Ed marches toward Mitchell. Bulldog marches toward Ed.
The entire room braces for violence.
I hold my breath. Now would be a really good time for Carter’s team to intervene.
The door is flung open for the third time. Relief runs through me, but then I take in the new arrival, and it turns to dread.
Because it’s Plaid Guy. And he has a gun.
My palms turn cold and clammy. Goosebumps rise on my skin. Blood pounds in my ears.
Time slows to a crawl.
The man lifts his gun up. Lines it up, aiming it at Denton Mitchell. The next instant, red blooms on Mitchell’s shirt.
Vittoria screams, a thin shriek that pierces through me.
Bulldog fumbles behind his back for his gun. The stone-faced bartender reaches under the bar.
Plaid Guy lifts his weapon again.
It’s pointed right at me.
His finger presses the trigger.
The door bursts open for the last time. Carter and Dominic. My heroes have come through for me.
Except it’s too late.
Ed Wagner crashes into me, his shoulder driving me to the ground.
Everything goes dark.
37
Gabriella
When I regain consciousness, I’m in a hospital room. Carter and Dominic are sitting silently on either side of my bed. They spring to their feet when I open my eyes. “Gabby,” Carter exhales. “Thank heavens.”
Intense relief flashes on Dominic’s face. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit with a baseball bat. What time is it?”
“Twelve-thirty.”
“In the morning?” I’ve been unconscious for forty minutes, give or take. I do a cautious survey. My head aches, but I don’t see blood anywhere. “I didn’t get shot, did I?”
“No. Ed knocked you out of the way.” Carter closes his eyes. “If he hadn’t…” His voice trails off.
“Did he get shot? Is he okay?”
“He’s mostly fine. His ribs need some attention. He re-injured them when he hit the ground. His doctor had many choice words about his decision-making process. Or lack thereof.”
“I would have died if he hadn’t been there.”
Carter draws in a shuddering breath. “I know. Trust me, I’m acutely aware he saved your life.”
I experimentally try to sit up. The room swims around me, but the dizziness fades when I hold very still. “What’s going on with me? Concussion?”
“Yes. They just did a CT scan. We’re waiting for the results.”
“I feel okay. A bit dizzy.” I lie back in bed. “Plaid Guy—”
“Is dead.” Carter’s voice is flat. “The bartender shot him. He was a banker with an out-of-control gambling problem. I guess the losses got too much to bear. He snapped.”
“What about Denton Mitchell?”
“Also dead. Vittoria was grazed by a bullet. She’ll recover.”
“Oh.” So many deaths. “Remind me to never tell my parents about this night,” I murmur. “They will give me a lecture on gun violence and insist I move back to London.” A sudden need to get the hell away from here overwhelms me. I want to be back in my room in the Grand River, soaking in a cool bath. Maybe I can talk Dominic and Carter into joining me again.
“Ms. Alves.” A young woman knocks on the door and enters the room. “I’m Doctor Rosenthal. You’re awake, good. How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts, and I’m a little dizzy.”
“Any ringing in your ears?”
“No.”
“Are you nauseous?”
“No.”
“Is your vision blurry? Do you feel like you’re in a fog?”
I shake my head again. “Just the headache.”
She puts me through a cognitive exam, and then nods. “Okay. I have the results of your CT scan. I’d say you have a mild concussion. Lots of rest for the next three or four days. Make sure you sleep a minimum of ten hours a day. Your brain needs to heal, so limit your screen time to the bare minimum. Nothing strenuous, no video games, no flashing lights, no alcohol, no sex. We like to keep patients overnight to observe them—”
“Can I go home?”
She considers me and then nods. “You can be observed at home, yes. Do you have a caregiver, someone who will monitor you for the next twenty-four hours and bring you in if your condition worsens?”
“Yes,” both Dominic and Carter reply in unison.
Dr. Rosenthal raises an eyebrow. “That’s good,” she says. “Remember, Ms. Alves. Lots of rest.”
