Last week, Sebastian had bought me a piece of jewelry, a silver and amethyst bracelet he said he found in a Tibetan shop in SoHo. “You don’t have a lot of amethyst,” he’d said as he handed it to me. “I thought I’d rectify that.”
I think about that bracelet right now. It hadn’t been an expensive gift, but it had been a deeply personal one. As had the vodka. Sebastian and Daniel are both ridiculously wealthy, but the gifts they give me show they pay attention to my needs. My desires.
“I can absolutely trust them,” I say firmly. “By the way, Madam Pot Calling the Kettle Black, have you ever tried to find the guys in your own ménage situation? Carter and Dominic?”
She flushes, and I know I have her. Gabby won’t admit it, but she can’t forget her one-night stand. “No,” she replies. “I haven’t, and I’m not going to. It was just a one-time thing. Not all guys are good and trustworthy, Bailey. Some of them are jerks. Just like Trevor was.”
I want to push her on this, but I notice the expression on her face, and I back off. Gabby is, unusually for her, looking close to tears. Piper notices too, and changes the topic.
“Talking about good-looking guys,” she leans forward and fixes me with an accusing look. “Tell me about Wyatt Lawless and Owen Lamb.”
I give her a puzzled look. “Who are they?”
“Two guys who’ve eaten at my restaurant every day for the last two weeks,” she replies. “Every single day. I’m not at the front of the house all the time, so it took me a few nights to realize it. Then last night, they offered to become my partners.”
Oh. These must be Sebastian’s friends, and shit, I forgot to mention our conversation to Piper. “Okay, don’t be mad,” I tell her. “I yelled at Sebastian for upsetting you, and he felt so bad that he said he was going to talk to a couple of his friends about your restaurant.”
Piper gives me a peculiar look. “Bailey, do you know who these guys are?”
“Not a clue. Should I know?”
“I guess not, you don’t work in the industry. Lawless and Lamb are legendary. They have something of a Midas touch. Their restaurants are very popular.”
“That’s good then, right?” I ask nervously. I can’t make out if she’s mad at me or not. “You aren’t irritated with me for telling Sebastian?”
She shakes her head. “No, of course not. You did what you thought was a good thing.”
“So what’s the problem?” Katie asks. “They are good at what they do and you need help. Do they want too much money? Or equity?”
“It isn’t that.” Piper doesn’t meet our eyes. “They just rubbed me the wrong way, that’s all.”
Wendy’s been fiddling around on her phone during this conversation. She whistles as she looks at her screen. “Is this them?” she asks, handing her phone to Piper. “Seriously, what am I doing wrong with my life? The only guys I meet are smarmy lawyers. Bailey finds two studs, Gabby decides to hook up and voila - she finds a couple of hotties, and now you as well?” She shakes her head and gulps down her drink. “Life is so unfair.”
“Pictures can’t reveal personality,” Piper retorts. “These two are smug, self-satisfied and annoying as all fuck. You can have them.”
We exchange glances. Piper sounds entirely too heated, and it appears that Sebastian’s friends have got under her skin. “You don’t have to work with them if you don’t want to,” I assure her. “Do you want me to ask Sebastian if he knows anyone else who can help?”
“No,” she replies. “I’ll suck it up. These guys are really good.”
“And really hot,” Wendy adds, her eyes still on her phone. She sighs. “You have no idea how long it’s been since I kissed someone, let alone anything else.”
I survey my friends. Apart from Katie, who is happily married with twin girls, we are all single. Dating in New York City is tough. Women outnumber men by a significant margin, and it’s really hard to meet someone even a little nice. I’m not surprised at Wendy’s statement.
“So, how’s the pool game going?” Katie asks. “Are you getting good enough that you are going to beat Trevor?”
“I don’t know if I’m going to be ready for that,” I admit. “But I am getting better. In the last two weeks, I’ve won both my matches.” I grin. “Clark hates it. I can tell he’s getting nervous about the money.”
