcoming, and the food is staggeringly good.

  It’s quiet inside. It’s two-thirty in the afternoon, too late for the lunch crowd, too early for dinner. “What time does the TV crew get here?” Owen asks as we head to the back.

  “Four,” I reply, pushing open the swing doors to the kitchen. “Hey,” I greet Piper with a smile. We’ve exchanged texts and talked on the phone, but I haven’t seen her since Monday, and I’ve missed her. “Ready for tonight?”

  She looks up, her expression harried. It brightens when she sees us. “I thought you were my parents,” she explains, coming over to hug us. That sweet Southern accent of hers can still harden my dick. “I was a wreck all morning, but it went away when I walked in here.” She smiles at us warmly, and my heart skips a beat. “You guys have made this place gorgeous. We’re going to kick ass tonight.”

  “Did Piper Jackson just say ass?” Owen teases. “Forget the contest. I’m looking forward to what’s after. All week, I’ve been dreaming of you, Piper.” His lips curl into a smile. “You, me, Wyatt. In a bed this time, maybe? Or do you want to do it outside again?”

  I’m prepared for Piper to blush, but she surprises me by winking. “Wait and see,” she says airily. “I might have a surprise for the two of you tonight.”

  I look up, intrigued. “What kind of surprise?”

  “The kind that’ll be ruined if I tell you what it is,” she replies tartly. “Okay, the camera crew is going to be here in ninety minutes. I need to make sure everything’s spotless in the kitchen. Want to help me scrub?”

  “Sure.”

  We get to work. “Where’s Josef?” I ask her, noticing she’s all alone in the kitchen. “Kevin’s working tonight as well, isn’t he?”

  “You just missed Josef,” she replies. ”He had some errands to run. He’ll be here at three thirty. Kevin was here early for prep, and he’ll be back again in time for dinner service.”

  Just then, Owen’s phone rings. He frowns at the display and answers. “What’s up, Carl?” His expression turns grim as he listens. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “We’ll manage.”

  “Trouble?” Piper asks as he hangs up.

  Owen nods. “Linda, the woman who was going to be our hostess tonight, fell down a flight of stairs and twisted her ankle. The doctors have told her not to put any weight on it.”

  “Shit.” Piper frowns. “What are we going to do?”

  The kitchen doors swing open again, and Piper's mother walks into the room. “Darling, I came to do your makeup before the TV crew got here,” she exclaims. She comes to a halt when she sees us, and she gives us an assessing look. “Hello, I’m Lillian Jackson. I don't believe we've met.”

  “Wyatt Lawless,” I say, shaking her hand. “I'm one of Piper's partners. It's good to meet you, Mrs. Jackson.”

  Owen shakes her hand as well. “I’m Owen Lamb.”

  “Mother,” Piper interjects. “They're here to film my cooking. They don't care what I look like.”

  “That might be so, Piper,” her mother retorts. “But I do." She looks at the two of us in appeal. “Don't you think Piper will look better with makeup?”

  I refuse to be dragged in the middle of this. “Piper's beautiful all the time.”

  Piper blushes at that. “Mom, we need to clean the kitchen. If you give me thirty minutes, I’ll do my makeup when we’re done. Okay?”

  I gave her a wry look when her mother leaves the room. “Yes,” she says, sounding a little irritated. “I know I should stand up to my mother. But sometimes you have to pick your battles. What are we going to do about the hostess?”

  Owen frowns. “I don't know,” he admits. “I'm working on it. Worst case scenario, I'll do it myself.”

  “That isn't the worst case scenario,” Piper says gloomily. “The worst scenario is that my mother hears that we're short a hostess and offers to help.”

  I glance at Owen. I don't trust Piper's parents. I have to make sure that scenario doesn’t come to pass.

  * * *

  Three hours later, we’re no closer to a solution for the hostess problem. Owen and I have called everyone we know, but restaurants tend to be busy on Thursday nights, and nobody can spare such a key staff member.

  The film crew is in the kitchen, setting up their cameras and adjusting the lighting. Between calls, Owen makes sure that their presence isn’t disruptive. "She still has to cook here," he tells the crew member in charge. “Make sure you aren’t blocking anything.”

  I leave them arguing in the back and head out to the front. Kimmie’s walking among the tables, folding the heavy cloth napkins into pouches and inserting a fork, a knife and a spoon in each one. Her jaw moves rhythmically as she works, and I exhale in irritation.