They take me home. I take a cool shower with them hovering within sight, and then Dominic and Carter pile me into bed and settle on either side of me. I’m feeling a lot better. “No sex, according to Dr. Rosenthal,” I pout. “That doesn’t seem right.”
Carter nuzzles my neck. “Can you ever forgive us?” he asks. “We shouldn’t have let you go to the poker game. We should have stopped you. We almost got you killed.”
I hold up my hand. “I wanted to go. None of us could have predicted that Plaid Guy would shoot up the place. Unless you can see the future?” I draw in a deep breath. “It’s over. I’m fine. Everyone is safe. I love you and you love me.” I pinch myself, and no, I’m not dreaming.
The two of them are still holding my hands. I gambled and I won, and I’m giddy with joy. I pull Dominic and Carter closer, hugging them tight. “Why dwell on the past? The future is waiting.”
Epilogue
Gabriella
Two months later…
“Piper,” I speak into my monitor. “Spill.”
It’s Monday night and Carter and Dominic have cleared out, taking Noah with them. They said something about going to get dinner with Ed, followed by ice-cream. Noah solemnly promised to bring back some for me. “I know you like strawberry, Gabby,” he said. “I’ll remind Daddy and Uncle Carter.”
Dominic pulled some strings, and Ed Wagner is working as a dealer in the Hellenic. He’s really good at it. He’s also living in a nicer apartment, one that even Carter approves of.
Whether it was a result of Ed’s assault, or the magic of mediation, or because Ed saved my life, the relationship between Ed and Carter has never been better. The two of them agreed to joint custody. Two weeks in a month, Noah spends the week with his father and the weekend with Carter, and the other two weeks, it’s flipped around.
It’s working great. It’s absolutely wonderful to watch Noah’s eyes shine when he talks about his daddy. Carter grumbles a little, but even he doesn’t try to deny that this was the right thing to do.
I tried to visit Vittoria in hospital, but she didn’t want to see me. She’s physically recovered. Mentally? That’s a harder road. She found out her husband was cheating with her best friend, and then he was shot in front of her. Does she mourn him? Does she rage at him? Given the role I played, I’m not surprised she wants nothing to do with me. I hear she’s running Mitchell’s various businesses now and doing a much better job of it than he was.
A week after the shooting, I went back to the hospital for a follow-up, and Dr. Rosenthal cleared me to resume normal activity. There was sex, of course, and then we went back to Dalian. This time, I ate all fifteen courses. I have no regrets.
In other wonderful news, Zach Hewitt is doing amazing in rehab. He’s walking again. It’s the kind of progress that was inconceivable two months ago. When Dominic had heard the news, he cried. I teased him about it later, of course, and he spanked my ass for my cheekiness. Win-win.
Speaking of Dominic; it turns out he was right about Fred Jefferson. Fred has definitely opened doors for me. I’ve had three prospective clients call me in the last week alone. I gave up my apartment in Park Slope. I’m living in the Grand River rent-free—I’ve tried convincing Dominic that I’m mooching off him, but he refuses to listen—and saving a ton of money. I’m still a few months away from being able to quit my job, but I’m closer than I thought I’d be when I first arrived in Atla
ntic City. I can’t wait.
I used to be one of the people that never wanted to leave the city, but although I miss New York from time to time, plenty of other things make up for it. Reading Noah a bedtime story. Soaking in the hot tub with Dominic and Carter. Sharing a bed with the two of them, and waking up tangled up in their limbs, every single morning. Above all, being utterly, completely loved.
Last month, I put on my big-girl panties and told my parents about my unorthodox relationship. They took it much better than I expected. Okay, the truth is, they saw a photo of Noah and melted. Now, they send him toys from London, and spoil the shit out of him.
Hey, Noah’s adorable smile works on everyone. I’m not too proud to use it to get what I need.