“Shouldn’t have made the bet then.” Gabby doesn’t sound sympathetic. “Asshole.”
“You have to beat Trevor, Bailey,” Wendy leans forward, swaying slightly. “I’m having a shitty week with clients. Rich men cheat around on their wives, then try to contest the pre-nup. They hide their assets, pretend they are broke and do everything in the world to avoid meeting their obligations.” She sounds earnest and more than a little drunk. “Do it on behalf of women everywhere, Bails. Kick Trevor’s ass in that final game. Make him pay.”
32
Sebastian
You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.
William Faulkner
Of course my respite doesn’t last. Tuesday morning, Juliette emails me with a more detailed proposal from the investors that want to open up a restaurant chain with my name on the door, and it is a disaster.
“This can’t be right,” I mutter aloud.
Katya, who is tallying up the proceedings of last night’s register, looks up. “Sorry, Chef, did you say something?”
I shake my head. “These numbers can’t be right.” The projected profitability on these restaurants seems too high, and the amount of money they’ve set aside for food and labor doesn’t match what I know from experience. Yes, we do spend more on locally sourced and organically grown food at my restaurants. But I’ve worked in other kitchens as well, and there’s not a single restaurant in the country that can cut their food expenses down to ten percent. Food’s typically a third. If you spend a hundred dollars on a meal, then the ingredients should cost about thirty bucks.
Not, as these guys have projected, ten dollars.
Even fast food restaurants spend more on food. I frown and scroll down. Labor costs at my restaurants are thirty-seven percent, which is on the high side for the industry, but I believe in paying my people well - I was dirt poor for far too many years to be otherwise. This proposal has labor costs at twenty five percent, which is closer to a fast food operation than a sit-down restaurant.
They’ve allocated fifteen percent for marketing, and ten percent for executive wages.
This stinks. This stinks like the porta-potties after the chili cook-off at the Hattiesburg County Fair.
I call Juliette and don’t bother with pleasantries. “Did you look at this thing before you sent it to me?”
“No, I’m looking at it right now.” Her voice is distracted as she absorbs the pertinent facts. “Oh, this seems off.”
No shit, Sherlock. “That’s an understatement,” I say sarcastically. “Juliette, these numbers are a joke. Either these guys have no clue what they are doing or…” I stop talking as a more sinister notion occurs to me. “Fuck. These guys don’t give a shit, do they?”
I’m kicking myself as they speak. I should have realized this at once. Low food costs, low labor costs? They are going to use my name to get customers through the door, and they are going to give them the most indifferent dining experience that they can get away with. That explains the high marketing costs - they won’t get many repeat customers, and will constantly have to find new ones. Of course, the executives will get handsomely rewarded for their cost-cutting.
This isn’t the way to build a sustainable restaurant. This is frozen meat, sourced in countries with dubious food safety standards. This is hiring college kids and working them to the bone for minimum wage.
This is the antithesis of everything I’ve stood for in my entire life.
“I don’t want this deal.”
“Sebastian, don’t be hasty.” Juliette’s voice is edged with frantic worry. “Listen, I agree, these aren’t good numbers, but
it’s just an initial proposal. Let’s meet these guys and express our concerns, and they can work on them.”
“Juliette, I don’t think I care enough. You know what? Daniel was right about this deal. It’s too much to take on, especially when my focus should be here.”
“Please,” she snaps. “That’s not what this is about. This is about your precious threesome with Jessica Rabbit.”
I hold back my angry retort with difficulty. I’ve just realized that Katya’s sitting right next to me, and though she’s making a valiant effort to look like she’s not listening with bated breath to this conversation, she is. “This isn’t about Bailey,” I grit out. “This is about you finding the wrong partners for this deal, Juliette. I’m not interested in working with someone whose values are so diametrically opposed to mine.”
“I’ll call them,” she says. “I’ll be in touch.”