  Owen comes out at the same time and notices her. “Kimmie,” he snaps at her, keeping his voice low in deference to the five diners who are occupying the table in the front. “For fuck’s sake, you aren’t working in a tacky diner. This is a nice restaurant. I’ve told you a million times that you can’t chew gum at work. Chef Jackson might be too nice to fire you, but I’m not.”

  She gives him a sullen look. “The place is empty,” she argues.

  He looks pointedly over to the front table, and she drops her gaze. “I don’t give a shit what you think,” he replies. “Go spit it out.”

  Kimmie scurries off to the washroom, looking resentful. “We can’t afford to fire her yet,” I point out to Owen.

  “I know that, but she doesn’t,” he replies. “She’s not an idiot. No waitress in Manhattan is paid sixty grand plus tips and she knows it. She definitely doesn’t want to lose this job.”

  I’m about to agree with him when the door opens. I look up and my heart stops.

  The man who’s just walked into Piper’s is my father.

  Though I saw him on the security footage, it’s been twenty years since I’ve seen him in person. Time hasn’t been kind to him. In my memories, my father has always been well-dressed. Today, the kindest word to describe him would be slovenly. His shirt is torn and stained and his jeans have seen better days. He’s unshaven, and he reeks of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke.

  My pulse races. I’m not ready for this confrontation.

  “You bastard,” my father screams as soon as he sees me. Every single person in the restaurant swivels to watch as my father barrels toward me, his fist raised. At the last moment, he reconsiders and drops his hand, but he doesn’t lower his voice. “You’re having me evicted? Your own father?”

  Up close, the smell of booze almost makes me gag. His eyes are red and bloodshot. He’s drunk.

  “I don’t want you here.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Leave.”

  “Fuck you,” he snarls. “My son thinks he’s too good for me, is that what it is? This is a public restaurant. You can’t throw me out of here like you can at your office. I think I’ll sit here and eat a meal.” He draws a chair back and sinks into it. “Where’s the fucking menu?”

  This is a disaster. There’s a crew in the back, ready to film this controversy. The one thing I know about reality TV is that the producers thrive on drama. My father isn’t a fool. He’s made the same calculation as I have. He knows I’ll do anything to get him to leave.

  And he’s completely wasted. He’s swaying in his seat, his head slumped forward. The diners at the front table are still staring, absolutely fascinated at the scene unfolding a few feet from them. Where’s Stone Bradley, I think angrily. Isn’t there supposed to be a tail on my father to prevent such incidents?

  At least Piper’s mother isn’t here. She left after putting on
Piper’s make-up, promising to be back at six. I have thirty minutes to fix this situation. “What do you want?” I hiss, pulling up a chair next to my father.

  In response, he throws up on the table in front of him.

  “Did that guy just vomit?” I hear one of the diners ask, her voice tinged with shock and disgust.

  “Gross,” another one replies. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat any more of my food.”

  Owen snaps into action. He hurries over to the front table. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I hear him say soothingly. “I’m so sorry for the disruption. Your meals are obviously on the house. Please accept our apologies.”

  There’s five of them, and they’ve ordered food and drinks. Owen’s waiving a three hundred dollar tab. That’ll buy a lot of forgiveness.

  Guilt gnaws at my insides. This is my fault. Stone Bradley warned me not to push my father. He realized that desperate men have very little to lose. My father gambled, coming here, that I’d be too wary of scandal to throw him out by force. And he’s right.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Piper’s come out of the kitchen, attracted by the commotion. Great.

  My father raises his head to look at me. Little bits of vomit cling to his face and to his stubble. “What do I want?” he asks loudly. “You’re evicting me.”

  “Will you go away if I call it off?”

  He gives me a cunning look. “I need money,” he says, slurring the words together. “I’ve got nothing.”

  I pull out my wallet and extract all the cash I have from it. “Here’s two hundred and fifty dollars,” I tell him. “Leave.” There’s desperation in my voice. The clock is ticking. Soon, Lilian Jackson is going to be back. The restaurant is going to start filling up, and there’s a drunk in the middle of the place, and the table he’s sitting at is covered with vomit.

  Piper’s mom playing hostess isn’t the worst case scenario. Maisie being upset and taking it out on Piper’s wasn’t the problem I should have been concerned with.