Right now, I’m chatting with my girls through the magic of the Internet. Bailey’s still with her billionaires, and all’s well on that front. Wendy’s kicking ass at work, as usual. Miki’s somewhat subdued, and I wonder if she’s okay. But the bulk of our attention is on Piper. She’s got that ‘I had mind-bogglingly good sex’ look on her face. I should know that look—I see it every morning in the mirror.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she says weakly.
“Piper,” I warn. “There are consequences to keeping secrets from your best friends.”
“Shot, shot, shot,” chant the others. Piper grimaces and takes her penalty shot from the bottle of vodka next to her. “We miss you, Gabby,” she says. “There are no sandwiches.”
“I’ll be in New York in two weeks,” I tell them. “Dominic has some kind of work thing, and we are all coming down for the week. I’ll bring sandwiches then. And Piper?” I glare through the screen at her. “I know an attempt to change the topic when I hear it.”
“Okay,” she says sheepishly. “I may have been inspired by you and Bailey and done something stupid.”
“Wait a second,” Wendy leans forward, her mouth open. “You jumped on the ménage wagon?”
“I didn’t go all the way,” Piper protests.
“Who with?” Miki asks. “Anyone we know?”
Piper gulps and avoids looking at us. “Sort of,” she whispers, her cheeks scarlet. “It’s Wyatt and Owen.”
I can’t help it. I burst into laughter. Wyatt and Owen are a couple of genius restaurateurs who are helping Piper make a success of her own New York eatery. But in the process, the three of them have been fighting like cats and dogs.
It seems like hate and love aren’t too far apart in this case.
“What about you, Gabby?” Piper makes another frantic attempt to change the topic. “Two months in Atlantic City, two months into your relationship. How’s it going?”
I think about the way Carter massages my feet when I take off my high heels. The way Dominic makes sure he’s got my favorite tea in stock. I think about our Friday night routine, where we all go out to dinner, and our big, boisterous family lunches on Sunday.
“You know something?” I say, beaming from ear to ear. “It was the best gamble of my life.”
BONUS CONTENT ALERT: Not ready to say goodbye to Gabby, Dominic & Carter? I wrote a bonus epilogue, set twelve years into the future. Two children, sleepless nights, diaper changes, and the flame burns just as hot as ever! The BONUS EPILOGUE is available for FREE to subscribers of my newsletter. Click here to sign up!
The Heat
The Heat
One uptight Southern chef. Two wickedly hot investors who want to teach her to sin a little. A steamy workplace ménage!
My restaurant is failing.
My parents are just waiting to say ‘I told you so.’
But I don’t want to give up. I’ll do anything to save my business. Anything.
Then Owen and Wyatt offer me a chance to make my dreams come true.
And I’m tempted. So tempted.
Of course, there is a catch.
Note: The Heat is a standalone ménage romance (mfm) with a HEA ending and no cliffhangers!
The Heat was previously titled Playing with Piper.
1
Piper
If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.
Harry S. Truman
Bad news always comes in threes, my Aunt Vera used to say. Judging from the day I’m having, she was right.
The first blow comes from my restaurant’s landlord. “Ms. Jackson,” Michael O’Connor wheezes into the phone. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to increase your rent.”
My heart sinks to my toes. I’ve been dreading this moment ever since I took over Aladdin’s Lamp in early January and discovered the lease was going to expire in five months.
Mr. O’Connor is a nice older man who lives above the restaurant, and he seems to have had a soft spot for my Aunt Vera, from whom I inherited the place. But property developers have been sniffing around, and I know he’s been getting offers.
“How much?” I ask, my fingers crossed as I hope for the best.
“Three thousand dollars a month,” he responds. His voice softens with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Piper. I know that’s a steep increase…”
“But it’s still below market rate,” I finish. “I understand, Mr. O’Connor.”
He promises me the increase won’t take effect for another month and he hangs up.