I hang up, shaking my head. It’ll take her a while to realize I’m not playing ball, but she’ll get the message eventually.
Katya clears her throat once I’m off the phone. “Umm, Chef, I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation…”
“But you heard every word.” I wave it aside before she can start to apologize. “It’s not your fault, this office is the size of a shoe-closet.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I guess the rumor mill was right. You are going to leave us to run a mass-market chain.”
“It’s by no means a done deal, Katya, as you probably heard.”
She bites her lip and doesn’t look at me. “Please don’t go, Chef. Ben’s insane. He’ll drive this place into the ground.” She gulps. “I’ve been working the front for five years. I’ve worked crazy hours, day in and day out because I believe in what we are doing here. We care about food. We care about people.” She looks unhappy. “Ben doesn’t give a shit, Chef. I hear the talk from the line cooks. He does the bare minimum at prep. He’s disorganized, he’s messy and when you are not here, he shows up reeking of alcohol.”
“Really? No one’s said anything.”
Her fingers play with her hair in a nervous gesture. “The staff won’t complain about Ben to you, Chef. They don’t think you’ll support them against him.”
I give her an astonished look. “Why?”
She squares her shoulders. “In for a penny, in for a pound, right?” she asks. “You didn’t fire Ben when he was a lazy line cook. You promoted him to sous-chef when he wasn’t ready, and when his kitchen was floundering, you put Helen in charge of Seb II so you could pay him personal attention.”
Fuck. She’s right. She’s absolutely correct.
I’ve been living in the past. Something about Ben reminds me of my struggles during the early days in Manhattan, and so I’ve overlooked many instances of bad behavior that should have got him fired. Heck, even Daniel has told me to get rid of him.
This franchise deal is another example. I wanted so much for there to be a restaurant with my name on it in Hattiesburg. I ached to go back and fix the wounds of the past. And in my relentless focus on what’s behind me, I’ve failed to appreciate what I have. A loyal staff, some of whom I’ve known since I moved to the city. Two profitable restaurants, a rarity in Manhattan. A best friend, Daniel, who is about the most amazing partner that I could ever ask for, and a woman, Bailey, who has, in a very short period of time, become one of the most important people in my life.
I have everything, but I’ve been too lost in the angst and in my own perceived inadequacies to notice.
I sit up, and it seems like a weight lifts off my shoulders as I make a decision. “Katya? Those rumor mills are wrong. I’m not going anywhere.”
A smile breaks out on her face, wide and delighted. When I see it, I know I’ve made the right choice. I belong here. This is my home.
33
Bailey
Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.
Dr. Seuss
Before I have a chance to prepare, it’s the Saturday of the party.
The apartment is quiet. Since it’s Saturday, Piper’s still at work. She muttered something unflattering about Lawless and Lamb this morning as I was heading out the door, and I’m going to take it to mean that the partnership is going as well as can be expected. Well, as well as it can when you place three extremely passionate and stubborn people in a room.
I’m vacillating between a black floor-length dress and a black knee-length dress when the doorbell rings. I open it to find a young man holding a garment bag. “Ms. Moore?” he asks me politely. “I have a delivery for you.”
“I’m not expecting anything,” I say stupidly, then my brain makes the connection between the formal event tonight and the garment bag. Billionaires at work again. Since yelling at the delivery guy is rather pointless, I sign for the parcel and offer him a tip. He declines politely — it’s been taken care of, Ms. Moore, but thank you, - then leaves. I’m left holding a surprisingly heavy garment bag.
My phone rings as I walk toward my bedroom. I glance at the display. Sebastian. “Did I not tell you two to stop buying me things?” I ask him crossly, not bothering to say hello first.
“You did,” he laughs. “We didn’t promise to listen. Bailey, have you opened the bag yet?”
“No, the guy just dropped it off.”
Daniel’s voice cuts in. Sebastian must have me on speaker phone. “You want to play a game tonight, baby?”
