What’s going on?
39
Bailey
There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Of course, I call Daniel right away, not bothering to listen to his voicemails. The text message he sent me was very mysterious, and I don’t do well with mystery.
He picks up on the first ring. “Bailey,” he says. His voice is cautious.
“What’s going on?” I ask him. “You can’t have heard about this already.” Daniel is freakishly well-informed, but even he can’t already know about my troubles.
“Heard what?” he asks. “Have you listened to any of my messages?”
“No, I thought I’d call you and you could fill me in.” I grimace. “I don’t really remember my voicemail password.”
He chuckles. “Ah, Bailey, I love you.” There’s a smile in his voice as he says those words, and it feels like someone has draped a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer, all around my heart. It feels pretty damn good.
His next words wipe that feeling away. “Have you looked at the Post?”
“No, I’ve had rather an eventful morning,” I reply. “Should I?”
His voice is taut with tension when he replies. “Yes, you really should.”
“Damn.” That’s all I can bring myself to say after seeing that picture. Just damn.
“I’m so sorry I let this happen, Bailey.” There’s misery in his tone. “This is my fault. I’ve failed you.”
“Whoa there, Mr. Overreaction,” I snap. “Slow it down. Did you leak this photo to the tabloids?”
“Of course not.”
I glare at my cell phone, my own troubles forgotten for the moment. Maybe if I have more time to think about it, I might become angry with Daniel. Right now, I’m more concerned about the impact this will have on his Kansas City deal. He’s been working so hard.
“Then the person that leaked the photo is the one I’m angry at, not you.” My voice softens. “Daniel, I trust you. We’ll deal with this, Sebastian, you and me. Together.” I laugh, though there’s not much humor in my tone. The stress of the morning has brought on a mammoth headache. All I want to do is swallow some aspirin and crawl into bed. “Your news is kind of stealing the thunder from mine.”
“What’s going on?” His tone becomes alert. “You said I couldn’t have heard already. Heard what?”
“Dr. Landrieu plagiarized huge sections of his research from some professor at the University of Buenos Aires, and I’m being cast as the scapegoat.” I try and fail to keep the bitterness from my voice. “The university is reviewing my case now. I’m expecting to be fired tomorrow.”
“Fuck,” he swears. I can picture him so clearly on the other end of the line. His eyes closed, his expression tired. All I want to do is snuggle next to him, comfort him and be comforted. “I’ll make a call,” he says finally. “I’ll put a stop to that.”
“It’s not too much to ask?” I don’t want him to think that I’m with him for his contacts or his money. Most of the time, I can fight my own battles. Sometimes though, I need a little help.
“No, Bailey,” he says with exasperation. “God, you are the most maddening woman. I call you, fully prepared for you to never want to see me or hear from me again because of the tabloids, and you are asking me if it would be too much trouble to call NYU on your behalf?”
“Well, if you put it like that.” I take a deep breath. “How’s Sebastian handling this? And can I come over?”
“He’s here. He’s not thrilled, of course, but he’s managing. The notoriety won’t harm him. It’s you I’m concerned about. And as much as I want to see you,” his tone softens, “coming over is a bad idea. The entrance to my house is crawling with paparazzi, waiting for another whiff of scandal.”
“Why is it okay for Sebastian to come over and not me?”
“His face is in the photo, honey. Yours isn’t, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Oh,” I pause. “Okay, that makes perfect sense. I thought I was going to get some sexist reason.”
He laughs. “When this is over, you’ll meet my mother, and you’ll understand how much trouble I’d get into if I ever dared to insinuate that the rules are different for women.”
Sure, there’s a photo of us in the tabloids. Right now, I don’t care. Not when Daniel just said he wanted me to meet his family. “You want me to meet your mother?” I ask out aloud, needing to confirm what I’ve heard.
“Of course. I’d have taken Sebastian and you already to Sunday lunch, except I was trying to stay out of the tabloids, remember?”
“Oh. And your mom will be cool with our thing…?”
“Ménage, Bailey. Or threesome, if you prefer.” He sounds amused.
“I can’t say those words out aloud in a sentence that has mom in it,” I reply. Then I groan. “Shit, if you are going to tell your mom about me, I have to tell my parents about us too at some point.”
“I’ve already told her.” He sounds puzzled. “I told her weeks ago.”
Oh. I don’t know what to do with that revelation, so I focus back on the conversation at hand. Looking at the photo on my screen again, I notice something that has so far escaped my attention. “Daniel, this was taken in your game room.”
“I know. The place is being swept for bugs now.”
“Who could have planted it?”
“My money’s on Cyrus,” he admits. “He more or less threatened to leak some more pictures if I didn’t resign as CEO.” He hesitates. “I think I’m going to do it, Bailey. The next photo could reveal your face, and I can’t risk it.”
My first, instinctive reaction is to tell him to fight. He can’t give in to Cyrus’ blackmail. Then I stop and consider the consequences of what would happen if naked photos of me end up in public circulation.