Of course, I can’t afford three thousand extra dollars. I’m already struggling to stay afloat. But there’s nothing I can do, so I get dressed and trudge toward the restaurant. If I’m lucky, we’ll have a larger lunch crowd than normal.
I’m not lucky — the place is almost empty. I don my chef’s hat and apron and take over from Josef, the surly Lebanese man who loosely functions as my sous-chef. The reason I say loosely? Josef has a pretty serious alcohol problem, and doesn’t show up to work on any kind of regular basis.
Not for the first time, I wish I could fire him, but Aunt Vera’s will forbids me from doing so. I’m not allowed to fire any of the existing staff unless I can give them a year’s salary as a severance bonus. I’m stuck with Josef, who fails to show up to work every third day, and Kimmie, who chews gum in front of the customers. My only useful employee is the waitress I hired a month after I took over. Petra is a gem.
“I’ve made the lentil soup,” Josef says, wobbling a little as he speaks. Great, he’s drunk already. I make a mental note to taste the soup before I send it out, when my cell phone vibrates in my pocket.
I look at the display and grimace. It’s my mother. Cue the second disaster of the day.
“Darling,” she exclaims when I answer. “Are you sitting down?”
This is Lillian Jackson’s standard greeting when she has some piece of gossip to give me. “No mother,” I reply. “I’m working.”
She huffs dismissively. My mother thinks Aladdin's Lamp is a hobby of mine, and one day, I’ll get tired of playing chef, go back home to New Orleans, and marry some suitable young man from the right family. Trying to get her to take what I do seriously is a waste of time, and I don’t even try. “What’s the matter?” I ask, hoping she’ll get to the point quickly.
“Your cousin Angelina is getting married,” she responds. “Piper dear, this is going to be hard for you to hear, so I thought I should be the first person to tell you. She’s getting married to Anthony. You remember Anthony, don’t you? Your fiancé?” Her breath catches. “Piper, I’m so sorry, honey.”
“Ma, I’m fine.” So much drama. Anthony and I went on five dates before he proposed in front of the entire family on Christmas Eve, knowing I’d be pressured into saying yes. My break up with him was the topic of gossip for my mother’s friends for months.
Kimmie’s come in with a ticket, and she gives me an impatient look. I need to get working on it. I can’t afford to chase away the small handful of customers I have. “Anthony and I are old history,” I tell her. “I’m very excited for Angelina. Listen, I have to go, okay? Some diners just walked in.”
“Your father and I are very worried about you, Piper,” she pronounces, ignoring my feeble atte
mpt at ending our conversation. “We’re coming up to see you.”
My heart sinks. Oh God, more family interference. “You are?”
“Yes dear.” Her tone is firm. “We’ve already bought our airline tickets. We’re coming this weekend.”
“Ma.” I exhale in annoyance. “I work in a restaurant. I can’t take the weekend off, you already know that.” I’ve said this to my mother a million times. She never listens.
“Don’t be ridiculous, dear.” She dismisses my concern with an airy laugh. “Of course you can. You’re in charge, aren’t you? You can do whatever you want.”
I bite my tongue and count to ten. Just tell them you can’t entertain them, a voice inside me urges. Tell them your rent was increased by three thousand dollars. Tell them you’re on the verge of failure, and you can’t afford to take a weekend off. Tell them that Sebastian Ardalan, a two-star Michelin chef, didn’t think your restaurant would survive another six months in business, and you’re feeling bruised and damaged as a result.
But I’ve never been able to effectively stand up to my mother. My moments of rebellion are few and far between. Most of the time, I just do as I’m told. It seems easier that way.
Kimmie’s tapping her feet in annoyance. I need to get off the phone. “Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll see you in a few days. I have to go now.”
I hang up and fight the urge to bang my head repeatedly against the ancient walk-in freezer. The damn thing is temperamental and will probably just stop working.
It’s just after noon, and already, my day is a wreck.
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 43