Heat runs through me at that question. “A game?” My voice is breathy. I sound like I’ve just run a marathon.
“Open the bag,” Sebastian orders.
My breathing catches as the sight of the rich violet colored fabric that comes into view, and I reverently pull the dress out. It’s a deep purple silk gown. It’s possibly the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. There are shoes to match, and a purple lace bra, but no panties. My lips curl into a grin. “No underwear?” I tease them. “Surely that’s a bit cliché?”
“Clichés are popular for a reason,” Daniel says, his voice rich with amusement. “Your lack of underwear will be addressed in a moment. Do you see a black pouch among the stuff?”
I root around the mess on my bed until I find the bag Daniel’s referring to. “I just did,” I tell them. “I’m almost afraid to see what’s in it.”
“Don’t be boring, Bailey,” Sebastian scolds. “Open it.”
I unzip the bag, and I have to laugh. I’d been mentally bracing myself for jewelry, the expensive kind, the kind I didn’t want, because I’m much more comfortable wearing the pieces I buy for myself when traveling the world. But the bag opens to reveal something far more interesting. A pair of black silk panties, except the crotch has been replaced by a string of pearl-like beads.
My breath catches at the idea of the beads slipping between the folds of my pussy, pressed up against my clitoris, caressing me and shifting in me with each move I make… “You shouldn’t have,” I giggle into the phone, my voice high with arousal. “A girl can get used to this.”
Daniel chuckles. “That’s why I like you, Bailey. No false coyness from you. Now, both Sebastian and I are quite happy to volunteer to help you into the panties, if you’d like.”
I roll my eyes. “Daniel, it’s a pair of panties. I can manage.”
“Ah, she breaks my heart with her refusal,” he replies, laughing.
“Are you going to be good and wear the dress, Bailey?” Sebastian growls. I notice he doesn’t say anything about wearing the sex toy panties. He’s correctly assuming that I have no objection to them.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“How many black dresses were you trying to decide between?”
“Two, damn it,” I admit, chagrined at how well they already seem to know me. “Fine, I’ll wear your dress.” I realize how ungracious I sound, and I wince. “It’s a very lovely dress,” I say, my voice softening in apology. “Thank you. It was very kind of both of you.”
“A car will be by at eight to pick you up,” Daniel sa
ys. “We’ll be in it. And we’ll be checking if everything’s on properly.”
“So wear those panties unless you want to earn a spanking, honey,” Sebastian advises.
I’m so turned on that I cannot breathe. The idea of them making me lift up my dress in the car so that they can examine me almost makes my heart stop in my chest. And their threats of a spanking? I can’t stop imagining me bent over one of their laps, panties rolled down to my knees, being punished for failing to follow their very precise orders.
They must know where my thoughts are — I’m practically panting with lust into the phone. “Bailey,” Daniel gives me one last instruction. “Don’t masturbate. Wait for us.”
“Is that another order?” I sass at them, though I fully intend to obey. “Will I get punished if I don’t listen?”
“You absolutely will,” Daniel assures me. “And you won’t like it, so I suggest you do as you are told.”
The total dominance with which he says those words turns me on even more. It is going to be a herculean task to keep my fingers to myself while I slip those panties on.
At that thought, my face heats in embarrassment. I’m going to be wearing a sex toy during one of Daniel’s work functions? How very awkward.
How very naughty, my inner rebel reminds me, and I grin widely. Hey, it’s not my work event. If Daniel wants to play sex games at his company party, I’m happy to indulge.
They’d said there would be a car for me. When I heard the knock on the door, I assume it’s the driver, but no. It’s the two of them, and Sebastian is holding a bottle of champagne.
“Aren’t you late for your own party?” I ask Daniel. “And aren’t we all too old to get pre-drunk?”
“Hello to you too, Bailey,” he replies with a twitch of his lips. “You look lovely in that dress.”
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 18