My colleagues would whisper about my personal life. If I do get tenure, everyone will assume it’s because I’m sleeping with the billionaire who gave the university one hundred and fifty million dollars. And my parents? Yikes. I don’t even want to think of their reaction.
Then I think about Daniel and Sebastian.
Daniel defended me against Clark before he even knew me, betting on me to succeed. He’s spent hours patiently coaching me, helping me practice shot after shot. Yes, he said one horrible and hurtful thing, but after that moment, he’s done everything to make amends.
Sebastian looks like a bad boy with his ripped abs and his tattoos, yet he’s cooked dinner for me more times than I can count. When I forget to eat, lost in research or engrossed by corrections, it’s Sebastian that reminds me to stop for food.
I’ll be lying if I told you that being in the public eye this way doesn’t bother me. Of course it does. I’m human, and this is a horrible, disgusting invasion of our privacy.
But when it comes down to it, I care more about Sebastian and Daniel. And I can’t see a version of the future that doesn’t have them in it. I love them. As insane as it is, I love both of them, and I want both of them in my life. For a long time. Forever.
My decision is made. When I speak, my voice is firm. “No. You can’t give in to Cyrus. Fight back, Daniel.”
He makes a noncommittal sound, and I fear he’s already made up his mind. “How could Cyrus have planted the camera anyway?” I ask him, to keep him from making any rash decisions. “Has he visited you lately?”
“No,” Daniel says, sounding frustrated. “If I could prove it was Cyrus, I could fight back, but I have nothing. The only people who have visited are you and Sebastian. And my housekeeper, of course, but she’s been with me forever.”
“And Juliette…” I say slowly, remembering something. “Remember? A few weeks ago? Juliette needed to drop off the proofs of Sebastian’s cookbook, and you told her to drop them off at your house?”
“That’s right,” he says slowly. “I’d forgott
en about that. Hang on, Bailey, let me get Sebastian on the line. Talk to him while I go alert Stone.” I hear him call out to Sebastian. “It’s Bailey,” he explains.
“How are you doing, Bailey?” Sebastian comes on the line and asks me, his voice concerned.
“I’m fine, I think,” I tell him. “It hasn’t sunk in yet. I’ve already had quite the morning.”
“What happened?”
I fill him in on the happenings at the university, and he swears softly. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, Daniel’s going to make a call for me,” I tell him, wishing I was there in person with them. “I decided I’m not too proud to ask for help.”
“Good girl,” he says approvingly. “Ah, here’s Daniel. Let me put you on speaker phone.”
“Did Bailey fill you in about Juliette?” Daniel asks.
“No,” Sebastian sounds puzzled. “What’s Juliette have to do with this?”
Daniel quickly explains our discussion and Sebastian whistles. “You think Juliette planted that camera?” he asks. “I can’t see her doing something like that.”
“You guys. Listen to me,” I interrupt both of them. “She’s already warned me away from Sebastian once.” I tell them about the bathroom incident. “She’s obsessed with Sebastian’s career. And Daniel,” my voice rises with excitement as I remember something else. “She was talking to Cyrus at your party for the longest time.”
“Really?”
“You didn’t notice?”
“No,” he says. “They don’t really know each other.”
“Well,” I insist, my voice stubborn, “they appeared to be as thick as thieves. I know what I saw.”
“I’m not doubting you,” he says at once. “Not even in the slightest. I know how eager Juliette is to get this deal done.” His voice is grim. “I just didn’t think she’d stoop to this level.”
To be honest, neither did I. Yeah, Juliette’s ambitious and intense, but I didn’t think she’d resort to leaking photos of us to the tabloids. For starters, the plan makes no sense. Sebastian isn’t going to be more cooperative if this photo is front page news.
“I’m going to sort this out,” Sebastian promises. He hasn’t said anything for a while. “Bailey, if Juliette did do this…” His voice trails off. “I’m so sorry.”
“Will you stop?” Exasperation tints my voice. “God, you are just as bad as Daniel. Stop blaming yourselves for things that Cyrus and Juliette did. I’m not annoyed at the two of you. I’m saving my anger for the people that caused this situation.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line for a long time. Finally, Sebastian speaks, his voice very quiet. “We don’t deserve you, Bailey,” he says. I hear a phone ring in the background, and Sebastian picks it up. “Helen? What’s going on?” he asks. “Bailey, I have to take this call. Talk to you later?”
“Bye,” I tell him. “Daniel, you still there?”
“I am,” he confirms.
“You said you loved me earlier.” My heart is in my throat as I speak, but I have to know. “Was that a slip of the tongue?”
“Of course I love you, silly.” His voice softens. “Though it’s a rotten time to tell you that.”
A smile breaks out on my face. He loves me. One down, one to go. Now, I just have to confirm that Sebastian feels the same way. Because there’s three of us in my version of happily-ever-after, and I’m not going to settle for anything less than both of them.
“I love you too, billionaire boy,” I reply. “Now, go fix this. And if it turns out Juliette planted the camera, I will punch her.”
“Stop calling me billionaire boy,” he grumbles, though there’s a smile in his voice. “I hate that nickname.”
40
Sebastian
It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it… and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied… and it is all one.
M.F.K. Fisher, The Art of Eating
Helen’s voice is pitched high and her words tumble out. “Chef, thank god. You have to get down here.”
Helen manages the pass at Seb New York with complete calm. I’ve seen her deal with missing line cooks, burnt meat, overcooked fish, and she’s unflappable. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s been a fire at the restaurant.” Her voice is strained. “The kitchen’s destroyed.”
“A fire?” Every muscle in my body is suddenly rigid. There’s a tingling in my fingers and a tightening in my chest. It’s difficult to breathe. “Where? How? What happened?” I’m putting on my coat as we speak, and Daniel eyes me with concern as I pace toward the door.
“At Seb New York,” she confirms my deepest fear. My restaurant. My precious, precious restaurant. “The firemen are here now, and they think some spilled oil caused it. Ben was in the kitchen, and they’ve rushed him to ER.” Her voice catches. “They don’t think he’s going to make it.”
I clutch at the phone, my knuckles white. This is my fault. This is all my fault. Ben has shown up drunk to work, and I’ve failed to send him home, even though the kitchen is a dangerous place for someone who is inebriated. I should have fired him so he couldn’t have hurt himself. I was going to fire him after my conversation with Katya on Thursday. Now, it’s too late.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her. What have I done?
“What’s the matter?” Daniel asks when I hang up. He’s put on his jacket on as well. “I heard the word fire.”
“In the kitchen at Seb New York,” I say. I notice he’s following me. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” he asks me with a frown. “I’m coming with you.”
“Daniel, there’s a wall of reporters outside the door, and you said that Sally told you to keep a low profile.”
“You came here,” he says. “You braved the wall of reporters.” He gives me a half-smile. “It’s time to return the favor. Sebastian, I’ve listened to Cyrus all these years, and to what end? Cyrus doesn’t care about me. He just cares about becoming the CEO of Hartman.” He shakes his head. “What’s really important is this. Us. You, me and Bailey.”
“What about the reporters? The Kansas City deal? The meeting with the board of directors? Or are you going to give in to Cyrus and resign?”
“I don’t know.” His smile is strangely carefree. “Right now, I don’t have any of the answers. Let’s go deal with the fire. Once that’s done, I need to call the president of NYU and tell him that I’m not going to stand by and watch them fire Bailey in order to sweep their little plagiarism problem under the table. Then, we talk to Juliette. The other stuff - Cyrus, the board of directors, the Kansas City deal - all of that can wait.” He looks me in the eye. “People matter more than a job, Sebastian. I think it’s time I proved that.”
I slant him a look. “You sure about this? I don’t want you to regret it.”
“I’m positive.” He sounds completely confident. “Hartman and Company is not my life. I don’t think I could look myself in the mirror if I didn’t help you.”
This is the Daniel Hartman who extended his hand to help a nineteen year old runaway from Mississippi. On impulse, I hug my best friend. “I’m glad you are coming,” I tell him. “It would be good to have a friend at my side. Thank you.”
As we brave the horde of reporters, shouting questions at us, asking us if we have a statement for the press, I wish one thing. Though I know that it’s right to protect Bailey from all of this ugliness, part of me is selfish.
The three of us are a team. We belong together. As I head to face the destruction of the restaurant that I’ve worked so hard to build, an essential piece of me is missing. I wish Bailey could be with us.
41
Daniel
It doesn’t ta
ke us long to get into my car and head to Seb New York. The street outside is crowded with fire trucks, ambulances and police cars. We open the door and hurry out, Sebastian making straight for Helen. When she sees him, she throws her arms around him and breaks down.
Sebastian’s face is white with shock as he pats her back, and I’ve never felt more helpless in my life. In order to be somewhat useful, I head to the person who seems to be in charge, a big fireman who looks to be in his fifties. “I’m Daniel Hartman,” I introduce myself. “Sebastian’s a little occupied at the moment.” I wave in Sebastian’s direction. “Can you fill me in?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Hartman,” the guys says. “My name is Neil Williams. Our crew was the first to respond to the call.”
“Who called it in?”
“The florist next door,” he says. “The call came in shortly after eleven.”
“Seb New York isn’t open for lunch.” I frown. “In fact, they aren’t even open Mondays.”
“They aren’t,” he confirms. “The woman who is the emergency contact said the same thing. Katya something?”
“Katya Marinova,” I tell him. “She’s the restaurant manager. So, what happened?”
“As best as I can tell, the fire was caused by an oil spill. In restaurants, it’s usually deep fryers.”
“And Ben? I heard he’s injured.”
“He’s badly burned,” Neil Williams confirms, his face sober. “More than that, he inhaled a lot of smoke. An ambulance took him away. The cops could probably tell you which hospital he’s in.”
No matter how many times I’ve urged Sebastian to fire Ben, he doesn’t deserve this. No one does. The poor guy. “And the damage to the premises? Is it safe enough to enter?”
“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern. “A crew will have to come in and verify that there’s no structural damage. Until they’ve given the green light, no one should enter the place.”
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 21
